Carbon Offput

We know precisely how to ensure that you’ll lose our support for any given cause. It’s simple, actually. All you need to do is sponsor a massive multi-city rock-‘n-roll concert on its behalf. And, presto: You can now color us dubious.

Such was the case, dear reader, with Live Earth, Al Gore’s supposedly eco-friendly worldwide pop music extravaganza, which featured many of the bands old Tipper would have criticized for using foul language. Live Earth allowed its viewers—in person or on television—to take in two extremely irksome phenomena: Crappy rock music and sanctimonious sermonettes about the horrors of global warming.

Now, before we continue with this delightful animadversion, allow us to inform you that we consider ourselves environmentalists. We aren’t scientists, but we’d wager that there’s at least a bit of truth to the global warming hysteria.

In fact, in order to do our part for the environment, we happily recycle. Oh, and we also don’t own a ridiculously large heated pool in Tennessee that wastes energy like Courtney Love wastes methadone. That ought to help Mother Earth a bit.

As such, dear reader, you can rest assured that we aren’t a passel of curmudgeonly global warming nay-sayers. Actually, we firmly believe that Al Gore deserves kudos for advocating for self-reliance in the realm of American energy consumption. You needn’t be a diehard tree-hugger to recognize the downsides of living at the beck and call of those OPECers.

But, come on: A lame bunch of rock concerts interspersed with pedantic messages about global warming? It strikes us as a 21st-century version of Reefer Madness. It’s a pathetic infomercial starring Madonna and Crowded House.

For some time, dear reader, we’ve taken hits for our uncompromising views on rock-‘n-roll music. If you ask us—and, technically speaking, you did not—rock-‘n-roll is pretty much witless anti-music. It might be enjoyable for a bit of slumming, but Bach it assuredly ain’t.

Most importantly, we think it crucial that rock music be vapid and fun. It’s not serious stuff—and that’s why rock music critics tend to come across like ridiculous windbags.

Hence the inherent irritation in a bunch of drugged-out rock stars preaching about the coming apocalypse. We mean, come on: Just sing your repetitious calls to the dance floor and leave the environmental crises to folks with a little more gravitas.

You know, like Tim Conway.

UPDATE: Check out Mr. Baldwin's uproarious musings on global warming here. We couldn't agree more.