Farhad Manjoo

Stern’s debut this week on subscription-only satellite radio — a year after he signed a reported five-year, $500 million deal with Sirius and a few weeks after he went off the traditional “terrestrial” radio dial forever — has been heralded by Sirius as a revolution in media. (The company has plastered national newspapers and billboards all over with its curious Stern ad showing off a black-power fist; naturally, and perhaps by design, the ad has drawn some protests.) Actually, though, there wasn’t much of a revolution Monday morning, and when the first sounds of Stern broke through at 6 a.m., the most piercing feeling for longtime fans was one of nostalgic revulsion: The show’s opening theme, a version of Richard Strauss’ “Also sprach Zarathustra” — aka the theme from “2001: A Space Odyssey” — done in farts, was a shot across the bow, the kind of childish, irredeemable thing that we fans had long ago found ourselves appreciating in Stern but that, of late, had come under assault from the government and uptight family-values types.

As Stern insisted repeatedly during the show, what he plans to do in his uncensored satellite playground is more old than new. He says he’s not going to become irretrievably vulgar or pornographic, even if a sizable portion of his audience may be hoping for that. Instead, Stern says that on satellite, he’ll have the same opportunities that he had on broadcast radio back in the ’80s and early ’90s, before the Federal Communications Commission got on his case, to entertain his audience by trying bits that may be marginally offensive but are nevertheless funny. “Our line is being funny, and hopefully we’ll hit that every day. And that’s the goal.”

Stern, of course, is an acquired taste, and much of what he considers funny is, for many of us, not really that funny. I’ve been listening to the shock jock on and off since high school and I find a lot of what he says not even in the neighborhood of hilarious. But Stern has long understood something about his medium that has eluded his detractors and competitors: that he’s catching his listeners, many of whom are driving to work by themselves, at a lonely moment in their lives, and that the best way to appeal to them is by offering up a cast of car-poolers along for the ride.

Stern may be hard to like, but as an on-air personality — the self-aggrandizing, sexually obsessed, misogynistic, racially insensitive, homophobic, insecure and very stupid man who’ll say whatever comes to his mind — he’s as comic, compelling and complex as a real person. The same can be said for many in his show’s regular collection of oddballs and jackasses. After one listens to these people every day, the show becomes something like a cross between a soap opera and a locker room, with a gang of characters whom you become quite intimate with, yet simultaneously revile.

We won’t know for a while how satellite may change this dynamic. But judging by Monday’s episode, it seems plain that the show can only become more real, and thus more satisfying, in this freer medium. After all, most people act vulgar, offensive or immature every now and then; a radio personality who’s given the same license would seem only more human for it. For instance, can you say that you’ve never had a conversation like the following not-for-broadcast-radio chat Stern and company had about Alexis Stewart? (Can you say you wouldn’t want to?)

Howard: The other day on the air I said it was kind of hot that Martha Stewart’s daughter was kind of “cunty.” And, by the way, I don’t consider that a curse word.

Robin [Quivers, Stern sidekick]: What?!

Howard: Every gay hairdresser in America says cunty.

Robin: Well, not everybody goes to gay hairdressers and hears that.

Howard: Oh, where would you go not to get a gay hairdresser? … No, cunty means like, you know, bitchy, and in kind of a hot way. Like you walk down the hall and you run into Martha Stewart’s daughter and she just shoots you a look like she doesn’t know who you are …

Robin: She looks through you!

Howard: She looks right through you. I saw her in a restaurant and she just kind of stares at you, and like gives you attitude. You would think she’s the one who made all the money!

Artie [Lange, a show regular]: You know her nickname in high school was Cunty Stewart.

Robin: Everybody should just call her that. Cunty.

There’s another way Stern hopes to use his new medium to pull his listeners in closer. On Sirius, Stern occupies two channels, and his show fills just four hours on each channel daily. Soon, he plans to stock the rest of the time with programs created around some of his most popular characters. His parents will get a show; some of the biggest Stern fans will get shows; and he is planning one show, tastefully titled “Tissue Time With Heidi,” that will feature audio from a porn star’s phone sex with an audience member.

There’s even a news broadcast on the Stern channels, a twice-daily, public-radio-style outfit staffed by actual reporters who have only one journalistic mission: to report on everything in the Stern universe. Listening to the “Howard 100 News” is a surreal experience; every minute thing that happens to Stern or someone on his show is elevated to the status of news, with serious-sounding anchors and reporters considering the situation as if they were dealing with truly weighty events. For folks not indoctrinated into the Stern world, this business might seem bizarre, but for fans, a newscast, and all the tertiary, Stern-related shows, make sense. If you spend an hour or more listening to these people’s foibles in the morning, why wouldn’t you want to listen to a newscast following up on the day’s events during your drive home?

On Sirius, then, Stern diehards will simply find a lot more Stern to love: They can lose themselves in Howard’s world; they can dive deep into every recess of the show; and for many of them, $13 a month will be a price well worth paying. A bigger question is what all those casual, every-couple-of-days listeners, people like me, might do. Salon was kind enough to pay for my first month’s Sirius subscription so that I could write this review; even if the show is much better on satellite, I’m not sure that I love Stern enough to spend that much on him from my own pocket.

Stern is never at a loss for confidence, and during Monday’s show he insisted he’d make it big on satellite. “One guy said to me, ‘Do you feel like Milton Berle?’ Milton Berle started off television. When he moved to television people started to watch TV. And here I am sitting at the beginning of new technology responsible for millions of people coming over. And my audience trusts me enough that this will be good that they’re willing to pay.”

But in a couple of rare moments, Stern seemed to lament the fact that his audience is now much smaller than it was just a few weeks ago, on broadcast radio. Then, he’d regularly attract 12 million people across the country; Sirius, by contrast, has just over 3 million subscribers (though Stern claims the number is rising rapidly as a result of his show’s launch). And not only has his audience shrunk, but his enemies, on satellite, are less powerful than in the past. Stern is a combative character, and he’s best when he’s fighting against the many forces — the government, conservatives, Don Imus — he claims are arrayed against him. But on Sirius, his enemies can’t touch him: The satellite ad market is tiny, so there are few ratings pressures; and because the conservative push to regulate the new medium appears unattainable, Stern looks safe from government fines.

So as a fan — as someone who, through the radio, has come to know Howard quite well — I worry: With nobody to hound him, who will Stern fight now? And if he isn’t fighting, and if fewer people are listening, will the world beyond his superfans continue to care about what he does?

He uses the chocolate to plug up the leaking tank of acid — sulfuric acid reacts with sugar to form a kind of glue. The sodium, scraped into the shell of the cold capsule and splashed into a sealed bottle of water, makes for a handy time-delay bomb, which proves useful for blowing through a wall that blocks the group’s escape. The smoke from the cigarettes illuminates the bunker’s laser-beam security system that he has to get through to move through the bunker (no secret underground research lab is complete without lasers); MacGyver uses the binocular lens to aim the laser at its own control unit, shutting down the security system.

But how does he get out of the bunker? Oh, that’s the easy part: MacGyver finds a switch that controls the lights in an above-ground control tower. He flashes the lights on and off to send an SOS message in Morse code. The guys in the tower, realizing Mac’s in the bunker, alive, call off the missile — and for the first of 139 times during the show’s seven-year run from 1985 to 1992, MacGyver saves the day.

This first episode is nearly perfect. It neatly telegraphs MacGyver’s soul: A laid-back fellow oozing can-do heartland ingenuity, MacGyver is handsome but dorky, charming but self-effacing, a friend to orphans and children with disabilities, tolerant of people from foreign lands, and though he has every opportunity for indiscretion, he’s always a gentleman around women. MacGyver, played by the affable Richard Dean Anderson, works as a secret agent for a vaguely defined defense contractor whose intentions are always of the best sort. His gigs are of the usual action-hero variety — find stolen missiles, escape assassins, rescue civilians, humiliate dictators. But his near chastity, along with his staunch opposition to guns and capacity to solve every problem through the judicious application of chemistry and physics, sets him apart from other action stars. MacGyver is the thinking man’s hero.

Though, actually, when you go back to watch his adventures two decades after they first aired, you discover Mac’s target audience probably consisted mainly of boys, not men. I started watching the 139-episode DVD boxed set a few weeks ago, shortly after gadget blogs gleefully reported that Lee David Zlotoff, the series’ creator, said he was thinking of making a “MacGyver” movie. This jogged in me memories of boyhood, especially of how, after watching each MacGyver trick, I’d feel a bit invincible: I was small, but I was clever. Like MacGyver, I could take them.

But to adult eyes “MacGyver” is often too goofy by half. It’s not just that his tricks are improbable. At times — like when he interprets a deaf friend’s dreams to find clues to an impending missile theft — they seem to violate the show’s premise, that science beats brawn. In these instances, MacGyver doesn’t use science; he uses magic.

Then there are the children he befriends and the liberal orthodoxies he defends — tendencies that bump the show’s preachiness dial. Mac’s always popping up in foreign countries — Afghanistan, Myanmar — and running into kids and peasants who are oppressed by unsmiling overlords. In just about every second episode, he’s teaching kids about the dangers of guns, a position that, we learn in one episode, he came to as a boy, when a friend of his was killed by a gun. The antigun thing is a little specious, though: MacGyver’s got nothing but nothing but love for explosives, painful booby traps, fire extinguishers rigged up as projectiles, and enormous boulders that he sets up to fall on villains. The real reason he doesn’t use guns is obvious — he’d be able to shoot his way out of most traps, and that would be too easy.

I don’t mean to get down on “MacGyver.” There’s something in its flaws worthy of re-viewing, a particular moment in America preserved on TV. MacGyver is meant to exemplify a certain noble strain of American power. He doesn’t take the easy way out, and when in a jam, he uses what he finds around him to ingenious effect. If you strain you see a greater American story here too — that his ingenuity is frequently too good to be true, and leads to pat, uncomplicated endings that call for no greater reflection.

There’s also something striking about “MacGyver’s” moment in TV. Watch this show as a yardstick to measure how far we’ve come. Even the simplest dramas today — I’m looking at you, “CSI” — are complex and multilayered next to “MacGyver,” which underlines and explains everything, gums up all dialogue with exposition and introduces new, throwaway characters in each episode. There’s much hand-holding here: Even in foreign countries, everyone speaks English, every villain is one-dimensionally evil, and every tender moment is helped along by a swelling score.

But that’s why I hope someone makes a “MacGyver” movie. Mac needs a makeover. Lift him up to big-budget action standards — give him a story line that can span a couple of hours; give him a girl to love, but who may also cross him; give him a more complex mission (maybe to find out who’s putting all the salmonella in our salads?); and give the whole package fast, Paul Greengrass-style editing. Also, make sure one of his crazy solutions involves Mentos — people online go crazy for tricks with Mentos. Do all that and we might yet have a lasting American hero.

* * * * *

Read more of Salon’s Re-Viewed, offering a fresh look at great TV shows available on DVD.

I joined Salon in 2002, and since then I’ve written about, among other things, Smart Cars, robotic vacuum cleaners, muffin toasters, voting machines, architecture and 9/11, Tower Seven, Bill Clinton, Terri Schiavo, Florida’s elections, “The Wisdom of Crowds,” Malcolm Gladwell, Linux, Daniel Levitin, the copyright industries, Lawrence Lessig, The New York Times, Martha Stewart, a mnemonic to remember the Solar System’s planets, Google, garlic, stem cells, Comcast, Apple, Speedo, taxes, Social Security, Antonin Scalia, Barack Obama, the robots’ plan to take over the Earth, Howard Stern, Stringer Bell, Current TV, campaign finance reform, MoveOn, Howard Dean, Nintendo, Total Information Awareness, Java, Alice Waters, “The West Wing,” Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., the Washington Post, Judy Miller, and Hurricane Katrina.

I’m pretty sure there’s no other news outlet on the planet which would have given me such latitude, and I thank everyone here at Salon for that. I also want to thank all the readers who’ve read my work, not to mention praised me, hounded me, kept me up late at night swearing at the screen. Don’t ever change.

– Farhad Manjoo

It was thrilling not only for the splendor of the place — even their commodes are computerized — and the welcoming attitude of my hosts at the Authors@ program (the company buys your books and hands them out to employees for free), but also because Googlers seemed to intuitively grasp my argument and posed many penetrating questions.

Google records these things and posts them up on YouTube, so if you’re looking for something to watch while eating a sandwich at your desk, have at it:

Another thing on the book: I’ll be reading and signing at Book Passage in the San Francisco Ferry Building next week — 6 p.m. on Thursday, July 17.

If you’d like to talk about facts, rumors, conspiracy theories, and spin in the digital age, do stop by.

They were all fans of the first model, and they’re pretty happy about the new model’s new features. The reviewers say the phone’s 3G network access leads to a much zippier Internet experience, that its audio quality has been dramatically improved, and that it cozies up to Microsoft’s corporate e-mail system.

But there are some drawbacks, too: Mossberg finds the battery life lacking, and Pogue says that that the phone’s GPS antenna is too puny to be of much use.

Here’s Mossberg on the battery life:

More important, in daily use, I found the battery indicator on the new 3G model slipping below 20 percent by early afternoon or midafternoon on some days, and it entirely ran out of juice on one day. I overcame this problem by learning to use Wi-Fi instead of 3G whenever possible, turning down the screen brightness and even turning off 3G altogether, which the phone permits.

The iPhone 3G’s battery life is comparable to, or better than, that of some other 3G competitors. But they have replaceable batteries. The iPhone doesn’t.

And Pogue on GPS:

Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do with the G.P.S. According to Apple, the iPhone’s G.P.S. antenna is much too small to emulate the turn-by-turn navigation of a G.P.S. unit for a vehicle, for example.

Instead, all it can do at this point is track your position as you drive along, representing you as a blue dot sliding along the roads of the map. Even then, the metal of a car or the buildings of Manhattan are often enough to block the iPhone’s view of the sky, leaving it just as confused as you are.

None of the reviewers were provided with applications that third-party developers are creating for the iPhone (these will go on sale at Apple’s online App Store). Mossberg, though, writes that he tried out some of these apps on an older phone, and was pleased with the results:

I tested a game that used the phone’s motion sensors to control the action, and I tested several programs from America Online (TWX), including AOL Instant Messenger; AOL Radio, which streams music from the Internet; and AOL’s Truveo video search engine. All worked very well.

These apps will also work on old iPhones as well as on the iPod Touch.

The iPhone 3G goes on sale Friday at 8 a.m. But some enterprising folks have gotten a hold of them already — check out the Boy Genius Report blog’s unboxing photos.

I talked about how to get an iPhone in my video for Current TV this week:

It wasn’t hard work. Dolan popped into Potomac Video one afternoon and asked if he could look at Bork’s movie file. “There sure are a lot of them,” the assistant manager replied. “Is it OK if I make a Xerox copy?”

That was OK with Dolan; weeks later, he published Bork’s rental history in the D.C. alt-weekly the Washington City Paper.

Bork’s taste in movies was itself unremarkable (“First off, despite what all you pervs were hoping, there’s not an X in the bunch, and hardly an R,” Dolan wrote). But the publication sparked outrage from groups on the right and the left — including the ACLU and People for the American Way, which had vehemently opposed Bork’s nomination.

In 1988, Congress, spurred by the fear that the press might now easily unearth all politicians’ movie habits, passed the Video Privacy Protection Act, which remains one of the strongest privacy laws in the nation. The law prohibits stores from disclosing video histories unless ordered to do so by a court — and even then, customers must be given “the opportunity to appear and contest the claim” of any party seeking to learn what you watched.

I tell you all this as a historical wind-up to yesterday’s shocking news: In the ongoing copyright battle between Viacom and Google, a judge ordered Google’s subsidiary YouTube to hand over an enormous trove of data identifying who watched what and when on the video-sharing site.

Viacom’s lawyers argued that they needed this data to prove that “infringing” videos — e.g., clips of “The Daily Show” and “The Colbert Report” — were more popular than non-infringing user-generated videos. Presumably, if it proves this, Viacom might prevail in its argument that YouTube’s bread-and-butter was illegal videos, and thus owes some of its success — and billions of dollars — to media companies.

The database in question is astonishingly broad: Viacom asked for 12 terabytes of logs (approximately 12,000 GB) that detail each instance in which someone pressed Play on a YouTube video, plus the YouTube username of the viewer who watched it, the date and time at which the user pressed Play, and the IP address of the viewer’s computer. The database covers videos seen both on YouTube as well as those embedded on other pages: If you’ve never visited YouTube but have clicked on a YouTube video from your daily newspaper’s Web site, you’re in the database.

Google objected to Viacom’s request on the grounds that producing the database would be expensive, time-consuming, and would invade YouTube users’ privacy. The judge — Louis Stanton of the Southern District of New York — Judge Stanton dismissed all Google’s arguments. The company’s “privacy concerns are speculative,” he wrote. (PDF here.)

Such pat reasoning should give you a general sense of the depth of bone-headedness in Stanton’s ruling. As Kurt Opsahl of the Electronic Frontier Foundation points out, the Robert Bork-inspired Video Privacy Protection Act applies not just to video cassettes but to “audio visual material” in general. Clearly it should apply here, and clearly, millions of YouTube users ought to have been given a chance to fight this invasion of our privacy.

But the real villain here isn’t Judge Stanton — it’s Viacom. I’ve previously raked the company over the coals for suing, rather than enjoying the fruits of, YouTube’s success (for instance last year, when it sacrificed potentially millions in ad dollars by pulling down the popular MTV clip of Britney Spears’ poor performance at the Video Music Awards).

But now Viacom’s sinking lower: Not content to fight just Google, the company looks to be manning the deck against us all. Sure, Judge Stanton might call this “speculative,” but think on it a bit: If Viacom’s willing to take on Google, what qualms will it have in suing you or me, recording industry-style, now that it knows what we did on YouTube? (Update: Viacom says it can’t use this data to sue you.)

All’s not lost. Google might manage to reverse this decision on appeal, and Viacom, gauging the outrage, could decide to withdraw or limit its request.

But our real hope here is legislative or regulatory action. Indeed, optimistic sorts might see a silver lining here.

As privacy scholar Jeffrey Rosen has written, “The politics of privacy tends to be largely reactive, fired by heartstring-tugging anecdotes that capture the public imagination.” Just as the airing of Robert Bork’s video history was the kick-start Congress needed to fix a clear privacy hole born out of then-new technology, this ruling might backfire on copyright holders, pushing lawmakers, finally, to curb the privacy-invading reach of copyright fights.

What we watch on YouTube is every bit as personal as what one rents from a store like Potomac Video. Indeed, it might be more private, and more salacious — imagine the fun you’d have if you were looking for unsavory data about a future Supreme Court nominee in 12 terabytes of YouTube logs!

In his floor speech in favor of the Video Privacy Protection Act, Vermont Sen. Pat Leahy argued that new database technologies capable of tracking private behavior called for new privacy regulations. That was two decades ago — and it remains true, still.

——

Update: A representative for Viacom e-mailed me to say that I’m overreacting. “We have no ability (and absolutely no desire) to use this data to sue end-users,” he argued, pointing out that all discovery documents in the case are bound by this confidentiality agreement.

Under this agreement, no one at Viacom will get to see these YouTube logs — only Viacom’s outside lawyers and experts, as well as court personnel, will have access to the data. The agreement also restricts the data to this case alone, which would seem to prevent the company from using the logs to sue users individually.

Michael Fricklas, Viacom’s counsel, told the New York Times, “I can unequivocally state that we will not use any of this information to enforce rights against end users.” He added that the company is looking into ways to “anonymize” the logs “to enhance the security of information that will be produced.”