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The Verdict: Not guilty
The Accused: Spam
The Case: No, not the annoying e-mail that fills your inbox. No one takes any pleasure in that. The original stuff. Spiced ham. Potted meat. The trademark of Hormel's cash cow (or should that be processed pig?) has become a retro-cool logo on hats, tees, magnets, neckties -- you name it. But even though Charlotte reportedly consumes more Spam per capita than normal cities, it's still forbidden to admit to eating the stuff. Like a hunk of concentrated bacon, the meat can be sliced and fried up with big juicy tomatoes, crisp lettuce and mayo for a super-duper BLT. But don't let any snooping friends look in your cupboard. The resulting grossed-out faces and high-pitched giggles confirm the need to hide it behind the gourmet soups and designer pastas.
The Verdict: Guilty, guilty, guilty.
The Accused: The Osbournes
The Case: It's hard to imagine anything justifying the hype of MTV's "home movie" series of the domestic life of heavy metal burnout Ozzy, his wife/handler Sharon and their foul-mouthed teenagers Jack and Sharon. The Osbournes' two seasons total a mere 10 hours of programming -- counting commercials. Yet while the show offers a voyeuristic look at the lives of the rich and profane, it's also an unexpected source of family values and the challenges of parenting. Ozzy is both the worst role model and best example of what not to do that you can imagine, and the show's recent treatment of Sharon's battle with colon cancer finds unexpected tenderness.
The Verdict: Not Guilty
The Accused: Jackass
The Case: MTV's other notorious program, and its big-screen film version, let loose a band of merry pranksters, backyard kamikazes and masochistic performance artists in front of the camera, with uproarious results. Johnny Knoxville and company will do anything for a gag, from tasering themselves to bobbing for poison jellyfish. But you can't get past the fact that you're watching people hurt themselves and embarrass others in the name of entertainment, and that dunderheaded fans are inspired to follow suit. Hilarious, yes. Harmless, no.
The Verdict: Guilty
The Accused: SUVs
The Case: No doubt there are those for whom the joys of the suburban utility vehicle mean off-roading in some leafy glade like a bellowing, four-wheel-drive dinosaur. But in Charlotte traffic, SUVs feel less like a Guilty Pleasure than a Guilty Necessity. If you're going to spend hours of your life in terrible traffic, do you want to be contorted in a tiny car with no headroom, staring at the ass-end of the SUV in front of you? Or would you rather pass your time in a vehicle that has adequate cargo space and lets you see just how backed up the cars ahead can be? You can find consolation in our gas prices being less than the national average, but it's ultimately a selfish choice, as convenience and ease can't outweigh pollution and oil dependence.
The Verdict: Guilty
The Accused: Fantasy books for kids
The Case: For decades, fantasy novels for kids were dismissed as prolonged fairy tales with numbing moralizing, though one might harbor fond memories for The Phantom Tollbooth or Wind in the Willows. They've gotten renewed interest thanks to an English schoolboy named Harry Potter. But if J.K. Rowling's books were just a kid-driven phenomenon, the mass media wouldn't have taken notice -- clearly, adults are students of Hogwarts as well. Rowling's books may not be literature, but the earlier ones find great humor in the magical conceit, and the subsequent ones prove intriguingly dark and weighty. Rowling opened the door to the winking melodramas of Lemony Snicket and the beautifully written books by Philip Pullman. Frankly, at this point it's uncool not to read a kid's book now and then -- they have a lot more cachet than the likes of John Grisham.
The Verdict: Not guilty
The Accused: Fantasy books for grown-ups
The Case: Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings films haven't done much to remove the taint from fantasy novels for older readers, which still have a whiff of Renaissance Faires and marathon Dungeons and Dragons games. There's plenty of escapist value in the immersion in imaginary worlds, and catharsis in seeing heroes vanquish the forces of evil. But arguing the genre's merits can otherwise be a fool's errand. Even the superb exceptions by George R.R. Martin and Robin Hobb, which keep magic to a minimum and unfold like epic histories, still have kitschy, cornball covers. Better to be caught watching Girls Gone Wild 2 than reading a book with a dragon or a breast-plated warrior princess on the cover.