While the future of Two and a Half Men remains unclear — CBS may decide to replace Sheen — its glory days are now clearly behind it. Whether that would have been the case if Sheen hadn’t begun his strange, downward spiral, we’ll never know. But in any case, the time was probably right for a change. The show has aired for eight seasons, all the while dominating the ratings.

And yet, neither I, nor anyone I know, ever watched it. In fact, most people I’ve talked to (not a scientific population sample by any means, but rather a bunch of twenty-somethings) were only vaguely aware the show even existed. Why is that?

The most obvious reason is that young viewers, who increasingly eschew old media business models, get a fair share of their entertainment online. I don’t have any TV channels at my house — and have no plans to get them in the future — but I watch 30 Rock and Parks and Recreation on Hulu. I’m just finishing up Lost on Netflix Instant. And when I want to watch a movie, I turn first to my computer or Internet-connected Blu-ray player, not a physical DVD or a theater.

But Two and a Half Men has maintained an abysmal online presence. It’s not on Hulu, and Netflix only has the DVDs. That means that, despite wracking up a huge viewing audience for its weekly airing, it’s largely off the radar for everyone in the millennial generation.

Or at least, it was. What Sheen’s escapades have done is boost the show’s digital footprint. Whereas a few months ago it wouldn’t have even occurred to me to watch Two and a Half Men, now I’m sort of curious. I might add it to my Netflix physical DVD queue. If it comes back on the air, maybe I’ll even tune in. And most importantly, I’m sure there are a lot of other members of my demographic who feel similarly.

In essence then, Sheen’s behavior has stormed the strongholds of the digital natives. People who communicate online can’t avoid hearing about him, which for many is a 100 percent increase in their awareness of his current work.

But CBS’s digital stodginess probably isn’t the only problem Sheen’s outbursts are remedying. After all, even if the network didn’t want to stream Two and a Half Men, that doesn’t mean it couldn’t have had a strong presence among blogs and TV critics, right? Wrong.

Oddly perhaps, for such a big hit, Two and a Half Men has generated very little TV criticism, good or bad. I spend a fair amount of my time combing the Internet for entertainment commentary, but up until Sheen’s turn for the ostensible worst, his show was little more than a blip on the radar. Similarly, Slate TV critic Troy Patterson recently wrote about how until this whole debacle, he had never even seen an entire episode. Not a single one — and he gets paid to watch TV!

That fact may be due in part to the difficulty of actually finding the show, but it’s also probably a consequence of the generally tepid critical response it generates. Apparently, it’s not awesomely bad, good, or even charming-but-polarizing (like Glee, for example, which is also on Hulu). As a result, the most prominent media critics and pop culture junkies generally leave it alone.

Sheen’s recent adventures, on the other hand, are absolutely fabulous. It’s a drama for the digital age, recited — mostly by Sheen himself — in epic language and harlequin hijinks. With Adonis DNA, tiger blood, and porn star goddesses, Sheen seems to be setting himself up to be a slummy cocktail of Paris Hilton and Homer. And best of all, everyone gets to take pleasure in the absurdity, pretension and genuine tragedy of the whole story.

Counter-intuitively, this sometimes painful online storytelling can also help propel Two and Half Men into new avenues. Whereas critics and entire demographics ignored the show before, Sheen’s behavior complicates the story. Plot lines, facial ticks, and set design are no longer just entertaining — they can now be prophetic, unlocking subtle signs that foreshadow Sheen’s eventual doom.

None of this is to say that Two and a Half Men is good or bad. I haven’t seen it yet, and I’ve got to send Waltz with Bashir — which I’ve had out for at least a month — back to Netflix before I can get the DVD. But it’s in sight and on my mind. Though before it may have been destined for the historical dustbin, now it will forever be remembered as the backdrop to one of our time’s most curious celebrity implosions.

In other words, as the show becomes history it’s making history, which is a mighty feat indeed.

The Daily Herald (my daytime employer, though I had nothing to do with the story) broke the news Tuesday night that starting center Brandon Davies will not complete the season because he violated the school’s Honor Code. The news is a big blow. And though I can’t make a decent prediction about the consequences of the news, nothing good can come if it.

But while Davies obviously let down his team and community, an equal share of culpability goes to BYU for its opaque enforcement of a bizarre and arcane set of rules. In other words, Davies screwed up because he broke the rules, but BYU did the same when — by implementing and enforcing those rules — it set the stage for Davies’ failure.

Davies’ experience illustrates a few problems with BYU’s Honor Code. Most importantly, the policy includes an array of rules that other institutions see as unrelated to academics or sports. If Davies got caught plagiarizing, doping, or doing some other stupid thing, his suspension from BYU’s basketball team would make sense. He alone would be accountable.

But the reality is that BYU’s Honor Code includes all sorts of regulations that have nothing to do with academics or sports. Davies might be a criminal — or he may have forgotten to shave one too many times. He could have stayed past midnight in a girl’s apartment (or stepped into a female’s bedroom). He could even have ordered a coffee at some point, or simply have worn clothing that was too tight.

The point is that while BYU’s Honor Code addresses typical collegiate issues, it also goes much further, making it that much harder to comply with. If Davies broke some of the school’s more unique rules would he really be a bad person? Would he be academically unfit? Would he be off the team at any other school? Even if Davies transgressed LDS Church doctrine — also more or less part of the Honor Code — aren’t those rules optional, with punishment meted out in heaven, for non-BYU Mormons?

Another problem this incident illustrates is that the Honor Code lumps all offenses under one umbrella. Davies could be a serial cheater, or a sloppy dresser. Who knows? As of Tuesday night BYU hadn’t said what Davies did, and I’d be surprised if the school ever divulges that information. But because this sort of feels like a KGB fantasy, where all offenses are treated as mortal sins against the regime, we’re left to guess if Davies did something serious or silly.

BYU’s decision to have a broad, extra-academic set of rules may have just wounded it on the basketball court. But the fallout isn’t limited to a shamed athlete and a disappointed fan base. After all, schools make a lot more money when their teams win. How much money will BYU lose if its team suddenly plummets? How much prestige will the school sacrifice to ensure the homogeneity of its student body? And losing face and finances doesn’t just hit the school on the basketball court, it has broad negative repercussions across all fields.

Earlier this year, in the wake of a Gawker article criticizing BYU, I wrote about the school’s image issues. This is a perfect illustration of that problem and makes the point that if BYU wants to compete — in athletics, academics, and research — it has to learn to be a school, not a monastery. It needs to modernize its Honor Code to focus on the things that matter in the university world.

In the end, could all of this have been avoided if BYU had an up-to-date code for student conduct? Possibly. Though I don’t know Davies personally, most students at the school are good people who would behave appropriately even without such stringent rules. As it is, the school sets itself up for failure when it makes it so easy to criminalize (and, therefore, victimize) its stars. It costs the school prestige, money, and influence. It scares future students away, and crushes some of those it already has — in this case, at a critical moment.

If BYU wants to succeed on the basketball court and elsewhere, it should let go of its antiquated Honor Code and focus on being an institution of higher learning.

Before last summer, I had never seen Jersey Shore, nor did I even know anyone who watched it (or, at least, who admitted to watching it). Despite the hype and the controversy, it seemed like just another bunch of clowns in a house — entertaining, perhaps, but ultimately pretty boring too.

But then, over the summer, I went on a trip. To Italy. And I got hooked.

Beside the Arno river, I watched with rapt attention as the housemates wrestled with the trial of showing up to work in a t-shirt shop. In Venice, the call of gondoliers was drowned out by the screams of Angelina, when everyone hated her but before she was evicted. And in Rome, it was the Ecstasy of Saint Theresa by day, and the ecstasy of The Situation when he brought a couple of girls back to the house by night. (And then the girls left. Et tu.)

Along with McDonald’s, unwashed clothing, and other gross things, my thirst for Jersey Shore strangely dried up when I came home. But the trip was enough for me to see that the show is already playing regularly in Italy and a slew of other countries on multiple continents. It also helped me realize that Italy might just be the perfect place for the housemates. After all, the country has had its own version of the show playing for years. In Italian, they call it the Berlusconi administration.

All this is to say that MTV’s announcement about sending Jersey Shore to Italy doesn’t change much, except for maybe the percentage of the Internet that’s filled with snarky comments about the downfall of western civilization. Vapid young Americans — of Italian descent or otherwise —  are already a well-known stereotype on the international stage that some people fit, and some people don’t. Italians, along with most everyone else, know that.

And besides, sending a few reality B-listers to Italy will ultimately draw about as much long-term attention as one more bag of garbage in the rubbish-filled streets of Naples.

Brushing aside the obvious — that Glee is a for-profit TV show, not a school or charity — Murphy’s temper tantrum surprised me. After all, I genuinely never thought Glee was an altruistic endeavour to promote the arts. The mean-spirited characters, all the screen time spent on personal drama, and the perky-but-bitter tone led me to believe the show was aiming for satire, not didacticism. If it genuinely wanted to promote the arts, there are a lot of things it could do, but showing sexy twenty-somethings playing teenagers being mean to each other isn’t one of them.

Of course, there’s no doubt that Glee might make someone want to sing (or that it can be a fun watch). But how is it any better at that mission than other programs, like High School Musical? In fact, the satirical character of the show probably renders it less effective in that regard than more straight-faced media about the arts. I’d rather watch Glee than High School Musical any day, but I also wouldn’t necessarily use it as a marketing tool for the arts. In the end, if Glee exists just to hook people on singing, then it is truly an epic failure.

Throughout this whole feud, Kings of Leon vocalist Caleb Followill has seemed baffled and fairly apologetic, even saying the band didn’t mean to slight the show. Drummer Nathan Followill, on the other hand, more recently shot back, colorfully telling Murphy to get over it. And though New York Magazine criticizes Nathan for losing the high ground, I was pleased to see someone stand up to Murphy. Kings of Leon are rock stars, after all.

In any case, while the days may be over when not being a sell-out actually meant something, I was pleased to find out the band kept “Use Somebody” off Glee. So they didn’t want to help Ryan Murphy line his pockets in more gold? Good for them. It gives them that much more street cred — and besides, if you’re going to sell out, Glee really isn’t good enough to be worth it. Not even by a long shot.

The bottom line here is that like every other TV show out there — even the good ones — Glee is a business, and not having access to a hit song means lower revenue. The fact that Murphy threw a fit about it just confirms something I’ve suspected all along: the creators of Glee have a some sort of grotesque messianic complex. They believe that they are genuinely carrying the torch of righteousness, while instead making a clunky show that reinforces bigotry and gender stereotypes. Oh, and now they’re greedy too.

On the university’s home page recently — as well as in the alumni email I got earlier this month — I read about a new study by professors Jason Carroll and Brian Willoughby that argues that waiting until marriage to have sex benefits couples later on. The study was published in the Journal of Family Psychology.

The study was probably legit. It was published in a reputable journal, and my experience as a student at BYU (for more years than I care to admit) was that professors genuinely try to do serious scholarly work.

But whatever the study actually included, the uber-popular news website Gawker discovered it and expressed suspicion over how the scientific research “hews so closely to the Mormon church’s position on sex before marriage.”

All organizations draw some flack from time to time, but the point Gawker makes is one worth taking seriously. After all, if BYU wants to be a top tier school, an example to other institutions, and a leader in the sciences, perception does matter. And Gawker, though not the biggest media portal out there, is a major news player. In reality, many more people have undoubtedly read the Gawker piece than have or will read the study itself.

Whether or not the professors behind the study were actually influenced by official LDS policy is beside the point. (As is the argument some in the LDS community might make that in this case science merely confirmed “truths” religion had already indentified.) The reality is that Gawker is right to be suspicious — after all scientists at BYU clearly have a conflict of interest when researching issues the LDS Church describes as “moral.”

And as in any situation, a conflict of interest doesn’t automatically preclude honest investigation, it just raises suspicions. Could the researchers have published contrary results if they had them? What role does the church take in BYU research? Do scientists at BYU feel pressure, either explicitly or implicitly, because they’re being funded by an organization that is openly partisan on some issues? In what ways does LDS culture and policy inform the methodology these professors used?

The questions could go on and on, but unfortunately BYU has been raising these kinds of suspicions for a long time. There are a lot of people out there that look at the LDS Church’s stance on gay marriage (and consequences some BYU professors have faced by supporting it), BYU’s lack of diversity, speakers the school invites (Dick Cheney, for example), the hegemony of the Republican Party in Utah, etc., and think that BYU couldn’t possibly produce objective research.

They look at the fact that BYU is currently censured by the American Association of University Professors for issues relating to academic freedom, and that the school has occasionally engaged in (multiple) firings of professors for publishing controversial research. When they see these things, some people see a school that is aberrantly restrictive for the scholarly world. In the end, if the Gawker article was the first time these suspicions were raised they could probably be ignored, but sadly this sort of thing comes up again and again.

As an alumnus of the school, I choose to believe that, despite these concerns, BYU can still produce valid research. I don’t think the school is a joke. And, in reality, true objectivity is a myth and all fields are rife with subtle conflicts of interest.

But if BYU’s level of perceived objectivity is significantly lower than that other institutions, its opportunity to do good in the world is diminished. It’s research is less influential. No one doubts the school’s ability to produce great athletes or MBAs, but in the sciences — and in my field, the humanities — politics, ideology, and associations matter.

None of this is to say that BYU needs to forfeit its values or give up research. But the school needs to recognize that its reputation isn’t perfect. When publishing research that seems to strongly tow the party line, BYU needs to be aware that it’s fighting an uphill battle to be taken seriously. The school needs to tackle that reality head on. Ignoring it won’t change anything, but acknowledgement might.

In case you haven’t been following the story, Randy Quaid was once a respected actor. He has been nominated for an Oscar and an Emmy, and he won a Golden Globe (although I’m still not quite convinced that means anything these days.) He’s most famous for playing Cousin Eddy in some National Lampoon movies, though those under 30 may know him better as that crazy drunk pilot in Independence Day.

For reasons no one claims to understand, Quaid and his wife Evi have literally gone crazy. After living the high life and subsequently falling on hard times, Quaid walked away from a starring role in a Broadway play — a role Vanity Fair said would have been a comeback and a “coup” for the actor — two weeks before it was to begin in 2008, was banned for life from the stage actors’ union, and was arrested several times. He and his wife are currently charged with all sorts of things, from burglary to fraud to squatting.

Stars implode all the time, but what makes the Quaids’ story so interesting is that earlier this year the couple fled to Canada and began saying a group called the “Hollywood Star Whackers” was after them. Supposedly the group is trying to kill them, but it’s also behind a vast conspiracy that has engineered most of the couple’s financial and legal troubles. The Quaids also say the Hollywood Star Whackers are responsible for the deaths of David Carradine, Heath Ledger and others.

The Quaids and the alleged conspiracy out to kill them have attracted a fair amount of media attention. And, for people on the lam, the duo has been remarkably easy to find. They’ve been profiled and talked about, and the January issue of Vanity Fair includes a lengthy piece for which writer Nancy Jo Sales hung out with the couple in Vancouver for a while. (The Vanity Fair piece mentions that the Quaids even pitched a reality show based on their recent escapades escaping the law and would-be assassins.)

Theories about the Quaids’ collapse range from drugs to mental illness, and the Vanity Fair piece seems to faintly endorse the popular theory that Evi is somehow at fault. But while any or all of those explanations may fit, there is a much simpler one: 30 Rock.

More specifically, during the show’s first season episode “Cleveland,” star Tracy Jordan (Tracy Morgan) finds out that Bill Cosby hates him and, subsequently, that an evil group of African-Americans called the “Black Crusaders” is trying to destroy him. As a result, he has to give up his life in New York to go on the run.

Though similar premises have been used before (and though things eventually work out for Tracy Jordan), the similarities between the 30 Rock episode and the Quaids’ story are worth a double take. Both plots hinge on the existence of a ridiculously named cabal of evildoers; both involve struggling stars hiding out in remote locations; and, in both cases, the people surrounding the targeted stars don’t really believe in the evil group.

Obviously there are also a lot of differences between the Quaids’ story and the 30 Rock episode. But a lot of the things that differ — the motivations of the evildoers, the place chosen for the hideout, etc. — wouldn’t have worked for the Quaids, even if they had wanted them too.

There are also other reasons to suspect a Quaid-30 Rock connection. For example, “Cleveland” originally aired on April 19, 2007. That was about a year after Randy filed a $10 million lawsuit against the producers of Brokeback Mountain — he said he was misled to believe that it was an indie film when it wasn’t, but perhaps he was already in financial trouble — and about a year before his more serious legal problems and arrests began in earnest.

In other words, if the Quaids were looking for a script to guide their escape from trouble, they could very well have been looking around the time the episode aired. (The 30 Rock season one DVDs came out in September 2007, which might even have been better timing and which means the Quaids could have seen “Cleveland” at any subsequent time.)

One of the most surprising things about this situation is that any potential connection between the Quaids and 30 Rock hasn’t really been talked about in the media. Aside from a few user comments on entertainment blogs and Internet magazines, my Google searches couldn’t even find anywhere that mentioned the Quaids’ name and 30 Rock on the same page. Perhaps some blogger out there has made this point before, but it appears no one in the mainstream media has spent any time on this connection, either seriously or in jest.

And in the end, I have no idea what is going on with the Quaids other than that their strange behavior bears an uncanny resemblance to an episode of a popular TV show. Did the couple watch 30 Rock and rip off the story? Is this particular plot so elemental that the similarities unfolded independently? Were the Quaids influenced by some earlier film/text/media, perhaps one that also influenced the 30 Rock writers? Or could the Quaids genuinely be crazy — or even telling the truth?

Perhaps only time, lawsuits, and police investigations will tell. But in the meantime, I’m going to keep my eye on Tina Fey and company for clues about where the Quaids might be headed next.

Consider: In 2006, West stated on national TV that President Bush didn’t care about black people. Though many probably privately agreed, the moment brought West a lot of negative press. And because he didn’t subsequently present any cohesive political message, the moment seemed more like an impulsive rant than anything else.

2006 was also the year West began using awards shows to torpedo his public image. When that year’s Grammys were announced, West forwent normal celebrity psuedo-humility by declaring that he should win Album of the Year. West also rushed the stage at the 2006 MTV Europe Music Awards, and hinted that racism was a reason he didn’t headline at the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards.

And of course, there was his infamous and unforgettable stage-rush during Taylor Swift’s speech at the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards.

It’s easy to call West a spoiled celebrity. And it’s not much harder to point out that West’s tantrums and troubles only fuel his fame. After all, Kanye is rich and could definitely be a nicer guy some of the time.

But it’s equally important to recognize that these moments of chaos also make his triumphs even more salient. They’re like flip-sides to the artist’s considerable victories in multiple media. They bind West’s persona to an archetype: he’s a tortured artist, a man with demons, the scrappy fighter.

In essence, each time West falters he sets the stage for a comeback, an atonement. West isn’t just a person, he’s a character and an emergent icon. And unlike other train wreck celebrities, West has thus far actually managed to redeem himself with his music and the life story he constructs with his Twitter feed, television appearances and videos. While we eventually all lose interest and empathy with people like Britney Spears or Lindsey Lohan, West successfully shows how pleasurable it is to watch someone come back from the dark side again and again.

In this way West is truly an epic hero. Like Odysseus bound to the ship mast, West is fallen and tempted, but through determination and genius eventually passes safely on to victory. Or, West is the reluctant superhero (think Spider Man). He toys with giving up or going bad, before finally making the right decision.

I’m not sure there is another pop star with as complex a public persona. West is like the Severus Snape of the avant hip-hop world. Is he good or evil? Brilliant or unhinged? Duplicitous or singularly committed? Other stars toy with this kind of self-reflexive celebrity, but no one pairs genuine moments of unrestrained personal catastrophe with such fantastic work the way Kanye does. By comparison, the life and accomplishments of runners up like Lady Gaga just seem… pedestrian.

The result, of course, is that West’s life and work aren’t really two different things. They are one and the same, a great saga living up to the wildest ambitions of Andy Warhol, Damien Hirst and P. T. Barnum. West’s story afflicts and attracts. It soars and crashes. And in the end, perhaps the only remaining question is if it will be a comedy or a tragedy.

Like the Oscars tend to do, this year’s Golden Globe nominations include their fair share of stately movies most people never see — The King’s Speech and Black Swan — and wider release prestige films — Inception, The Social Network. (The Fighter probably falls somewhere in between.) These films are nominated in the “drama” category, and are pretty typical. 2009’s best dramas, according to the Globes, were Slumdog Millionaire, The Reader, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Frost/Nixon, and Revolutionary Road. While some of these movies blow, for the most part they could all have been considered Oscar bait.

However, the Golden Globes really hit their trashy, cast-a-wide-net best in the “Best Film — Comedy or Musical” category. Though it remains a mystery why comedies and musicals are grouped together (was Chicago really funny?), pretty much anything goes here. This year, the highest rated film according to Rotten Tomatoes in this category is The Kids Are Alright, which was reviewed positively by 94% of critics. Bravo.

But the the Comedy/Musical category also includes some wildly ridiculous stuff. Alice in Wonderland shows up, which has an uninspiring 51% on Rotten Tomates, and which, for the record, is a completely forgettable movie (and I usually love Johnny Depp and Tim Burton). There’s also The Tourist, which seems to exist solely to discourage travel, and Burlesque, which as far as I can tell is a botched porn flick that accidentally ended up in neighborhood multiplexes. And then there’s Red, which I’m waiting four decades to see until I’m old and actually care about elderly people in movies.

I haven’t seen most of these movies. And after all, why would I? They’re supposed to be terrible. I’d even bet money that Burlesque and The Tourist will get a few Golden Raspberry nods. But that didn’t stop the Golden Globes from singling them out for praise!

The take-away lesson here is that it’s not hard to beat the Academy Awards to the punch — and thus become an early predictor of which films will earn Oscar nominations — if, at one point or another, you mention every single movie as a possible contender. In the end, this seems to be the strategy of the Golden Globes, and it’s no surprise that it’s working.

I found the video on the excellent, Provo-centric blog CJane’s Guide to Provo, where the author aptly points out that BYU culture and Provo culture are two very different things. Though C Jane doesn’t put it this way, I basically understood her point to be that if BYU students want to look like imbeciles, they oughtn’t presume to represent the larger community. I agree.

(It’s probably worth mentioning here that I did smile as I watched the video. I’ve also had a bunch of friends in BYU’s Divine Comedy over the years, and without exception they’ve been smart, witty and very cool people.)

However, a larger issue with this video — and with other, similar BYU humor — is that it actually perpetuates and reinforces the disparaging stereotypes it aims to mock. Or, put another way, these ideas about BYU wouldn’t exist without organizations like Divine Comedy keeping them alive.

As per its name, the video describes Provo girls — or, more accurately, BYU girls — who go to college mostly to get married. They’re depicted as unafraid of commitment, wanting an “MRS” degree, willing to marry a tree as long as it went on a mission, etc. These girls even spend half the video in wedding dresses. Along the way the video also takes some pot shots at broader BYU culture by pointing out that there’s basically no diversity at the school, that Provo landmarks (the dollar movie, etc.) lack coolness, and so on.

If you went or go to BYU, you’re probably familiar with these ideas. And there is probably some truth to all this. Provo is a fairly small town, BYU really doesn’t have much ethnic diversity, and some people might go to BYU with visions of wedding bells dancing in their heads.

But apparently in an effort to keep their humor clean and tame, BYU students sequester themselves in a series of insular, negative stereotypes. I was genuinely surprised to hear things like “sweet spirit” — an antiquated and marginalizing label used almost exclusively for women — in the video. Hasn’t that phrase died yet? Like, in the ’80s when my parents were at BYU?

Apparently not, but the reason isn’t so much because people use it, it’s because Divine Comedy et al. ensures that it remains a part of the BYU vocabulary. If BYU groups weren’t constantly bringing this stuff up, it would probably change and become more dynamic as students cycle in and out of the school (sort of like the SFLC, or the “syphillis” building that used to be on campus and was the source of so much humor at one time). As it is ,however, this video is part of a larger, probably unintentional inculcation of students with idiotic ideas that have been floating around for a couple of generations.

And that has some negative consequences. Obviously — because the video sort of went viral — it means people outside of BYU come to see the school as being represented by strange things like “sweet spirits,” “MRS degrees,” and ignorant crackers. If people know one thing about BYU students after this video, it’ll be that they’re into… hasty marriages?

But more importantly, it turns every BYU student into an ambassador of weirdness. By constantly bringing up these tropes it ensures that every student has contact with them. Even if you never go to Divine Comedy, no one can walk through the Wilk without seeing some poster featuring a marriage gag. As a result, no matter what you do at BYU, these things will be part of your experience and these stereotypes become a recurring part of the culture.

Is that a bad thing? I think so. After all, do BYU women want to be known as marriage-obsessed crazies? Do they think of themselves that way? More broadly, is having a complete lack of ethnic diversity a good thing? Does BYU generally want to be thought of as strange, backward, out of touch, and un-urbane?

It must, because BYU students keep describing their school that way, in a mocking-but-sort-of-affectionate tone to boot. And though my experience suggests that few BYU students would actually describe themselves with the sorts of things in this video, by making and supporting this type of thing that’s basically what they’re doing.

Ultimately, every place in the world has strange idiosyncrasies which are often the source of humor to people living in those places. But in this case, the ideas represented in the “Provo, UT Girls” video are neither timely nor accurate. They’re artifacts from the past that would probably disappear if we just stopped using them. And in the end, as the de facto kings and queens of BYU humor, it really seems like Divine Comedy could come up with a new joke, because this one was worn out a long time ago.

But besides raising the bar slightly for the show, the episode is also notable for the conspicuously secular approach it brings to what is ostensibly a religious holiday. Given the show’s willingness to address faith in the marvelously titled but poorly executed “Grilled Cheesus” episode, that approach is surprising. It also scores a big secular win for the so-called “war on Christmas,” that perennial conflict between fanatics on the Christian right who want to plug Jesus into the holiday, and their liberal counterparts who feel that thinking about a guy getting kicked around and tortured to death dampens the most wonderful time of the year.

The most obviously secular part of “A Very Glee Christmas” is the song selection. Though some of the greatest — and oldest — Christmas songs are either hymns or religious in origin, no member of New Directions sings them. Instead, they perform a series of classic Christmas-special hits like “The Most Wonderful Day of the Year,” a couple of numbers from the animated How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and a song by The Carpenters (just to make sure there is at least one really lame moment in the episode.)

But song selection isn’t the only secular part of the show. Significantly, Rachel and Puck, two Jewish characters, and Kurt, a formerly anti-religious zealot, show no qualms about partaking in all the seasonal cheer. And while Rachel explains her participation to Finn as just wanting to do something he enjoys, her justification basically boils down to saying, “I might not be a Christian, but what does that have to do with celebrating Christmas?”

And that seems to be the takeaway message. The episode argues that no matter who you are, what you believe in, or how you live, Christmas is for you. In essence, it’s an extension of Glee’s larger multicultural thesis, which is generally admirable.

When it comes to Christmas, however, that idea is also controversial. Every year, people get up in arms about companies using words like “holidays” and “season” instead of “Christmas.” Others lament the commercialization of the holiday, or militantly try to impose Christian symbolism on pagan icons like wreaths and evergreen trees. In “A Very Glee Christmas,” however, those are the very things that matter. Glee’s holiday is all about physical ephemera.

None of this is to say the episode isn’t charming. It really is. The story is also largely about giving, charity and kindness, things that Christians and non-Christians alike tend to value. For those of us who delight mostly in the commercial gaudiness of the season, the episode might even be memorable enough to watch again next year. But for anyone who feels that our modern holiday has strayed from its course, “A Very Glee Christmas” must surely be evidence of one thing: the war on Christmas is far from over.