The House of Stewart


O.K., ladies, who out there wants to marry Jon Stewart? And ladies, who out there has had a wine-induced bitchfest with your girlfriends about the fact that the Jon in question done gone and got married to some lady vet without having ever even met you? I would pretty much bet cash money that about 99 percent of C-VILLE’s female readership just raised their hands, and that the remaining 1 percent thought to themselves, “I prefer that sexy mofo Stephen Colbert. It’s the glasses. Wire-rims. Rrrrarrrgh!” For what it’s worth, I align myself with the masses. In fact, I used to keep a small, homemade Jon Stewart (circa the William & Mary soccer team) puppet on my desk at work. Occasionally, I would have the puppet act out a “he shoots, he scores” scenario. Is that weird?

What I’m trying to say is that Jon Stewart is the Brad Pitt of the Bush-bashing set: Women want him and men want to be him. But the closest any of us will probably ever get to him is Row AA of the John Paul Jones Arena, and leave it at that. There are, however, those among us who take our adoration above and beyond $67 per ticket. And those people are the people who traffic fan sites. I’ve always been uncomfortable with the word “fan” because it denotes a degree of fanaticism that in turn denotes a modicum of delusion, but I guess that is what separates me from the people who frequent the Jon Stewart Intelligence Agency. It’s here that people gush at length over Stewart sightings and various artistic interpretations of Stewart’s handsome mug. Perusing the site, I feel slightly voyeuristic—like I’m not on the team, but rather the affable friend who came to watch the game, but didn’t dress appropriately…or something.

Don’t get me wrong: Jon Stewart is hot and I could easily pass 10 minutes perusing his glamour shots. In fact, I just did. So could someone just answer me this: If I’m not the type of person who can frequent a Jon Stewart site, who is? I ask not out of a superiority complex, but out of a true curiosity.