I’d really hoped I wouldn’t have to be the one to say it. I’m busy today. And I don’t like admitting that I… I… occasionally watch “American Idol.” So I waited a day, fully expecting to see at least a mention… it’s a small thing, but you’d think someone would’ve said something… But, like the businessman who’s witnessed a murder during a screening of “Hot Diapered Dwarf Sluts VII” at his local theater of ill repute, I’m going to have to sacrifice my dignity for the greater good.

Yes, I watched “American Idol” on Tuesday. Well, some of it. And during Tuesday’s Judge’s Choice round, celebrity judge Paula Abdul told contestant Clay Aiken that they’d chosen a special song for him, “Mack the Knife.” One of the reasons for the choice, said Paula with patriotic flair, is that the song “is an American classic.”

I collected my lower jaw from the floor and reasoned that Ms. Abdul was probably under the impression that the song had originated with Louis Armstrong or (more likely) Frank Sinatra. The latter was confirmed when fey Clay gamboled onto the stage in an ill-fitting tuxedo and delivered a singularly square but faithful rendition of Frank’s rendition.

It’s “Fox.” It’s mass entertainment. I should just let it go. But now, more than a day later, I’m still Shocked and Awed. “Freedom Fries” is one thing, but Paula Abdul has singlehandedly taken America’s unapologetic arrogance and ignorance to a new, bizarre level.

To review: “The Threepenny Opera,” with its beloved classic “Mack the Knife” (or “Die Moriat von Mackie Messer”), was written by Bertolt Brecht and Kurt Weill, and premiered in Berlin in 1928. Like almost everything Brecht wrote, it was a scathing critique of corruption, capitalism and Western society, and it espoused a nakedly socialist point of view. Among the well-known lines that might not sit well with Rupert Murdoch is the probing question, “Who is the bigger criminal: He who robs a bank or he who founds one?”

I know, I know, this sort of thing happens all the time. I should just accept it. History may be written by the winners, but only losers actually read it. To 21st century Americans, Saddam Hussein took out the World Trade Center with a Scud, Jesus was born at that big love-in rock concert in Bethel, New York, and “Mein Kampf” is merely a translation of a Billy Joel song. That’s just how it is.

Watching that spectacle on Tuesday night, I was wondering what Bertolt Brecht would have made of it all: He’d have taken note of the poor, struggling, naive artists forced to compete against each other for an opportunity to enter the fringes of the overclass, the cynical glorification of “simple folk” that offers them no real control of their fates, the overt plea for the masses to focus their attention on this triviality while momentous political and social decisions are being made elsewhere…

I take it back. Regardless of the song choice, Tuesday night really was an American classic.