Here's a question for you, and please think about it seriously. It's this: How low are you willing to go?
I ask because I'm having doubts about myself and my own standards. And I'm a little worried about you, too.
First, let's define our terms.
As a working definition of low, try John Wayne Bobbitt's new show-all porno movie called, yes, "John Wayne Bobbitt Uncut." That's quite low. (By the way, Entertainment Weekly says in its review that the, um, well, you-know, actually works. Talk about your happy endings.)
Or this. Someone who is so eager to be elected governor that the candidate, all the while talking about integrity, busily challenges absentee ballots from the elderly and the blind. That's truly low.
Or, say, a baseball team owner who raises ticket prices after a strike season.
You get the idea. If you ever find yourself confused, just think Geraldo.
The reason I bring this up is, of course, O.J.
Most of us are interested in O.J. because we are fascinated by the legal system. Personally, I get chills whenever I hear Marcia Clark say, "Res ipsa loquitur."
But obviously, there is a titillation factor also at work. If we were interested simply in the law, David Souter would be on the best-seller list instead of Faye Resnick.
And yet, I didn't -- wouldn't, couldn't -- buy the Resnick book.
Didn't buy an O.J. Halloween mask, either. And wouldn't even consider purchasing an O.J. trading card.
But I have to confess that I did a terrible thing, O.J.-wise. If what I did offends you, I wouldn't be upset if you stopped reading now.
Here goes: I have in my hot hands the O.J. exercise video.
(Are you still with me? That's what I was afraid of.)
I couldn't help it. I could make some lame excuse about wanting to exercise and needing a new video since I threw out all my Jane Fonda workout tapes (including the classic "Leaning to the Lefties") after she took up with Ted Turner.
That's not it.
For some reason that I can't explain even to myself, I had to see it, although part of it is, of course, that Kato has a cameo role.
The 70-minute video -- it's called "O.J. Simpson, Minimum Maintenance Fitness for Men" -- was shot on May 27. Three weeks later, O.J. was doing low-maintenance work in the passenger seat of a white Ford Bronco.
They filmed this baby at O.J.'s house. You get to see the trophy room. You get to see O.J. behind his very own desk. You get to see Mark Furhman's favorite backyard (where there's no bloody glove in view, but there is Kato in one memorable scene playing hoops -- his blond, shaggy locks looking exactly like they do on Court TV).
Yes, it's a classic.
And Playboy Productions, which made the video, apparently had no problems releasing it.
"We don't feel like we're exploiting the situation," a company spokesman said.
That sounds about right.
I feel perfectly comfortable watching O.J. doing sit-ups and jumping jacks and explaining the benefits of carbo-loading. I don't think of him as being charged with a grisly double murder.
Not even when he says, "I used to walk on the wild side. Now I just take a brisk walk."
Hmm.
Or when he offers this insight: "I used to be one of those guys that went out dancing a couple of days a week. Today with my schedule, hey, I just don't have the opportunity."
Well, I say to myself, with his schedule, he may miss the entire neo-disco craze.
Isn't this the point where you expect Robert Shapiro to object? Somebody ought to object.
Playboy pretends the O.J. video is no different from something Richard Simmons might sell. In other words, like most of your standard aerobics fare, you use it maybe twice before storing it in that dark, nether region of a storage cabinet, alongside your bootleg copy of "The Three Amigos."
But, as it turns out, other exercise tapes don't show O.J. saying that when he gets angry or feels stressful he thinks of Mount St. Helens and how it explodes. "I just get all the exploding energy out of me," he says.
You can, too, for only $14.95 a pop.