POSTED FEBRUARY 21, 1998--As a connoisseur of teevee journalism at its most banal, I recently came to doubt that much could ever rival the classic KSTP newscast which led with, of all things, a Beanie Babies heist. I was, of course, wrong. One of the pleasures of being a connoisseur is the unexpected surprise afforded to the diligent. Especially during sweeps month.

Thus, it was with delight the other night that I watched Paul Magers and Diana Pierce (in matching kelly green sports coats!) tease an upcoming KARE Extra report called "The Weight Loss Miracle?" The story, it seemed, would address a deeply weird phenomenon: women who enroll in a program to lose weight, not through diet or exercise, but, rather, through Christian prayer. What a promising premise - a beautiful, nearly post-modern mating of secular, commercial and religious vulgarities, yet more evidence of the culture's full-blown, dawn-of-the-new-millenium putrification. I knew then it was time to get some tape for the VCR.

The feature, aired on the 10 p.m. show on Feb. 19, did not disappoint. How could it? The thing came off very nearly as an advertisement - an infomercial, even - for the Weigh Down Workshop.

"And in many cases," Pierce added with a smile and a beat, "it's working."

If this sounds to you a bit more like ad copy than journalism - and, yet, you are surprised - well, you must have fallen asleep during the great communications industry merger. In teevee these days, news, entertainment and advertisement don't get their own spot on the plate. They are, rather, heaped together in an awful goulash. So, you ought to forgive reporters when they start talking like salesmen.

Following the introduction, viewers were thrust into the care of correspondent Roxanne Battle, who amiably interviewed a handful of Weigh Down Workshop participants (an unbelievable 1,200 gathered in New Hope recently) and, of course, the program's founder, an immaculate, taut-looking southerner named Gwen Shamblin. Viewers were shown a snippet of a real infomercial which displayed the guru Shamblin, presented in a Biblical head wrapping, as she made her Tennessee-drawl pitch in front of a pyramid. A mesmerizing, yet baffling bit of iconography. Indeed, like so much in the National Entertainment State, the story defies parody and, thus, exists as a telling artifact of these times.

We also watched an assembly of women as they prayed. "Lord, show us Your way," one woman, head bowed low, said. "Help us run to you first, instead of the refrigerator." It would be cruel to describe this group as resembling bratwurst-inhaling Promise Keepers in drag, but you get the picture. A sample of vanilla contemporary hymn ensued, along with a handful of testimonials.

Shamblin, who came off as a sort of turbo-charged Avon lady, boiled down her weight loss approach thus: "God can make you feel better than a binge. How cool. If I were God, I'd do the same thing."

Upon the return to the KARE studio, anchorwoman Pierce merrily rattled off the number and internet address of the Weigh Down Workshop, along with price information. Magers, a svelte broad-shouldered guy, concluded the segment with a tidy, empathic endorsement, "Whatever works. Nothing's harder than battling a weight problem."

KARE's "Weight Loss Miracle" was targeted at a valuable demographic: the ineffably sad, suburban mom whose weight and appearance has somehow become the central torment of her life and, thus, one best addressed via scripture. It is worth noting, of course, that the Weigh Down Workshop appeals to the very same group. I guess it's what the corporate types call cross-pollination. And, hey, there's no room for skepticism there.