The Grouchy Editor

We hear a lot about America’s obesity epidemic.  One-third of America’s children are overweight or obese.  McDonald’s is under fire again, and soda machines are being removed from schools.

I am hearing a lot about something else — Nikki Blonsky, star of the new ABC Family series, Huge.  Nikki Blonsky, I hear, is a wonderful role model for young people because she embraces her “plus-size” frame.  Nikki Blonsky is perfectly content with Nikki Blonsky, so everyone else should shut up and deal with it.

This is all very confusing.  Lard — love it or leave it?

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I thought I might make an eyebrow-raising point (as opposed to, say, a hair-raising comment).  I thought I might complain about the disturbing shift in Hollywood from adult-oriented movies to kiddie fare.  Fifty years ago, I thought, we had more mature movies.  Today, we are inundated with Shrek, Toy Story, Marmaduke, Despicable Me, and superheroes.  Surely, that kind of thing was unheard of in the 1960s.  I looked it up.

Here are the top ten grossing films from the 1960s, in descending order:  The Sound of Music, 101 Dalmations, The Jungle Book, Doctor Zhivago, The Graduate, Mary Poppins, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, My Fair Lady, Thunderball, Funny Girl.

Rats.  So much for my argument.  Two cartoons, one live-action kiddie flick, and three family-friendly musicals.  Just for kicks, I looked at the 1950s.  The top of the list was dominated by Disney cartoons.  I give up.  Kiddies rule, and kiddies have always ruled.

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If Saturday Night Live doesn’t have a hilarious skit tonight about the Mel Gibson-Oksana Grigorieva freak show, I will give up on Saturday Night Live.

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Seems obvious that Hollywood has it in for poor Mel Gibson.  How else to explain the type of people that casting directors keep pairing with him?

In the Lethal Weapon movies, Mel was forced to share screen time with potential rapist Danny Glover (above).  As if that wasn’t bad enough, Mel was also coerced into romancing leading ladies of the Jewish persuasion — Julia Roberts in Conspiracy Theory and Goldie Hawn in Bird on a Wire.

Aren’t there any nice, talented WASPs who could co-star with Mel?  Oh yes, there is one …

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Here is a picture of Vogue magazine’s cover.  More evidence that Mad Mel is correct and that the blacks are out to get our white women:

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How many real “movie stars” do we have left?  Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson are superb actors, but are they really old-school movie stars?  I would argue that we have about four super-duper, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am movie stars:  Tom Cruise, Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, and Mel Gibson. 

If I was Hanks or Roberts, I would take one look at the box office for Cruise’s latest film, and I would take another look at what’s going on with Gibson and … I’d go back to bed.

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Typo of the Week:

A CNN anchor was reporting about a mishap in space involving the International Space Station, and a crawl came across the bottom of the screen:  “… resupply ship flew passed space station …”

I went back to bed.

© 2010-2026 grouchyeditor.com (text only)

These are the eyes of Fox News anchor Harris Faulkner.  These eyes terrify me.  Her bulging peepers cause me sleeplessness.  I felt the need to share them with you. 

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Al Gore is accused of massage-parlor gropings.  If you were Al’s wife, would you trust this reptilian visage?

Looking at Faulkner’s eyeballs and Gore’s smarminess puts me in need of something cheerful.  So here is a smiley face:

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Hey fans, it’s that time again — World Cup soccer!

I live in Minnesota.  Other than Canada, there is no place in North America more rabid about hockey than my state.  People have been trying to turn me into a hockey fan my entire life.  It hasn’t worked.  Americans won’t take to soccer, either.

Soccer and hockey both suck on TV, and they aren’t a whole lot more fun to watch in person.  I’m sure they are fun to play, but as big-time spectator sports?  Nah.

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What’s wrong with this picture?

Yes, I understand that breast cancer is a serious matter, and no, I do not want breast-cancer research abolished.  But there is a story in Parade today about the amount of taxpayer money that goes into breast-cancer research, compared to funding for other cancers, cancers which happen to kill many more people.

Here are some numbers to ponder, from 2009:  Number One Killer — lung and bronchus cancer ($247 million for research); Number Two Killer — colon and rectum cancer ($264 million); Number Three Killer — breast cancer ($600 million); Number Four Killer — pancreas cancer ($90 million).  (All figures are for National Cancer Institute funding.)

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I really don’t care if 16-year-old Abby Sunderland becomes the youngest person to sail the world solo, or whatever it is she’s trying to do.  Bully for her.  And if the corpse of Ted Williams attempts to be the first dead body to climb Mount Everest, good for the Splendid Splinter. 

But when boneheaded sailors and climbers get into trouble and require thousands of taxpayer dollars to be saved, well, let them pay for their own damn rescue costs.  Australians are on the hook for little Miss Abby, who now informs the world that she can’t wait to try the whole adventure, all over again.  Why shouldn’t she, if she can get someone else to foot the bill for her next rescue?  From her blog:  “The loss of Wild Eyes [her yacht] will be deeply felt by Abby, who poured so much blood, sweat and tears into her.”

Boo hoo hoo.  Next time, let’s see her pour some money into her own rescue fees.

© 2010-2026 grouchyeditor.com (text only)

I just got back from the store.  While I was gone, I left on the television set.  And my computer.  And a number of lights.  I do this kind of thing a lot.  I am an American, dammit.

Of course BP is to blame for the oil spill.  And yes, government regulators failed to regulate.  But trashing the British seems a bit hypocritical unless we, the American consumers, get our act together and stop demanding so much oil on the cheap.

Worst of all are bonehead celebrities like Ashton Kutcher (below).  Though well-meaning, stars like Kutcher jet set around the world and live in oil-guzzling mansions.  And he’s upset about all of the oil drilling?

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I sense a Hollywood trend.  Last year, Sandra Bullock won a Razzie Award for Worst Actress in All About Steve.  She also won an Oscar for The Blind Side.  This year, Kim Cattrall is getting hammered for starring in what some critics call the worst film of the year, Sex and the City 2.  But she also stars in what I think might be the best film of the year:  The Ghost Writer.   Will Cattrall follow in Bullock’s footsteps?

Regardless of Cattrall’s fate this year, who among us will ever forget her memorable performance in Porky’s (below)?

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Joy Behar is growing on me.  I haven’t watched her on The View, because that entails getting out of bed in the morning, but on HLN’s The Joy Behar Show she’s funny and insightful.  Most refreshing:  She manages to keep her ego in check.  And is it possible she’s nearly 70 years old?

Bret Michaels is a great guy.  In fact, he might be a saint, because he once beat a brain hemorrhage and now he has diabetes.  He also once starred in a sex tape with Pamela Anderson and his tour bus was shot at.  The New York Times describes him as a “well-meaning has-been.”  He is a saint.

A.J. Hammer and Brooke Anderson of HLN’s Showbiz Tonight often chastise “the media.”  Silly me.  And here I thought that this sanctimonious, hypocritical duo was part of “the media.”

Unlikely Hero of the Week:  Bud Selig for getting something right by not overturning a blown call by the umpire during Armando Galarraga’s near-perfect game.  Baseball games are already too long; don’t make it worse by encouraging replays and overrules on every close play.

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“Well, this is just a massive cheat which I didn’t buy either of the two times I watched it.”

That’s a quote from a Huffington Post columnist and Lost fan who was, shall we say, underwhelmed by the series plot “resolutions” this week.  Now, here is a quote from Yours Truly, written back in January when the final season of this ABC show kicked off:

“I’m more reminded of another show I didn’t watch, but which, they say, went out in less than a blaze of glory:  The X Files.  I think it’s just too easy to come up with bizarre plot threads that tease viewers, and way too hard to actually resolve the nonsense.”

I could say, “I told you so,” and I believe I will.

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Venus Williams is not content playing world-class tennis.  No, she likes to make fashion statements, as well. Which explains, I guess, the lingerie-themed outfit she wore this week at the French Open.  I’m sorry, Venus, but after examining this picture, there is just one term that comes to mind — Man Butt.

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 Things I Care About … But Dear God, Why?

Lindsay Lohan — She doesn’t know me.  I don’t know her.  So why do I look up whenever I hear some fool mention her name on the television?  Ditto for Paris, Kim, et al.

Pro athletes — Pro sports franchises make billions by selling fans on the notion of team “loyalty.”  But that loyalty is always a one-way street.  If you’re a pro baseball player, for example, your loyalty is to the Yankees, because the Yankees pay the most money.

National politics — Most things that truly affect me happen on the local level:  speed limits, property taxes, etc.  Yet when it comes to political news, I spend most of my time watching blowhards on Fox or CNN debating our North Korea policy or some heated Senate battle in Nebraska.  I don’t know any North Koreans.  I don’t know any Nebraskans.

Things I Don’t Care About … But Probably Should:

My neighbors — I don’t even know their names.

Your snot-nosed kids — They’re your kids, not mine.  They should be your problem, not mine.  But not too long from now, your kids will either 1) pay for my Social Security, or 2) join street gangs and terrorize my neighborhood.

Things I Don’t Care About … But the Media Insists I Should:

Natural disasters in California —  I get it already.  You have mudslides, drought, and minor earthquakes.  I don’t care.

Airplane crashes — I guess the people who die in (rare) airplane crashes are more important than the people who die in (frequent) car crashes.

© 2010-2026 grouchyeditor.com (text only)

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Hold on to your Halstons, Sex and the City fever is upon us.  Again.

This got me to thinking about other male-female cultural disconnects.  Like Oprah Winfrey.

This disconnect serves our country well.  After all, if men were in charge of all voting, Pamela Anderson might be president.  But men also know, instinctively, that a woman like Winfrey is not to be trusted.  She loves her power too much, and we can picture her behind the curtain, being fed grapes and whipping her interns.

No, it’s good that men prevent Winfrey from becoming president.  And it’s good that not just women vote, or we might have a President Richard Simmons.  Although Simmons might be able to solve our obesity epidemic.

Speaking of gays in the spotlight … Newsweek columnist Ramin Setoodeh, who is homosexual, is feeling the heat of a ferocious backlash for daring to write about how gay actors have a tough time playing straight roles.  Entertainment Weekly columnist Mark Harris sniffed, “We may not be past this kind of thinking yet.”

OK, P.C. Harris, let me ask you this:  Would you pay good money to watch Richard Simmons, as Romeo, attempting to seduce Pamela Anderson, as Juliet?  You doth protest too much.

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