It's that time of year again, and don't worry, I'm here for you. While everyone else gets to pontificate about the Gaza Strip over their beers and cigarettes, I know I'm expected to deal with the questions everybody asks after they're sure the people they wanted to impress have already left the party. So here, for all of you who talk Iraq but TiVo The OC, are the most urgent inquiries from this week's inbox:
Steve, isn't it alarming that Victoria "Posh Spice" Beckham has written a 528-page autobiography but confesses she has never read a book in her life? Uh, no, actually, it isn't. When did everybody suddenly turn into Harold Bloom? I don't get what the big shock is; she was never called Brainy Spice. I've never believed the woman could walk and talk at the same time, let alone tell me why the caged bird sings. And, hel-lo, have you seen her husband? David Beckham can shred my library card anytime he wants.
Steve, should New York's Kathleen Cullen Fine Arts gallery have been forced to remove Mark Chamberlain's watercolors featuring Batman and Robin in homoerotic poses? Absolutely. DC Comics is nothing if not fierce in the belief that its beloved American icons should only be depicted in the highest quality manner, to which anyone who remembers the sterling animation behind Challenge of the Superfriends can attest. I don't like what Cullen and that nasty little Chamberlain fellow were trying to suggest, anyway. I suppose next week they'll be hanging large oil and egg tempura works of Frodo and Sam dropping the soap. Batman is so not gay. Loyal comic-book readers everywhere can provide you with all the proof you need, just as soon they finish masturbating to Alias—The Complete Third Season.
Steve, why can't we show a little sympathy for Jennifer Aniston? Look, I think Jen is cute as a button, and seeing her half-naked despondency in Vanity Fair really tugged at the ol' heartstrings. I know she's been through a period in her life that I can only imagine. I'll bet that every year for four years, Jennifer had to push her life to the side to accommodate the needs of Brad Pitt. I'll bet Brad came home from long European shoots, tired and randy, grabbing at Jen and making her hang up on Courtney Cox right in the middle of a conversation. I'll bet he walked around the house naked and unshaved in the morning, yawning, scratching his nether regions, and asking Jen if she'd rather attend the pool party at Clooney's place or just stay home and make up for lost time. Wait—what was the question again?
Steve, what's the most hotly anticipated show of the new television season? That would be CBS's Ghost Whisperer, in which an empathetic Jennifer Love Hewitt sees dead things—wandering spirits, souls in purgatorial torment, and, presumably, her movie career. Despite the occasional professional setback and the nagging feeling that she and Posh Spice have a similar literary bent, Jennifer Love Hewitt works fairly regularly for two big reasons, both of which have been prominently displayed in all of her roles: talent, and more talent.
Satisfied? Now go quietly back to your Mother Jones and no one will be the wiser. We'll just keep this between you and me.
swiecking@seattleweekly.com
