Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Mel Gibson amuses me

not through his films. I've never been able to stay awake through one of them, except the Patriot, which I saw in a theater. I think the sheer lameness of the film kept me awake, or maybe I had an ample supply of popcorn.

In these glum times he provides a little comic relief. First by his stupid remarks, then the way everyone piled up on him, and then his breast-beating and multiple apologies. I expect to see him in a tallit and payes any day now, praying at the west wall.

I enjoy the Gibson jokes that are floating around the Internet, the cartoons, the parodies on late night tv, the cartoons, etc. Gibson has given me more pleasure in his role as a rank anti-semite than he ever did through his efforts at legit entertainment.

We can all dump on Gibson without harm. It's good, clean fun, and it doesn't hurt him any. He still retains his millions, his family, his many homes and his other possessions, including Malibu, apparently.

I admit to a bad case of schadenfreude, taking delight in the foibles and misfortunes of others, particularly rich, famous others. I like to read about Naomi whatsherface's attack on her maids, Whitney whoever absently leaving her baby in the middle of the street or dropping him on his head. A really juicy divorce can keep me going for weeks. The Woody Allen-Mia Farrow thing was a gift, a story full of fascinating details. Did you know that Woody has a gym, a real gym, in his Manhattan apartment? Also, that he refuses to bathe if the drain is not centered in the floor of the shower? Needless to say, she's also nuts.

Mr Charm pretends to be above all this petty stuff, and only reads the war news and the political news, which make him despondent and angry.

There are two reasons why I enjoy celebrities' capers: 1. They prove that you don't have to be smart to be rich, which is a comfort; and 2. It's a pleasure to read about someone dafter than my own family.

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