What? Huh? What?!  They are making yet another movie based on a book with no plot whatsoever. They (as in Hollywood folk) are making another movie based on only a title. A title of a book that you would find at a garage sale. Or, maybe it would just be in a box in front of someone’s house with a sign that says, “Free books. Take one.” But, there’s a good chance no one would take the books so the books would eventually get rained on,  moldy, and finally, thrown away. The next book to get the He’s Just Not That Into You and What To Expect When You’re Expecting treatment is the highly-relevant and still-a-topic-of-cocktail-party-conversation-everywhere, Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. Reese Witherspoon is starring in it. (Reese! You should have called me to discuss this.) I think the next two titles to be turned into movies will be What Color Is Your Parachute? and a book my mom had that Jane Fonda wrote that introduced the world to aerobics. You totally know the book. She was wearing a pink leotard and had a thing wrapped around her forehead. (If you know the actual name for that hair accessory please let me know. It would be called a headband except headbands go over one’s head and this goes over the forehead. A mid-headband?) Yes, Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus, And Hollywood Producers Are Pulling Movie Ideas Out Of Their Uranuses.  (Budumpup.) UPDATED TWO SECONDS AFTER I WROTE THIS: Very important news. Jane Fonda wasn’t wearing the thing around her head. I looked online. She was wearing a red and black striped leotard. Olivia Newton John was wearing a pink leotard and a thing around her head on the cover of her “Let’s Get Physical” record that I listened to over and over and over. Please, please accept my apology.

What? Huh? What?! 

They are making yet another movie based on a book with no plot whatsoever. They (as in Hollywood folk) are making another movie based on only a title. A title of a book that you would find at a garage sale. Or, maybe it would just be in a box in front of someone’s house with a sign that says, “Free books. Take one.” But, there’s a good chance no one would take the books so the books would eventually get rained on,  moldy, and finally, thrown away.

The next book to get the He’s Just Not That Into You and What To Expect When You’re Expecting treatment is the highly-relevant and still-a-topic-of-cocktail-party-conversation-everywhere, Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. Reese Witherspoon is starring in it. (Reese! You should have called me to discuss this.)

I think the next two titles to be turned into movies will be What Color Is Your Parachute? and a book my mom had that Jane Fonda wrote that introduced the world to aerobics. You totally know the book. She was wearing a pink leotard and had a thing wrapped around her forehead. (If you know the actual name for that hair accessory please let me know. It would be called a headband except headbands go over one’s head and this goes over the forehead. A mid-headband?)

Yes, Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus, And Hollywood Producers Are Pulling Movie Ideas Out Of Their Uranuses. 

(Budumpup.)

UPDATED TWO SECONDS AFTER I WROTE THIS: Very important news. Jane Fonda wasn’t wearing the thing around her head. I looked online. She was wearing a red and black striped leotard. Olivia Newton John was wearing a pink leotard and a thing around her head on the cover of her “Let’s Get Physical” record that I listened to over and over and over. Please, please accept my apology.

My problem with Charlie Sheen has nothing to do with his struggles with addiction. Nothing. My problem with Charlie Sheen is his well-documented history of violence against women. And, my problem is also with FX (home of his shitty-looking new sitcom) Rolling Stone (he’s on the cover), New York Times (a ginormous profile of him runs this weekend), MTV (he just appeared at its slick, shiny Movie Awards) and all of the other outlets that are hopping on the Sheen comeback train. Or want to hop on if he’ll grace them with an interview or a funny line about his tiger blood. Do you know how Rolling Stone is promoting its cover story? Here’s the first line: “Charlie Sheen looks back on his rocky past while plotting the next phase of his career.” Rocky past? Is that what beating your wives is called these days? That’s how the Rolling Stone story begins. Here’s another story for you. It’s a little more than a year old. It’s from the March 5, 2011 edition of the Los Angeles Times: “Charlie Sheen’s estranged wife said this week that the TV star vowed to decapitate her and send her severed head to her mother.”  There are other past articles. But, when you read about Sheen this weekend, my guess is that you won’t read much about them. So, I’ll just take a moment to point out that he’s pleaded no contest twice on charges of domestic violence. There have been other charges that never went anywhere because his girlfriends/wives wouldn’t testify. Instead, you’ll read euphemisms about the star’s past. You’re going to hear a lot about his “rocky past” and “train wreck” ways. The headline for the New York Times profile is “Repentant? No Way, Man.” Well, I don’t think he is the only one who should be sorry.

My problem with Charlie Sheen has nothing to do with his struggles with addiction. Nothing.

My problem with Charlie Sheen is his well-documented history of violence against women. And, my problem is also with FX (home of his shitty-looking new sitcom) Rolling Stone (he’s on the cover), New York Times (a ginormous profile of him runs this weekend), MTV (he just appeared at its slick, shiny Movie Awards) and all of the other outlets that are hopping on the Sheen comeback train. Or want to hop on if he’ll grace them with an interview or a funny line about his tiger blood.

Do you know how Rolling Stone is promoting its cover story? Here’s the first line: “Charlie Sheen looks back on his rocky past while plotting the next phase of his career.” Rocky past? Is that what beating your wives is called these days?

That’s how the Rolling Stone story begins. Here’s another story for you. It’s a little more than a year old. It’s from the March 5, 2011 edition of the Los Angeles Times: “Charlie Sheen’s estranged wife said this week that the TV star vowed to decapitate her and send her severed head to her mother.” 

There are other past articles. But, when you read about Sheen this weekend, my guess is that you won’t read much about them. So, I’ll just take a moment to point out that he’s pleaded no contest twice on charges of domestic violence. There have been other charges that never went anywhere because his girlfriends/wives wouldn’t testify.

Instead, you’ll read euphemisms about the star’s past. You’re going to hear a lot about his “rocky past” and “train wreck” ways.

The headline for the New York Times profile is “Repentant? No Way, Man.”

Well, I don’t think he is the only one who should be sorry.

I’m smiling. Something has been bothering me for the past eight years — not every moment of every day but on occasion — and now, I find out, that I can let out a big, sigh of relief because the kid is alright. First, some back story. Last Tuesday, I posted an open letter to Rebecca Black. I didn’t like that major publications were mocking a 13-year-old girl who had a video on YouTube. (Time.com: “hilariously dreadful… a train wreck”; Entertainment Weekly.com: “a robotic, idiotic, party anthem”; Gawker.com: “Is this the worst music video ever?”) At the time, Rebecca Black had not conducted any interviews, and I offered her some feeble advice: maybe she could do a FunnyorDie skit, deliver Letterman’s Top Ten List or duet with Elton John when he hosts SNL to show the world that she was okay and “in” on the joke? It turns out, she didn’t need me or my lame advice. She’s fine. According to the Los Angeles Times, she’s currently “netting roughly $24,900 per week from track sales of her surprise hit song.” You know what I think? Good. I’m done worrying about how Rebecca Black is feeling. This brings me to something I read in Babble.com. It was a reference to the “Star Wars Kid.” Do you remember him? There was PRIVATE footage of a teenage boy from Quebec pretending to wield a light saber – with great enthusiasm. One of his “friends” found the footage and posted it online. The video went viral and was viewed at least one billion times. I could barely watch the video eight years ago – although I admit I did. I felt so bad for the boy. How many dippy things had I done in the privacy of my bedroom? I used to sit in front of the mirror with a hairbrush and pretend I was being interviewed by Arsenio Hall. (I mean, of all the talk shows, I chose to go on Arsenio? And, I didn’t even have anything to promote.) I danced with my best friend to Madonna’s “Lucky Star” in fifth grade at our all-school talent show – and we had five and only five “moves” that we just repeated over and over. I also performed as Axl Rose with my friends at our high school graduation party. I shudder to think what would have become of me if any of those doofy moments ended up on YouTube. (And yes, it’s technically impossible because I’m 36 and they didn’t have YouTube when I was in the fifth grade or even high school but just go with me here.) So, let me get back to the “Star Wars Kid.” My heart ached for him when I saw his video eight years ago. But guess what? I just read a Motherboard article on him from June. He’s fine. He’s great. He’s smart. And, he’s looking good! What’s he up to? Well, he’s president of “a conservation society that aims to preserve the cultural heritage of his hometown of Trois-Rivières” (okay, cool. I don’t really know what that involves but good for him) and he’s getting a law degree at McGill University in Montreal. Three cheers for the “Star Wars Kid.” And, I promise I’ll never say “Star Wars Kid” again. He probably doesn’t like being called that. Okay, enough from me. I probably lost some readers because I’m a sap and worry too much. I know that there are much, much bigger issues — and, believe me, I worry about those too. But, for right now, at this moment, I’m celebrating. The “Star Wars Kid” is okay! (Oops, that was the last time I’ll say it.) What do you think? I have (supposedly) a humor blog on parenting. Should I learn to lighten up? Am I being too sensitive? What do you think?

I’m smiling. Something has been bothering me for the past eight years — not every moment of every day but on occasion — and now, I find out, that I can let out a big, sigh of relief because the kid is alright.

First, some back story. Last Tuesday, I posted an open letter to Rebecca Black. I didn’t like that major publications were mocking a 13-year-old girl who had a video on YouTube. (Time.com: “hilariously dreadful… a train wreck”; Entertainment Weekly.com: “a robotic, idiotic, party anthem”; Gawker.com: “Is this the worst music video ever?”)

At the time, Rebecca Black had not conducted any interviews, and I offered her some feeble advice: maybe she could do a FunnyorDie skit, deliver Letterman’s Top Ten List or duet with Elton John when he hosts SNL to show the world that she was okay and “in” on the joke? It turns out, she didn’t need me or my lame advice. She’s fine. According to the Los Angeles Times, she’s currently “netting roughly $24,900 per week from track sales of her surprise hit song.” You know what I think? Good. I’m done worrying about how Rebecca Black is feeling.

This brings me to something I read in Babble.com. It was a reference to the “Star Wars Kid.” Do you remember him? There was PRIVATE footage of a teenage boy from Quebec pretending to wield a light saber – with great enthusiasm. One of his “friends” found the footage and posted it online. The video went viral and was viewed at least one billion times. I could barely watch the video eight years ago – although I admit I did. I felt so bad for the boy. How many dippy things had I done in the privacy of my bedroom? I used to sit in front of the mirror with a hairbrush and pretend I was being interviewed by Arsenio Hall. (I mean, of all the talk shows, I chose to go on Arsenio? And, I didn’t even have anything to promote.) I danced with my best friend to Madonna’s “Lucky Star” in fifth grade at our all-school talent show – and we had five and only five “moves” that we just repeated over and over. I also performed as Axl Rose with my friends at our high school graduation party. I shudder to think what would have become of me if any of those doofy moments ended up on YouTube. (And yes, it’s technically impossible because I’m 36 and they didn’t have YouTube when I was in the fifth grade or even high school but just go with me here.)

So, let me get back to the “Star Wars Kid.” My heart ached for him when I saw his video eight years ago. But guess what? I just read a Motherboard article on him from June. He’s fine. He’s great. He’s smart. And, he’s looking good! What’s he up to? Well, he’s president of “a conservation society that aims to preserve the cultural heritage of his hometown of Trois-Rivières” (okay, cool. I don’t really know what that involves but good for him) and he’s getting a law degree at McGill University in Montreal. Three cheers for the “Star Wars Kid.” And, I promise I’ll never say “Star Wars Kid” again. He probably doesn’t like being called that.

Okay, enough from me. I probably lost some readers because I’m a sap and worry too much. I know that there are much, much bigger issues — and, believe me, I worry about those too. But, for right now, at this moment, I’m celebrating. The “Star Wars Kid” is okay! (Oops, that was the last time I’ll say it.)

What do you think? I have (supposedly) a humor blog on parenting. Should I learn to lighten up? Am I being too sensitive? What do you think?