Damn Columnists

The Ebert & Roeper show comes on at 12:30 am Mondays, and Saurabh and I go to the trouble of recording it and watching it later every week - and if you think that's something we'd do for any show, you obviously have no clue how lazy we are. Roger Ebert and Richard Roeper are excellent as movie reviewers: their opinions happen to largely coincide with mine, they bicker in a very entertaining fashion, and they're colourful in their insults when they bash movies. So far, so good. But then I head over to Richard Roeper's column at the Chicago Sun Times... that's when it starts to get hairy.

You can smell something fishy from a mile off when Wikipedia warns:

The topics of his columns range from politics to media to entertainment, and he has written several books on film criticism and urban myths.

Film criticism and urban myths? Not only is that almost as weird a combination as skiing and shooting, it also reeks of desperation. It's the sort of thing already-kinda-famous people write in order to say that they, too, have Written A Book. (See Madonna writing five [why exactly five??] children's books, etc.) It'll sell, of course, because publicity will sell anything, but you just know everybody who's buying it is getting it for that friend who watches Ebert & Roeper diligently. It's the kind of book that has "generic Christmas present" stamped all over it.

But whatever. You stick a perfumed hanky under your nose and click on the hyperlink that leads to the page of the man himself. Headlines such as "Age Old Issue: Leading Men Get Hot Young Girls" and "Would You Take A Gamble On A Woman Who Bets?" stare up at you. The stench is beginning to overpower the lavender perfume. Inhale deeply while you still can, and sample the wares.

Hot or not? Does it make a woman more attractive if she's got a thing for betting on sports events, or is it a major turnoff?

What the... ??

And you come to a sub-heading: "She's even 'bettor' looking"

Gag. Move on. The column rambles and grunts and emits odours periodically, then finally puffs into its conclusion:

A woman who gambles is like a woman who smokes cigars. It might be sexy at first, but after a while it loses the novelty value.

Well. That sure is mightly enlightening, Mr. Roeper. You'll forgive me if I don't do the Eureka! Eureka! dance - I might puke if I let go of my hanky.

I've always had strong internal cribbage going on about how easy columnists have it, but this takes the cake: it is the height of overrating to publish and celebrate this crap in such a prestigious newspaper. It is as if the New York Times Book Review started focusing exclusively on Mills & Boon romances.

You know what? Balls to Roeper. I bet I can do better, and this time I'm not just saying it. Beginning today, I'm going to be doing a column on this blog every weekday, and let's see if I can make it funnier than Roeper's oh-am-I-supposed-to-laugh-here-ok-ha-ha style.

Consider this my first. Welcome to Wendelin's Columns.

PS: Want to read other, actually funny/insightful regular columns? Head over to Juice and Waiter Rant.

Tags:

• misc
• columns