July 24, 2008 Issue

By popular request, here is the updated list of Things I Could Care Less About (but apparently, I do care enough to write about them):

1. Angelina Jolie and her newborn twins. What a wonderful world this would be if every child could grow up under intense media scrutiny. (I am, however, happy to hear that Jolie finally reconciled with her father, the equally kooky Jon Voight.)
   
2. The New Yorker magazine. My sister reminded me of the Warren Zevon incident from a few years back. The terminally ill music great was approached by the artsy rag about doing a profile, and he declined since they never seemed to care about him when he wasn’t dying. Add to that the recent allegedly “satirical” cartoon cover and the fact that even the yearly All Cartoon Issue is only about 25 percent funny. Also, the New Yorker without James Thurber or Pauline Kael is about as useless as a Death Wish movie without Charles Bronson.
   
3. Nearly everything on the Yahoo! Top Searches list. I mean, who the hell are Megan Fox, Kaley Cuoco, and Sarah Larson? Although Miley Cyrus, Improve Your Credit Score, and America Ferrera (TV’s Ugly Betty) ring a bell, this continuously updated monstrosity only serves to remind me of how out of touch I am with “hip” America.
   
4. The Emmy Awards. As far as honoring quality work in their field—in this case, the boob tube—these guys aren’t as offensive as, say, the Grammys. But how could any thinking, English-speaking person ignore HBO’s The Wire, the best series in the history of television? The Emmy saps overlooked the show’s first four seasons, and this was their last chance to redeem themselves. Idiots.
   
5. The upcoming election. There’s a reason more people will vote on So You Think You Can Dance? than cast ballots for Leader of the Free World. Attractive people with nice bodies are infinitely more interesting than Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber.
   
6. Jesse Jackson’s faux pas. It’s not that he was clueless enough to think Fox News wouldn’t leave his mic on during the commercial break. It’s that a leader and so-called man of God would use the n-word, ever.
   
7. Everyone whining about gas prices. There are untapped oil resources out there, folks. I mean, didn’t you see Armageddon?
   
8. Any major league baseball team other than the Chicago Cubs. And they’re sure to break my heart again this season.
   
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And, now, on to things I do care about…

Our Web site (www.thebeachcomber.org) continues to leave all others in a cloud of sugar white sand, thanks to the efforts of Bill Garrett, and Zeb and Jon from Media Fuzion. You can still peruse selected articles from the archives, and our vacationing readers can enjoy entire issues in easy-to-browse PDF format at the click of a clicker.

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Some of our readers have griped that The Beachcomber is no longer available at a certain big chain store that shall remain nameless and is where Garth Brooks and Eagles choose to sell their new CDs exclusively, and enough with those smiley faces already. I’m pleased as Hawaiian Punch to unveil our new user-friendly Where to Pick Up a Copy list in this issue.

And if you own or operate a business that would like to carry our acclaimed publication, simply drop us an email at thebeachcomber@earthllink.net.

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This issue includes your favorite regular features and some new pieces we hope you’ll enjoy. Bruce Collier gives us the lowdown on a unique new produce seller, Off the Vine, and checks out the new menu at Destin’s famous Fisherman’s Wharf restaurant.

Breanne Boland, our Seattle correspondent, continues to plug away with the busiest summer reading list in the history of the printed word. The Beat visits talented singer-songwriter Drew Reid at Woody’s Local Safe Sex Bar, while The Roving Rogue visits every place else.

Add to this Adam Pope’s take on the new Eddie Murphy film, Charles Morgan’s report from the Bahamas, new humor columnist Pepper James, and tons of useful information, and you have in your hands Our Finest Issue Ever.

And it’s still FREE, sagging economy be darned.

- C.M.

More editorials from Christopher Manson