Alleged comedian and part-time health care policy wonk Jimmy Kimmel demonstrates the blank stare and vacuous grin associate with an unsuccessful pre-frontal lobotomy. (ABC/Randy Holmes) JIMMY KIMMEL
I got tired of “Garfield” (–the Cat) pretty early in the game. Sure, his snarky laziness was edgy and culturally transgressive. He certainly wasn’t “Marmaduke”. But, after about a year of his half-closed eyelids and endless lasagna jokes, Garfield stopped being funny.
Garfield just got boring.
Same Deal with Jimmy Kimmel. He was worth a smirk or two back in the days of “Win Ben Stein’s Money”, sitting atop the safe that contained all of the cash therein. He was a smarmy little Gen-X’er, with his culturally-hip un-tucked shirt, and endless double-and-triple entendre.
Now Kimmel is just part of the passing parade of over-indulged late-nite tongue waggers. Who remembers Tom Snyder? Or the “Thicke of the Night”? Jimmy Kimmel. Yawn.
That he has a very sick child is both heartbreaking and sobering. But, there are hundreds of thousands of Americans with gravely ill children who we’ve never heard of, who have no voice –while they watch helplessly as their access to timely, affordable medical treatments is disemboweled by all manner of politicians, customer’s-men, shysters, and the truly dim-witted.
But, these suffering parents do it alone, with their little circle of friends, and family, and perhaps a congregant or two. That Jimmy Kimmel would shill out his own sick child in the cause of his political ends is particularly repulsive when stacked against these other Americans.
Also, his attachment to the Greater Good is both spectacularly silly (–standing as he does in the klieg-lights, as his salary and bennies chug away into his direct-deposit accounts) and thoroughly tenuous: If a sick child makes you a moral authority on governmental Health Care Policy, having a grandmother who was an actual slave makes me a moral authority on Race Relations.
They will listen to Jimmy. They won’t listen to me, though. I’m just some schulb no one has ever heard of, sitting at my desk in Northern Michigan. I don’t count. Joan Rivers wannabes do.
My Grandma Rosen was a Russian Jew who survived the 1905 Odessa Pogrom by hiding at various times under a neighbor’s porch, or in the attic across the street. As a Jew in Czarist Russia at the time, she and her family were landless serfs: They could farm the land, and take what ammounted to the gleanings. They could come and go, but they could never profit from it.
It’s slavery by another term.
Thus, as the grandchild of slaves, I am a Civil Rights Moral Authority.
Oh: And Gramma Rosen was blonde, blue-eyed, and as transluscently white as this computer screen.
White Lives Matter. Ooops– can I say that?
If I were Jimmy Kimmel, I could.