Hello, Trash Pandas! Welcome back to the Trash Report. I’m Elinor Jones, coming in hot, as in, it is hot outside, and I am hot. I am an Oregonian and I get whiny when the temperature falls outside of my preferred 45-75 degree range. (Climate change has made me more unbearable than usual, which is saying something.) The dumpsters are rank as hell, so let’s hold our noses and observe the trashiest news of the day.
National Trash
The president just keeps getting worse, and he also just keeps getting older: Trump turned 80 over the weekend, and celebrated with a tacky-ass cage fight on the White House lawn. The New York Times said he is uncomfortable with aging; hey, I know one way he could avoid watching those numbers creep up. Speaking of the crumbling bodies of elected leaders, Senator Mitch McConnell, 84, was hospitalized over the weekend for reasons that have not been disclosed as of the writing of this column. If I had to guess, I’d wager the cause of the hospitalization was “being 84.”
In much more exciting and joyful national news, the New York Knicks beat the San Antonio Spurs to clench their first National NBA title in 53 years, and the images out of the city have been beautifully celebratory. Somebody on social media described it as “opposite 9/11” and if that doesn’t capture the vibe I don’t know what does. The serotonin rush that the scrolling brings me has been next level. I don’t think the internet will feel as euphoric again until the day the thing happens.
All New Yorkers and New York institutions have been singing the Knicks’ praises. Most of them, anyway. Leading up to the game, Sesame Street’s Elmo tweeted “Elmo hopes both teams have fun!” and the internet dragged him to hell. Since Sesame Street is a stand-in for New York City, and Elmo not supporting his home team with his puppeted chest was akin to treason, basketball fans were ready to tar and feather Elmo’s furry red ass. I don’t know that they would literally stone him to death, but they did threaten him with Rocco, which is as close as it gets for Elmo.
Movies!
Summer movie season is officially in full swing, and I for one am pleasantly excited to live with a man of a certain age who grew up watching He-Man so we can go see Master of the Universe. I discussed this in my column for the Queer Issue (in print and for free at various locations all over the city now). I’m still worried that the movie won’t be campy enough based on the images of star Nicolas Galatzine in the trailer having a blond shag when he should have an aggressive Prince Valiant. It just doesn’t seem fair. I grew up watching friends and family look like stone-cold ding-dongs for Halloween in plastic He-Man masks, and now it’s gonna be on the table as a lazy last-minute costume for any ripped dude with shaggy hair? Wear the stupid hair, cowards!
In other movies about buff blondes, the Supergirl movie is coming out soon, and in a shock to absolutely no woman, it’s getting a bunch of shit from men. One of the issues? Allegations that Supergirl is not hot enough. The incel evidence to back up this claim is that the movie’s runtime is only 107 minutes, therefore the studio must not believe in it. Bitch: no. Just because everybody spent the last 10 years having to wear compression socks and adult diapers to make it through a Marvel movie does not mean that 107 minutes for a movie is a bad thing. The other movies were too long! When Harry Met Sally is widely regarded as one of the best scripts of all time because there is not one wasted word; every scene moves the plot forward and it is a completely seamless and intentional 96 minutes. No movie has any business being longer than two hours. This is a hill I will die on. Quickly. So that afterwards, my friends can still run errands, get dinner, and then make it into bed at a decent time.
More Nostalgia, Sorry
Tim Allen of Home Improvement and getting-arrested-for-dealing-cocaine fame is now bitching about how he can’t get his old show rebooted. In classic boomer fashion, he is blaming it on his adult children. He can’t get the former child actors to get on board with a reboot because two of them have no interest, and the third has been in and out of jail for drunk driving and domestic violence charges. Allen is citing “personality problems,” the way a Trump-voting parent tries to say that their child’s “roommate” has made it so difficult to schedule visits these days.
But in happier news, eternal heartthrob Mark Paul Gosselaar of Saved by the Bell is going to be in a new show about what sounds like a male Hooters that he has been out promoting, and he’s been accused of wearing fake abs while doing so. Not to make you feel one million years old, but Zack Morris is 52; whatever bit of his body might be prosthetic, his face is real, and he can still get it. We’re lucky he wants to be doing anything at all. He could be like those Home Improvement boys.
Lighting Round
Quick bit of bad news: Lifestyle guru and actress Gwyneth Paltrow is now shilling for luxury condos in Israel. Big yikes over here. I may need to reconsider my subscription to her vagina candles.
And I’ll counter that with a quick bit of good news: Keke Palmer recently appeared on Hot Ones and her chemistry with host Sean Evans was as hot as all those sauces. And they might actually be dating?! This is adorable, even though we all know that both of their intestinal tracks have got to be fucked for days after taping the show. As long as they have separate bathrooms on their romantic getaways: cute.
Local Sports!
Again, congrats to everyone in New York for the Knicks’ big win, but ouch for having to wear the tackiest color combo known to man. Royal blue and orange? No, thank you. The Blazers may not be winning, but at least our color story will be chic when we do.
But watching the videos of people filling the streets and breaking out into song—from “New York, New York” to “Empire State of Mind”—I wondered what Portland would do if we made it up there again. We could hit the streets. We’re good at that. Smashing a few cop cars? No prob. But what song would we sing in jubilation? The Oregonian put together this list of Oregon songs and it’s not looking good. So, let’s iron this out. We’ve got our fashion and penchant for street mayhem dialed in; once we figure out a winning song that encapsulates our local spirit, the Blazers can turn their focus to other team-building efforts.
But that is for a later time. For now, the only thing we in Portland need to keep celebrating is Pride, and here’s a great song for that:
Pridefully,
