Archie, You Moron

Many moons ago, I owned a "Little Archie" digest that featured a familiar story: Betty lobbies for Archie's affections, and he reacts like a jerk. Because Archie didn't want to walk Betty home from school, he took her through a muddy, meandering route that ruined her outfit and hair. Veronica, in typical mean girl fashion, laughed at Betty when the pair arrived at the Choklit Shoppe.

Archie felt so bad that he offered to walk Betty to school properly the next day, and he even gave her a lock of his hair. However, I was disappointed that Betty let him off the hook so easily and continued to carry a torch for him. I also never completely forgave Archie for being such an asshole, which is probably something to be discussed with a therapist.

Now, there's proof that Archie is an idiot in matters of the heart: CNN reports that Archie will pop the question to Veronica — Veronica! — in a special 32-page issue. The comic will explore the post-college lives of the Riverdale gang, and it's clear from her blog that Betty is heartbroken.

I get that Veronica's wealth, sophistication and overall hotness would be alluring to a 17-year-old boy. But Betty is just as pretty, and I don't recall her once berating Archie for running out of money, driving a piece of shit vehicle or not catering to her every whim. Besides, Archie isn't exactly a Mensa member, so unless his music career takes off, how does he expect to keep Veronica in Gucci and Tiffany? He'll be singing a different tune when he's filing for bankruptcy at 28.

Here's how I'd write that script: Reggie gets his act together, becomes a nice guy (with an edge) and sweeps dear Betty off of her feet. For all his issues, Reggie has always been sexier, funnier and more ambitious than his red-haired nemesis. Living happily ever after with Reggie would be sweet, sweet revenge for Betty Cooper. Archie would be doomed to a life of regret and sending Betty sad e-mails.

I have a theory about why Betty, Veronica and bodacious troublemaker Cheryl Blossom have been fighting over Archie all these years, but I've already said too much.

Fingers Crossed For "Glee"

As someone who has a habit of liking critically-acclaimed shows that get canceled, I'm wary of getting too attached to "Glee." It's a funny, quirky show about geeks, one that assumes (correctly) that high school mostly blows. And when has that ever panned out?

But if the pilot episode is indicative of what's to come, I hope "Glee" makes it. Maybe it doesn't achieve the greatness of "Freaks and Geeks," but it's got loads of potential.

When a high school glee club loses its director in a scandal, teacher Will Schuester (Matthew Morrison) steps in to keep it going and to reconnect with his passion for song. But even the principal thinks glee club is for losers, refusing to pony up the $40 a month required to run it. But Schuester isn't dissuaded, and once word gets out, the school's aspiring songbirds come forward.

These kids are my people — ambitious nerds who have that "One day you losers will know how awesome I am" gleam in their eye. Rachel (Lea Michele), who is talented but delusional, uploads new performance video daily on her MySpace page. Diva-in-training Mercedes (Amber Riley) declares that she shouldn't be singing backup because "I'm Beyonce, not Kelly Rowland." The only member with any social standing is quarterback Finn (Cory Monteith), a Troy Bolton type who wants to throw footballs and sing show tunes.

But my favorite glee club member, by far, is Kurt (Chris Colfer), who is clearly a friend of Dorothy. He begs the jocks to remove his Marc Jacobs jacket before they toss him into the dumpster, and when he belts out "Cellophane Man" during his audition, he does so with a hand on his hip and an I-do-this-in-my-sleep stroke of his bangs.

Perhaps best of all, "Glee" has the wonderful Jane Lynch, playing a ball-busting cheerleading coach who sees the new club as a threat. No one delivers a put-down quite like Lynch, who, upon seeing one of her cheerleaders flub a move, says, "You think this is hard? Being water-boarded is hard."

My only quibble is that Schuester's Pottery Barn-obsessed wife is a shade too unlikable to be believed. Otherwise, "Glee" has captured my attention in a way network television hasn't for years. When it returns in the fall, I'll be there with my jazz hands ready.

Oranges Need To Get Over Themselves

With apologies to the genius blog that is F*ck You, Penguin

I'm over you, orange. You're clinging to your glory days as Florida's official fruit and a semi-exotic foodstuff, but I know what you really are. Common. Cheap. At $1.99 a bag, you aren't fooling anyone.

So the fact that you're so freaking difficult to peel pisses me off. Do you think playing hard to get makes me value you more highly? Look, you're just the pit stop between breakfast and lunch, not some carefully considered purchase from the farmer's market or New Leaf. You're not even organic.

I only bought you because I got bored with apples and grapes, and tangerines weren't available. Tangerines are sweet and easy. They don't put on airs or act like they're too good to be sectioned. You, on the other hand, expect to be labored over and earned. Please. You're not a lychee.

If you think I'm going to waste my time delicately peeling away your layers of so-called complexity, you are sadly mistaken. Say hello to my little friend the sharp knife.

Jerk.

I Knew Craig Ferguson Was Awesome ...

But not THIS awesome!

Following Darth

Among the many things that sucked about the "Star Wars" prequels was George Lucas' explanation for Darth Vader's evil. The idea is that Anakin's losses (his mom, his babies' mama) combined with his anger led him to become his galaxy's Josef Stalin.

That seemed kinda lame. I think evil is more disturbing when its reason for being is essentially unknowable. It challenges our hope that human beings are basically good unless circumstances damage them in some way. Learning that Vader was once a whiny teenager with girl problems takes away from the mystery and the menace. Why does fantasy need a backstory anyway?

Someone on Twitter clearly shares my preference for the iron-fisted James Earl Jones model, and I am hooked. Among the many highlights of "Darth Vader's" tweets:

Mad Sith props to Dick Cheney for his recent whirl-wind media tour. I gain 100+ followers every time he opens his evil maw.

I am altering the oatmeal. Pray I don't alter it further.

Just be glad I don't celebrate Earth Day the way I celebrated Alderaan Day.

If you're stinging from the BSG spoilers on Twitter, maybe this will take some of the edge off — I am Luke's father.

Tony Danza is not the boss. I am.

Genius. To follow Darth — and you will if you know what's good for you — click here.

Dick Grayson: An Appreciation (Of Sorts)

I know Dick Grayson isn't real and that if he were, he'd be plenty legal by now. But it used to make me feel a tad queasy whenever comics made reference to Grayson's (aka Nightwing) hotness or sex life. I mentioned this to my friend Shag a year or two ago, because I was beginning to get the feeling that Nightwing had either hooked up with every young woman in the D.C. universe or figured prominently in their fantasies. His reply was along the lines of, "Heck, yes. This is why he is a hero among male D.C. readers."

Grayson hasn't been Batman's teen sidekick for years, but being confronted with this is a little like running into the kid you used to babysit and realizing that he's not only a college senior but also incredibly good-looking. And ripped. It seems wrong, if not illegal, to notice.

Oh, well. Artist Nicola Stewart kicked that door down with a fabulously glute-tastic panel of Nightwing in the latest issue of "Secret Six." Dang. I guess fighting crime with circus-honed acrobatics is a hell of a workout. My friend V. confessed that she stared at that particular panel for 10 minutes. A Facebook friend, also female, virtually high-fived my mention of this particular rendering.

I am now of the opinion that Stewart should draw Nightwing, like, all the time.

I Have A Bad Feeling About This

My husband claims that I'm a movie snob, but I really don't know enough about film to qualify for the label. While my tastes tend to skew Miracle 5, I will not turn down a well-executed blockbuster or mainstream movie. Plus, I own "Twilight," so that's a blow to my credibility right there.

However, there are certain kinds of movies that I almost always refuse to see. Anything overly earnest that beats me over the head with "uplift" is a non-starter. But even worse are movies whose promotional posters might as well say, "You're a chick, so you'll like this." I might make an exception if I really like the actress (Isla Fisher's "Confessions of a Shopaholic" comes to mind), but not even Ann Hathaway could persuade me to see "Bridal Wars." Kate Hudson was in it, and she seems to specialize in the kind of films I'm allergic to.

Which brings me to "My Life in Ruins," a rom-com starring Nia Vardalos of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" fame (Never saw it). My friend M. sent me a link to the trailer with the note, "I dare you not to throw up." Wow. It's like someone put "How Stella Got Her Groove Back," "Under the Tuscan Sun" and "Hope Floats" in a blender and added an extra helping of cliches. I knew it was headed downhill when Vardalos' wacky heroine revealed, "I came (to Greece) to reconnect with my soul. Find my mojo." For real?

By the time the trailer faded out to the strains of Natasha Bedingfield's "Pocket Full of Sunshine," I did feel a little queasy. But this movie will probably make gobs of money, so what do I know?