Actor-director Mel Gibson and his girlfriend, Oksana Grigorieva, are the new parents of a daughter named Lucia, his spokesman confirmed to CNN.

No other details were released about the baby, who was born Friday at an undisclosed hospital in Los Angeles, California.

Baby Lucia is the eighth child for Gibson, 53, and the second for Grigorieva, 39. Gibson has six sons and a daughter from his marriage to his wife of 30 years, Robyn. The couple filed for divorce in April.

Oh, and they have no plans to get married.

That’s what I like to see. A man who is so religious that he made a whole movie about Jesus, did an enormous amount of Jew-baiting to get the movie publicized, and who apparently can’t seem to follow the teachings of the guy he made the film about because he is so devout. Let’s see, as I’m not Catholic, I’m not up on my mortal sins, but aren’t adultery and fornication pretty high up there on the list?

It truly is Hypocrite Day here at Yourish.com.

But if there’s anything scaring me these days, it’s the blatant use of celebrity opinions with regard to [the correct version, FYI] health care reform. I am appalled at the obviously widespread school of thought among the glitterati that those of us who don’t appear in cheesy horror flicks and bad 1980s TV series care one whit about what actors actually think.

Like Robert Englund, who slams those of us opposed to socialized health care as fearmongerers and liars:

If we’re going to achieve effective health care in this country, we need an honest public discussion based on facts: how do we pay for reform, how will it work, who will be covered?

These are important issues than cannot be solved while lobbyists, pundits and “tea-baggers” are muddying the waters by marketing fear. The only people who should be scared by health care reform are those who make a profit off of other people’s suffering and illness.

And, of course, he has to slam the Tea Party movement, the only truly grassroots political movement in America today, with the sexual insult made popular by a man who has probably done a whole lot of teabagging on his own. But to get back to the parody:

Other things that frighten me:

I’m scared by the enormous amount of chutzpah put out by the Hollywood community—like, the ones who popularized bottled water now freaking out at the number of plastic bottles of water consumed by their fellow Americans.

I’m scared by the celebrity slamming of Soccer Moms and SUVs, even as these people use their private jets, are brought to the studio by limousine (no doubt consuming their top of the line bottled water during the ride there and back), who slam the American working and middle class and then pretend that their own children ever walked to school from their L.A. mansions. (As for the mocking of the Blackberry and GPS—from a Hollywood actor/director/producer? Is he kidding us?)

I’m scared by the ease with which the Hollywood elites embrace the nanny state, and then wonder why children have lost their sense of adventure. It’s because the nanny statists have put so many regulations on what people can do, the outdoors is practically forbidden to the rough-and-tumble kids of yesteryear. You think kids are growing up on the internet? No. They’re growing up with the internet, which is an entirely different concept. But how would Freddy Krueger know anything about kids outside of his own sphere, which is the rarefied air of the Hollywood elite? Real world kids? They’re a whole ‘nother species.

Finally, one thing that’s not scaring me is the way children are managing to be raised quite well without ever knowing there was a scary guy in a mask named Freddy Kreuger, and an actor who conflates his popularity as an Freddy with the conceit that people care what he thinks about things that are not movies.

Cross-posted on Hot Air.

His greatest success came in New York with “The Soupy Sales Show” — an ostensible children’s show that had little to do with Captain Kangaroo and other kiddie fare. Sales’ manic, improvisational style also attracted an older audience that responded to his envelope-pushing antics.

Sales, who was typically clad in a black sweater and oversized bow-tie, was once suspended for a week after telling his legion of tiny listeners to empty their mothers’ purse and mail him all the pieces of green paper bearing pictures of the presidents.

I used to watch Milton Supman every day. He was a mainstay of my childhood. Now, I guess he’s launching pies at the angels.

A 13-year-old girl cannot consent to having sex with a 44-year-old man. In fact, a 13-year-old girl is not old enough to consent to having sex with a 30-year-old, a 20-year-old, a 14-year-old, or even another 13-year-old. It doesn’t matter that Polanski plied the girl with alcohol and drugs. It doesn’t matter that he claims he didn’t know how old she was.

It’s the fact that a 13-year-old child cannot consent to having sex, for the obvious reason that the child is thirteen years old.

It’s reprehensible that Whoopi Goldberg said “not necessarily” to the question “Would I want my 14-year-old daughter having sex with somebody?” The answer should be a plain, simple: No. Absolutely not.

When Anne Applebaum says that the child asked permission to be photographed in the jacuzzi, she implies that that was asking permission for whatever happened next. What happened next was rape. It frankly wouldn’t matter if the child’s mother had been right there and given explicit permission for Polanski to have sex with her daughter—the fact that the child cannot consent still applies.

There is no defense of this case whatsoever. There is no, “Yes, he did a bad thing, BUT” leading into a long-winded treatise on how the poor man has suffered all these years by not being able to come back to America, and is forced to live a life of luxury in Europe.

My heart bleeds.

It’s the consent. A thirteen-year-old child cannot consent to sex. Period.

Yeah, it’s not like that.

Good idea. Lousy execution. I may watch a couple more episodes, but I am not impressed. They’re repeating it tonight if you missed it.

The Good Wife: Julianna Margulies, Christine Baranski, Josh Charles, and the obnoxious kid from Gilmore Girls playing an obnoxious kid on this show—what’s not to like? Actually, this was a very good pilot. Sure, it’s a lawyer show, but it’s a very different twist. This is a woman re-entering the workforce because her husband is in jail on corruption charges, struggling for her job against a kid fresh out of law school and ready to cutthroat his way to the top. And it’s from Ridley Scott! No wonder it’s so good.

Modern Family: The critics are hailing it as the best new comedy of the year. I watched it. Eh. Watched it some more. Okay, that was funny. Watched to the end. Yeah, it’s funny. I think I’ll keep watching.

Cougar Town: Eh. I laughed a bit. It might get funnier. Boy, you can’t watch this show with young kids around, though. When did primetime TV get so adult at 8 p.m.?

And this is the difference between me, and a Judith Warner from the NY Times. I watched the show in the hopes of finding a comedy that would make me laugh. Here’s why she watched it:

I’d watched “Cougar Town” on Wednesday night not because I thought I would like it, not because I was genuinely interested in seeing it, but because I thought I, too, would be able to derive messages from it about the zeitgeist — the pop-culture zeitgeist now permeated with talk of cougars, women over 40 who take up with younger men.

Darn it! I’m just not up on the current pop-culture zeitgeist! How is it that I was cool when I was young, and now I’m so unhip as to be unable to keep up with the New York City zeitgeist-seeking crowd?

Then again, I’ve lived in the ‘burbs most of my life. Uncool. Uncool. (And they wonder why we call them “the media elite.”)

Vampire Diaries: Okay, I admit it. I was bored. It was on. I watched it twice. I did not watch the third episode. Seen all I needed to see to know that it’s basically another vampire romance teen saga, and, well, ew. Vampires must be staked. No exceptions. Wait. Angel. He’s the only exception, because he has a soul. Everyone else (including Spike), boom.

Castle: Yay, it’s back, and it’s still good. It’s the only crime show I’m interested in, and that’s because they don’t generally cut up bodies and try to figure out how they died.

Looking forward to: V. The new series looks excellent. Dollhouse: Premiere tonight. My DVR’s been set since last season ended. Which is a good thing, because it’s on while I’m in synagogue. Bummer that Terminator didn’t make it.

Mary Travers of Peter, Paul, and Mary is gone. No more Puff the Magic Dragon. Or any of the sixties protest songs that I still love to hear, even though I no longer want to march on Washington after listening to them.

And Henry Gibson, that stalwart of the Laugh-In era, and his poems. And his late career on Boston Legal.

I wish they’d release Laugh-In on DVD. I’d buy it.

Hamas’ pre-emptive strike at the UN See if you can follow this: Hamas is protesting to the UN that it can’t teach about the Holocaust in UN-sponsored classes in Gaza. The UN is saying, “Huh? We’re not teaching it.” Hamas then says, “Well, you’re about to, so don’t.” The UN says, “No comment.” Um—what? Of course, the UN will cave. Watch for it.

Madonna—Bibi. Bibi—Madonna. Madonna’s going to meet with Bibi Netanyahu and Tzipi Livni while she’s touring Israel. Concerts, Kabbala, and Knesset. She’s a busy girl, is Madonna Louise Veronica Ciccone.

No! Not the dreaded letter to the IAEA! Iran has gotten the non-aligned nations to sign onto a letter to the IAEA pushing for a ban on attacks on nuclear plants. Hm. This is a tough one. Israel is not a signatory to the NPT, but it is a member of the IAEA. But then again, the UN General Assembly, under which the IAEA was formed, is a powerless bunch of stuffed shirts with a proven anti-Israel agenda. Israel: Fear the letter! (And by the way, wussy little Iran, after threatening Israel in so many different ways, is running to the UN for protection. Baby.)

The obligatory “Shalit deal is imminent” mention: Yeah, yeah, yeah. We keep hearing that, and yet, Gilad Shalit is still not released. And while some of the things I’m reading do seem to be leading to an actual release, well, I’ll wait until I see some results first.

Hezbullah ascendant: Funny, I thought Hezbullah lost the election, and yet, Sa’ad Hariri, whose father was killed by Syria—which sponsors Hezbullah—says they’re going to be part of the government whether Israel likes it or not. (And a big nyah-nyah to you!) Hokay. Just remember, Israel has let Lebanon know that if Hezbullah attacks again, since they’re now part of the government, it will be considered an act of war by Lebanon. Which is why Lebanese villagers are turning on Hezbullah and throwing them out of their villages.

She was leader of the pack, and now she’s gone: Ellie Greenwich, the songwriter who gave us some of the most memorable pop tunes of the 60s, died yesterday. What would this world be without Da Doo Ron Ron and Do Wah Diddy Diddy? Not to mention Be My Baby and The Look of Love. Let’s all of us take a moment to let our hearts stand still (Da Doo Ron Ron Ron Da Doo Ron Ron).

Netanyahu caves: There is a freeze on all new settlement construction. Oh, and the reason he’s freezing construction? He’s hoping to get Europe and America to recognize Israeli sovereignty over Jerusalem. Because they’ve all indicated that that’s what they want to see happen, right? Epic fail, Bibi. Epic fail.

Time for the latest round of Iranian running out the clock: Iran says it’s ready for nuclear negotiations without preconditions. I think this makes the tenth or eleventh time they’ve said they’d talk about their nukes with the west. But this time, they really mean it. Honest. You betcha! (And watch the Obama spin machine on this one. It should be a laff-riot.)

Death at Disney World! Here’s news you almost never see: Three workers have died at Disney World so far this year. Wow, the Disney PR flacks have really dwindled in talent. Oh, wait—three people died at Disney world so far this year? And this is the first you’re hearing about it? I stand corrected. (Actually, I read about the monorail crash. But I really have no desire to visit Disney World ever again. Crowds. Ugh.)

But the stimulus is working! Eric Cantor sponsored a job fair in my neck of the woods yesterday. The Times-Dispatch says more than 2,000 people showed. Cantor’s office says it was 3,200. I’m not at all surprised. We lost Circuit City, had massive layoffs at places like Capital One and Genworth, and are also affected by the overall dreadful economy.

Dancing with the exterminator: Ew. Tom Delay is going to be on “Dancing with the Stars.” Mind you, I’ve never really cared for the show, watched it for, at best, a minute at a time, and don’t care at all about the show. But ew—Tom Delay? Tom “the Exterminator” Delay? Now that’s reaching. And a little bit gross. (I don’t care how far to the center I move, I will always loathe Tom Delay.)

WHO’S the daddy? Michael Jackson’s dearest friend Mark Lester looks at the King of Pop’s daughter Paris and is convinced HE is.

In an astonishing interview, Jacko’s long term pal confessed to the News of the World that he secretly donated sperm to help the singer have children.

[...]The plan for Mark to donate sperm to Jackson – whose hits include The Girl Is Mine-came in a series of incredibly candid phone calls. The pair had been the closest of friends after immediately bonding when Jackson first invited Mark to his room in London’s Montcalm Hotel for a meeting in 1981.

It’s so stupid, I think I believe him.

Poor kids. Handicapped even before they were conceived, if you ask me. Normal life? Never.