GREY'S ANATOMY HATE-A-THON

With all respect and recognition to my friend, Holly. Sorry, but you’re taking too long to spew forth the hate, so I am temporarily taking over the baton.

Dear Shondalonda, executive producer of Grey’s Anatomy:

I have long since thought that Grey’s Anatomy was all sizzle and no steak. Oprah has been raving about your show like you are the second coming of Christ; like your writing will find a cure for cancer and world hunger, while simultaneously making us all thinner, prettier and happier. The only reason I even started watching your show in the first place is because I have a sister who won’t let me turn the channel. And I’ll admit: I got roped in. I got fooled by your crafty yet improbable writing. But last night’s episode, last night’s episode deserves a special brand of admonishment and contempt which should normally only be reserved for pedophiles, child molesters and rapists.

What the hell was that? Meredith tries to drown herself and is unconscious, has no heart-beat for what, like 2 hours and then she just DECIDES that she wants to live and lickety-click: SHE’S ALIVE! It’s a Barba-trick miracle, everyone! Oh My God! The main character of your show is not going to get killed off? I am shocked and didn’t at all see that one coming. Wow. Where did you come up with that original idea? Were you up all night? Thinking, what’s the most unlikely and ridiculous scenario I can come up with to get a tear-jerk reaction from my viewers? Maybe you should have had J.R. Ewing come back from the dead. Maybe Joan Collins and Linda Evans should have had a fight in Meredith’s afterlife. Maybe Joan van Ark should have been thrown from her horse and become addicted to painkillers. Maybe you should get another job.

So, if I “drowned,” even though I could swim and was only 2 feet from the dock and about 10 feet from any number of people who could have saved me, and was unconscious for hours and doctors and nurses spent an additional 3 million years trying to revive me, then through the magic of TV, I would be able to speak within 2 minutes of coming to. Not only that, I would say something witty and coherent. And of course, there would be no brain damage and no rehabilitation necessary. In fact, I’m willing to bet that Meredith will be back to her usual self-absorbed, self-hating, shallow, tedious ways by next episode. ‘Cause you know, coming back from the dead has no repercussions what so ever in the magic of TV-Land.

I am sick of hearing Meredith whine. Her life ain’t that bad: First of all, she’s beautiful and sexy. Secondly, she is smart and dedicated enough to have become a doctor. Thirdly, she has a great group of friends, and let’s not forget that her boyfriend Patrick Dempsey is not only adorable, but also madly in love with her. Suck it up, buttercup. It aint’ that bad. And are we actually supposed to believe that you are going to try and drown yourself because your mom called you ordinary? Please.

Secondly, Izzie is a crazy loser who took, like 3 months to cash an 8-million dollar cheque. We’re supposed to believe that she is so philanthropic that she isn’t going to take a dime of that for herself in memory of the man that she loves?! And of course she’s not going to give up her day job, because on top of being beautiful and kind, she loves her job and is doing it for the reward of helping others; just like in real life. And she of all people is the LAST person who should be judging George about love. Didn’t she fall in love with one of her dying patients? Which she knew for all of, what? Four episodes? And if you don’t like your friends’ choice of spouse, KEEP YOUR SELFISH MOUTH SHUT. Once they’re married, it’s too late to say anything. You should stay at home and bake more muffins, crazy.

Last night’s episode was a bullshit ratings grab, Shonda, and not even a good one at that. Your show is shit. You should be ashamed of yourself.

You make me ill,
Karen