It seemed like there were an abnormally high number of high-profile deaths in 2009 so Entertainment Tonight and their ilk--ahem, like the programming on CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News--had a lot of easy material to work from. Also, everyone gets to do some kind of "best of" list at the end of the year so, like the sheep I am, I wanted to do one, too.
Anyway, without further ado, I give my top 10 list for celebrity deaths in 2009...
Number 10
Billy Mays
Ahh, the late, great Billy Mays. I wondered how the infomercial world (or rather, direct response marketing world to be more accurate) was going to mourn the passing of their greatest asset, and they did so by continuing to run commercials in which he was in. The dead move product among us.
Number 9
Ed McMahon
Jovial sidekick of the late, great Johnny Carson. He spent the last years of his in and out of hospitals for broken bones and pneumonia, fighting bankruptcy, and trying to buy gold from us in Super Bowl commercials.
Number 8
Farrah Fawcett
Sex symbol of the 70s and 80s. Ms. Fawcett got her start as one of the Ten Most Beautiful Coeds in Cashbox magazine while a Tri-Delt in the late 60s, and then 30 years later after being in a sorority at the University of Texas she lost a three year battle with anal cancer. Bad things truly do come in threes.
Number 7
Patrick Swayze
Heartthrob of the 80s and early 90s. He died of pancreatic cancer after a late diagnosis. More than likely he's dancing and kicking ass up in the great road house in the sky.
Number 6
Ted Kennedy
Elder statesman and last of a storied generation of a certain family. He's the third in a row on this list to die of cancer--his of the brain variety. Being a Catholic, his belief says his soul is at rest in heaven. Being a Kennedy, I say his soul is at rest in that he doesn't have to work to keep the closet door closed anymore.
Number 5
David Carradine
Speaking of closets, Carradine was found dead in one in a hotel in Bangkok, Thailand, with his hands bound and a shoelace tied around his penis. It's the easily the oddest death on the list, but that's not why he's on here. (Honestly, though, the coolness of dying from an apparently botched sex act did bump him up a couple spots.) He's on here because he's awesome and because he was on Kung Fu... both of them.
Number 4
Dom DeLuise
The great comedic actor. If you care about comedy at all, you're well aware of the work of Mr. DeLuise. He died from from complications with cancer and kidney failure. That's two Cannonballers in one year--he and Farrah Fawcett. I think it's safe to say the last to go will be Jackie Chan because of his magical powers, and next to go will be Burt Reynolds. He'll die from choking on a sausage patty made from a pig that had anal cancer. (The tumors always get stuck in the back the throat no matter how much you chew them up.)
Number 3
Bea Arthur
THE golden girl and unfortunately another tally for cancer. When not doing a ton of showbiz work, she crusaded for animal rights and the rights of gays. She ranks so highly on the list because she was hot, hotter than Farrah Fawcett.
Number 2
Michael Jackson
He's known as the King of Pop and is the most commercially successful entertainer of all time. When he kicked bucket as a result of drug-induced cardiac arrest, people went crazy. Luckily, in this day and age we have 24-hour news networks so we could hear all the drama and drivel surrounding Jackson's death around the clock for two months. I am so glad there wasn't news to cover during that time.
Considering the intense coverage the media doled out on the death of Michael Jackson, who could ever top him and pull in the coveted top spot of my list?
Number 1
Walter Cronkite
"The most trusted man in America." He is without a shadow of doubt the greatest, most influential broadcast newsman of all time. Unwaveringly dedicated to educating and informing the public, he is an irreplaceable American icon.
It's been said his death has brought an end to an era, but it's never said what era that is. It's the era of good, honest, non-ratings-driven, televised journalism. We've re-entered an era of biased sensationalism, reminiscent of the yellow journalism of the late 19th century, and it'll probably be years before we can look back with the blessing of hindsight to truly see what we lost.
Honorable Mentions (in alphabetical order only):
Henry Gibson
John Hughes (Hughes should have been in the list, but I'd already made the list by the time I realized he'd passed away. What does this mean? It means my laziness outweighs my "integrity" as a "journalist.")
Steve McNair
Ricardo Montalban
Les Paul
**Edit**
I just found out Robert S. McNamara died this year as well. That's huge. I don't think I could have made a joke about him, though, so he'll just be an honorable mention. Damn. I've got to get my shit together.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
The Oregon Trail Chronicles
Alright, so, this is something I wrote over two years ago, and I recently read it again. It's kind of cheating in that it's not a "fresh" blog post because it wasn't written for the blog and is lacking any degree of timeliness. Whatever. The other day when I was reading the crap I used to write for myself I thoroughly enjoyed it so I wanted to share...
Oregon Trail Chronicles: The Diary of Ezekiel Hughes
17th day of August, 1848
I watched from the bank as Jebediah tried to save a few dollars and float the river instead of paying for the ferry. He lost 8 oxen and his youngest son. He still has 20 oxen left, though. Damn Jew banker. He'll probably buy 50 boxes of ammunition and another son at the next fort.
25th day of August, 1848
Well, I'll be damned if Joseph don't have dysentery for the third time this month. I wish the good Lord would let me know what this boy has been eating. He leaves at night when we're asleep and comes back looking like quite a site to behold with leaves in his hair, dirt all over his face n' clothes and somehow smelling worse than he did the day before. He swears to his ma and me that he ain't eatin' nothin' out there, but I been a young'un once myself, and I know a fib when I hear one.
8th day of September, 1848
I hate to do it, but it must be done. We're low on food, and I'm going to have to make the whole family cut back on their daily rations. I'd go hunt for something, but the boys and myself used up all the ammunition shooting every buffalo that we saw soon after setting out from Missouri.
13th day of September, 1848
Little Anne broke her leg today when she was convinced that she could fly off the top of our wagon and catch one of those vultures that have been following us around these past few days. Apparently, she's been eating just about anything that she comes across out here in the wilderness since I cut back on her cornbread, and she found herself a whole mess o' those "Devil Mushrooms." I couldn't find a very straight stick to set the leg in the cast we made for her, but I'm not too worried. My ma used to always say about broken bones: "If the good Lord Jesus wants that you have straight 'uns. He'll make it so."
Oregon Trail Chronicles: The Diary of Ezekiel Hughes
17th day of August, 1848
I watched from the bank as Jebediah tried to save a few dollars and float the river instead of paying for the ferry. He lost 8 oxen and his youngest son. He still has 20 oxen left, though. Damn Jew banker. He'll probably buy 50 boxes of ammunition and another son at the next fort.
25th day of August, 1848
Well, I'll be damned if Joseph don't have dysentery for the third time this month. I wish the good Lord would let me know what this boy has been eating. He leaves at night when we're asleep and comes back looking like quite a site to behold with leaves in his hair, dirt all over his face n' clothes and somehow smelling worse than he did the day before. He swears to his ma and me that he ain't eatin' nothin' out there, but I been a young'un once myself, and I know a fib when I hear one.
8th day of September, 1848
I hate to do it, but it must be done. We're low on food, and I'm going to have to make the whole family cut back on their daily rations. I'd go hunt for something, but the boys and myself used up all the ammunition shooting every buffalo that we saw soon after setting out from Missouri.
13th day of September, 1848
Little Anne broke her leg today when she was convinced that she could fly off the top of our wagon and catch one of those vultures that have been following us around these past few days. Apparently, she's been eating just about anything that she comes across out here in the wilderness since I cut back on her cornbread, and she found herself a whole mess o' those "Devil Mushrooms." I couldn't find a very straight stick to set the leg in the cast we made for her, but I'm not too worried. My ma used to always say about broken bones: "If the good Lord Jesus wants that you have straight 'uns. He'll make it so."
Friday, November 6, 2009
The Past 24 Hours of Lame
Let's see here. Twenty-four hours ago I was wrapping up a hockey broadcast and being somewhat inebriated. Right now I'm tired, sore, and hungry, and my shoes are soaking wet. I'll fill in the middle.
After going home from my broadcasting duties I sat in my apartment and allowed myself to imbibe a tad more. From here the only logical course of action for me to take would have been to drunkenly text someone, and so, I did. I texted a young lady (the one from the "About a Girl" post) and told her she should dump her boyfriend because she deserved better. Smooth. An incoming call from her phone promptly greeted me.
When I answered it was not the voice of the girl who owned the phone on the line. It was her roommate. I subsequently received an earful of frantic invective.
"You have no right to tell her what to do! He is the best thing that's ever happened to her!"
"Whoa, whoa. Wait." I tried to gain some control of the conversation but to no avail.
"Don't you tell me 'whoa!' He treats her like a princess!"
She said something else, and I said, "Hey!" That was no use, though, because she'd already hung up. I was upset to the point I was shaking a little bit, but it was weird. I didn't feel like I was that bothered by it, but there was physical evidence that spoke to the contrary.
I texted the roommate and told her not to defend the guy. She texted me back to say it wasn't my business and that it was up to the girl's friends, family, and boyfriend to look out for her.
"Well, make sure you and her friends do a good job."
I guess I lost my friendship status. My number of friends on facebook has probably dropped in the past 24 hours. I'm pissed at myself for even saying anything. I could've waited for a better time to shoot my mouth off, but the alcohol makes the trigger itchy. I'm going to have to quit emotionally investing myself in people.
Bleh.
For my next trick I smoked weed for the first time in months. Despite all the drama and hoopla, I had a pretty good time. I didn't go to bed until late as a result, and I woke up really early the following morning for no reason at all.
I took on some homework when I arose from bed, and a little later I had to go to work several hours earlier than usual. I just recently clocked-out, and I regret to say I never took a break. My legs are killing me, and I'm cold because my clothes are wet from cleaning up. I need to take a shower, but I don't think I'm gonna make it. I'll probably just crash and be stinky.
Just before I got home a different lady-friend of mine told me she broke up with her boyfriend. If I was looking for results I guess I was whispering in the wrong girl's ear.
I need to lie down and take off these clothes. I'm pretty sure I forgot some stuff, but it's not important. None of it is.
After going home from my broadcasting duties I sat in my apartment and allowed myself to imbibe a tad more. From here the only logical course of action for me to take would have been to drunkenly text someone, and so, I did. I texted a young lady (the one from the "About a Girl" post) and told her she should dump her boyfriend because she deserved better. Smooth. An incoming call from her phone promptly greeted me.
When I answered it was not the voice of the girl who owned the phone on the line. It was her roommate. I subsequently received an earful of frantic invective.
"You have no right to tell her what to do! He is the best thing that's ever happened to her!"
"Whoa, whoa. Wait." I tried to gain some control of the conversation but to no avail.
"Don't you tell me 'whoa!' He treats her like a princess!"
She said something else, and I said, "Hey!" That was no use, though, because she'd already hung up. I was upset to the point I was shaking a little bit, but it was weird. I didn't feel like I was that bothered by it, but there was physical evidence that spoke to the contrary.
I texted the roommate and told her not to defend the guy. She texted me back to say it wasn't my business and that it was up to the girl's friends, family, and boyfriend to look out for her.
"Well, make sure you and her friends do a good job."
I guess I lost my friendship status. My number of friends on facebook has probably dropped in the past 24 hours. I'm pissed at myself for even saying anything. I could've waited for a better time to shoot my mouth off, but the alcohol makes the trigger itchy. I'm going to have to quit emotionally investing myself in people.
Bleh.
For my next trick I smoked weed for the first time in months. Despite all the drama and hoopla, I had a pretty good time. I didn't go to bed until late as a result, and I woke up really early the following morning for no reason at all.
I took on some homework when I arose from bed, and a little later I had to go to work several hours earlier than usual. I just recently clocked-out, and I regret to say I never took a break. My legs are killing me, and I'm cold because my clothes are wet from cleaning up. I need to take a shower, but I don't think I'm gonna make it. I'll probably just crash and be stinky.
Just before I got home a different lady-friend of mine told me she broke up with her boyfriend. If I was looking for results I guess I was whispering in the wrong girl's ear.
I need to lie down and take off these clothes. I'm pretty sure I forgot some stuff, but it's not important. None of it is.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Stress
I couldn’t wait to get to work this past Friday. I even went in nearly two hours early. I don’t know why, but I felt like I just needed to be there, like it would make me feel better. It did, too. All my pent up stress just melted away as I started shrink-wrapping foam trays of beef.
It seems like when I’m at work I’m not stressed out because in the back of my head I feel I can use my job as an excuse for not getting my studying done. Accordingly, everything that’s bothering me just goes away when I’m clocked-in, and I don’t even think about school at all.
I’ve tried doing homework there, but it’s impossible. Customers or employees are always trying to talk to me, and starting and stopping reading all the time to help people obliterates any degree of concentration I can muster.
Playing guitar used to help me relax, but that relief is pretty much nonexistent these days. I started taking guitar lessons in August. I’ve become a better guitarist, but now I basically have guitar homework every week. That plus worrying about performing up to my teacher’s expectations just adds on the tension.
My guitar lessons are on Fridays. So, I actually canceled my lesson the other day so that I could go to work before I was scheduled. When I told my teacher I was called in to work, he told me to not let them make me “their slave.” I think I’m going to put my guitar tutelage on hold for a while so I can have my job and my music to calm my nerves.
To add on to the anxiety, a dermatologist told me I have fairly good chance of developing melanoma in the coming years thanks to the frequency of moles on my skin and the sporadic occurrences of skin cancer in my unfortunate family history. Sweet. In all honesty, the idea of cancer isn’t bothering me all that much. I’ve been trying to get a mole excised since July though, and doctors keep passing me around like a damn case of crabs instead of actually removing it. Now I’ve got another appointment with a different dermatologist December 7th on my birthday, and a happy one it will be, I’m sure.
Anyway, I’ve been on edge because of school and doctors, and a back massage would be really nice right now. Maybe I can get that girl I’m stressed out about to show me some love...
It seems like when I’m at work I’m not stressed out because in the back of my head I feel I can use my job as an excuse for not getting my studying done. Accordingly, everything that’s bothering me just goes away when I’m clocked-in, and I don’t even think about school at all.
I’ve tried doing homework there, but it’s impossible. Customers or employees are always trying to talk to me, and starting and stopping reading all the time to help people obliterates any degree of concentration I can muster.
Playing guitar used to help me relax, but that relief is pretty much nonexistent these days. I started taking guitar lessons in August. I’ve become a better guitarist, but now I basically have guitar homework every week. That plus worrying about performing up to my teacher’s expectations just adds on the tension.
My guitar lessons are on Fridays. So, I actually canceled my lesson the other day so that I could go to work before I was scheduled. When I told my teacher I was called in to work, he told me to not let them make me “their slave.” I think I’m going to put my guitar tutelage on hold for a while so I can have my job and my music to calm my nerves.
To add on to the anxiety, a dermatologist told me I have fairly good chance of developing melanoma in the coming years thanks to the frequency of moles on my skin and the sporadic occurrences of skin cancer in my unfortunate family history. Sweet. In all honesty, the idea of cancer isn’t bothering me all that much. I’ve been trying to get a mole excised since July though, and doctors keep passing me around like a damn case of crabs instead of actually removing it. Now I’ve got another appointment with a different dermatologist December 7th on my birthday, and a happy one it will be, I’m sure.
Anyway, I’ve been on edge because of school and doctors, and a back massage would be really nice right now. Maybe I can get that girl I’m stressed out about to show me some love...
Saturday, October 31, 2009
About A Girl
Jeez. I feel like I never have time to think, but in all reality, I’ve all the hours I need... I think. The problem is I keep spending the day thinking about a girl. Maybe, though, that’s not even that big of a problem; maybe that’s not the trouble at all. The actual conundrum very well could be that said girl has a boyfriend—one who doesn’t like me oddly enough.
I don’t really have a problem with the guy other than that I have no respect for him. He comes off as a selfish asshole, and it shines through ever so brilliantly when he’s been drinking. I’ve got stories, but I won't parade them about.
The point is I really like this girl, and I know she deserves better. Furthermore, I’m worried she’ll stay with him unless I do something—something like steal her away. That creates an entirely different problem, though. I’m not sure if I am good enough for her…
Okay, here's a story anyway. One night I went to the girl’s house to talk to her roommate. He was there, and when he noticed I was in the front yard having a conversation with the girls, he flipped out and started drunkenly riding his bicycle in the street and popping wheelies to illustrate his anger with my presence. What the fuck, right?
She became really upset to the point of tears, and he wouldn't knock off his stupid pseudo-macho bullshit. After I got him to calm down without hitting me in the face, he started informing me of his plans to marry his girlfriend and move away to Missouri. (I can only assume to distance her from me... or to get that job he was talking about.) This makes the situation all the more dire.
This isn't even the most glaring example I have of him being a dick to her—not even close, but I like telling this one because it makes him look like an idiot. Why the bike? I don't get the popping wheelies thing. Everyone I tell about the incident laughs, and I think it's hilarious. Was it supposed to scare me? "Oh, shit! This guy's got sick skillz on teh bmx! I better skedaddle." Give me a break.
What makes the whole thing worse is he’s a fuckin’ ginger. (I’m kidding. I have the utmost respect for the ginger subspecies.) Seriously, though, what to do? What to do?
I don’t really have a problem with the guy other than that I have no respect for him. He comes off as a selfish asshole, and it shines through ever so brilliantly when he’s been drinking. I’ve got stories, but I won't parade them about.
The point is I really like this girl, and I know she deserves better. Furthermore, I’m worried she’ll stay with him unless I do something—something like steal her away. That creates an entirely different problem, though. I’m not sure if I am good enough for her…
Okay, here's a story anyway. One night I went to the girl’s house to talk to her roommate. He was there, and when he noticed I was in the front yard having a conversation with the girls, he flipped out and started drunkenly riding his bicycle in the street and popping wheelies to illustrate his anger with my presence. What the fuck, right?
She became really upset to the point of tears, and he wouldn't knock off his stupid pseudo-macho bullshit. After I got him to calm down without hitting me in the face, he started informing me of his plans to marry his girlfriend and move away to Missouri. (I can only assume to distance her from me... or to get that job he was talking about.) This makes the situation all the more dire.
This isn't even the most glaring example I have of him being a dick to her—not even close, but I like telling this one because it makes him look like an idiot. Why the bike? I don't get the popping wheelies thing. Everyone I tell about the incident laughs, and I think it's hilarious. Was it supposed to scare me? "Oh, shit! This guy's got sick skillz on teh bmx! I better skedaddle." Give me a break.
What makes the whole thing worse is he’s a fuckin’ ginger. (I’m kidding. I have the utmost respect for the ginger subspecies.) Seriously, though, what to do? What to do?
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The Merc with a Mouth
So, I've been drinking (who would've thought?), and I've been reading, too. Today—or rather, yesterday if you wanna get technical—I read a year’s worth of Deadpool comics. Don’t ask how I acquired them. That’s not important.
Mel and Robert have been talking about how cool Deadpool is, and I had to check him out for myself. I have to say he’s pretty damn cool… and pretty damn crazy. Schizophrenia ftw!
The only thing that bothers me is that now I’m a tad bit hooked, and I’m gonna have to find a way to get my grubby hands on all the previous issues to see where Deadpool came from and where’s he’s been. I’ve read the online bios, but that is NOT enough.
Sometimes, it’s easy to come across a collection of comics of a singular character or group of characters. However, that character/group will usually have crossovers, and I’m just OCD enough to want those as well. There’s the snag to the whole ordeal. That’s the most bothersome part from my experience of collecting comic books.
Anyway, I encourage most to check out Deadpool. I don’t say “all” because sometimes (a lotta times) he gets quite violent as mercenaries (I assume) are wont to do. Still, though, it was a fun (and funny!) read.
Mel and Robert have been talking about how cool Deadpool is, and I had to check him out for myself. I have to say he’s pretty damn cool… and pretty damn crazy. Schizophrenia ftw!
The only thing that bothers me is that now I’m a tad bit hooked, and I’m gonna have to find a way to get my grubby hands on all the previous issues to see where Deadpool came from and where’s he’s been. I’ve read the online bios, but that is NOT enough.
Sometimes, it’s easy to come across a collection of comics of a singular character or group of characters. However, that character/group will usually have crossovers, and I’m just OCD enough to want those as well. There’s the snag to the whole ordeal. That’s the most bothersome part from my experience of collecting comic books.
Anyway, I encourage most to check out Deadpool. I don’t say “all” because sometimes (a lotta times) he gets quite violent as mercenaries (I assume) are wont to do. Still, though, it was a fun (and funny!) read.
Them Crooked Vultures
You know what I’m excited for? Them. Crooked. Vultures. The band name isn’t actually spelled out with the periods. You see, I did that for emphasis. Do you know why I’m excited for Them Crooked Vultures?
Well, for one there’s this. Go ahead and watch the rest of HowellKenny’s videos, or at least watch the aforementioned band’s vids. You don’t have to watch Joe Perry covering Aerosmith, or The Cult covering The Cult.
Secondly, there’s the ingredients that make up Them Crooked Vultures. We have Joshua Homme from Queens of the Stone Age/Kyuss on guitar and vocal duties, and we have Dave Grohl of Nirvana/Foo Fighters fame on the skins (a.k.a. the drums). This combination the world has seen before, though, on the QOTSA album Songs for the Deaf.
Still, there is one more piece to the puzzle that has me and several others salivating a tad more profusely than normal… John Paul fuckin’ Jones (Sorry for cursing, but it was appropriate.). John Paul Jones from frikkin’ LED ZEPPELIN is in the band playing bass (of course) and mandolin (I could see that. I’ve seen him do it before.) and doing background vocals (Sweet Jesus, it’s a trifecta!).
(Sorry for all the parentheses, but these were appropriate as well.) (Also, sorry for getting so link-happy. I'm a loose cannon, and I apologize.)
These are three musical legends who walk the earth merely to entertain we the little folk. I have no doubt these men have humbled and shaken hands with God herself, and there is no wrong they can do on this plane. Alright, I take that back. There is no wrong Grohl can do behind a drum set, but once he gets behind a mic with a guitar, his decisions are subject to questioning. This isn't important right now, though.
Let me say that I do enjoy drugs to “enhance the experience” as some folks might say, but I may have to take something to “take the edge off” of this monumental occurrence. That’s not entirely true. I’ll probably consume massive quantities of drogas—as the Spanish-speakers say—to cull whatever life-changing happening I’m looking for with this musical collective.
Seriously, though, music is a drug, and I plan on taking in whatever these pushers give me because if this isn't a "supergroup" I don't know what is.
All in all, all I’m saying is all should check out Them Crooked Vultures. All of what they offer is all-consuming of musical ideas, but I’ll shut up about them 1now. I just want all of you to check them out. That’s all.
Well, for one there’s this. Go ahead and watch the rest of HowellKenny’s videos, or at least watch the aforementioned band’s vids. You don’t have to watch Joe Perry covering Aerosmith, or The Cult covering The Cult.
Secondly, there’s the ingredients that make up Them Crooked Vultures. We have Joshua Homme from Queens of the Stone Age/Kyuss on guitar and vocal duties, and we have Dave Grohl of Nirvana/Foo Fighters fame on the skins (a.k.a. the drums). This combination the world has seen before, though, on the QOTSA album Songs for the Deaf.
Still, there is one more piece to the puzzle that has me and several others salivating a tad more profusely than normal… John Paul fuckin’ Jones (Sorry for cursing, but it was appropriate.). John Paul Jones from frikkin’ LED ZEPPELIN is in the band playing bass (of course) and mandolin (I could see that. I’ve seen him do it before.) and doing background vocals (Sweet Jesus, it’s a trifecta!).
(Sorry for all the parentheses, but these were appropriate as well.) (Also, sorry for getting so link-happy. I'm a loose cannon, and I apologize.)
These are three musical legends who walk the earth merely to entertain we the little folk. I have no doubt these men have humbled and shaken hands with God herself, and there is no wrong they can do on this plane. Alright, I take that back. There is no wrong Grohl can do behind a drum set, but once he gets behind a mic with a guitar, his decisions are subject to questioning. This isn't important right now, though.
Let me say that I do enjoy drugs to “enhance the experience” as some folks might say, but I may have to take something to “take the edge off” of this monumental occurrence. That’s not entirely true. I’ll probably consume massive quantities of drogas—as the Spanish-speakers say—to cull whatever life-changing happening I’m looking for with this musical collective.
Seriously, though, music is a drug, and I plan on taking in whatever these pushers give me because if this isn't a "supergroup" I don't know what is.
All in all, all I’m saying is all should check out Them Crooked Vultures. All of what they offer is all-consuming of musical ideas, but I’ll shut up about them 1now. I just want all of you to check them out. That’s all.
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