I'm sorry for playing the Reaper so much as of late, but in my defense I'm not offing them, I'm just reporting them. Hey, at least this broad was old.
So Gale Storm is dead. For those of you currently thinking "Who the hell is Gale Storm;" Gale was an old-time actress who starred in the 1950's television shows My Little Margie and The Gale Storm Show.
Her death offers up a small local angle in that she died in a convalescent hospital in Danville, CA.
Early reports indicate that Mays got conked on the noggin during a rough landing of a US Airways flight on Sunday night. His wife, Deborah states that Mays complained of not feeling well when he went to bend Sunday evening. He was unresponsive by morning and pronounced dead by a fire rescue crew at 7:45 AM.
According to my yahoo in-box, apparently a glut of young women is looking for me and my similarly-aged brethren.
Why are they looking for us? Are we lost? Did I forget something and they'd like to return it? Do they want to tell me a secret?
Do they want to find us so that they can point their young fingers at us, laughing and ridiculing our saggy middles and graying hairlines? Will they park outside my home and blast their "hip-hop" while crazily Running Man-ing and Cabbage Patching all over my front lawn?
Do they want to roll their eyes at me? Spend my money? Drive my car?
Are they looking to engage me in, like conversation about, like whatever? Do they want to scorn my texting skills, my dance moves, my love of "classic rock?" Maybe they want to laugh at how I screw up the lyrics in the "new" songs, or the fact that I don't own an IPod.
Well, whatever it is, they certainly are persistent. Everyday I'm reminded that they're out there, and that they want me.
Jackson reportedly went into cardiac arrest earlier today at his Holmby Hills home and paramedics were unable to revive him.
Jackson's career peaked in the 1980's with the release of Thriller, which yielded a shitload of hits, spent a ton of time on the Billboard chart, and made a huge impact on the still fledgling MTV generation with the movie/video of Thriller. I can still remember when MTV first aired it, and how they would replay it every hour or so, and how we all watched it over and over and over again. And that Ola Ray was in Playboy. Oh and how Eddie Van Halen played the guitar solo on Beat It, lending Jackson a slice of cool. Oh and how Michael used to be black.
Jackson's latter years, like his face, were marred. Accusations of child molestation and flat out freakish behavior over-shadowed the singer's former glory days. I honestly felt sorry for him, not for the child molestation stuff, that's unforgivable, but the guy probably never had a normal day in his life. I remember several years ago seeing some sort of Jackson 5 reunion tour on TV, and I noticed how comfortable and happy Michael looked performing with his brothers. I imagined that it took him back to a time when his life was much simpler, and dare I say normal.
Farewell your majesty.
The loons have begun nesting; at the family compound, his boyhood home, his star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
I'm sure one could get a front row seat at Ed McMahon's star, if he even has one.
OK, that wasn't funny, but dripping would have been kind of gross.
Farrah Fawcett lost her battle with…um, anal cancer, passing away today at the age of 62.
This is terrible thing for several reasons. One, I cannot think of a less pleasant type of cancer to endure. She was much too young, and represents a part of my 1970's youth. On the flip-side, I have to squelch the 13-yr old jackass in me that wants to make anal jokes. I will be strong.
I find it interesting that she and Ryan O'Neal never married, and yet as recently as this week he was apparently asking her to marry him. Big of you Ryan; she's on her deathbed and you finally get around to proposing? An 11th-hour play for an inheritance? Very tacky.
In addition to the stress, the aggravation, the work, the monotony, the impersonal nature of the hunt, the competition, the depression, the diminished sense of self-worth, the dwindling finances, the desperation, the shame, the absence of alternatives, which leave you feeling completely trapped, the dozens upon dozens of form rejections, the phrase "We wish you much success in your career endeavors." In addition to all of this, there is then the job that, for all intents and purposes you are supremely qualified, and yet, you don't even manage to get an interview.
I will not be bested, you rat fuckers! (The preceding comment was not directed at any potential employers, nor does it necessarily reflect the views of this applicant.)
A TV, on Father's Day, and it's not on. Why? Because we are currently experiencing a f*cking power outage. Do you believe that shit? Father's Day and no TV?? Son of a bitch.
And with no power to the fridge the beer will soon be warm. Or the Diet Coke since i'm sort of a pussy. Why is it that one who is not much of a drinker is deemed to be "sort of a pussy,"? Booze doesn't much agree with me; usually gives me headaches and what not. Is that MY fault? I didn't CHOOSE to have the type of chemical and/or physical make-up that does not react well to booze; no more than the alcoholic chooses to become a fu*king sloppy, mean, lazy, dangerous, fill-in-the-blank-with-the-appropriate-booze fortified-adjective, when he or she drinks. Somehow or other being able to booze it up has always been associated with manliness or coolness.
So fine, I'm a pussy.
Anyway, it's Father's Day. We met up for breakfast with various members of my in-law clan. Had me some chicken-fried steak 'n eggs; 'n hash browns, 'n coffee 'n yum. We then went to wish my father a happy day. He and mom will be joining my sister's family for dinner later today. My plan for the remainder of the day was to kick back, watch some baseball, or some "movie for guys who like movies." Apparently that is not to be.
I hope the rest of you father's out there are enjoying your day and your television. Now if you'll excuse me, my soda-pop needs more ice.