We'd been formulating a theory after Ed McMahon, Farrah and Michael, but the Billy Mays out-of-nowhere death sealed it for us.
The celebrity rapture is upon us. God is taking his chosen people, celebrities, home to their eternal VIP club in the sky. (And don't give us the old Jews-as-chosen-people story -- that is so Web 1.0.)
Soon the limos will be parked, the late-night shows quiet, the crime dramas out of production for good, the concert stages empty. And all of the rest of us, the little people who supported them through the hard times, will be left to deal with all that bad stuff coming our way. (We'll admit here that we're a few weeks behind on our Bible study and haven't gotten our heads wrapped around the whole Revelations thing -- will there be frogs again? Or hot -- should we stock up on linen shirts?)
So prepare for a celeb-less world, where the supermarket tabloids feature housewives from Akron and the only thing on TV will be reality shows, without even one reality star. Woe be to us.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
The worst time of the year
Unless you get your groove on for lawn tennis, this is the worst time of the year to be a sports fan. We usually mark the start of this sports Bermuda Triangle with the end of the NBA/NHL finals, but this year we extended through the College World Series and felt we were rewarded for it. The college kids put on a good show, although sometimes it looks, well, very white out there. Diversity does not seem to have reached D-I baseball.
But when you're looking to Omaha for salvation, you can be sure that you're in trouble. Now that they've shut the lights off there, it's just you, us, and the MLB All-Star Game from here till football.
Celebrity deaths help pass the time, but the Reaper could come for the rest of the Jacksons, the rest of Charlie's Angels, and the whole Osmond family for a little value added and still not get us to the end of August with our sun-baked wits intact. God have mercy on us all.
But when you're looking to Omaha for salvation, you can be sure that you're in trouble. Now that they've shut the lights off there, it's just you, us, and the MLB All-Star Game from here till football.
Celebrity deaths help pass the time, but the Reaper could come for the rest of the Jacksons, the rest of Charlie's Angels, and the whole Osmond family for a little value added and still not get us to the end of August with our sun-baked wits intact. God have mercy on us all.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Dead celebrity threesome
The blog's not dead (yet), but these three are. Thoughts on each:
Ed McMahon: We know the last few years weren't easy, but what a ride this guy had. Best job ever and all the free Bud he could drink. And the Super Bowl ad may have been some of his best work ever. Shed no tears for Ed, America; he wasn't super smart or super hot, but he rang the bell anyway. Gives the rest of us hope.
Farrah: We were big on the "Angels," young but filling up quickly with testosterone and in prime Farrah poster age, and we liked her well enough, as friends and all, but we were firmly in the Jaclyn Smith camp.
But here's the thing, as we remember it: After Farrah's poster blew up, Jaclyn did a poster with the idea that it would be more modest, reflecting her more modest values. Translation: No swimsuit, no nipple. She was in a nightgown under a comforter, or something like that. They may as well have put her in a burkha. And did Kate Jackson even get to do a poster? It sucks to be the smart one.
Michael Jackson: Not MJ, because that's Michael Jordan. And not the King of Pop, because we think we remember that, out of nowhere, he made MTV call him that repeatedly so they could premiere his stuff or something like that.
We were also of a prime age for MTV's glory days, and in our crowd Michael Jackson was what you had to suffer through to get to ZZ Top, Van Halen and the metal bands. We can understand Michael's meaning in the grand scheme of things, and the videos were cool to look at the first 70 or so times, but there's a whole army of guys our age who are looking at all the hoopla right now and thinking, "He wasn't our king." Or worse.
That said, we understand what an innovator he was. In fact, we always felt that he was so creative that it was like radioactive material within him, and after a while it started to burn through from the inside and destroy him. That's what turned him from sweet, lovable young Michael to creepy, bizarro old Michael. America's OK with weird genius, but Michael starting out so young and adorable hurt him in the end. When he transformed into a freak show, people still had that image in their heads for comparison's sake, and it wasn't pretty.
Ed McMahon: We know the last few years weren't easy, but what a ride this guy had. Best job ever and all the free Bud he could drink. And the Super Bowl ad may have been some of his best work ever. Shed no tears for Ed, America; he wasn't super smart or super hot, but he rang the bell anyway. Gives the rest of us hope.
Farrah: We were big on the "Angels," young but filling up quickly with testosterone and in prime Farrah poster age, and we liked her well enough, as friends and all, but we were firmly in the Jaclyn Smith camp.
But here's the thing, as we remember it: After Farrah's poster blew up, Jaclyn did a poster with the idea that it would be more modest, reflecting her more modest values. Translation: No swimsuit, no nipple. She was in a nightgown under a comforter, or something like that. They may as well have put her in a burkha. And did Kate Jackson even get to do a poster? It sucks to be the smart one.
Michael Jackson: Not MJ, because that's Michael Jordan. And not the King of Pop, because we think we remember that, out of nowhere, he made MTV call him that repeatedly so they could premiere his stuff or something like that.
We were also of a prime age for MTV's glory days, and in our crowd Michael Jackson was what you had to suffer through to get to ZZ Top, Van Halen and the metal bands. We can understand Michael's meaning in the grand scheme of things, and the videos were cool to look at the first 70 or so times, but there's a whole army of guys our age who are looking at all the hoopla right now and thinking, "He wasn't our king." Or worse.
That said, we understand what an innovator he was. In fact, we always felt that he was so creative that it was like radioactive material within him, and after a while it started to burn through from the inside and destroy him. That's what turned him from sweet, lovable young Michael to creepy, bizarro old Michael. America's OK with weird genius, but Michael starting out so young and adorable hurt him in the end. When he transformed into a freak show, people still had that image in their heads for comparison's sake, and it wasn't pretty.
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