Last week, Frank Frazetta died. Now, Ronnie James Dio is dead.

They both produced art that centered around the same basic subject matter. Magic and wizards and warriors and wildebeests and angels and soaring on the wings of a demon.

I don’t have anything more to add to that thought. It’s just something that crossed my mind.

Oh well. She was old and she had a really good run. Bettie came in, did her thing, changed American pop culture forever, then retired quietly into a private and apparently happy life. I can’t really be sad about that. But still, I was a fan.

As a kid I listened to stand up comedy more than I listened to music. At first it was my parents albums.

For the younger folks out there, albums were big black vinyl disks with microscopic grooves in them that made sound when you dropped a needle into the groove and rotated the disk on a turntable.

There was Bill Cosby is a Very Funny Fellow… Right, and Why is there Air. There was Robin Williams – Reality What a Concept. There was Steve Martin: Comedy isn’t Pretty and Wild and Crazy Guy and Let’s Get Small. There was Richard Pryor with That Nigger’s Crazy and Super Nigger and Here and Now and Live on the Sunset Strip. All of these albums transferred from my parents collection to my own collection via possession is 9/10ths of the law. Then there were cassette tapes and 8-tracks.

For the kids, again, cassettes and 8-tracks were little cartridges with spindles of magnetic tape inside that wound from one side of the cartridge to another over a sensor that deciphered the information on the tape and turned it into sound.

Tapes and albums and 8-tracks looked like this:

Theses tapes and albums were a giant part of my childhood. In a lot of ways they helped sculpt the person I grew into.

But my favorite was always George Carlin. There was Toledo Window Box and Occupation: Foole and Class Clown and On the Road and FM and AM. When I started listening to George Carlin he was still essentially an easy going hippie. At least, he was in these recordings. The newer stuff he was doing was just starting to get a little edgier. A little angrier. But not quite yet. What I was hearing were the insightful musings of a modern philosopher. The hilarious insightful musings of a modern philosopher. He was a story teller, a deep thinker, a casual observer and a poet. Those long hours spent laying on my bed listening to George tell his stories were instrumental in crafting not only my views on comedy, but my perception of life.

Because George didn’t just get up and tell jokes. He didn’t get on stage and tell funny stories like Cosby. He didn’t need plastic bunny ears or spastic impersonations. And even though there was always an element of anger and frustration in his act, there was also usually a positive upswing. The basic message was fuck the conventions of society, but love each other as best you can.

Most importantly though, he questioned thing. He questioned everything. Religion, the government, the media, advertising, rich people, poor people, you, me and himself. He held everyone accountable and stood there tapping his foot, waiting for an explanation for the stupid shit that everyone does but no one had been perceptive (or ballsy) enough to call us on. And when no one could come up with a reasonable explanation, he didn’t leave you standing there feeling stupid. He encouraged you to think along with him. To follow his process and understand his perception, so that even if you didn’t agree with him, you at least understood where he was coming from. And it felt good to be included in that process.

George was clearly a bright guy. A thinker. Someone who could always bring another perspective to the table. And, even when (especially during his later years) it seemed as though he was angry and sometimes downright mean, when taken as a whole, his act was quite a positive one. Here was a guy who could, in the span of an hour, explain why all religion is a scam, designed to control sad and scared people, and then explain that every balloon that ever floated away is in a giant balloon room in heaven, waiting for you when you die. Despite his ranting and seemingly anti-social beliefs, it eventually becomes clear that George was an optimist, and wants to believe the best about people in general. He might have thought that we’re all fucked, but he also wanted us to love and respect each other.

And all of that came through in his act.

George was a little bit of everything, and I think that’s why he was so important. He was a Swiss Army Knife of comedy. Which is why it’s safe to say that any stand up comedian working today owes a debt to Carlin. When a person’s net of influence catches both Richard Pryor and Jerry Seinfeld, you know you’re dealing with someone extremely important.

I’ll be honest with you. I’m having a very hard time writing this post. I can’t seem to encapsulate everything that was great about George Carlin, and everything that he meant to me personally. It’s just too big and his death is too sudden and unexpected. It’s been over a week since he died and I’ve been pecking away at this off and on since the day after.

This is what it comes down to. George Carlin wasn’t just a celebrity. He wasn’t just a famous person whose work I admired. George Carlin was a man I never met personally, but who literally changed me, for the better, with his art. That’s something that I will be eternally grateful for. Something that I desperately wish I could have thanked him for. Luckily for me, and for everyone who knew and loved his work, there is a goldmine of material to remember him by. To remember, to learn from, to pass along to younger generations and say “This was an artist. This was a great man” and know that you’re making the world a better place by continuing to teach the word or George Carlin even when he no longer can. Like all truly great artists, George Carlin now belongs to all of us, and it’s our responsibility to make sure people continue to learn and benefit from him.

I’m sure George would laugh and probably shake his head at my treating him like some sort of messiah, but honestly, George Carlin taught me so much more than Jesus ever did. And because of that, I will always be a disciple of Carlin. George didn’t believe in religion. He worshipped the Sun (and prayed to Joe Pesci, because Joe Pesci was a guy who could “get shit done”) as the source of all life. That’s a beautiful thought. It’s a thought I can easily get behind. I worship the sun as well.

And while I won’t start a religion, (because he would hate that) I have no problem saying that while I worship the sun, I also worship George Carlin. Not as a god, but as a great man. An honest to god great man. He will be missed and loved forever.

Gary Gygax is the reason thousands of smelly, unattractive thirty year old men in trench coats and t-shirts with howling wolves and unicorns on them carry around velvet drawstring bags of strangely shaped dice. He was the co-creator of the original Dungeons and Dragons and he died today.

http://www.abs-cbnnews.com/storypage.aspx?StoryId=111238

I have to admit, there was a time in my life when D&D was pretty huge. Granted, I always tried to somehow get my character a gun or a cyborg arm or wolverine like claws, because I’ve always hated that swords and sorcery genre, but it was still fun. And D&D set the foundation for a bunch of other games that were a little more in my style.

Oh well.

No more saving throws for Gary.

So I haven’t said much about how I feel about this.

For some reason it’s hit me particularly hard. I don’t know why. It’s weird.

I’m generally not overly invested in my celebrities. If someone I really respect or love dies, it bums me out. I was bummed when Mr. Rogers died. I was bummed when Joey Ramone died. And when Stanley Kubrick died. But those were all heroes of mine. They were people I looked up to and emulated.

A couple of weeks ago Brad Renfro died. I remember Sandra telling me on the phone. I was like "Pfft. So? Fuck Brad Renfro." I didn’t really care. He was a junkie and an actor I didn’t particularly like. Whatever.

So then I find out that Heath Ledger died and precedent indicates that I shouldn’t have particularly cared. I’ve never been interested in Heath Ledger. I’ve only ever seen him in one movie (Brothers Grimm) and that movies wasn’t particularly good. I certainly didn’t have anything against the guy, but I didn’t particularly like him either. Up until recently, I had pretty much no opinion about him.

By "up until recently" I mean that I had no opinion about him before I saw the trailer for The Dark Knight.

I remember when it was announced that he was going to play The Joker and I was skeptical . I was skeptical but I also trusted Christopher Nolan and the people who made Batman Begins. I trusted their vision and if they thought this Heath kid was capable of doing The Joker justice, then I was willing to give them (and him) the benefit of the doubt.

I should explain something.

As a child and young man I was a fan of comic books. I’d go so far to say that I was obsessive about comic books. It comes with being a socially awkward child (and teenager and adult) and I was no exception. Like most comic book fans, I had my favorites. I liked The X-Men and Wolverine and Spider-Man. I generally leaned towards the slightly more real world, capeless Marvel comics. I wasn’t particularly into Superman or The Flash or The Green Lantern or the other DC characters.

But then there was The Joker.

The Joker was (is) my all time favorite literary character. Not just comic book character, but favorite fictional character of all time. He beats out R.P. McMurphy from Cuckoo’s Nest and Willy Wonka and Raul Duke and Kilgore Trout. I won’t go into why I loved The Joker so much. I’ve covered that before. If you wanna read why I love The Joker so much, read this entry.

Needless to say, it was going to take a lot to live up to my desire for the ultimate Joker cinematic experience.

So yeah, I was skeptical. I saw the same preview pictures everyone else did, and gobbled them up like the juicy little marketing tidbits they were.

I began to get excited. It looked to me like there might be a chance for this one.

Then there was the first trailer. The teaser with just his voice. It was weird. My first reaction was negative, just because it was so… different. When Mark Hamill did the voice of The Joker on Batman the Animated Series (which was, in the opinion of many a comic book fan, myself included, the definitive interpretation Joker) his voice was such a defining part of his character. It was the element that was missing from the comics, and Mark Hamill somehow managed to perfectly embody not only everything that was great about The Joker we knew from the comics, but all of the other aspects of his character that had never really been considered before.

So it was a weird choice to introduce Heath Ledger’s Joker with only his voice. Like I said, my first reaction to it was negative. Not that I disliked it, I just didn’t know what to make of it. To me, he almost sounded like Jack Nicholson playing The Joker in Tim Burton’s first Batman film. Specifically, Jack in the scene where he’s impersonating Jack Palance’s spit sucking, clenched teeth voice and saying "Because Bob… you’re my number one… guy!"

But after I’d watched the trailer again. And again (and again and again) it started to grow on me. I started to get even more excited. I could hear more going on in his voice than just the jarring non-Mark Hamill-ness of it and the similarity to that one line of dialog from Nicholson. I actually listened to what he was saying, and while it wasn’t much, there was certainly a desperate insanity to it that gave me chills.

That was nothing compared to the exhilaration I felt watching the second trailer.

A lot of people freaked out when it was announced that Heath Ledger was playing The Joker. It was a fan backlash I hadn’t seen since Tom Cruise was cast as Lestat in Interview with the Vampire. Nerds and geeks everywhere were getting up in to an unwashed, trench coat fury in the basements of parents everywhere, furiously posting their displeasure on message boards everywhere. As with Cruise and Lestat (before Tom Cruise’s abilities as an actor were overcast by his apparent retardation and lack of sanity ) I had faith. I believed that the people in charge of creating the film in question were capable of delivering. Tom Cruise was amazing as Lestat, and judging from that second trailer, Heath Ledger appears to have embodied The Joker in ways I doubted were possible.

In the maybe forty seconds I saw of Heath as The Joker, I saw things that made my heart swell with psychopathic Joker love. I went from hoping for a great Joker movie to a mind numbing, orgasmic need to SEE THIS MOVIE. The joy I felt in seeing what was certainly going to be, if not the definitive, at least a fucking brilliant realization of my favorite fictional character.

And I was proud. It seems silly, but I was proud of Heath Ledger. While people were pissing and moaning about this pretty boy Brokeback actor playing The Joker, I had faith that he could do it. And, with that trailer, it looked as though he really DID do it, and it made me proud.

The next year was pretty much laid out for me, movie wise. Sure, there were movies I was looking forward to. But nothing compared to the excitement I felt about seeing The Dark Knight. For me, Batman Begins was as good a Batman Year One movie as we were ever going to get. It had it’s minor flaws (the biggest of which was that goofy title… though it wasn’t as bad as the title Batman Forever, which sounds like a name they’d give Batman The Musical: On Ice, starring Clay Aikin as The Joker and Elton John as Batman) but it exceeded anything I’d ever hoped for in a Batman film. With this trailer, it looked as though The Dark Knight (a much better title) was gearing up to be as good a Batman/Joker movie possible. And pretty much my entire summer centered around the release of this movie.

I was comfortable with that. I was happy. Totally content and at comfortable with letting my excitement build. I knew that by the time a couple weeks before the release rolled around, I’d be on the verge of losing my mind excited. I was looking forward to going into that theater and feeling my heart jump into my throat the first time The Joker stepped on screen.

Then everything changed.

I’d be lying if I said that the first thing I thought when I heard that Heath Ledger had died wasn’t "Goddamnit, I hope this doesn’t fuck up Batman." That was my first thought. My second thought was "Jesus, Terry Gillium can’t catch a fucking break!" and then I thought "What a tragedy. He was a year younger than me and he had a baby. What a tragedy." Which was then followed by the thought "God fucking damn it, this IS going to fuck up Batman!"

It’s callus and selfish, but it’s true.

As time went on and I thought about it more and more, I became sadder and sadder. Something about it was really sitting wrong with me. It shouldn’t have. It went beyond just the possibility that they might push The Dark Knight back into next year.

I really started to think about who Heath Ledger was.

First and foremost, he was my age. We’re both at the age where you’re expected to start defining who you’re going to be for the rest of your life. Brad Pitt was 30 when he blew me away as Early Grayce in Kalifornia and suddenly went from being another pretty face to a real, respectable actor. When he "grew up." Johnny Depp was 30 when he played Giblert Grape and proved that he was not only devastatingly attractive, but also an extremely talented and worthy actor. It seems that actors need to hit that 30 year mark before they’re really taken seriously. Even when a young actor puts in an amazing performance, it seems that they’re still something of a novelty until they’re 30. Look at Leonardo Dicaprio. Before Gangs of New York, he was still the kid in the Tiger Beat posters. As much as he tried to shake the image, it took Martin Scorsese to launch him into adulthood as an actor. To me, that was the performance that solidified him as a real actor. Sure, he was great in Gilbert Grape, but I still thought of him as a kid, like Haley Joel Osment in The Sixth Sense, never sure if he was actually going to became a "real" actor. Sure, there was Titanic and Romeo and Juliet and The Basketball Diaries, but even then he was still just that kid from Growing Pains.

Leo was 28 when he did Gangs of New York. Heath was a few months shy of 29 when he died, and I believe that his performance as The Joker was going to be the one that convinced people (or, at least, me) that he was a real actor. Not just a celebrity or a pretty face, but an honest to God respectable working actor. Someone I could see making movies for years to come. Good movies. Solid movies. He’d done his time as a pretty boy. He never fell into the ego trap that seems to have swallowed up Toby Maguire and Jake Gyllenhaal and most of his peers. You never got the feeling that Heath thought he was hot shit or overly important. He seemed content to show up, do his job, and go home at the end of the day, happy he was doing what he loved. Even though I wasn’t watching his movies (not out of any conscious effort, it just never worked out that way) I respected the way he conducted himself both as an actor and as a celebrity. He seemed like he tried acting as a passion and a job and wasn’t particularly interested in playing the part of a celebrity. But he wasn’t a prick about it. He didn’t throw tantrums when people took his photo and he didn’t make a big production out of his personal demons. Yes, he apparently went through a period of drug addiction. But I never knew about it until his death, and that’s how it should be. I don’t want to know that actors and musicians are drug addicts. I respect his discretion. He didn’t let the drama in his personal life bleed into his work.

The fact that he was on the verge of becoming that respectable, adult "real" actor when he died is really heartbreaking. The fact that we’re in the same age group (I’m a year and a few months older) makes it that much harder to digest. Here’s a guy who is on pretty much the exact trajectory that I long to be on. A guy who really made it. He made it on his terms and was just about to get the recognition as a creative force to be reckoned with in the film industry. I believe that was part of the reason I was so excited for his performance as The Joker. I wanted desperately for him to succeed because it made me feel good that a guy who was my peer (age wise) was going to really make it and become a respectable artist. Someone who was so good that he actually scared Michael Caine with his performance. He was going to get to that point that he could really do whatever he wanted because people believed in him. Beyond just being admired, but really respected. I so desperately want that for myself and it made me feel good to see someone at least in some ways on my level make it.

The circumstances of his death are confusing and hard to pinpoint. On one hand, I’m glad he didn’t commit suicide or die because he was a drug addict. I’m glad that they didn’t find any illegal drugs in his house or in his system. Part of me is glad at least. I’m glad that he was able to go out with some dignity and without scandal. In his life, he conducted himself with discretion and humbly, and I’m glad that he was able to carry that through in his death as well, even if reporters and paparazzi swarm around his coffin (and Michelle Williams and their baby girl for Christ’s sake) like vultures.

On the other hand, it might have been easier to be able to just write him off as another sad, dead junkie like poor Brad Renfro. I wouldn’t have to feel this bad if he’d just offed himself or pulled a River Phoenix and partied himself to death. But the fact that he died because of a bad mix of completely legitimate cold medications and insomnia drugs is just fucking tragic. It’s really tragic. He died at the threshold of his career and life because of a stupid fucking accident. That’s what really kills me. It’s just so stupid and fluky. It’s one of those things where you think that God must just reach down and pluck random people off the earth for His entertainment.

That’s what makes this tragic.

Going to see The Dark Knight is going to be a totally different experience than it was meant to be. What was once mind blowing excitement is now sad. I’m still excited, but it’s laced with sadness now. Because I know that this is going to be THE Joker movie that I’ve wanted all my life, and I know that from this point on, Heath Ledger is going to be the definitive cinematic Joker. Jack Nicholson was never really The Joker. Jack Nicholson was just Jack Nicholson with silly make up on, pretending to be Bugs Bunny. Heath’s performance of The Joker is going to be the one that perfectly marries the Joker I’ve always known and loved with the full potential of motion pictures. And then he broke the mold. There’s no bar raising because no one is going to be able to play The Joker again. This is going to be it for The Joker’s foray in movies. No one would dare try and do it again. From here on out, Heath Ledger is the only person who can play The Joker and now even he can’t do it again.

And maybe that’s better. Obviously I’d much rather he were alive and well and moving onto a long career and a happy life. But because The Joker is such a near and dear character to me, maybe the fact that he’s going to get this one amazing performance and then that’s it, possibly forever. It’s almost beautiful in a morbid and tragic way.

This is all assuming that his performance is as good as I believe it’s going to be. And I really do believe it will. I have to. Not just because I’ve wanted this Joker performance for so long, but because it will at least put something beautiful on top of this otherwise completely tragic death. At least we’ll have that swan song.

Currently Listening To: R.E.M. – The Great Beyond

Via Natalie from the Dixie Chicks’ Myspace blog:

Wednesday, November 21, 2007

WM3 – CALL TO ACTION
Category: Life

I’m writing this letter today because three men have spent the past 13 years in prison for crimes they didn’t commit. On May 5th, 1993 in West Memphis, Arkansas three 8 eight-year-old boys, Steve Branch, Christopher Byers, and Michael Moore were murdered. Three teenage boys, Damien Echols, Jesse Misskelley, and Jason Baldwin were convicted of the murders in 1994. Jason Baldwin and Jesse Misskelley received life sentences without parole, and Damien Echols sits on death row. I encourage everyone to see the HBO documentaries, Paradise Lost and Paradise Lost 2 for the whole history of the case. I only discovered the films about 6 months ago, and when I finished Paradise Lost 2 I immediately got online to make sure that these three wrongly convicted boys had been set free since the films were released. My heart sank when I learned that the boys were now men and were still in prison. I couldn’t believe it. I searched for answers as to what had been done and what was being done to correct this injustice. I donated to the defense fund and received a letter from Damien Echols wife, Lorri. She is a lovely woman who has dedicated her time and heart to her husband. I was glad to hear that after so many years of fighting for justice it looked like things were finally happening. Below, I have written what the DNA and forensics evidence shows. I hope after reading it and looking at the WM3.org website, you will know that the wrong guys are sitting in jail right now, and feel compelled to help. Inspired and determined to see the justice system work, many people have worked on this case pro bono for the past 13 years. However, there are still costs that go along with the process of freeing these three men. There has been a wonderful resurgence of interest by the media for this case, but nobody mentions the need for funds. Donations to the defense fund are desperately needed. DNA and forensics tests are expensive. They are also what will finally set these men free. Due to so many people’s passion and generosity, what would normally be a case that costs millions is costing a fraction of that. I know around the holidays we all get inundated with deserving causes and charities that are in need of donations, but this can’t wait! With all of the new evidence things are finally moving, and fast! Any money that you can donate is desperately needed to pay for the experts and the federal court hearing that is just weeks away. There is also a letter campaign that has been started by a new and energized group of people in Arkansas. By clicking on this link, you can download the sample letter. Signing a sending this letter makes it very difficult for this case to be ignored. Please mail the letters to the following address:

Arkansas Take Action
Capi Peck, Coordinator
P.O. Box 17788
Little Rock, AR 72222-7788

After so many years it literally comes down to this hearing.
The evidence is so strong that at the very least the judge will grant a new trial, but hopefully he will overturn the verdict and these guys will finally be sent home to their lives and families. I know that this is a hard thing to just take my word on, so please look at the case and the evidence for yourself. I am confident that you will see the DNA evidence is irrefutable and that these three men did not get the kind of trial that is promised to us – as Americans. The system hasn’t only failed Damien, Jesse, and Jason, but it has failed the three little boys that were murdered. Their killer(s) is still out there, and just has yet to be served. Please know that your generosity will make a difference.

Sincerely,
Natalie Maines Pasdar

The following is just some of the DNA and forensic evidence that will be presented in the federal court hearing.

In late October, legal papers were filed in federal court in Arkansas showing that Damien Echols was wrongfully convicted. The 200-page court filing includes DNA evidence that fail to link any of the three boys to the crime scene. This is very important because the prosecution claimed that Echols had sodomized the victims.

-DNA tests also show that a hair belonging to Terry Hobbs, the step-father of one of the victims, was found in the ligature of one of the victims.

- DNA tests also match a hair at the crime scene to a friend of Hobbs that was with him that day.

-DNA test results show foreign DNA-from someone other than Echols, Misskelly, or Baldwin-on the penises of two of the victims.

-Scientific analysis from some of the nation’s leading forensics experts, stating that wounds on the victims’ bodies were caused by animals at the crime scene-not by knives used by the perpetrators, as the prosecution claimed. These wounds were the centerpiece of the prosecution’s case, and evidence was presented that a knife recovered from a lake near one defendant’s home caused the wounds.

-Sworn affidavits outlining new evidence uncovered by Pam Hobbs (the ex-wife of Terry Hobbs) who found a knife in Terry Hobbs’ drawer that her son (one of the victims) had carried with him at all times. After her son was killed, the knife was not among his personal effects that police gave to the Hobbs family, and Pam Hobbs always assumed that her son’s murderer had taken it during the crime.

-New information implicating Terry Hobbs-including his own statements made to police in recent interviews where he acknowledged that several of his relatives suspect him in the crime. The filing also includes a chronology of Hobbs’ activities on the night of the crimes, when he washed his clothes and sheets at odd hours for no reason other than to hide evidence from the crimes.

-A sworn affidavit that refutes hearsay evidence from Echols’ trial. The mother of one of two girls who testified that they overheard Echols admit to the crime at a softball game now says that Echols’ statement was not serious and that neither she nor her daughter believes he committed the crime.

One of my favorite fish died. He was a Dojo Loach named Floppy. I just found him dead at the top of the tank, in his favorite spot, flopped over the top of the tall plant.

I tried to find a picture of him, but for some reason I can’t find any.

Here’s a picture of someone else’s Dojo Loach that looks like Floppy.

Except that Floppy was longer and more awesome.

I’m sad now

So, this one is for the people who know me IRL. Most specifically, Sandra and my mom.

This is what I want my headstone to say.

EDIT

Yes, I realize that I made myself 110 years old. I’m gonna be old as fuck when I die. So my mom and Sandra better live that long too, because someone’s gotta remember to put this shit on my grave.

By ANA BEATRIZ CHOLO, Associated Press Writer 1 minute ago

WEST HOLLYWOOD, Calif. – Richard Jeni, a standup comedian who played to sold-out crowds, was a regular on the “Tonight Show” and appeared in movies, died of a gunshot wound in an apparent suicide, police said Sunday.

Police found the 45-year-old comedian alive but gravely injured in a West Hollywood home when they responded to a call Saturday morning from Jeni’s girlfriend, Los Angeles Police Officer Norma Eisenman said.

Eisenman said the caller told police: “My boyfriend shot himself in the face.”

Jeni died at a nearby hospital.

Eisenman said suicide had not been officially confirmed and the investigation was continuing.

Jeni regularly toured the country with a standup act and had starred in several HBO comedy specials, most recently “A Big Steaming Pile of Me” during the 2005-06 season.

Another HBO special, “Platypus Man,” won a Cable ACE award for best standup comedy special, and formed the basis for his UPN sitcom of the same name, which ran for one season.

Jeni’s movie credits included “The Mask,” in which he played Jim Carrey’s best friend, “The Aristocrats,” “National Lampoon’s Dad’s Week Off,” and “An Alan Smithee Film: Burn, Hollywood, Burn.”

He had guest appearances in the TV shows “Everybody Hates Chris,” “Married: With Children,” and updated versions of the game shows “Hollywood Squares” and “Match Game.”

The Brooklyn-born comic first received national attention in 1990 with the Showtime special “Richard Jeni: Boy From New York City.” Two years later, his “Crazy From the Heat” special attracted the highest ratings in Showtime’s history.

Jeni became a frequent guest on “The Tonight Show” during Johnny Carson’s reign and continued to appear after Jay Leno took over as host.

He also wrote comic material for the 2005 Academy Awards, which was hosted by his friend Chris Rock.

On 2/8/07, Sandra Humphrey wrote:

wow:

Anna Nicole Smith collapsed at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Hollywood, Florida.
According to hotel officials, emergency responders performed CPR at the scene and a breathing apparatus was inserted in her throat. Anna was immediately transported to Memorial Regional Hospital in Hollywood just after 2:00 PM EST.
WFOR-TV in Miami reports that Anna was found unresponsive in her hotel room. Local streets were closed off to rush Smith to the hospital, three miles away. Paramedics were seen pumping her chest as she was taken from the hotel.
Anna had been hospitalized for a week last November with pneumonia. Daughter Dannielynn, subject of an ongoing DNA test battle, was born on September 7. Her son Daniel died of a drug overdose on September 10

 

From: Joe Humphrey [mailto:hardcorebilliam@gmail.com]
Sent: 2007-02-08 12:49 PM
To: Humphrey, Sandra
Subject: Re: Laundry

Damn. I thought she was dead. I got all excited.

On 2/8/07, Sandra Humphrey wrote:

well, they were pumping her chest, so you never know!

From: Joe Humphrey [mailto:hardcorebilliam@gmail.com]
Sent: 2007-02-08 12:56 PM
To: Humphrey, Sandra
Subject: Re: Laundry

nevermind, she’s dead
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20070208/ap_en_ot/anna_nicole_smith

On 2/8/07, Sandra Humphrey wrote:

o m g

From: Joe Humphrey [mailto:hardcorebilliam@gmail.com]
Sent: 2007-02-08 1:00 PM
To: Humphrey, Sandra
Subject: Re: Laundry

Should I feel like a dick for wishing she would die right before she died?

On 2/8/07, Sandra Humphrey wrote:

now, she was dead long before you said that. It was just announced now I’m sure.

From: Joe Humphrey [mailto:hardcorebilliam@gmail.com]
Sent: 2007-02-08 1:05 PM
To: Humphrey, Sandra
Subject: Re: Laundry

I just hope to god that people don’t start comparing her to Marilyn Monroe. That would make me puke

Well… maybe.

I’m a sucker for documentaries. Like most Americans, I’m typically too lazy to actually do my own research so I tend to believe whatever if fed to me. That’s why I’ve been so critical of documentary film makers over the last few years. It bums me out that people (myself included) just take things at face value without actually questioning the intentions and integrity of the person making the film. That’s why I hate Michael Moore so much… not because I disagree with the things he says (I do a lot of the time, but he says a lot of things I agree with as well) but because I disagree with the way he goes about saying them. He, like many documentary film makers these days, makes political propaganda, just as slanted and misleading as the line of bullshit the government gives us.

The particular little collection of clips and points is interesting to me though. If anything, it raises some questions.

Like most celebrities that commit suicide, it’s very hard to swallow that Hunter Thompson actually killed himself. I can’t say I was surprised when I heard the news, but I certainly didn’t expect it either. He seemed like too stubborn and weathered of a guy to actually end it himself.

But that comes back to the basic need of fans to not want to believe that their heroes would do such a thing. The sickening and depressing feeling that comes along with hearing the news that someone you respect has committed suicide isn’t just the sadness of their death, but the disappointment in having their image changed in your mind. It’s hard to be disappointed in a hero. It’s hard to believe that they gave up. Especially when you’re someone like me that has struggled with suicide in their life.

People need to believe that it just HAD to be something else. Michael Hutchence’s suicide was an accident. Kurt Cobain was murdered. Jimi Hendrix just partied too hard. And now Hunter S. Thompson was silenced by the government.

The Jimi Hendrix thing has always been a bit of a pet peeve for me. It’s just assumed the he was a druggie and took it too far. The man took a fist full of sleeping pills and washed it down with a bottle of wine. You don’t do that to get high. You do that to die.

As for Hunter… I don’t really doubt that Hunter died by his own hand. This thing did make me think about it though. If there was anyone in America that was going to get silenced by The Man, it was Hunter S. Thompson.

Someone set a Tickle-Me-Elmo on fire. This is some disturbing shit.

Damn. He was old but damn. I never got into Everybody Loves Raymond, but Peter Boyle was in two of my favorite movies, Taxi Driver and Young Frankenstein. He was one of the guys that I just kind of assumed would always be around.

WTF!

Robert Altman died.

I mean, he was old and all, but shit! He was one of those guys I just figured was going to be making movies until the end of time.

That makes me sad. He directed Popeye, one of my all time favorite movies. He also directed the M*A*S*H movie.

this is how I feel about that.

http://www.annanicole.com/

From Anna Nicole Smith’s official website

On September 7^th Anna Nicole gave birth to a healthy 6 pound, 9 ounce baby girl. Her son Daniel was in the Bahamas with her to share in the joy of his baby sister when he passed away suddenly on the morning of September 10^th. We have yet to learn the cause of death but do not believe that drugs or alcohol were a factor. Anna Nicole is absolutely devastated by the loss of her son. He was her pride and joy and an amazing human being. Please do not make any press inquiries at this time so that Anna Nicole can grieve in peace. 

That’s fucking aweful. On that show of hers, her son seemed like the only person in her life that actually had some sort of grasp of reality. Damn.

So my girl Storm went home. That’s alright. I wish she could have made to the top three. I wish she could have at least made it farther that than fucking under developed fetus looking mother fucker Lukas with his eyes two far apart. You who that mother fucker looks like? He looks like fucking Gollum from the Lord of the Rings movies. Fuck Lukas and fuck his ugly, no talent having piece of shit face. I hate him and I wish he was dead. That cocky bastard sings his own half assed rip off sounds like everything on the radio right now original song AGAIN last night? Nobody wants to hear your retarded “original“ song.

God I fucking hate him.

Yes, I have Storm injustice induced rage.

But she’s better off not winning. I’ve said that before.

BTW, her rendition of Wish You Were Here should have bought her at least another week. That was fucking beautiful. Much better than that Nazi Marty Casey’s lame version last season.

What’s up with that show? Did they only buy the rights to two Pink Floyd songs or what? I’ve heard Wish You Were Here like fifty times over the two seasons of Rock Star. That and Fortune’s version of Money which was… alright. I wanna hear a Pink Floyd song I haven’t heard fifty million times. Do fucking Pigs from Animals or do One of my Turns. That’d rock EVERYONE’S socks. Don’t get me wrong, Wish You Were Here is a great song and all… but it’s a LITTLE over played.

So now I’m gunning for Toby to take the whole thing home.

Dilana needs to do Sonic Reducer to completely redeem herself. She won’t, but she should. I’ve always thought that sound would sound good with a chick singing.

Back to how much I hate Lukas…

One of the many things I hate about Lukas is the fact that he’s Canadian. It’s not that I hate Canadians… it’s just a strike against him that I can exploit when I talk about how much I hate about him. It also means that because I LIVE in Canada I have to hear about this fucktard like he’s fucking John Lennon or something anytime anyone is talking about Rock Star.

FUCK!

Okay, so, as anyone reading my journal for any length of time knows… I have issues with Canada. It’s not just the horrible TV or the fact that Canadians don’t seem to have any concept of the general rules of driving, official or unspoken. It’s not just the fact that I can’t get all of my trashy American fast food or get a goddamned Stouffers French Bread Pizza or real Spaghetti-Os or regular old fashioned pizza pepperoni in the supermarket for that matter. It’s not only the fact that you can’t get a fucking M&M Blizzard at Dairy Queen. The problem is that it’s not home. I’ve been living here for like, eight years or something. That’s a long long fucking time. I’ve been living here for almost a third of my life… but it still doesn’t feel like home. I feel like I don’t have a home and I resent the fuck out of it.

If I were to get hit by a truck this afternoon and I went to the hospital and was only a couple hours away from dead and they asked me where I wanted to be buried… I wouldn’t know what to tell them. It sure as shit wouldn’t be here, but then… where? Sacramento? Fuck that. Fuck Sacramento. I don’t be buried there. Some asshole would probably vandalize my grave. And not in a badass Jim Morrison sort of way. Someone would break my headstone and then spray paint “I eat cock” on it. Southern California? Fuck that place too. Maybe if I lived there, but I don’t. I don’t wanna be shipped down to California just so I can be buried in my homeland where no one would come and visit me and like, put shit on my grave and shit. That’s kind of weak. I don’t wanna be buried up in the mountains where my mom lives, because fuck that place too. I love my family and all, but I don’t wanna be buried fucking Grizzly Flats or Placerville or something when I only lived there for like, three months. Fuck that too.

I mean, ideally I wouldn’t be buried at all. Cemeteries are a stupid ass waste of space. I mean, I get it… I get the whole grieving process for the people who love me and all that, but really… do I need to take up real estate till the end of time? I don’t think so. If I’m gonna do that, I’d rather have like, a building erected to house my body somewhere that’s NOT a cemetery. But I don’t want that. I wanna be cryogenically frozen. Hell yeah. Cause I don’t want to fucking die. I talk a lot of shit about suicide and all of that, but that’s got a lot more to do with ending pain than wanting to die. Ideally, if I could die, I’d want to die and then wake up with everything fucking better. I don’t really want to DIE like… FOREVER. I just want to not have to deal with all of this mental bullshit I’m dealing with, on top of the regular bullshit that everyone deals with. Fucking freeze my ass and wake me up in thirty years when you’ve found a cure for “getting hit by a truck” and then everything will be hunky dory.

But I’m not going to be cryogenically frozen. I’ve accepted that. It’s expensive and like, I don’t think anyone really knows how to go about getting that done. I’d probably end up in someone’s deep freezer somewhere and that’s just not dignified. Joe all balled up and hard and frosty in a freezer. I’d be naked too, which would be embarrassing. Especially since it’s cold a freezer. Anyone who happened to look in at me would be like “Jesus, Joe didn’t have much in the way of cock.” And I’d be dead so I wouldn’t be able to say “IT’S CAUSE IT’S COLD HERE! FUCKER!”

So yeah, I don’t want to be buried here in Canada, but I have no idea where I do want to lay to rest, so I guess I’d leave that up to Sandra, and she’d probably fucking bury me here and I’d spend eternity in heaven bitching constantly about how even in death I’m trapped in fucking Canada.

And yes, I’d be in heaven. I don’t believe in heaven, but I do believe that if heaven DOES exist, I’m fucking going. If there is a heaven, they’ve be up there going “Dude, we HELLA need to get Joe up here. This place fucking SUCKS without Joe.” And I’d come rambling up the stairway and be like “WAZZUP~!!~???” and they’d be like “JOE!!” and I’d be like “BRING ON THE KALUHA AND BITCHES, BEEYOTCH!” and they’d be like “welcome home” and I’d be like “so what’s up with this place?” and they’d be like “up here you can fucking do whatever you want and nobody gives a shit. If you wanna dick around on the internet and fucking watch movies and eat popcorn and read magazine and fucking play PS2 all day, you CAN.” And I’d be like “But I can do that at home.” And they’d say “but can you do that and not get shit from people about it?” and I’d be like “no” and they’d be like “We WANT you to do that up here” and I’d be like “This IS heaven!” and then they’d say “If you wanna go have sex with someone, it’s TOTALLY cool! And they’re into it! And everyone’s into it! And no one’s going to give you shit about it!” and I’ll be like “What about my wife?” and they’ll be like “She’s not here!” and I’ll be like “But I’ll miss her” and they’ll say “Joe, she’ll be here eventually, and guess what!?” and I’ll be like “what?” and they’ll say “She can play Playstation and fuck whoever she wants whenever she wants too!” and I’ll be like “but she won’t want that.” And they’ll say “Then she can like, fucking scrapbook and watch Gilmore Girls or something” and I’ll be like “Righteous. She’ll like that.” And they’ll be like “Look, here comes Jim Morrison and Marilyn Monroe. They’re gonna show you how to party fucking HEAVEN style, for real.” And I’ll be like “Sign my ass UP for this shit.”

Was I talking about something at some point?

Oh yeah, Canada.

So because I don’t feel like this place is home, I resent the shit out of it. I resent it and I hate it. It’s a fucking beautiful country and the people are fucking friendly and they’ve got FREE HEALTH CARE and really, it’s fantastic fucking place to live. But I resent it. I resent because I can’t leave. I can’t just up and leave.

And you’re saying “Why DON’T you just leave if you hate it so much?”

Well here’s why. It cost a fucking LOT of money to get up here. A lot. Sandra and I “dated” for six years or so, long distance. I worked in a fucking movie theater. Sandra was in school. We couldn’t exactly afford to do what we did. But it was love and all that shit so we did it, and I’m glad we did. But we racked up a SHITLOAD of debt getting me up here. Flights and phone bills and immigration all of that bullshit added up REAL quick. I couldn’t work for two years once I got up here. THAT cost a lot of fucking money.

And for some reason my finger just started bleeding for no reason whatsoever. BRB.

Alright, band aid-age applied. This shit hurts like a bastard. I hate mystery blood.

Anyway…

I’d love to just up and move back to the States. I’d love to be able to go down there and say “hey, I’ve got a kick ass job and I can support my wife and live comfortably” but I can’t. I owe a lot of big companies a lot of fucking money.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re getting by. We’re trying to pay shit down and we’re able to do our thing fairly comfortably up here. But we’re certainly not in a position to try and start fresh anywhere. And unless something substantial changes, it’s gonna be a while before we can.

When I came up here I was all like “Yeah, I’ll probably stay here for like, a year and then we’ll move down to the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

SHYEAH! RIGHT!

So that’s why I resent Canada. It’s nothing that Canada has actually DONE to me. It’s got nothing to do with Sandra either. It’s just the position I’m in. I nitpick about little shit like bad driving and bad TV and the lack of access to all of my favorite garbage that I love in the states, but really, I just resent the fuck out of the fact that I’m trapped here. I’m trapped here and I’m paying for it. I spent a fuck load of money building a cell and locking myself in it, and now that I’m here I fucking hate it.

But…

BUT…

Canada isn’t openly and proudly violating my basic rights. They aren’t listening to my phone calls. They aren’t admitting that they’ve got secret CIA torture prisons.

I just heard about this shit. Bush came out and said “Oh yeah, we’ve totally got secret CIA torture prisons.” WHAT THE FUCK?! Ya know, Guantanamo Bay is bad enough. That’s the prison that they publicly had where they are holding (and torturing) people without charging them with anything. I’d hate to think about what’s going on in the “secret” CIA prisons.

What the fuck is wrong with America? Okay, so we’re not the most popular country in the world. Okay, so went to war under false pretenses and killed a whole shit load of people (our own included) for reasons they can’t even explain, much less prove. Okay, so our government is spying on us. Our country is fifty years behind the rest of the civilized world in regards to “family values.” Okay, so we’re fucking religious extremists masquerading as a democracy. Okay, so we’re the most powerful country on earth, and we got there by killing our way to the top. Okay, so we’re SO proud of our civil liberties but we can’t even take care of our own people. Okay, so we spend BILLIONS of dollars destroying another country and killing thousands people when we can’t even take care of our own people.

BUT…

At least we don’t torture people.

OH WAIT!

YES WE FUCKING DO!

Jesus Christ!

Do you remember when they cut that reporter’s head off? And like, people lost their fucking minds. Understandably, mind you. It was a fucked, terribly that happened. That one chick… the soldier chick… who was captured and raped and tortured. What was her name? Lynch. Jessica Lynch. That shit happened and it was like “OMG these people are fucking ANIMALS! They’re backwards evil torturing sons of bitchs!”

Um…

Yeah, we fucking do that. We torture and humiliate and rape “Suspected terrorists.”

Guess what. You bring a goddamn bottle of Gatorade onto a plane and YOU’RE a suspected terrorist. That title is MEANINGLESS. Anyone can be a “suspected terrorist.”

And they’re the fucking monsters and we’re the heroes?!

Dude, something is fucking WRONG here.

Okay, so I’m not going off on the war. We could be here for days talking about that shit and I just don’t have the energy or motivation for it. What I’m talking about is fucking hypocrisy. We act like we’re the moral center of the world and we do a lot of the same fucked up shit that we’re fighting against to other people. We blow up hospitals and civilians and kids. We torture and rape people. We enlist soldiers on suicide missions. That whole fucking war is a suicide mission. We tell people to go and kill and be killed for the glory of our moral high ground. They call it Jihad. We call it Freedom and it’s the same fucking thing.

Jesus…

Okay, so yeah, Canada. I resent having to live here. It’s got a lot more to do with my hang-ups than any real problems with the country itself. They take care of their people here. They give everyone health care. They let treat adults like adults and let them marry who they want. They don’t really care if you wanna sit in your house and smoke pot all day, just so long as you’re not fucking with anyone else while you do it. They don’t go around the world killing people when they don’t have to. They’re over all pretty fucking laid back. Most problems I have with Canada are superficial petty bullshit like driving and entertainment and convenience. When it comes down to serious shit, Canada not that bad. They’ve got retarded politicians up here and a picture in the queen in the airport, which is kind of gay, but whatever. I can get past that.

I still fucking hate Lukas Rossi.

And Nickelback.

And Avril.

And please… do not get me wrong. I love America. I fucking LOVE America. I love living there. If I had my choice, I’d spend the rest of my life in a big house in the hills outside of Los Angeles.

PS:
I found a video of a chick singing Sonic Reducer.

So I’m watching some CNN thing about Steve Irwin. The chump hosting it has Steve’s best friend and manager on the phone. He keeps asking him to describe the attack and if it was true that Steve pulled the barb out of his chest and wanted to go back in the water. The guy is just about crying on the phone talking about the death of his best friend and this guy’s asking him for more details on exactly what happened when they pulled Steve out of the water.

Then they brought out Jack Hanna and started asking him about sting rays. Jack kept reiterating that sting rays are generally not dangerous animals. He said that he didn’t want people to start staying away from the ocean out of fear of sting rays the way they did about sharks after Jaws. He said that the last person in Australia (where Irwin was killed) to die from a sting ray attack was eighteen years ago.

The host kept trying to play sting rays up as these like, vicious monsters of the ocean. Then they brought out this other Animal Planet host (I forget his name) and that guy said the same thing about sting rays, that he didn’t want people to start freaking out about them and that you’re more likely to get struck by lightning than to be attacked by a sting ray.

So then that segment ends and CNN’s next segment starts and the title is in big ominous letters and it’s something like “STING RAYS!!! NATURES MOST EVIL SONS OF BITCHES!! DON’T LEAVE YOUR HOUSE OR THEY’LL KILL YOU!!!” and they did this whole segment about sting rays and how badly they can fuck you up. They interviewed this dude from some aquarium somewhere and he’d be stung once in the hand and he kept going on about how badly it hurt, but that his job was handling sting rays and it probably would have happened eventually, considering that he fucks with them it all the time. But CNN kept on with the sting ray scare tactics.

It just pisses me off. CNN is so bent on keeping people scared of everything. The next segment after the sting ray one was “It’s been five years since 9-11! Are we any safer now from terrorists than we were before?!” and now they’re talking about how terrorists are going to kill us all at any minute.

Jesus Christ!

I wish that the terrorists would go to Atlanta and fucking blow up CNN. That’s how sick of it I am.

Why does every fucking news story have to be twisted into  “Do you REALLY THINK YOU’RE SAFE?!”

By Christmas they’ll be doing stories about people being killed at shopping malls going Christmas shopping. Halloween will be all about people dressed up in costumes kidnapping kids and passing out tainted candy.

I don’t know if people still do this or not, but remember how when we were kids and we went Trick or Treating and our parents had to inspect our candy to make sure there weren’t razorblades or poison in our candy?

What in the complete fuck was THAT about? I know that they learned that from the news, because I remember the news telling people “you better check your kid’s candy because it might be tainted with evil!”

What the shit?! Have you EVER heard of a kid getting poisoned or finding a razorblade in their candy? That shit just doesn’t happen. Okay, so there might be one crazy guy once who did that. I’m sure it’s maybe happened once or twice, like, ever. Does that mean that we’ve all of a sudden got to inspect all candy for tampering? Are you fucking shitting me?

I’m not checking shit when my kids get their trick or treat candy. They can eat it all in the car on the way home for all I care. Kids are more likely to get a box of Reese’s Pieces with a dead baby rat in it from the factory in the middle of June than a Tootsie Roll with a razorblade in it on Halloween. It’s completely fucking retarded.

Sting rays aren’t going to attack you unless you fuck with them, and even then it’s not going to kill you. Terrorists aren’t going to blow you up and crazy people aren’t going to poison your kids Halloween candy. Oh, and, you know what? Chances are, unless you live in Africa, you’re probably not going to get AIDS either. CNN needs to shut the fuck up.

So I heard about Steve Irwin dying last night. I haven’t posted about it yet because I was formulating my thoughts. I know that this is going to be just another one of the billion posts out there right now talking about it.

I’m kind of glad I waited to talk about it till today because frankly I’m a little put off by the way some people are treating his death. I’m not surprised by it, but it still bugs me.

Of course it’s no surprise that Steve was killed by a dangerous animal. That was inevitable. I wish it hadn’t happened so soon, but it was definitely going to happen. He died doing what he loved, and that’s more than most people can expect.

Someone in another journal made a good point. He was reacting to people saying that Steve deserved to die the way he did, and that he was irresponsible for putting himself in a position where he could leave his wife widowed and his children fatherless. His reaction was this (paraphrased):

“He deserved it in the same way a firefighter deserves to die in a fire and a cop deserves to be shot by a crook and a soldier deserves to die in the field. “

Someone then responded saying (again paraphrased) that the comparison isn’t right because firefighters and cops and soldiers die protecting people, and Steve Irwin annoyed dangerous animals.

I think that the basic problem here is a lack of understanding of what Steve Irwin really did with his life. Yes, he hosted a TV show where he went out and fucked with deadly animals. Yes he routinely put his life at risk for the benefit of his show and his passion. What he also did was devoted his life to the preservation of these animals. He spent his time on this planet doing everything he could to not only protect these animals, but to educate people about them. His philosophy was to teach people not to blindly fear these animals but to cautiously respect them. To understand them, and ultimately, to grasp exactly why these animals are important and the role they serve in the grand scheme of things. Steve Irwin was passionate about all animals, dangerous or otherwise, and he made it his mission to make sure that they maintained their place on this planet.

Whether or not you agree with his views or the way he went about teaching people, there is no getting around the very decent and good and respectable intentions behind what he dedicated his life to. Sure, he put himself potentially in harms way, but he only did so for what he believed to be the greater good.

And in the end, it killed him. I can’t fault him for the decisions he made or the way he conducted his life, because he actually dedicated his life to trying to make the world a better place, which is a lot more than I can say for myself or most of the people talking shit about him right now.

That’s my two cents on it.

The trailer for The Black Deliah is online. I am SUPER psyched for this movie. I thought David Fincher was doing it, but Brian De Palma works as well.

This is one of those cases that I’m surprised they haven’t made a movie about it yet. The Black Deliah murder was huge in it’s time and the fact that it’s still unsolved makes it that much more intriguing. I’d put it up there with the Jack the Ripper case. One of those weird thing that people have devoted their lives to trying to figure out. Everyone involved has a different opinion on who the murderer was and why they did it. Plus the fact that it was such a vicious and gruesome murder makes it even more interesting. Especially to people with a somewhat twisted side like myself.

I remember reading Hollywood Babylon when I was a kid and seeing the crime scene photos. That’s something that’s been burned into my mind ever since. Even if I hadn’t read up on it later in life, I’m sure that if someone were to mention it, I could vividly recall the photo instantly. It’s one of those things I just couldn’t forget about.