Death Comes in Threes

Three celebrities, three members of the entertainment world died this past week. They were each at different levels of success and acclaim, and at different points in their lives when Death knocked on their doors. They each leave behind vastly different legacies.

You may not have heard, but Michael Jackson died yesterday. No, really, it's true. I know they didn't cover it much on the TV news, but yes, the King of Pop is gone. But not forgotten. How he'll be remembered depends on the person doing the remembering. Definitely a mixed legacy with this guy.

I'm in my 40s so I remember seeing the young Michael with the Jackson Five on various television programs performing any one of a number of their hits. And they were good, really good, especially Michael, who went on to a solo career. And it started off well. And then came "Thriller." Blew the socks off of everybody. It was a pop masterpiece. (I must admit I never bought it because, at the time it came out, every time I turned on the radio, they were playing a song from that album, thus there was no need to part with my cash.)

If Michael Jackson had dropped dead within a few years of releasing "Thriller" the memory of him, and the memorializing and the mythologizing of him would be far greater than what has been accorded Elvis these last thirty some odd years since his passing.

If Jackson had dropped dead before all the cosmetic surgeries, before the whitening of the skin and the straightening of the hair, before he started hanging out with Elizabeth Taylor, before the oddball marriages, before the chimp and the hyperbaric chamber and the Neverland Ranch, before admitting to sleeping with boys that were no kin of his, before the horrible accusations...

If only.

But he wasn't that lucky, lucky enough to die at the right time, the right time to leave a great legacy and nothing more than a great legacy. But let me be honest about my feelings, it wasn't the circus of Michael Jackson's life that leaves me cold about his death, it was the thing with the kinder. I can't get past that, I don't forgive him that, and I don't mourn his passing. I didn't wish him dead, but I don't mourn him.

Farrah Fawcett was another story, sometimes kind of a strange story too, but never Michael Jackson strange.

There was The Poster. We all know about The Poster. Many boys had one on their bedroom wall back in the day, and, to be honest, she was a fairly good looking woman, even up until the end. There was The Hair. Many women wanted that hairstyle; many bands in the 1980s wanted it too (I'm talkin' to you, Bon Jovi). There was "The Burning Bed." There was The Appearance on Letterman's show, where she was perhaps more than a little flighty. (Don't bother looking; the video has been removed from YouTube.) There was The End. Who knew such a thing as anal cancer existed? I feel sorry for anyone afflicted with cancer.

So the legacy of Farrah Fawcett is what? A good lookin' chick who persevered, possibly despite the hair and the teeth and the looks, how about that? Not a bad legacy.

And then there is Ed McMahon. Despite all the other work he did, and he worked a lot, McMahon will forever be remembered as Johnny Carson's sidekick.

You know what, that's not a bad legacy to leave.

McMahon was a rock of support for Carson, always quick with a laugh or helpful comment. The two of them for thirty years did the best late night show TV will ever produce, and McMahon was an indispensable part of that show.

In the days after his death, I read or saw interviews with people who knew him, worked with him, met him in the street. To a person, they all said what a genuinely nice person McMahon was, always enjoying life, even in the times of struggle, such as his financial problems of the last few years.

People remembering him as a nice man who enjoyed life. You know what, that may be the best legacy of all to leave behind.

Here's a little clip of Ed and Johnny back in the time when they did live commercials on "The Tonight Show." You can see here just what made them so much fun to watch.

Down South America Way; or, Don't Cry For Me, South Carolina

As we all know by now, the governor of South Carolina decided to go away for a long weekend. In Argentina. Did he really believe he could leave his rather high profile job for five days without telling anybody where he was going, nor having any contact with anyone?

"Honey, I'm going out for a walk."

"Why do you have your passport with you?"

"Oh, no reason. Gotta go."

You know, this governor dude was critical of Bill Clinton for his extra-marital monkey business, but at least Clinton didn't have to go to another continent just to have a good time. I do have to give Gov. Sanford credit, though, for coming up with hiking the Appalachian Trail as an excuse for his whereabouts. That's creative.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Because "Yes Yes Yeses" Just Sounded Silly

In my middle-aged dotage I find myself enjoying the work of a band called Yeah Yeah Yeahs. The song "Zero" cannot be removed from my head, not even by the Voices, and I find the singer, Karen O, strangely alluring, like a younger, much sexier Chrissie Hynde with a Johnny Ramone hairstyle. Not that I found Johnny Ramone sexy. Whatever. Can we just move on now? Play the video.

"Shot in the Back of the Head," music by Moby, movie by David Lynch

The music artist Moby has teamed up with filmmaker David Lynch on the new song "Shot in the Back of the Head."

I think it's a good pairing. Lynch's movies ("Eraserhead," "Blue Velvet") and TV work ("Twin Peaks") tend to have minimal story lines. The films are more about feeling, about atmosphere. Moby's music is similar. The individual works aren't songs in the traditional sense so much as they are mood pieces. Like Lynch, Moby works in the realm of atmospherics.

Lynch's images here produce feelings, perhaps of dread or fear. Moby's music in this piece also induces similar feelings. Together, do they have an even greater effect on a person? I think it works out that way in this case. The music and the fleeting black and white graphics meld together and support one another. Yet, each works without the other. You could watch the video silently and it would still be an effective piece of entertainment. You could listen to "Shot in the Back of the Head" and still find the sounds moving you without seeing the video.

Buffer

I am not unaware of things. I am not unaware that sometimes what I say, write or post on a blog could be misconstrued or perceived as being insensitive. I am not unaware. I am not David Letterman.

Here's why I mention all of this. I want to post a video made by filmmaker David Lynch to accompany a new song by Moby. The song is called "Shot in the Back of the Head." The post preceding the one you're reading now was about a hate filled human, and I use the term "human" loosely here, who decided to go gun down some people that weren't exactly like him for no reason other than the fact that they weren't exactly like him. This person committed an atrocity by shooting one man to death before he himself was shot by a security guard. Shot in the head. So when I signed on to my blog to post the video and saw the previous entry, I thought it would be a good idea to have another posting, a buffer if you will, between the story about a man who was shot in the head and the music video about a man shot in the head.

Consider this your buffer. And no, head wounds will most certainly not be a recurring theme on my blog. I hope.

Now on with the show.

Memo to the Haters (You Know Who You Are)

Your world is crumbling. Yes, it's crumbling and no matter how much you try to warn people, it just keeps happening.

You warn US citizens with your websites and books and you frighten your wives who become ex-wives and if you had friends you'd frighten them too and maybe sometimes you walk down the street muttering about the Jews and the niggers and you frighten your neighbors a little bit. No, come on now, don't deny it, you know you do that. Why, your neighbor lady down the street doesn't want her little girl talking to you, shoos her in the house if she sees you coming. But, you know, muttering and carrying on is not a crime, and they should be scared, you think. There's so much to be scared of. Look what's in the White House. You think he's a Muslim, don't you? And we can't have that. Oh, no. And look at the people he surrounds himself with. Rahm Emmanuel. Those people.

You are frightened. Or maybe just pissed. Or both. You didn't get wherever it was in life that you wanted to get, didn't get the life you deserved You should have had a better job with better pay. One of them blacks must of got the job, and sure as hell them Jews don't want to pay you what you deserve.

Is this what you fought in the Big War for? To get treated like one of them, when they're the ones who are supposed to get treated like this?

I don't know for sure, but I'll bet your house isn't all that nice. Probably a bit unkempt, needs some paint on the porch, some siding newer than what you put on there when Ike was president. Look around you, what have you got? You're a bit of a failure, aren't you? Can't possibly be your fault, though, can it? No, sir. Noooo, sir, this shit ain't your fault. Uh-uh. It's their fault. Them. It's always them. Trying to destroy the white race. Trying to destroy you.

Yeah, look around, what have you got? You've got your smarts. You're smart enough, in a way, to write a book. Lots of hateful things in that book, I'll bet. You've got a computer. And you're smart enough to figure out the Internet and how to put up a website. That's pretty good. Shows some gumption, some get up and go. You're better than some minority that sits around collecting welfare checks. Damn straight. You're doing something. Hating is a full time job.

What else have you got? Oh, yeah, you've got your guns. They can't get those. Not yet. They'll try. Someday they'll try. Oh yeah, they're making laws right now to take our guns away from us, our basic constitutional right being thwarted by those people. They'll have to take your guns from your cold dead hands, won't they?

You need those guns. When the race war starts you wan to be ready. Or is it going to be a class war? Whatever. You know they want to kill you. You're a Gentile. And a damn fine specimen of a Gentile you are. That's why the Jews want you dead. And you're ready for when those jackbooted Feds, those thugs, come to confiscate your weapons. Uh-uh. Not gonna happen. Going out with your boots on.

Hey, what was that noise? Is it those black helicopters again? God-damned United Nations! Nothing but a Jew conspiracy, that is. You're ready for 'em. Don't bring your guns to town, son? Shit. You're gonna bring 'em all to town. Guns and ammo, baby. You're ready. Got a list of places to go and you're ready to do it to it. Right. Now. You've got a plan.

Well, I've got a plan for you too, for all you frightened little men and frightened little women, scared of change, of a world that doesn't look like it should to you, filled with people that don't look like you, or think like you, or pray like you.

Here's my plan for you scared little haters: Take a deep breath, put your guns and car keys down, and go back into your little hidey-hole. We don't want you up here on the earth's surface, sharing our good sunlight, the light of God's grace, so crawl back into your hole and start digging. All of you. Now. Right now. Keep digging and digging and don't stop until you get to a place where it feels real warm. You'll meet lots of people just like you there, and so many people you admired will be waiting, like old Adolph over there, shit, you'll think you were in heaven, you just didn't think heaven would be this hot.

"Two Lane Blacktop"

I spent my early morning watching “Two Lane Blacktop.”

It’s a 1971 film directed by Monte Hellman, known to film aficionados (you know, geeks) as the guy who made low-budget movies in the 1960s with (among others) Jack Nicholson before he became “Jack Nicholson,” celebrity.

As you can guess from the title, “Two Lane Blacktop” is a road movie, specifically a road racing movie. It shares some similarities “Easy Rider,” but doesn't have quite the same spirit as that 1969 counter-culture icon. It’s more like the disgruntled, dead inside child of “Easy Rider.”

In “Easy Rider” the two protagonists cross the country seeking a goal, as muddle-headed as that goal may be; for them there is some idealized hippie future, if only they can get there. In “Two Lane Blacktop” the protagonists drift through the country, making "bread" (yeah, they talked funny back then) by racing their ’55 Chevy; for them there doesn't seem to be a future beyond the next race, if only they can get there.

The “stars” of the movie are James Taylor (yes, Sweet Baby James!), in his first and last film appearance, as the Driver, Beach Boy Dennis Wilson, in his first and last film acting appearance, as the Mechanic, Laurie Bird as the Girl, and the great Warren Oates as GTO, so-named because he drives a GTO. Duh. There’s also a brief cameo by Harry Dean Stanton (billed as H. D. Stanton) as the frisky Oklahoma Hitchhiker.

"Two Lane Blacktop" is like a Robert Altman film in that the story line is minimal, barely a story at all. These guys race cars. Taylor and Oates become rivals on the road and for the Girl. They decide to race to Washington, DC, the winner getting the loser's automobile. That's the crux of it, but the film is really more just about watching these people do what they do.

You can tell from the character’s names that there is an existential quality about the film, in the true sense of the word. The characters in the movie simply exist. The Driver drives, the Mechanic fixes the car, GTO is no more than a guy who drives a GTO and has an ever changing life story, indicating he may very well have no life beyond what he’s doing at the moment.

As for the Girl, she is just that: the Girl. Representative of all girls, she is yearned after by the men of the movie. The Mechanic digs her (I told you, they talked funny then), the Driver does too her and GTO wants to take her places or settle down or both. Ironically, (SPOILER ALERT) in the end, the four wheeled men lose her to a young man with two wheels. The Girl rides off with Boy With Motorcycle. (I really do love these character names.) The Girl's duffle bag, filled with her life's possessions, has no place on the bike, so the Girl sets the bag down on the ground, hops on the bike and Boy and Girl peel out. The Girl has left her baggage (and the men dueling for her) behind. Get it?

The dialogue is sparse and lean. It's also pretty reflective of real life male conversations and behavior. Taylor and Wilson speak of almost nothing but cars and racing. Sometimes they talk about the Girl. GTO spins a different life story to each hitchhiker he picks up; sometimes he talks about racing, sometimes about the Girl. And sometimes GTO drinks. To excess. My favorite line of the movie is when he’s in a rural diner and he orders “a hamburger and an Alka-Seltzer.”

The acting ranges from the professional Warren Oates delivering his lines with a weary sort of insanity to Taylor, Wilson and Bird doing their thing in a natural, unforced, although mostly deadpan, style. While Wilson seems to be a bit more at ease, Taylor always seems a little tense, although I think the Driver is just a tense guy anyway. At one point, Taylor seems to flub his lines, repeating words and starting over and I can't tell if he's doing it on purpose to seem more natural or if he just can't remember what he's supposed to say.

"Two Lane Blacktop" was a commercial flop when it came out in '71 but it went on to become a cult favorite. Perhaps it just wasn't idealistic enough for the times. True, it's not a movie that offers hope, but it's not a downer either. It simply doesn't offer anything other than people on the fringe of existence doing what they do.

Whatever you may be thinking after reading about characters named the Driver, the Mechanic and GTO, think again. While the names may be a contrivance, this is a good, watchable movie. It's fun to see a young James Taylor (with long hair no less) driving around with a young, full of life Dennis Wilson. The film is beautifully shot and the cars look great, particularly the '70 GTO. Everything looks great really, from the rural gas stations to the small town and the diners to the roads themselves, stretching straight through the desert or curving around green hills.

That's the thing of it though. Watching this film in 2009 is, to those of us actually old enough to remember the 1970s or times earlier, to a certain extent an act of nostalgia. There are no muscle cars quite like the Pontiac GTO prowling the blacktop anymore. There isn't even any Pontiac now. You can't go to a gas station, have your car filled up by an attendant, buy some snacks and a Coke and spend only 8 bucks and change. The diners and cafes of 2009 are new buildings meant to look old. Retro chic. An unreal reality.

No one skedaddles anymore

You never hear anyone use the word "skedaddle" anymore. I use it on occasion, but very rare occasions. There isn't necessarily a serious need to use the word. To skedaddle means "to leave hastily; flee" so unless you're on the lam from the coppers when hear a siren in the distance and you turn to your partner in crime to say, "Jiggers! It's the cops! We'd better skedaddle!" you just aren't going to use the word all that often.

The word has been around in literature since the time of the Civil War, although not in anything I've ever read or heard. "But Rhett, where will I skedaddle to?" "Frankly my dear..." Nope, didn't happen. Skedaddle perhaps wasn't a word with the proper gravitas.

Certainly there are times in modern culture when the word could have been used. I'm sure Lynyrd Skynyrd could have snuck the word into their song "Gimme Three Steps," about a man who need to hastily flee another man with a gun. "Gimme three steps, gimme three steps, mister/I'll skedaddle out that door/Gimme three steps, gimme three steps, mister/And you'll never see me no more." See? I think it could have worked, although the double negative in "never see me no more" troubles me.

Surely, there are times in our lives when you may feel the need to skedaddle, even if there isn't a man pointing a firearm at you. You may be running late to a show when you say to your spouse, "We'd better skedaddle or we won't catch those twenty minutes of previews before the movie." Or, "Your mother's coming over for dinner? I'd better skedaddle!" Or even, "Let's skedaddle to the restaurant. I'm starving!"

So there are indeed ways we can revive the word skedaddle. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've had a lot of coffee today, I need to skedaddle to the bathroom.

In My Time of Graying Hair: "It Might Get Loud"

Brother, Can You Spare an Hour or So?

President Barack Obama's speech at Cairo University. Is it an unnecessary apology to the Muslim world or a simply an outreach to a vast swath of humanity that may feel, at the very least, misunderstood by Americans? Does he throw Israel under the bus or is he genuinely promoting peace between Israelis and Palestinians?

If you listen to conservatives, the resentment they feel Obama has for the United States comes through in this speech. If you listen to liberals, Obama will single-handedly defeat Islamist terrorism.

The truth may lie in-between. Or it may not. Watch the video here (or read the text) and decide for yourself. I know I will when I have 54 minutes and change to spare.

The Films Are Alright

Check out this "Critic's Picks" from the New York Times. Here film critic A.O. Scott. tells us of the wonders of "Rushmore," not the stoned profiles of dead presidents but the quirky and fantastic movie directed by Wes Anderson and starring (sort of) Bill Murray. Well, not really "starring" as such, but he is in it.

All of Wes Anderson's movies skew to the odd side, and this one is no different. But Anderson's films are not so odd that we can't see at least at little bit of ourselves and our own lives in the characters and their lives.

The cherry on top of the cake is the soundtracks to Anderson's films, always with some gems of 1960s and '70s rock playing in the background. We get the Kinks, Cat Stevens, Iggy and the Stooges and in "Rushmore" we get the Who's "A Quick One (While He's Away)." And that is alright.

Souter for Sotomayor: A Fair and Balanced Trade

There's not all that much to be upset with in President Obama nominating Sonia Sotomayor to the Supreme Court. While she is most likely a liberal leaning kinda gal, all she's doing is replacing a liberal leaning kinda dude, David Souter.

Appointed by President George H.W. Bush, it was assumed by all, including Bush, that Souter would be a conservative Supreme Court justice. At some point though, his New Hampshire independent streak started to shine through and he looked pretty liberal helping to uphold Roe v. Wade and voting to continue the recount in Bush v. Gore.

Conversely, the "liberal" Sotomayor has done decidedly un-liberal things on the Federal bench, such as upholding the Bush (George W. that is) administration rule of withholding funds from international health care groups that provide abortions.

So what we're getting here is a straight up trade really. What should concern conservatives is the next justice President Obama gets to choose. That one could make a real difference in how the Supreme Court rules.

Paine in the Ass

I don't necessarily agree with ever little thing this "Thomas Paine" says, but I am most definitely in agreement with him on one thing: we Americans have taxation without representation. Our elected officials in Congress act on behalf of their own self-interests, and not the interests of their electors (that would be us). So on with the Second American Revolution! As long as I don't have to leave my Mac behind. And can I take my iPod, too? What about snacks? Will there be snacks? I get hungry around mid-morning. And mid-afternoon. And I prefer domestic micro-brews rather than the big names, and I like my coffee black, please, although really, I prefer tea. I usually buy two boxes with a hundred bags each when they're on sale, buy one, get one free, at the grocery store. Which is good, I'll have tea bags to spare, because I know a certain someone in a certain White House who'll be getting a tea bag from me.