Carrie On

Show of hands...
Who wants Death to take a holiday already?
Madre de dios, no sooner do we lose Carrie Fisher then we lose her mother, Debbie Reynolds the very next day?

2016's been a brutal year for celebrities, but I'm not about to do an In Memoriam post here. Leave it to the award shows, which are all running long this next year. What happened to the theory of  3? This year, it seems like they're dying in lots of 30.

The grief we feel over these icons, big and small, has only compounded the pain we've been feeling the entire 12 months...and every year that has led up to it. It make one want to shout:

"When are we going to be able to put something in the win column?"
But we have. Get a little perspective, would ya?
And for crying out loud, which you seem to be doing more often than not, stop being so goddamn over-sensitive? It ain't helping matters.
For example, when Carrie died this last week, Cinnabon posted this tweet that got underwear in a twist all around unsocial media.

The fact that it would have amused Carrie is beside the point.
It's YOUR feelings that matter.
(Portland's Voodoo Doughnuts also offered their salute to Princess Leia)
Then Steve Martin made some innocuous, but still heart-felt tweet of his own.

And people lost their minds all over again.
D.L. Hughley was next with this remark after Debbie kicked.

And Steve was able to get out of the line of fire so that D.L. could get lambasted.
That Twitter is the Devils Playground, people. Maybe there should be a Too Soon filter.
But before you get all crazy for much ado 'bout nuttin', know this.
Carrie Fisher wanted her own obituary to read that she "drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra."
Many outlets published it and I'm sure were drug over the coals.

http://www.mirror.co.uk/tv/tv-news/carrie-fishers-witty-memoir-showed-9524618

I myself used Carrie and William Shatner's feud as fodder for my 2015 murder mystery comedy STAR TRUCK-THE WRATH OF COMIC-CON (since re-titled MURDER-THE FINAL FRONTIER), which premiered with the Mel O'Drama Theater company in Nashville. I called my character Carrie Fishwich (oh, clever boy), described as a boozy, blowsy writer/actress who became a suspect in the murder of Star Truck star Wilson Chadwick. A second company in Colorado had offered to stage a second production this next summer, but that was before Carrie's heart attack. What now? It's up to them, of course. When I completed the first draft of the script, Leonard Nimoy bought the farm and the show went on as promised six months later. Should this continue after the demise of Princess Leia? Sure. Why the hell not? It's a parody. A spoof. A poke in the ribs. It's comedy. She understood it. So should everyone else.

2016 seemed to be a non-stop pummeling from beginning until end. People are understandably very touchy because we're all battered and bruised. Even those who won in 2016 are too sore to complete a victory lap.We lost a lot, including some beloved icons and several favorites right up until the every end. (It's currently 2pm PST...hang on everybody!) But most of what we're feeling is misplaced anger. Put it in the right direction, kids. It hurts everyone when your aim is off. It's called collateral damage.

Take a deep breath, world.

If it means anything, I wish you...and me... a Happy New Year.

And believe it or not, I say this in all sincerity:

MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU

Trick or Tweet

I don't Tweet. I don't even like saying the word "tweet". It makes feel like a goddamn canary. I don't use Twitter therefore I don't Tweet. I don't think I ever will. You can use the argument that I am not "embracing the new technology"(to be said in a nasally, scratchy and extremely irritating voice). Tough t-bones. I don't Tweet because I don't wanna and you can't make me.

It's bad enough that I blog. Not the act itself. It's the word again. Blog. Sounds like the skin fold underneath a fat belly. Eww! There's a pimple on my blog! I don't have to justify my blogging to anyone, but sometimes I have to rationalize it for myself. My original intent was to use blogging as writing exercises, to maybe kick start my so-called "important" work and keep my skills alive and kicking. Well, that's gone by the wayside, hasn't it, kids? Check my posts this year alone and they barely add up to a double digit. Nice workout there, Richard Simmons. Then there's the undeniable fact that clearly 90% of my blogs have been the equivalent of Hank Kingsley's Thoughts from The Larry Sanders Show.

"I sure do miss The Cowsills. That mom in the hot pants sure was sexy!"

I think that's the cause of my hesitation most of the time, the fact that I have nothing to say, but force out a blog anyway. (That's disgusting) My work suffers due to a lack of commitment. Therefore my blog becomes a blahg. Deep...very deep...like a cavity, I'm deep.

Then there's Facebook. Remember that kid that lived down the block from you when you were seven, the one who picked his nose and ate it on Wheat Thins? He wants to "friend" you. Do you "like" air? Eek. It's not a world of adults, is it? That's fine and dandy since I am and always will be in arrested development (not the TV show...real life...Come on!). My inner child will always be alive and well when my outer shell deteriorates into a Slim Jim. And I fully admit that both blogging and FB have been advantageous, personally (though it's carried a heavy burden here and there with patches of very thin ice) but not necessarily professionally where I hoped it would help promote my work. (My books, y'know? If you're interested, click here. Or here. Or even here.) The jury's still out on that since I am still learning. (You think after five years, I would have at least gotten a clue...)

On the FB, I've fallen into the same trap. A smart-ass comment here, a snarky observation there. Not much ado about anything at all. Oh, I enjoy communicating with friends and family far and wide, catching up with their lives and actually discovered some quite wonderful things in the process. I've particularly enjoyed reading the postings of those that know how to work this day thing the way I should be, a balancing act of both personal and professional. But I seem not to be able to step onto the tightrope, preferring to heckle from the audience below. (Yeah, Facebook is really death defying, isn't it?) I guess I could concentrate more on the Book and lay off the Face. In other words, quit reading and commenting on someone's choice of latte and circle in on something tangible. Yeah, that's right. Tangible on the Internet. I said it.

But I ain't touchin' the Twitter...well, not that one. (Ain't I a stinka?) For one thing, I don't text. Not now, not ever. Tweeting is text blogging. Texting is evil. Those who use or perpetuate the use of this instrument of the Devil should be condemned to eternal damnation. Not later. Now. ASAP. Oh, and LOL. For another thing, Ashton Kutcher is basically the poster boy for Twitter. I cannot do anything that Ashton Kutcher does. I've been saying this for over twenty years now, even before anyone knew who Ashton Kutcher was. In 1990, I said "I can't do anything Ashton Kutcher does." People said, "Who the hell is he?" I said, "You'll see!" I was right, wasn't I? Somehow, I just knew...

And it's not that I can't use Twitter, I just won't. I could Tweet very easily. I could give you 140 characters worth of worthless crap every hour on the hour from now until the restaurant at the end of universe closes, but I couldn't live with myself. Besides, what would I have to say? Does anyone really need a meaningless running commentary of my very existence from my waking moments until I close my eyes for the evening? Isn't this just one more distraction and misdirection from life itself? And what can be said about someone who eats up valuable time to give his useless opinions about the futility of the social networking phenomenon? Absolutely nothing.

So there you have it. The long answer to a question nobody asked.

Thufferin' thuccotash.