Death by old age is the latest news craze--aside from Iraq bombings: TV star, War journalist, Jazz musician, Film director, Game Show curator dies age 82.
Do I care? You better believe I fucking care (I debated the placement of the word fucking here for emphasis). Reading celeb obits (or C-bits as I'm calling em) is one of my new favorite things. Not because I love the dead (that's gross) but because most times I have no idea who in the hell these people are (sorry, were).
I watched "Price is Right," who in their right mind didn't? But the face I associate with that show remains Bob Barker. (Not dead yet!) I read on, oh Merv Griffith also had something to do with it.
Guess what? Now, he's dead.
Also this week (and maybe last, it's been awhile since I've blogged):
Journalist Bill Deedes;
Jazz percussionist Max Roach;
Baseball Hall of Famer Phil Rizzuto;
Society doyenne-philanthropist Brooke Astor;
World's oldest person Yone Minagawa;
Director Ingmar Bergman;
Singer-songwriter Lee Hazlewood.
Do I wish more people died? No, not really. But it sure is fun following the tracks of the people we love(d) to read about. All the way to the grave.
"These boots were made for walking."
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