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Chris Weigant: My 2009 "McLaughlin Awards" [Part 1]

2009-12-25T23:23:59Z

Welcome once again to our year-end wrapup and awards ceremony. Honesty dictates that I immediately genuflect to The McLaughlin Group, from whom I have stolen all these award categories. We will begin this week with Part 1 of these annual awards, and then next Friday on New Year's Day, we will present Part 2, with reduced volume levels (for those who are nursing hangovers... ahem).

Before we begin, though, we have to insert a free plug, for another year-end awards column with a slightly different theme -- awards for idiocy in the mainstream media (a subject near and dear to my own heart, I confess). Fairness and Accuracy In Reporting has their "2009 P.U.-Litzer Awards" up, and I heartily encourage everyone to read it as well, because it is excellent and well worth your time.

And, for comparison, it simply wouldn't be Friday around here if I didn't throw in a few plugs for my own columns, so if you'd like to peruse my McLaughlin Awards from years past, here are the previous three years' worth:

[2008, Part 1] [2008, Part 2]
[2007, Part 1] [2007, Part 2]
[2006, Part 1] [2006, Part 2]

But enough of that -- let's get right to the awards themselves!

Biggest Winner of 2009

I have a history of taking these first two categories literally (Michael Phelps won this award last year, for instance). And there were two political wins last year which stood out, for separate reasons, so we're going to hand out two Biggest Winner awards as a result.

The first, for "Biggest Deferred Win" goes to none other than Senator Al Franken, who had to wait until the end of June to be officially declared the winner in the Minnesota Senate race over Norm Coleman. Waiting eight months to be seated, on a razor-thin 314-vote margin, Al Franken certainly deserves some sort of award for his patience. Maybe I should call it the "Hardest-Fought Win" award, but whatever you call it, Senator Franken deserves a salute for becoming the 60th vote Democrats desperately needed in the Senate.

Over in the House, the "Most Impressive Winner" this year was none other than Representative Bill Owens, from the New York Twenty-Third Congressional District. Owens won a House seat that, when last held by a non-Republican, was a Whig -- in the 1850s. This stunning upset was made possible by the "Tea Party" movement within the Republican Party, which so savaged Republican candidate Dede Scozzafava that she actually dropped out days before the election -- and then endorsed the Democrat in the race. [Hundreds of television "journalists" immediately breathed a collective sigh of relief that they wouldn't have to learn how to pronounce "Scozzafava" correctly, as an indirect result.] Hopefully, we can all look forward to many more of these sorts of intra-party dogfights in 2010, but for his jaw-dropping upset, Bill Owens deserves to be named Biggest Winner this year.

Biggest Loser of 2009

My first inclination for Biggest Loser was "Progressives," for obvious reasons. But then I thought about it, and Progressives may not be progressing as fast or as far as they thought they were going to under President Obama, but they certainly didn't "lose" as much as they would have under President McCain. This is small consolation indeed, but "losing" isn't just the absence of winning.

But, on a very closely-related and somewhat-overlapping theme, I'd have to award the Biggest Loser to the people pushing strongly for some version of the public option, Medicare-for-all, or single-payer healthcare reform.

Proponents of fundamental and bedrock change in America's health delivery system lost. Big time. Although there is a small chance (measured as the length of time a roughly-packed spheroid of frozen dihydro-monoxide would survive in Hades) of some shred of one of these plans surviving in the House/Senate conference on the healthcare reform bill, I'm not exactly holding my breath.

So, to the millions and millions of people who wanted to actually reform our healthcare system, and are having to swallow the bitter pill of being thrown under a bus instead, we award the Biggest Loser of 2009, with sorrow.

Best Politician

This one is going to be a bit controversial, so allow me to explain up front. "Politician" can be either a neutral term or one loaded with negative connotations. But the best practitioner of politics this year was (surprise!) President Barack Obama.

Which pegs our definition somewhat towards the negative end of the scale. Obama was, to many, overcautious this year in flexing his political muscle, in using the mandate the voters gave him, and in spending political capital in general. All of which was true, to one extent or another.

But staying out of the sausage-making fray in Washington did exactly what President Obama intended -- allowed him to swoop in at the end, and claim credit for the legislative victory. He did this most noticeably on the stimulus package and on healthcare reform. In both cases, he was never tarred with the brush of "defeat" on any particular facet of the legislation, and emerged at the end with virtually the exact same line: "I got 90 percent of what I wanted."

Although this has frustrated a great many of his supporters no end, it (again) did exactly what Obama intended. So, tarnished as the term may be, Obama has to be seen as the Best Politician of the year for playing this political game on his own terms. I'm not exactly happy about it myself, but I have to give credit where credit is due.

Worst Politician

There are two names which pop instantly to mind in this category, but one of them is no longer in office, so we're not sure he qualifies.

Former Vice President Dick Cheney showed the absolute worst traits a politician can -- sour grapes -- at pretty much every opportunity he could during 2009. You'd think he was gone for good (or, more accurately, for worse)... but then there he'd be, popping up on the television screen yet again, with his opinion of why Obama was sending this country straight to Hell, on the Handbasket Express. The fact that he was so bitterly wrong didn't seem to deter the teevee shows from allowing him on whenever he felt the urge, even though he was so utterly irrelevant to the discussion at hand.

But, again, he's out of office, and I simply don't feel like giving the man an award for anything, personally, so we'll skip over him quickly.

Now, there were plenty of examples of corporate-owned "Democrats" in Congress (most noticeably in the Senate) this year, for whom you could make a strong case of being the Worst Politician. But again, I take this category more literally.

Unquestionably the Worst Politician of the year was the titular leader of the Republican Party, Michael Steele. Steele was an embarrassment to his own party, pretty much every time he opened his mouth, and he provided his opponents with so many gleefully idiotic quips that it is impossible to accurately count them all. He was, for Lefties, the gift that just kept right on giving, over and over again. So, for embarrassing his own party while creating joy and delight for his opponents -- while delivering absolutely no tangible political benefit whatsoever, either way -- Steele is hereby awarded the Worst Politician.

Most Defining Political Moment

Because it is fresh in the mind, it's tempting to say that the death of the public option in the healthcare reform debate was the Most Defining Political Moment of 2009.

But it really doesn't qualify, because it didn't define the debate so much as it did end it.

No, the truly Most Defining Political Moment this year was when Barack Obama named his economic team, and got them confirmed. This absolutely defined the first year of his presidency. Obama was stating loud and clear by his choices that he was going to be Wall Street's best friend, and that nobody should expect any radical populism from him whatsoever.

This shaded the debate on so many things during the year that, by definition, it was indeed the Most Defining Political Moment.

Turncoat Of The Year

In an absolute upset, for the first time ever this award is not going to Senator Joe Lieberman, of the "Liebermans for Lieberman" party. Ol' Joe has walked away with this award every year we've handed it out; but this year -- even with a spectacular finish killing off every progressive notion of healthcare reform -- Joe just didn't measure up. Because he's already turned his coat. He would really only be eligible this year if he had become the most liberal member of the Senate, which (as we are all aware) did not happen (see: previous statement on snowballs in Hell).

Towards the end of the year, we had a minor contender in the House, who changed parties from Democrat to Republican, but in the grand scheme of things this was fairly non-eventful, although it does deserve a mention here. Also worth pointing out was Olympia Snowe, who certainly didn't make any friends in her own party by occasionally crossing the aisle to vote with Democrats. And John McCain, who has pivoted to the extreme right of his party so hard he is denouncing things he used to support (quite recently, in fact), in a naked attempt to get re-elected (see: comment on fratricidal Tea Party primary challengers).

But, although it has receded into memory for the most part, the true Turncoat Of The Year -- in the most positive sense of the term you can imagine -- is Senator Arlen Specter. Specter's switch from the Republican Party to the Democrats is what made most of the rest of the year possible. Before Al Franken was seated, Specter was the one who made it possible for a 60-vote majority by his party switch. I can't exactly cite him for courage in doing so, because he also swapped parties in a naked attempt to hold onto his seat, from (once again) a Tea-Party-type of primary challenger. But Specter is now facing a serious Democratic primary challenger next year, so it may have all been in vain for him to do so. But whether he gets booted out or retained by Pennsylvania voters next year; for this year, he is fondly awarded the Turncoat Of The Year.

Most Boring

There are three candidates from the Democratic side for Most Boring. Actually, now that I think about it, pretty much "The entire Republican leadership team in both houses of Congress" should also qualify as well (Mitch McConnell? Seriously? That's all you've got? Wow.), but we'll stick to the Democrats for the actual award here.

Just on stylistic points alone, Joe Lieberman and Harry Reid deserve special mention here. [Yawn!] Man, you see either of this characters on television, and your head just involuntarily starts nodding off. I mean, watching Lieberman speak is about as exciting as watching paint dry, and listening to a Harry Reid press conference is about as packed with thrills as watching an icicle melt.

I have to slap myself across the face to even keep awake when writing about them, I have to admit.

But continuing this year's upside-down nature of how I am interpreting these categories, I am awarding this as a positive award. Because Barack Obama was without question the Most Boring this year. And I do mean that in a good way. The "no drama Obama" campaign theme continued right on into the White House, and Obama was cool and collected throughout a very intense year. Raging scorn was heaped upon him from the Left and from the Right (and from the media, in bucketfuls), and he somehow managed to stay above it all.

To the media, in particular, he stated over and over again that he was simply not interested in the "24-hour news cycle" where everything is about "winning the day's story," and feeding into whatever idiotic storyline the media is going apoplectic over that particular week. Obama kept the "long view" and he saw the "big picture" and -- with only one notable exception (see, below: beer summit) -- completely kept out of the snarling dogfight of daily political ups-and-downs, and trivial issues blown up into gargantuan proportions by bored media types with nothing better to report on. Actually that's not true -- there was plenty of better stuff to report on, but most of it was above the intelligence level of the so-called "journalists," leaving them to squabble over meaningless sandbox issues.

For being this cheerfully boring in the face of such strident idiocy, Obama wins Most Boring -- in the nicest possible way.

Most Charismatic

We're going to hand out two of these awards, one for the House and one for the Senate. Al Franken is trying as hard as he knows how to stifle his inherently and genetically (one assumes) hilarious nature, and thus appear as serious as is humanly possible in his new career as a politician. But every so often, he gets that wry smile on his face and just can't resist saying something amusing. This is a man who knows humor, and has a lighting-fast and razor-sharp sense of irony. To expect him to completely hide this light under a barrel is to ask too much of the man, and -- for these cracks of brightness which shine through occasionally -- we have to award him Most Charismatic in the Senate. No doubt this will be a disappointment to Franken, since, as I said, he's trying mightily not to let any of it show. But Al sometimes just has to be Al, and for that we are eternally grateful. Once he grows into his role as senator, and once he feels confident of his state electorate's support, we fully expect to see this side of him grow and mature; but, for now, we'll take what we can get.

Over on the House side is Representative Alan Grayson. Now, Grayson has occasionally overstepped the boundaries of good taste during the year, but he can be forgiven these rookie errors when you look at the totality of how energetically (and charismatically) he has injected himself into some very important debates, and (by doing so) made some very important points -- in plain, everyday, easy-to-understand language -- that nobody else on the Democratic side seems capable of making. Grayson has proved, this year, that he is a man to watch in the future of Democratic politics, and for his vigorous and entertaining ways of putting things, he has indeed earned Most Charismatic of the year.

So the "Als" sweep the category this year! Congratulations to both Franken and Grayson are in order.

Bummest Rap

This category was chock full of bum raps this year, I am sorry to say.

Not only a bum rap, but also one of the stupidest raps I've ever witnessed in politics were the early complaints that President Obama relied upon his TelePrompTer too much. What a crock -- as if every other politician dating back to Ronald Reagan (and even earlier) hadn't used the same exact device for pretty much all their public speeches. Sheesh. I mean, it's like complaining about Obama "using some newfangled personal computing device that seems to function much as a typewriter does," or, even, "using that science-fictional device which some are calling 'the telephone,' instead staying in touch via the time-honored and known-to-be-reliable telegraph system."

Sorry, my eyes were rolling so much there that I had to take a deep breath, and then re-focus on the page in front of me. Ahem.

Obama likewise got two other bum raps which were simply laughable -- that he was some sort of pacifist peacenik, and that he had said he would never sign a bill with earmarks. The first was downright laughable, because every speech Obama has ever made on war -- back to and including his initial denouncement of the Iraq invasion -- references the fact that there are indeed "just wars," and that Obama himself isn't against all wars... just stupid ones. The earmarks thing was astounding, too, because it was a campaign promise made by his opponent! That's right -- John McCain was the one who foreswore all earmarks. And yet the brain-dead media kept hammering Obama about it, as if he were the one who had made such a promise. Once again: SHEESH!!

Joe Biden deserves a mention here, since he has never lived up (down?) to the "loose cannon" bad rap the media types (and, admittedly, late-night comedians) have delighted in all year. Sure, he's made a misstatement or two (as any human being would), but he's said simply nothing like what we were all led to expect from "journalists" (see: previous brain-dead comment). Also notable for "beating the rap" (as it were) was former President Bill Clinton, who has been remarkably quiet during his wife's first year as Secretary of State.

But there were two raps which stood out as being sheer moose poop during this past year, and to these we give the actual Bummest Rap award. The first of these was Dick Cheney's comments on President Obama's "dithering" on Afghanistan. Obama took three months to make up his mind to send the second of his surges into Afghanistan (the media, in another bum rap, didn't even credit Obama for the first one). But this absolutely ignores the fact that George W. Bush took exactly the same period of time when deciding on his surge into Iraq. Making Cheney a complete moose's ass for suggesting Obama was somehow shirking his duty, and making this Bummest Rap number one for 2009.

Bummest Rap number two was pretty much everything the Republicans said about Sonia Sotomayor. Man, they threw everything at her but the kitchen sink, in a desperate effort to paint her as something she simply was not. None of it had the slightest effect, other than in the inane nature of the questions in her Senate hearing -- all of which she absolutely hit out of the park in her answers. But the caricature painted of her by her opponents was one bum rap indeed.

Fairest Rap

Two fair raps stand out for me. The first was a trivial one -- the rap that those claiming that "a million people" showed up for the Tea Party at the U.S. Capitol were, to be polite, talking through their hats. The photos showed a crowd of around 50,000 to 70,000 people. Now, as I admitted at the time, that's a pretty impressive crowd for a demonstration in Washington. But the Righties were simply not seriously credible when they attempted to inflate the crowd size beyond all reason, with their claim that a million people (or two million, or three million...) showed up. This got even more embarassing when Fox used photos of this rally to try and boost numbers for a later (and much smaller) rally by the same people. So the rap of wildly inaccurate crowd numbers was indeed a fair rap.

And, sadly, over on the Left, the rap that President Obama (and his chief henchman Rahm Emanuel) throws his supporters under the proverbial bus at pretty much every opportunity was indeed a fair rap. Emanuel comes out of the Clinton White House, with all the "triangulation" that implies. This thinking goes somewhat like: "we've already got the Left, we can afford to piss them off, we just need to peel off enough centrists to get things done." And, sadly (as I said) this is indeed a fair rap not just for Emanuel, but also for his boss.

The examples of this are almost too numerous to recall. On gay issues, on medical marijuana, on single-payer, on the public option, on anti-war types, on pro-choice, on immigration, on Wall Street over Main Street populism, on national security issues -- the list is indeed a long one of things that Obama has either disappointed on, or simply kicked the can down the road (a telling statement: I am positive I have missed a few in that list...).

So the rap that the Left should be vary wary of Obama's support, because he has a tendency to throw them under the bus, on pretty much any of their key issues, is indeed a fair one. Actually, it's getting pretty crowded under this bus, now that I think about it... sigh.

Best Comeback

The list of nominees for this one was fairly long -- Sarah Palin (for her book tour), Joe Lieberman (for being the most important senator for a few weeks recently), to perhaps even (from the other side) David Vitter. A good case could be made for "healthcare reform," since the entire effort was all but pronounced dead by the punditocracy (also known as the "inside the Beltway" set) around August. And yet, even with a heavily compromised bill, the effort marches on.

But my choice for Best Comeback is Mark Sanford, Governor of South Carolina. Sanford was caught in a sex scandal (see next week's category: Worst Political Scandal, for more) and the betting money was he'd either immediately resign, or be impeached and removed from office by his fellow Republicans. But when it came time to act, the state legislature did no more than slap Sanford on the wrist, and it is now clear he'll serve the remaining time in his term.

[Insert your own "don't cry for me, Argentina" joke here... ahem.]

But for such a downright "Clintonian" performance, Sanford deserves Best Comeback of the year, I have to admit.

Most Original Thinker

This one is easy, although his name will likely be unfamiliar to you. Atul Gawande wrote a brilliant article on healthcare reform in The New Yorker at the beginning of June, which examined the way a few areas of the country delivered health services. He looked at areas that did it right (and were under the national average in costs), and areas that did it wrong (that were far over the national average), while both delivering similar results.

This article quickly became "must reading" for anyone in the White House, and was probably the most-quoted piece of writing in the entire debate. It was referenced uncountable times by politicians, and did more to influence policy-makers' opinions than perhaps anything else this year.

For writing this article, Atul Gawande is the Most Original Thinker of the year. The article (like most New Yorker articles) is extremely long, but is definitely worth reading.

Most Stagnant Thinker

I have one group award here, and one special mention for an individual.

The group award: The Republican Party. The "Party of No." The idea-less ideologues. No further explanation should be necessary, really.

And for individual cognitive stagnation, a special "Retro" Most Stagnant Thinker for Governor Rick Perry (and all the others), who opened the door to Texas (and other states) actually seceding from the Union -- as if this was actually a valid political stance to take. Seriously, this throwback thinking from the 1860s goes beyond "stagnant," to downright "antebellum."

Best Photo Op

While Michelle Obama's "Victory Garden" photo ops with Washington schoolchildren were endearing, and while Barack Obama's Nobel acceptance speech was (in his own admission) nothing more than a glorified photo op; we tend to forget that 2009 also included last January.

And January 2009 saw two million people stand around for eight or nine hours in sub-zero temperatures just to watch the Inauguration of President Barack Obama.

No photo op in the successive eleven months even came close, I have to say.

Worst Photo Op

We're adding this category to the McLaughlin canon, just because.

There were a few "worst photo op" candidates, sadly all from Obama, in one way or another. The most galling of these were the two (one in the spring, one quite recently) photo ops of "Obama talks tough to Wall Street bankers," which produced exactly nothing in the way of tangible results.

And there was Obama bowing and being polite and overly-respectful (obsequious, even) to various world leaders. This is more symbolic than anything else, but I have to throw my lot in with the Obama-haters on this one (to my great chagrin and embarrassment). Because, I have to say, they're right on this one. America was built on an idea. Part of this idea was that we're all equal. This was a radical, radical idea for its time. And it meant that -- unlike the nobility and royalty in Europe -- no man would bow to our leader. He is not above us -- he is one of us. Equal. The first among equals, to be sure, but still: just a citizen. So we neither bow nor curtsey to him. But the flip side is that he also bows to no foreign leader. We are most decidedly not subjects of anyone. All of us -- individually and collectively -- are just not "subjects." Meaning we do not follow the protocol of royals. Like I said, both a minor issue, and a very major one. Such is the nature of diplomatic protocol. But Obama went too far in his efforts to reach out to the world, I have to conclude.

The third silly photo op was the whole "beer summit." The less said about this episode the better, at this point.

But the real Worst Photo Op -- which topped all of these in idiocy -- was having Air Force One (actually, technically, it was not "Air Force One" at the time, since that designation is reserved for when the president is actually onboard the plane) buzz Manhattan in order to get a photo of it flying by the Statue Of Liberty. Guys, really, there's this thing called "Photoshop," y'know? And... um... 9/11?

Sigh. Nothing really came close to this visual screwup all year long. What were they thinking? Were they thinking? Apparently not.

Enough Already!

As usual, there's a bunch of things which easily qualify for the "Enough Already!" award.

Here's where we just start ranting without abandon.

Tiger Woods? Enough Already!

Balloon Boy's parents? Enough Already!

Michael Jackson's dead? Enough Already!

Gate-crashers at the White House? Enough Already!

Death panels? Enough Already!

Town hall screaming idiots? Enough Already!

Tea Parties? Enough Already!

Sarah Palin? Enough Already!

Obstructionist Corporatist Democrats? Enough Already!

But the actual award has to go to a parliamentary rule, and how it is being abused. Filibusters (and attendant Republican obstructionism)? Enough Already!

Worst Lie

My first inclination was to just give this to "everything the Tea Partiers and town hall idiots let fly from their pie-holes," but then I thought a little more, and remembered this doozy:

Mark Sanford, explaining his absence from the state he was (and is) Executive Officer of (while he was really boinking his mistress down in South America) with the lamest lie of the entire year -- that he was hiking the Appalachian Trail at the time. Further irony was heaped upon this, by the bare-naked fact that during the period he was maintaining this falsehood, there was a nationwide celebration of "Nude Hiking Day," which must have included a few brave nudists hiking on that very same trail.

No other lie even came close, really, from Maine to Georgia (and in all other points of our great country, for that matter).

Capitalist Of The Year

This one's fairly obvious, when you think about it.

President Obama did more to advance the interests of Wall Street, and by inference "capitalism in general" than anyone else this past year. From naming his economic team at the start of the year, to allowing them to have their way with his healthcare reform plan at the end of the year; Obama did what he was told to do by his advisors, and by Wall Street itself.

More in sorrow than in anger, we have to give Obama the Capitalist Of The Year award.

Honorable Mention

This is a lead-in category to the final one for this week, and is somewhat of a catchall for odds and ends not adequately covered by the other categories in the list.

In that spirit, I'd like to give Bill and Hillary Clinton an Honorable Mention here. The fear of bringing Hillary into Obama's cabinet was that she had some baggage, and that this baggage was named "Bubba." But Hillary has been more than competent in her job, and has done so without attempting once to steal the spotlight from her boss. And Bill must be on a very short leash indeed, because there simply have been no "Bimbo eruptions," or other miscellaneous scandalous behavior (such as spotlight-stealing) from the Big Dog himself this year. For proving all the naysayers wrong, I give this extraordinary political couple the special mention they deserve.

And I have to say, it was a shame that Farrah Fawcett Majors died on the day that she did. Farrah was pretty much "Queen Sex Kitten Of The Universe" in the 1970s, with countless adolescent males discovering the joys of... um... a special type of self-love (that's as far decency allows me to go)... whilst staring fixedly (and sweatedly) at this ubiquitous bathing suit poster (still, if I'm not mistaken, the best-selling poster of all time).

Without the existence of this poster, for instance, Baywatch simply never would have occurred to anyone, later on. Farrah deserved better, on her grand exit from life's stage, than being a footnote. Which is what she wound up as, since she unfortunately chose the same day to die as Michael Jackson. All the "Charlie's Angel is now really an angel" prepared footage was woefully foreshortened and overshadowed by the final act in the circus known as the "King of Pop." Which was sad, in a way, for Farrah. So we're giving her an Honorable Mention, just for the smile she's wearing in that iconic poster.

[Full disclosure: I'll have you know, I do not speak from experience, since as a young lad I personally lusted after Kate Jackson ("Sabrina," or the "brainy one"); but I saw that Farrah poster in more of my friends' bedrooms than I saw Led Zeppelin posters -- which, for the 1970s, is saying something indeed.]

Person Of The Year

While both Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi and Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid deserve a lot of credit they simply do not get from pixel-stained wretches (such as myself) for shepherding through a raft of small-bore (and large-bore, for that matter) legislation that does not receive media attention, nobody else in particular stood out this year as deserving of the "Person Of The Year" award.

Obama obviously had the chance to shine, and pick up this award as a matter of course. But, sadly, he didn't. He fell short of the bar on any number of issues, and was simply not seen in Washington as driving the debate -- rather (sadly) as a bystander to the debate who would occasionally yell something from the sidelines.

In all honesty, and with absolutely no tinge of suck-up-i-tude, I have to say that Arianna Huffington is right. The "Person Of The Year" this year was "The Lobbyist." Here is her entire blog post on the subject:

This week, Time named Fed chair Ben Bernanke its Person of the Year. The magazine says its choice is "not an award," but rather a recognition of the person who "most influenced the news during the past year -- for good or for ill." Based on that criterion, Time should, without a doubt, have picked Washington lobbyists -- because no person or group was more influential in 2009. After an inspiring presidential campaign that promised to take on the special interests, the lobbyists flexed their muscles (and their wallets) and showed who really runs the show in DC. Lobbyists carried the day on health insurance reform, banking reform, financial reform, drug pricing, cramdown legislation, and credit card interest rates, to name just a few. And every time they won, the American people lost. It's Time for a reshoot. The Lobbyists: The Real Persons of the Year.

Sad to say, I couldn't agree with Arianna more this year.

Sigh.

As usual, for anything or anyone I've forgotten (or otherwise inadvertently omitted), please feel free to let me know your choices in the comments. Until next week's "Part 2" of these awards, I wish you a Happy Holiday!

Chris Weigant blogs at: ChrisWeigant.com

Follow Chris on Twitter: @ChrisWeigant

Cross-posted at: Democratic Underground

'South Park' Returns, Takes On 'Summer Of Death' With DJ AM, Farrah, MJ, Billy Mays And More (VIDEO)

2009-10-08T09:37:43Z

"South Park" returned last night with an episode called "I See Dead Celebrities," in which Billy Mays, David Carradine, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, Walter Cronkite, DJ AM, Michael Jackson, Bea Arthur and more are trapped in purgatory, waiting to enter Heaven.

Though they were all present, Mays and Jackson got the most screen time, with the latter inhabiting the body of a comatose baby and the former shilling for "Chipoltaway," which removed blood stains from your underwear after you eat Chipotle.

WATCH THE CELEBS IN PURGATORY:

WATCH BILLY MAYS'S CHIPOLTAWAY AD:

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Jon Chattman: If Only This Is It Were It

2009-09-30T21:23:02Z

At some point, we've got to let Michael Jackson go ... for a little while, at least. Sure, he was an amazing talent -- a flawed hero -- but the circus that came out of his death has now spun into an all-out marketing blitz that milks every last dime of the King of Pop's fans' money and the artist's spotlight. If I see one more Jackson being interviewed on a tabloid TV show or another clip of his daughter crying at his overblown memorial service, I'm going to -- pardon the blatant use of an MJ song -- "Scream." I wish it stopped there. Case in point: has there been an awards show Joe Jackson has missed since his son's passing? That doesn't even begin to touch the surface.

Next month the much-hyped This Is It will hit theaters, and I have no doubt that it'll be a smash success, and more importantly, a fitting final chapter in Jackson's roller coaster legacy. The film will reinforce what a remarkable talent he was. I'm sure it'll be poignant and entertaining. Still, it doesn't take a genius to realize the film's release is a mere calculated marketing move to cash in on Jackson's popularity, which is at an all-time high. While director Kenny Ortega seems very sincere about the whole thing, the timing is off. This Is It has been hyped since minutes after the MJ memorial service. I'm surprised a trailer didn't air during it.

MTV hyped that trailer during its lackluster Video Music Awards last month -- a nice bookend to an awards show that started with Madonna ranting about her fellow '80s comrade's lack of a childhood ad nauseum. Ever since then, TV stations have shown teasers of teasers, teasers of the trailer, and trailers for the trailer. It's enough already. Everyone preaches how people wanted a piece of Michael when he was alive, and that still rings true in death tenfold. I think the movie was just made so that it could score in the box office, fly off DVD shelves three months later, and sell posters and T-shirts in between. It's all very sad. The media, like the mourning Jackson family, love this and can't get enough of it.

The Jacksons have always lived in the spotlight, and feed off of it. The media give into them each time. It's a rinse/repeat cycle that will continue forever. That said, I'm hopeful with This Is It that we'll finally be able to close the door on Michael Jackson's death. I'm not saying we forget the man and his music, and the good that he did do, but I'm saying it's time we move on with our lives. We've lost so many talented stars recently yet they're already off the front pages. Farrah Fawcett and Patrick Swayze's courageous battles with cancer -- aside from a well-intentioned but mediocre dance medley on "Dancing with the Stars" for the latter's -- is yesterday's news and it stinks. Yet, Michael Jackson's still making headlines. This Is It should be it for awhile. It's time to mourn on our terms - not the media's nor the marketers nor the Jacksons.

The End Of 2009's Summer Of Death

2009-09-21T08:02:11Z

NEW YORK — We had been told to expect the deaths of the famous to come in threes, not in the dozens.

But all through the summer of 2009 came a ceaseless and somber drumbeat, as idols of all walks of life passed away. From Walter Cronkite to Sen. Ted Kennedy, the nonstop loss of luminaries continued almost as if a seasonal occurrence – as much a part of summer as hot dogs and humidity.

Redmond O'Neal To Leave Jail, Go To Rehab

2009-09-18T16:51:07Z

LOS ANGELES — Prosecutors say Redmond O'Neal has pleaded no contest to bringing drugs to a jail facility and will be sent to a yearlong rehab program.

The Los Angeles County District Attorney's Office says the son of actors Ryan O'Neal and Farrah Fawcett entered his plea Friday. He will be released from jail and allowed to enter a residential treatment program.

Redmond O'Neal, Ryan And Farrah's Son, To Star In Reality Show About His Addiction

2009-08-27T11:34:51Z

Farrah Fawcett and Ryan O'Neal's troubled son, Redmond, is planning to turn his struggles with addiction into a new reality show, InTouchWeekly.com reported.

"Redmond has signed the deal that was brokered for him by his dad," said a friend. "Ryan will be on the show, too."

Alana Stewart: My Journey With Farrah

2009-08-11T15:59:00Z

I first met Farrah Fawcett at a dinner party in the 1970s. Looking back on it now, it feels like several lifetimes ago, but today as I write this I remember it so clearly. That dinner party was the starting point, and though for the first few years, we didn't know each other well, eventually we grew closer and closer. There were countless memories that we shared, days we spent together, birthdays our families shared -- we were the best of friends, and we went through it all.

Being friends with anyone for 30 years is no easy task -- people change, they drift apart, they move on. In my life, there have been people that I was convinced would be around forever, and yet, somehow they managed to drift away after a couple of years. Likewise there have been people who have begun as casual acquaintances but become more important with each passing year. That's the way it was for Farrah and me. Our friendship evolved to always bring us closer together, and with each birthday, each holiday, we became more instrumental to each other's lives.

Part of what makes being a friend for that long so incredible but also so difficult is that you really never know what life is going to throw at you. Farrah was the last person I ever thought would get cancer. It never remotely crossed my mind that such a thing would happen. She was always too strong, too healthy, too full of life. But life is fragile -- even for someone as vibrant as she was. One day Farrah was fine, the next she was not. Yet through it all, I never heard her question "Why me?" I never saw her act like a victim.

She made the decision to fight her cancer and never wavered. It was very hard -- sometimes unbearable -- to watch my friend suffer, but I was in awe of her ferocious determination. Sometimes I thought it was her stubbornness and sheer willpower that got her through it. Other times I marveled at her heroism in waging war with an enemy who gave no hint as to where it might attack next -- or how much it would destroy in its path.

The time I spent with Farrah was a blessing and a gift for me. I feel privileged to have been part of all this. I am a different person, a better person, because of it. As sad and painful as the journey was, it gave me a new perspective on who I am and what is really important in life.

My Journey With Farrah is my journal of these past three years -- what I saw, what I felt, what I was going through with Farrah, and how it was affecting my own life. It is a celebration of our friendship as much as it is a chronicle of cancer treatment. Every time I pick up this book, every time I flip through its pages and read the stories of us together, it brings a small part of her back to life.

Ultimately, this book is a tribute to Farrah, her courage, and her indomitable spirit. It's a story for anyone who has walked this type of journey with someone they loved, and a testament to friendships like ours that happen around the world every day.

Mark Pasetsky: Celebrity Weekly Cover Analysis: Which Will Be The Big Winner?

2009-08-05T09:24:18Z

People, OK!, Us Weekly, In Touch, Star and Life & Style each feature a unique cover story topic - and that has not happened in quite a while.

Let's dive right in and take a closer look at each cover. And, let us know which one you think will be a big seller and which cover will tank!

Visit CoverAwards for full-sized images of all the celebrity weekly covers!

Farrah Fawcett finally gets her full People Magazine cover. (As we all know, Michael Jackson died suddenly the same day Farrah passed away - which made it impossible for Farrah to get her own tribute cover at the time.) To make this cover newsy, the magazine interviews Farrah's best friend Alana Stewart and promises details about the star's stormy life -- and her brave final fight. Will this approach work? Vote HERE!

OK! Magazine* features Jessica Simpson declaring she still loves ex-husband Nick Lachey - and is using John Mayer to make Nick jealous. This cover marks the second week in a row Jessica is the main cover star for OK! Last week, the magazine featured her diet and fitness regime. Now the magazine is focused on her personal life. Will readers want to know more about Jess' love life? Vote HERE!

Ed Swiderski is cheating on Bachelorette Jillian Harris reports the new Us Weekly. This cover continues the trend of Us Weekly featuring alleged cheating scandals (LeAnn Rimes/Eddie Cibrian, Gosselins). The big question for Us Weekly this week is whether or not the newsstand buyer will care enough about the Bachelorette to buy the issue. It's worth noting Jillian did not receive a full-cover when she selected Ed - which means editors did not feel she was a bankable cover star. But - now? Vote HERE!

Visit CoverAwards for full-sized images of all the celebrity weekly covers!

In Touch Weekly features an exclusive interview with Jon Gosselin and he says "I'm Tired of Being Blamed." Did you notice the dramatic tone shift?The magazine is featuring a "sympathetic" Jon story - despite all of his recent antics. At the same time, Kate is portrayed as the villain. For example, the magazine points out Kate uses the children to get more air time. Will this approach work? Vote HERE!

Star Magazine says Brad Pitt & Angelina Jolie are in trouble and their family is falling apart. With inset photos of Brad drinking and standing next to an unidentified woman -- plus Shiloh holding her head in agony, the magazine is banking on these photos to sell trouble in the land of Brangelina. Did they succeed? Vote HERE!

Life & Style ** features a full-cover on morning chat show host Kelly Ripa - who says "I Don't Need a Boob Job!" Traditionally, magazine covers in the celebrity weekly space focus on stars doing something, e.g. "I Got a Boob Job," or planning on doing something, e.g. "I'm Getting a Boob Job." The new Life & Style cover bucks that trend. Will it work? Vote HERE!

Mark Pasetsky is the editorial director for CoverAwards.com. Visit CoverAwards daily for analysis on the latest magazine covers from around the world. He also serves as the editorial director for Taraci.com.

Which cover do you think will be a big seller this week? Which cover won't sell? Sound-off below in the comments section!

*Mark Pasetsky is an editorial consultant for OK! Magazine. **Mark Pasetsky is the former editor in chief and general manager for Life & Style.

Vanity Fair's Two September 2009 Covers: Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett Split Cover

2009-08-03T08:50:49Z

Vanity Fair will publish two covers for its September issue: one featuring Michael Jackson and another featuring Farrah Fawcett, the two pop culture icons who both died on June 25.

"Two covers seemed like the sensible thing to do, given the passing of two major American icons on the same day," editor Graydon Carter said.

The Jackson cover features a 1989 Annie Leibovitz photo and the line, "Fallen King." Fawcett's cover reads, "Fallen Angel."

Contributing editor Lisa Robinson wrote the Jackson story based on their interviews over the years. Contributing editor Leslie Bennetts interviewed Fawcett's longtime love, Ryan O'Neal, as well as his children Griffin and Tatum and close Fawcett friend Alana Stewart for a story titled, "Beautiful People, Ugly Choices." Already that article has made news with Ryan confessing that he hit on daughter Tatum at Fawcett's funeral.

PREVIEW THE JACKSON COVER STORY HERE

PREVIEW THE FAWCETT COVER STORY HERE

WWD's Stephanie D. Smith reports that "both covers will be shipped at random to subscribers and to newsstands beginning Wednesday" and that the cast of "Mad Men" had been slated for the cover prior to the icons' deaths.

The September issue of Vanity Fair arrives on newsstands in New York and L.A. on August 5 and nationally on August 11.

Full covers below:

Ryan O'Neal: I Hit On My Daughter Tatum At Farrah's Funeral

2009-08-03T08:20:10Z

Vanity Fair has split September covers - Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett - and the explosive Fawcett article by Leslie Bennetts offers a remarkable, on-the-record example of the father-daughter dynamic between Farrah's on-off lover Ryan O'Neal and his daughter Tatum (who he calls a bitch), as well as insight into his relationship with Farrah.

O'Neal spoke to Bennetts and characterized himself as "a hopeless father." He offered the below example from Farrah's funeral as a reason why:

"I had just put the casket in the hearse and I was watching it drive away when a beautiful blonde woman comes up and embraces me," Ryan told me. "I said to her, 'You have a drink on you? You have a car?' She said, 'Daddy, it's me--Tatum!' I was just trying to be funny with a strange Swedish woman, and it's my daughter. It's so sick."

"That's our relationship in a nutshell," Tatum said when I asked her about it. "You make of it what you will." She sighed. "It had been a few years since we'd seen each other, and he was always a ladies' man, a bon vivant."

Ryan also talks about the demise of his relationship with Farrah in 1998, when the pair initially split. He cites Farrah's menopause and talks about subsequently bedding a much-younger woman.

The whole article is not online, but the issue is on newsstands Wednesday in New York and LA, and a few more remarkable excerpts are here on Vanity Fair's website.

The magazine's press release on the article is below, and he says he regrets some of his children and son Griffin says his father gave him cocaine at age 11:

NEW YORK, N.Y.--Ryan O'Neal speaks extensively with Vanity Fair contributing editor Leslie Bennetts about his relationship with Farrah Fawcett, and his family struggles, both before and after her death, and tells Bennetts he is full of regrets, saying, "I wish I could do it over with [Fawcett]. I would have been much kinder, more understanding, more mature. I'd lose some of the savagery. I don't know how she got cancer; maybe some of it was me. She wouldn't even have a diet soda!"

Bennetts reports that one of the reasons for their split, according to O'Neal, was that Fawcett "was going through some kind of change.... I didn't have a change of life; I was always a jerk. But they're hard work, these divas; I was sick of it, and I was unappreciated." He says he felt that Fawcett didn't like him very much, "so I excused myself, and I was lucky enough to meet this young girl. She was more a daughter to me than a lover, and my own daughter had flown the coop, so here was this replacement." Despite their split, they eventually managed to come back together when O'Neal was diagnosed with chronic myelogenous leukemia in 2001 (it has since been controlled with the drug Gleevec). "I talked to her every day," O'Neal says. "We pulled apart, but we never popped loose."

O'Neal tells Bennetts that six weeks before her death Fawcett asked him, "Am I going to make it?," and he said, "Sure, baby--and if you don't, I'll go with you," to which Fawcett replied, "Stop the Gleevec." He didn't give up his medication, Bennetts writes, but was at Fawcett's bedside when she passed away.

According to O'Neal, Fawcett's apparent softness was deceptive, and she "had a stubborn streak of pride and righteousness," he says. They would fight about "anything and everything," and they "started fighting about [their son] Redmond by the time he was three," he tells Bennetts.

O'Neal calls Fawcett "provincial in many ways," and tells Bennetts that he thinks she may have preferred "a picket-fence kind of life, cooking and doing her art," rather than the strain of Hollywood. Aging was hard for her, he says. "In my mind, if I say, 'You're beautiful,' that should be enough. But she was very high-maintenance. She took a long time getting ready to go anywhere, and that started to drive me nuts. We were late to see the president of the United States, and she was his dinner partner! So we were an hour late for Ronald Reagan."

Griffin O'Neal is suspicious of his father's newfound devotion to Fawcett, telling Bennetts, "All those crocodile tears!... My dad's only goal was to make sure he would be in the will. It was so disgustingly transparent as soon as he found out she was terminal. I consider him a vulture presiding over a carcass. Ryan thought he was going to get everything." When asked about Griffin's charge that Ryan was trying to get Fawcett's money, the elder O'Neal says, "I hate him! He knows I have money. I made a tremendous amount of money on real estate, more than I deserve."

O'Neal is brutal on the subject of his parenting and his children, telling Bennetts, "I'm a hopeless father. I don't know why. I don't think I was supposed to be a father. Just look around at my work--they're either in jail or they should be." He doesn't talk to any of his kids except for Redmond, whom he visits in jail. "I was in touch with them for years, and I was a mess," he says of the others. "I'm not in touch with them now, and I've never been happier." When asked if he's sorry he had children, he nods, Bennetts reports. "A couple of them I would take back," he says.

O'Neal tells Bennetts that he didn't recognize his daughter, Tatum, at Fawcett's funeral. "I had just put the casket in the hearse and was watching it drive away," he says, "when a beautiful blonde woman comes up and embraces me. I said to her, 'You have a drink on you? You have a car?' She said, 'Daddy, it's me--Tatum!' I was just trying to be funny with a strange Swedish woman, and it's my daughter. It's so sick."

When Bennetts asks Tatum about the exchange, she replies, "That's our relationship in a nutshell.... You make of it what you will." She sighed. "It had been a few years since we'd seen each other, and he was always a ladies' man, a bon vivant."

O'Neal fumes when asked about Tatum's autobiography, saying "She wrote a book--bitch! How dare she throw our laundry in the street for money!... She didn't call after Farrah's show. She'll have to explain that."

Tatum tells Bennetts that her father "has every right to be angry about the book; no parent wants to hear their kid saying shitty things about them... But what I wrote in the book was true. I've got a battle with drugs, but I'm a strong, independent person, and I fight for myself, and my father and I butt heads. When I was 16 years old, he and Farrah moved in together, and after that I saw my dad periodically, and that took a long time for me to get over. Would I do that to my kids? No, but I don't think Farrah was responsible for that. I truly thought Farrah was inspirational and beautiful and kind. Anyway, it's past; I've moved on. I'm older now, and I forgive him."

O'Neal claims Griffin has sold salacious information about the family to the tabloids, a charge that Griffin denies--"Absolutely not! Not one thing!," Griffin tells Bennetts. "My father is afraid of me because I know the truth," Griffin says. "That's the part that absolutely scares him to death." Griffin suggests that the family's problems might have something to do with the fact that Ryan plied his children with drugs--"My father gave me cocaine when I was 11 and insisted I take it," he tells Bennetts--and was prone to uncontrollable rages. "He was violent all the way through my upbringing," says Griffin. "He was a very abusive, narcissistic psychopath. He gets so mad he can't control anything he's doing."

The September issue of Vanity Fair hits newsstands in New York and Los Angeles August 5 and nationally August 11.

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Dean Sluyter: The Dharma of Celebrity Death

2009-07-23T14:46:26Z

I've been out of the country on a couple of meditation retreats and so missed much of this summer's celebrity necromania. The same thing happened to me in 1977 when Elvis died; I was in the middle of a six-month retreat in an off-season ski hotel in Switzerland and read the news in the International Herald-Tribune. This time, I was in a mountain lodge in Quebec, just a few miles from the U.S. border but feeling blissfully worlds away. Then, one day in the dining hall (dominated by a massive moose head named Rudy and a wacky clock that rang each hour with a different bird call), one of the retreatants made the mistake of checking the New York Times on her iPhone and blurted out, "Oh my God, Michael Jackson died! And Farrah Fawcett. And ... Ed McMahon?"

So much has been written on the topic by now that I hesitate to add my little say, but perhaps there's something to be gained from looking at this cultural phenomenon through the blinking eyes of a hermit emerging from the dark of his cave into the glare of the popping flashbulbs and 24-hour news coverage and saying, "What?" Everybody dies. Why, from a spiritual point of view, are celebrity deaths such an extra big deal? They obviously do touch people on a deep level. Could that have something to do with the deep levels of our own being, the depths that are discovered through meditative and spiritual practice? What is the dharma of celebrity death?

Celebrities, like people close to us, are so much a part of us that it's hard to imagine life without them. When a loved one dies, we find ourselves asking, "Where did they go?," gazing again and again into the space they used to occupy, which is now open space. It's actually an opening into the spaciousness of being itself, a precious peek into shunyata, the sublimely empty infinite. We might be too caught up in our stories of loss and sorrow to notice, or it might even make us feel guilty to notice, but in this way the death of a loved one can connect us with an incredible, even blissful freedom, if we can just relax and let it happen. Similarly, all the hoopla around celebrity deaths is not only mourning but also celebration -- and not just in the conventional sense of "celebrating his life" that we hear at funerals, but actually celebrating death. There's nothing morbid about this. As Walt Whitman wrote:

Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born?
I hasten to assure him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

Clearly, the fascination with celebrity deaths must somehow touch on our sense of ourselves, as we contemplate not only our own deaths but our lives. There's a story about a monk named Anuradha who goes to the Buddha to ask where he, the Enlightened One, will be after he dies. Will he still somehow exist? Will he not exist? Both? Neither? The Buddha doesn't answer directly. Instead, he cross-examines Anuradha about the various components of the individual person, such as form, feeling, perception, etc. Then he asks, "Where am I -- the Buddha -- right now? In my form? In my feelings? In my perceptions?" Eventually it becomes clear that it's impossible to pin down the Buddha's location even as he sits right before Anuradha. His post mortem location, then, must be completely indefinable. As we say here in New Jersey, fuhgeddabouddit.

So, where is an Elvis or a Michael Jackson after he dies? That must also be indefinable, but, because of their powerful presence, we keep trying to define it. Taking our cue from the Buddha, we might start by backing up and asking where they were located in life. In which component of Elvis resided the quintessential Elvisness that made us care about him more than some other Memphis truck driver? Was it the trademark curl of his upper lip? His famously swiveling hips? The way his dark hair fell over his forehead? As a matter of fact, Elvis's real hair was sandy brown before it went prematurely white. That jet-black color came out of a Clairol bottle, starting around the same time his nose was straightened and his teeth were capped. (Compare his pre-1957 photos.) If Elvis is his black hair, you can buy Elvis at your local CVS.

But of course that's just his form. Isn't the real Elvis in his music, in his revolutionary performance style? If that's the case, then, even as his form molders in nonexistence, we have to say that his most worshipful fans are right: Elvis lives, in your iTunes library, in your Netflix list (Viva Las Vegas, y'all), and for that matter in the endlessly echoing gestures of a thousand Elvis impersonators.

That's a cliché too -- how many times this summer have you heard that Michael Jackson or Walter Cronkite lives on his legacy? But it points to a deeper truth, which was probably best expressed by Carole Lombard, the wonderful film comedian who was married to Clark Gable, then the screen's most lusted-after leading man. When an interviewer asked her what he was like as a husband, she laughed and said, "Well, he's no Gable."

The implication is that the divine Gable on the screen is a product of acting technique, makeup, lighting, studio hype, and audience adulation, all clustered around an organism also called Gable. The organism's "real-life" existence, including such events as marriage and death, have little to do with the divinity. In yet another cliché, we keep hearing MJ and Cronkite and Farrah Fawcett called "icons." An icon is literally an image, originally a temple picture or statue of a god or goddess, and indeed the Farrah-ness that inspired the lust of millions in the 70's lives on in that red-swim-suited poster icon as vividly as Aphrodite.

The first of this summer's celebrity deaths was that of David Carradine. By now it's been almost eclipsed by those that followed, and his impact has been undervalued, due in part to the tabloid focus on the sad, sordid details of his demise. (Full disclosure: I have some bias here. For a few years during my Los Angeles childhood, my brothers and I were friends with the Carradine brothers. They used to swim in our pool, and Keith and I, under the influence of our then-favorite TV show, used to tear around the Carradine house, a historic building called the Calabasas Adobe, pretending we were Zorro and slashing Z's into the walls.)

As hokey as Kung Fu sometimes was, it had a huge effect on our culture, now largely forgotten precisely because of its success. With its premise of Kwai Chang Caine, the lonely man of peace, the exiled half-Chinese Shaolin priest wandering through the Old West, reluctantly forced to use his martial skills to fight injustice, it was the first and, shockingly, still the only major network series to present Eastern wisdom to a mass Western audience, even if in a Hollywoodized form. There has been some dissing of Carradine as the beneficiary of racist casting, based on murky allegations that Bruce Lee was passed up for the role of Caine because it was believed that a TV show could not succeed with a non-Caucasian in the leading role. That would be in keeping with the legacy of Charlie Chan, the popular movie detective who was portrayed by a succession of white actors. (Ironically, Keye Luke, Chan's comic-relief "Number One Son," went on to play Caine's wise Master Po.)

But, in fact, making Caine half American, even if done for the wrong reasons, was exactly right. It made him a bridge between East and West, the exotic and the familiar. It made it easier for a mostly white American audience to identify with him, to keep one foot set firmly in their achievement-oriented, conquest-oriented Western culture while hesitantly planting another foot in the contemplative Eastern notions of nonviolent, peaceful acceptance of a larger harmony. Now, almost 40 years later, when there are yoga studios in Omaha and the Beastie Boys and MC Yogi rap about bodhichitta and satyagraha, David Carradine deserves some credit as a pioneer. No, he didn't create or write the show, he never claimed to be a perfect exemplar of enlightenment, and he didn't even practice martial arts before he was cast, but (much better than the overheated, extraverted Bruce Lee could have done) he coolly, often wordlessly embodied its message of inner peace.

Carradine himself once said that hardly a day went by that he wasn't stopped on the street by half a dozen people telling him that Kung Fu had changed their lives. Once, in the 70s, I met a woman -- a middle-aged secretary, as I recall, and not at all someone you'd take to be the meditative "type" -- who told me a story about how she had gotten trapped, alone, in an elevator stuck between floors. At first she started to panic. "But then," she said, "I thought, 'What would Caine do?' So I sat down on the floor, crossed my legs, and just let be."

I wonder how many stories like that are out there. Thank you, David. Thank you, everyone. Enjoy life, enjoy death, let be.

WATCH: Ryan O'Neal Talks About Farrah's Final Hours

2009-07-21T11:52:15Z

AP text:

NEW YORK - Ryan O'Neal says even as Farrah Fawcett lay dying, she clung to life.

O'Neal tells NBC's "Today" show that doctors said Fawcett had a couple of hours left, but she held on for a couple of days.

O'Neal says Fawcett "wouldn't pass," and "it was awful."

He says Fawcett's eyes were open for the last three weeks of her life. He thinks she was "holding on," since she had so much left to do.

Finally, he says, Fawcett closed her eyes and she was gone.

She died last month after a long battle with anal cancer.

O'Neal says he writes to Fawcett in his journal, fulfilling a promise he made to his longtime love. He said he'd "see her every day" after her death.

WATCH:

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Rebecca Booth, MD: Why My Daughter Is Getting The HPV Vaccine

2009-07-20T12:43:01Z

Could anyone forget the beautiful music of Evita, or even more compelling the black and white photos of Eva Peron, her cheeks becoming more and more hollowed as cervix cancer siphoned away her legendary vitality, causing her death at age 33? What is lesser known is that Juan Peron's first wife (Aurelia) died of the same disease-- at age 28. Knowing the likely cause reveals this to be less than tragically coincidental. President Peron was twice widowed before widespread Pap smear screening was promoted, and certainly long before the nature of the virus responsible: HPV (Human Papilloma Virus) was understood.

I recall the haunting youth of the cervix cancer patients I cared for on my oncology rotations as a resident. Unlike the more common older cancer patients, these women were my contemporaries, some even younger than I at the time. In the field of gynecology we were aware of the connection of cervix cancer and precancers to HPV, but it was not yet part of conventional wisdom. Despite the lack of HPV awareness in the late 80's, the fear of HIV and herpes was helping promote safe sex and routine gynecologic screening.

Unfortunately most women (and men) are not aware that condoms do not offer complete protection from HPV, in fact penetration of any orifice is not required for infection. Simple genital skin-to-skin contact can accomplish transmission. Contrary to popular assumption, most women who contact anal HPV have not had anal penetration. The skin of the scrotum need only come into contact with the anus for transmission of the virus (contact that commonly occurs with vaginal intercourse). It is the ease of transmission that contributes significantly to the fact that an estimated 6 million persons are affected by genital HPV every year. It is the most common sexually transmitted disease in our country. While it is true that the great majority of those affected will not require treatment (most mild forms of the virus will be eliminated by the host's immune system), the American Cancer Society (ACS) estimates 11,270 new diagnoses of cervix cancer in the US in 2009. Anal cancer (now felt to also be caused in large part by genital HPV) is growing at a rapid pace, and the ACS estimates approximately 3,200 cases of anal cancer will occur in women this year. There is good evidence that the HPV vaccine may not only offer protection for cervix, vaginal, vulvar and anal cancer, but also some head and neck and oral cancers as well. The vaccine also protects against genital warts, which affect approximately 500,000 people per year in the US.

While some of my eligible patients have declined the HPV vaccine, feeling that it isn't necessary for them, I am reminded that one of my dear patients, a rape victim, lost her uterus at a very young age due to cervix cancer contracted from sexual assault. Monogamy is a safe and wise practice; however, sexual assault victims remind us we are not always in complete control of our sexual exposure.

The protection of the vaccine is not perfect; there are at least 13 types that are known to be associated with genital cancer or precancer, and the vaccine covers 4 types. Two of the covered types are felt to cause the majority of aggressive cancers, and the other two prevent most genital warts. It is pretty remarkable for a vaccine to give protection for 4 different subtypes of a virus, and literally historic to offer protection against cancer. One drawback is that it takes almost a full year after the first injection (in a series of three) for the protection to completely establish. Many patients are inclined to assume protection from the initial shot, only to get a call from the doctor about an abnormal pap before immunity has set up.

In my practice, since it became available, we have administered thousands of Gardasil
injections--with no serious side effects. Though all vaccines have inherent risks, the Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System (VAERS)---reports only very rare serious complications. The vaccine is somewhat expensive; it requires time and may not offer lifetime immunity (a booster may be needed in the future), but it will save lives, save embarrassment, save marriages, reduce painful and expensive tests and treatments...and had my generation had it, it might have saved Farrah.

Facts about Gardasil®, the HPV vaccine:

• The vaccine is administered by intramuscular injection, and the recommended schedule is a 3-dose series with the second and third doses administered 2 and 6 months after the first dose.

• The recommended age for vaccination of females is 11-12 years. Vaccines can be administered to those as young as age 9 years.

• While it is only approved for women ages 9-26, many individuals have requested and been given the vaccine who are older than 26. It is estimated that several thousand men have requested and received the vaccine.

Two nights ago my daughter and I drove away from the high school she will be attending this fall after she learned she did not make the volleyball team. She was trying to fight back her tears when I bit my tongue as the cliché slipped out, "things could be worse." I fought back my own tears of frustration knowing I can't fight her battles for her, but I can make sure she gets her third Gardasil shot-- due in 2 more months.

Tom Gregory: My Opinion: Michael Jackson's Grave (VIDEO)

2009-07-10T21:36:52Z

Michael Jackson's life has always been a contradiction of outlandish oddity and pinpoint perfection. Now in death, with the unknown location of his body, the enigma continues. It's Hollywood's real life "Where's Waldo," but unless the family is into inflicting undue pain on itself, I am almost certain he is in his final resting place, and I have found its location.

Driving east along Wilshire Boulevard -- just as you drive under the notorious 405 freeway, you enter Westwood Village. Westwood is one of LA's oldest enclaves. It's the enduring home to shops, grand movie theatres, medical buildings, federal offices, and UCLA. During the seventies and eighties -- and especially during the 1984 Olympics, Westwood was the place to go because Hollywood had become too decrepit for any wide-eyed wandering.

Nestled in Westwood Village among the office buildings and condos that line Wilshire Blvd., {Pierce Brothers} Westwood Memorial Park is the end of the road for scores of Hollywood's elite and the well heeled. Located on LA's fashionable west side, directly behind the AVCO movie theatre and an office building, the cemetery, founded in 1904, boasts a roster of stars that -- even in death, any agent would love to represent. Archie Bunker himself Mr. Carroll O'Connor, Dean Martin, Donna Reed, Natalie Wood, Truman Capote, Walter Matthau, Jack Lemmon, Marilyn Monroe are all among those interred at this peaceful, pleasant park. Recently the grand dame of the fighting spirit Farrah Fawcett was interred next to Merv Griffin's final resting place -- bound together for a Los Angeles eternity.

Arguably America's most pricey land at hundreds of thousands of dollars for a "bench estate" to over one million dollars for a "family estate," it's still all virtually free when averaged out over an eternity. Westwood has no dark, Gothic headstones mostly just flush mauve marble memorials of those wealthy ones who have left their mark on the world.

When I first heard of Jackson's death in Los Angeles (officially at UCLA), I thought Westwood Memorial was the only cemetery worthy of the kind of fan traffic and star power he will undoubtedly draw in death. Over the last days, I've been bicycling out to the Westwood cemetery to see if any recent additions have been made to her well-heeled legions of the dead.

Lo and behold between Monday night and Wednesday morning a new grave was opened and closed, and absolutely no one at the place would answer my questions about who is buried there. Look, I could be wrong, but I it all makes sense. Elizabeth Taylor's mother Sara is nearby -- it's public knowledge Taylor will spend eternity herself here one day. The place is small and secure. They've handled Marilyn Monroe's millions of visitors over the decades, security cameras abound and barbed wire contains the manageably sized hallowed grounds.

Even on the chance I'm wrong, in time all will be exposed, even if the family remains secretive on the final resting place. (Roy Orbison and Frank Zappa headstones have never been identified at Westwood). It is certain Jackson's legions of fans will find his plot to visit and pay their respects, Neverland seems too lonely -- too far away, too broken, and potentially too commercial for Michael Jackson's soft, secretive demure life.

Enough of this frenetic death hunt for me. I've done my Jimmy Olsen sleuthing. It's time to put into action the lesson that death teaches all of us and get back to the living while I still have some time.

Dr. Cara Barker: "What Bernie Madoff, Victimization, and Elie Wiesel Have to Teach Us"

2009-07-08T10:24:51Z

"....in those times, it was human to be inhuman. And now the world has learned, I hope.... There must come a moment -- a moment of bringing people together.

... Memory must bring people together rather than set them apart. Memories here not to sow anger in our hearts, but on the contrary, a sense of solidarity that all those who need us. What else can we do except invoke that memory so that people everywhere who say the 21st century is a century of new beginnings, filled with promise and infinite hope, and at times profound gratitude to all those who believe in our task, which is to improve the human condition.

... Camus wrote "...after the tragedy...there is more in the human being to celebrate than to denigrate." Even that can be found as truth ... in Buchenwald."

Elie Wiesel

Wiesel knows a few things about reconstructing a life, after experiencing the uncertain, devastating times of Auschwitz. Few of us can imagine such a horror.

And, yet, today, people face their own version of devastating circumstances in a myriad of forms. While there was dancing in Iraq's streets at the pulling out of our troops, there is also weeping for the untold numbers of killed and wounded, not to mention their families. Everywhere you look around the world, some rejoice while others suffer. While Honduras' president's kidnapped in his pajamas, other politicians celebrate. While Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson are laid to rest, friends and family remember times of beauty. We live lives of contrast. No wonder we question what it means to be here, on this earth, in this way.

Uncertain times can bring out the best or worst in people. Who amongst us cannot remember a time when we felt betrayed? Who amongst us cannot recall the desire for revenge? It's the most natural thing in the world to react when you feel cheated. Maybe a 'Bernie' character stole your money. Maybe the economy has hurt your career. Perhaps you feel betrayed by life force itself, leaving you to deal with serious illness which robs you of the promise of 'lots more time.' Just the other day, I came out of the gym and someone had side-swiped my car on the passenger side, leaving no contact information. It will cost around $1000 for repair. Where is justice when you believe you've been doing your best, yet bad things happen?

We do need time to stomp our feet, ring our hands, and fantasize what we might like to befall those behind the dastardly deeds. The trouble is that reactive 'getting even' carries a hefty price tag. Not only does it send toxins racing through our own bloodstream, it contaminates our relations. Think of someone you know who spends too much of their juice trying to 'even the score' for some perceived injustice, or does a perpetual whine and moan song of 'ain't it awful.' How do you like being around them? What happens to your own vitality? I don't know about you, but I want to run in the other direction from such a depleting atmosphere. Blessedly, our job is not to solve everyone else's problem. Not even if you are a 'shrink'!

Our alternative is to cultivate a practice of responding before doing further collateral damage. Perhaps we'd do well to remember that the roots for the word 'justice' relate to fairness and beauty. These days, the very idea of people living together harmoniously might seem far-fetched. Rumi warned: "...Don't move the way fear makes you move." When injustice and inhumanity seem so prevalent, where do we look for guidance? How may we become more humane, more generous to ourselves and one another?

We cannot do much better than to note the example set by Nobel Peace Prize Laureate, Elie Wiesel this week. Note the contrast. Bernie Madoff has his 'day in court' for sentencing. Meanwhile, some of the very people victimized by his inhumane greed, are taking it upon themselves to sue other Madoff investors able to bail out earlier. When fear shows up, victims too often become perpetrators. Poverty consciousness runs deeper than money.

Victims become perpetrators when fear takes over and mutes out Wisdom. The moment we begin impersonalizing one another, we deface and dehumanize them as well as ourselves. In stark comparison, Wiesel, whose funds were absconded by Madoff, proposed an entirely different means of atonement.

His suggestion is that Bernie Madoff's prison cell be papered with the photos of the people he's harmed. Elie Wiesel returns the focus to the only place healing can ever begin. He demonstrates that you don't get to be a Nobel Peace prize Laureate by seeking 'an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.' He illustrates the power of forgiveness, and the truth that you can forgive without forgetting. He suggests returning to relatedness, coming home to the fact that we do have choice, and these choices can create compassion, and healing, or destruction. Each new moment, a new choice is possible. We either grow our humanity, or we remain victims and perpetrators.

The words of Rumi come back as guide:

"Out beyond ideas of wrong-doing and right-doing,
There is a field.
I will meet you there."

A Little Exercise: If you were to 'paper' your room with the faces of people you'd like to thank, whose photos would be there? What message would you like to deliver? If you were to include those with whom its time to make amends, what would you communicate?

I'd love to hear from you: your responses, your questions, your feelings, your news, your links, and promise I'll get back to you as quickly as possible! Blessings your way. May you and your car be safe from hit-and-runs!

Remembering Farrah Fawcett's Flip

2009-07-07T15:55:50Z

Part of the late Farrah Fawcett's legacy will be her signature flip hairdo, the feathered blond mop that made its debut on Charlie's Angels in the '70s.

The hairstyle, it seems, has several fathers. Originally, it is said to be invented by L.A. hairdressers Allen Edwards and Hugh York, but José Eber played a role in maintaining the look.

Edwards noted the popularity of Farrah's 'do, which was the most creative way to cut long hair at the time. He remarked that at one point he had had his fill of Farrah flips and refused to do any more.

Farrah, herself, did wonders for the hair care industry, selling Wella Balsam, Head & Shoulders, and Fabergé products, along with curling irons and hair curlers. She opened the door for other forward-thinking haircuts, like Joan Jett's mullet, and undoubtedly brought the possibility of sexy to the public.

Read more at WWD (password required).

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Read more: Farrah Fawcett Flip, Farrah Fawcett Hair, Flip, Charlie's Angels, Hair Styles, Farrah Fawcett, Hair, Style News

B. Jeffrey Madoff: Why Read When You Can Watch?

2009-07-04T12:34:59Z
From June 12th to July 4th, I decided to experiment in what many believe will be the world of the future, a world without reading newspapers. I got my entire news diet from watching either popular television or online sources.

Three stories had been dominating the television and online media landscape: David Letterman's joke about Bristol Palin, the meltdown of the Gosselins, of "Jon & Kate Plus 8" reality show fame and South Carolina Governor, Mark Sanford confusing his Argentinean affair with a bible story. The biggest news was yet to come.

Letterman made a joke, which he has been doing with varying degrees of success every week night for over 21 years. Governor Palin was offended with the idea of her family being dragged into the media spotlight, so she dragged them into the media spotlight. She held news conferences and threatened boycotts. Letterman apologized, an unusual gesture for a comedian who does topical humor. Should she forgive him? Would she forgive him? Why does he care?

Palin versus Letterman became a huge story, dominating the news/talk show scene for several days. Pundits on both sides of the political fence voiced serious opinions about Letterman's joke. Palin did more for Letterman's ratings than he could have ever done for himself. The night of his extended apology attracted 700,000 more viewers than his new competition, Conan O'Brien. Letterman gave Palin what she craved, more media attention than she's had since the election.

"Jon & Kate Plus 8", coming into their biggest season ever, with more media coverage and more magazine covers than ever, drew the biggest cable television audience this year on June 23rd, attracting 10.6 million viewers. Why? Jon and Kate announced they were splitting up. "The Learning Channel", in a contradiction to the name of their own network, has not yet learned how to deal with the phenomenon that they created and as a result of their success, blew up. The show is on hiatus until they learn what to do.

Another governor who made news was the one from South Carolina, Mark Sanford. First he disappeared for a couple days, then on June 24th, he admitted, because he could no longer deny, that he had been having an affair with a woman in Argentina. Having an affair ought to be private, something for him and his wife to deal with. However, when you have a history of publicly condemning other politicians for their immoral behavior and pushing for their, Clinton's, impeachment, you become fair game for all to poke at. Citing the biblical story of David, Sanford claims he will not resign, but redeem himself. That's doubtful. He has since admitted to several other "liaisons". He's become an embarrassment to the Republican Party and they're having enough trouble without spending time defending him.

On June 25th, the news to end all news, blew everything else off the front pages and onto television: the death of Michael Jackson. Governor Sanford was probably kicking himself for admitting his affair a day too early. The news became all Michael all the time. His death was met with the kind of media frenzy usually reserved for terrorist attacks, natural disasters or Anna Nicole Smith. Jackson was omnipresent on television and the radio.

In non-Peabody Award investigative style, Anderson Cooper on CNN did a segment on what Michael's chimp, Bubbles, is doing now. The chimp, to its credit, was one of the only associates of Michael who didn't have anything to say.

By the end of last week, Fox News posed the question, "Is there too much media coverage about Michael Jackson?" by further covering themselves covering Michael Jackson. Nothing invigorates a career like an untimely death - just ask Elvis or Marilyn Monroe or James Dean or Van Gogh.

Jackson, unfortunately wasn't alive to enjoy the huge resurgence of his popularity, music, videos and memorabilia, which topped the lists on I-Tunes, Amazon and Ebay.

There are already ongoing discussions about how Jackson's retreat, "Neverland", would be a bigger tourist attraction than Elvis' "Graceland" and how much that would be worth in annual ticket sales. The competition for attention celebrities experience in life doesn't end with death. Jackson's memorial this week is posing huge financial and safety concerns for financially strapped Los Angeles. Over 300,000 ticket requests happened online within the first few hours.

The theory of "celebrities always die in groups of three", once again held true: Ed McMahon, Farah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Karl Malden and Bill Mays - that's five, but who wants to destroy a good myth?

I returned to newspapers today. The news has traveled full circle back to Sarah Palin. She is resigning as Governor of Alaska. The attention she will now get will no doubt fill the media with several days of pundit speculation. My guess is Palin will be offered a talk show on the Fox Network. Ms. Palin, in a statement defying all logic said that she was not going to be seeking re-election at the end of next year, so she didn't feel it was fair to her constituents to continue in office. I wonder if she will bring this same commitment to her presidential aspirations.

There were other stories on the front page: The war is still going on in Iraq, the war in Afghanistan is ramping up, Iran is still in turmoil, unemployment rates continued to climb and it looks like national healthcare reform is the next big political debate.

What did I learn from my 3 week media experiment? It's easier to zone out in front of a glowing rectangle than engage in reading. Reading requires more of us than watching. In going on a diet of more television and internet coverage, I got a lot less nutrition and a lot more fat.

Read more: Michael Jackson, Mark Sanford, Bill Clinton, James Dean, Anderson Cooper, Iran, Farrah Fawcett, Van Gogh, Michael Jackson Neverland, Elvis Presley, Afghanistan War, Conan O'Brien, Marilyn Monroe, Cnn, Sarah Palin, Ed McMahon, Fox News, Karl Malden, Iraq, Health Care, Jon and Kate Plus 8, David Letterman, Media News

Jodi Lampert: Michael Jackson RIP, 3 Decades LA Style

2009-07-03T21:35:32Z
Farrah Fawcett died, yesterday morning. I found out about it first thing, in my local coffee joint, Jennifer's, an independently run place in Studio City that's only recently given into a modern ticker tape TV. I was sad. Who doesn't have someone suffering from cancer, after all? I know three people, young, my age (almost fifty), myself. Still, instead of sharing that, I make a joke to Ryan the barista that I shall send a Condolence e-mail about Farrah to my brother, given how much time he spent with her when we were younger. "Ew!" we both appropriately cry.

I see that she'd died at St. John's, in Santa Monica, and I decide to nod to her when I drive by. I am going this morning into Santa Monica, itself, a place called Rustic Canyon, where I take pottery on Thursdays. It's a place our Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, who announced his candidacy on the Tonight Show, may be closing this summer due to budget cuts. I know exactly where St. John's is, for I'd had a poorly-done mammogram, there, once. I have a mother who died young of breast cancer, and that correctly gets you lots of attention in any of LA's fine breast clinics.

I don't remember to wave when I'm on the 10, but I do remember Farrah's plight as I hit a little stretch of PCH (Pacific Coast Highway). I think she lived in Malibu, so this would be the stretch Ryan would be taking if he were driving to her house from the hospital. I've lost 10 people to disease, and I know only so well that moment when you go back to the car and cannot believe you have to remember how to drive.

In pottery class, no one even mentions Farrah. We are too busy discussing Governor Mark Sanford's love-struck e-mails to his Venezuelan lover. Also, the fact that Fox News mis-correctly identified him as a Democrat for a whole day.

I stop later, at Safeway. I've forgotten all about Farrah, but in the store, I notice a woman who looks like Alana Stewart. I suddenly remember that St. John's is right up the street. Maybe Alana's stopping for the deli platter (you can tell how nice a woman is, btw, by her women friends). I have no idea where Alana lives. I realize that everyone in this particular store looks like Alana Stewart, any one could be here to pick up the Fawcett deli platter. Although that crowd might go macro-biotic.

I forget again about Farrah, and promptly get into my car. Now, this part of the day is always spent on the freeway. To explain LA, LA is a place spent on the freeways. In much the same way that people from other cities spend time in subways or other places, where they may interact more (or they might not). LA has a reputation due to the freeway as transportation, but I don't think it's that different from anyplace, to be honest.

Where I am again is the 10. That's the freeway that went down in the big '89 earthquake. It's the link between Santa Monica and the rest of the city. I am trying to transition onto the 405. That cuts through the Westside and into the Valley, where I live, much to my chagrin. We are stopped, which is not that unusual for this time of day.

I happen to be stopped on an overpass that is, frankly, midair, with a view, as newscaster Jerry Dunphy used to say about LA, "from the sea to the mountains." I am stopped because traffic is always heavy at this time of day. But frankly, if one could put a condo anywhere, right here would be splendid.

I have 1150, the liberal station on. And the guy sitting in for Randi Rhodes mentions that he's just come across something on TMZ that Michael Jackson's died. Now, I cannot believe that our civilization collectively does a thing called "Twitter," so, trust me, someone's getting a news story from TMZ???? Come on. The guy agrees with me, and goes onto his computer while on-air.

The guy announces that MJ is supposedly at Cedars-Sinai. I suddenly remember that I'd forgotten my nod at St. John's to honor Farrah, so I take a look to my left. My car is literally that stopped. St. John's is way in the distance, the SM skyline, and I see it with the sun behind. Then, I look to my right, in the general direction of where Cedars-Sinai is. It's a bit aways, but I do what all in LA must do at a time like this. I decide it must not be true, because I do not see any helicopters.

Then the guy corrects himself. Jackson's at UCLA Medical Center. Well, now I know for sure that it's a hoax. Because from this overpass, I could practically walk to UCLA. It's where I -- three decades ago, dear God -- came to Film School. UCLA Film School is the reason I came to LA, to make my fame and fortune just like everyone else. So I look right at UCLA, less than a mile away, and can easily pick out the Medical Center, because my cousin died there from pancreatic cancer. I look there and I gauge the veracity of a news rumor as untrue, again, using my sharp skill of "I don't see any helicopters!"

I now merge onto the 405, and am heading past Wilshire. I do see one helicopter, then two. Well, they could be traffic copters. Still, that is enough to make me take out my new cell phone that has both still and video-cams, and immediately prove that I, too, am almost as old as Michael Jackson, because all I can manage to snap is a picture of is ME.

It's about 3:00 and crowded. Traffic could be from school letting out, although I remember that school's over. I'm fully merged, as the newscaster reports the ambulance went to Jackson's home on Carolwood Dr. I am surprised. I didn't know MJ lived there. Weirdly, I happen to know exactly where that street is, because Barbra Streisand and Burt Reynolds had lived there, as well as a cousin by marriage from Israel, who lived in Sonny and Cher's old house on the other side of Sunset until he lost his fortune.

I look at people in the other cars. No one seems to have heard this news. No one is looking anything other than passive. I drive from the Wilshire exit, to Sunset, and I realize that this is famous, too, because this is the exact exit where OJ and Al Cowlings got off the freeway, to cheering throngs. This is the exit I would take to go the other way to UCLA. I am absolutely certain, much as I spontaneously went to a Prop. 8 Rally one day at the Mormon temple to take pictures, that if I hadn't taken my camera out of the car literally two days ago, I would be stopping there myself, now. I actually think later that I am sorry I did not take a phone picture of that famous exit, anyway, though I'd probably only have gotten a picture of my head looking sideways toward OJ's.

I stop at my Trader Joe's where -- even though I've led you to believe otherwise -- one almost never sees or thinks about seeing famous people, still, you kind of remember that everyone in LA is kind of six degrees of separation. Amazingly, the news has not hit TJ, for no one is remotely interested (why I love TJ's). I go home, turn on the TV. A plumber comes over to unclog my drain. I tell him about Michael J and he is shocked. A little bit older than me. His cell phone rings twice as someone calls to tell him.

There is a tradition in LA, weird, what one assumes would be freaks who would go do this -- to put flowers on someone's star on Hollywood Blvd. That part of LA, for those not in town, is what Times Square in NY is. Re-juvenated with Limited Express. Nonetheless, not even an event I'd have gone to when it was more real and unsafe. But I see on the news that fans/freaks have actually gathered at the wrong Michael Jackson, since the one for Mr. Departed is in front of Grauman's Chinese Theater (I don't think it's been called Grauman's in all the decades I've lived here) and there's a premiere and it's covered up. So fans have spontaneously gathered at the wrong Michael Jackson, one who's been a talk-radio host in LA for a number of years. And I have to admit one thing. As proof of my own geriatric age, and that I had no right to call anyone else a freak, I did once put flowers on a star's star -- that would be Ms. Katherine Hepburn (WHO)?

That night, there are two Farrah Fawcett specials on TV. I am glad. Ryan says on one, that his whole life right now is caring for her and he wants that never to end. Each day when he comes to see if she's comfortable. Dear God. I have so been there. A person I am breaking up with has actually flown to be at his dying mother's bedside, and I had wondered today, when they announced MJ, if my poor friend's mother is the unlucky Number Three.

Friday morning, I go to my gym in Encino, to go to Spinning. My gym is literally the next exit past Hayvenhurst, where the Jackson's have lived for almost as long as I've lived in LA. Thirty years. Everyone knows where it is. They live in an area that's heavily Jewish and white. There is a Gelson's at the corner of Hayvenhurst and Ventura Blvd., a very high-end grocery store. One of my UCLA roommates (Jewish) family lived in Encino, back with the Jackson's, and had either one of us been quick enough to say anything besides "Duh" twenty years ago, when Jermaine and a friend said "hi" in the Gelson's parking lot, we could've been Mrs. Jermaine Jackson.

Michael would surely have known where my gym was. It's up the street where he lived, probably under a mile away. I don't suppose he went out much for public airings. Still, as I drive to Encino, they are talking on the local radio about the heavy traffic on Hayvenhurst due to people going there. "The Today Show" had done a remote. They've also reported that that's where the family is, that they have Michael's children with them.

I am late to Spinning, and the teacher, a cute guy who we've likened to Peter Brady, is playing "Thriller." I am glad. It's interesting -- Michael Jackson has been in my life forever, he being two years older than I, and famous when we were little. I remember hating the Osmond Family for him, incensed at the age of nine that white people were trying to do his thing. "ABC" was my third album, after "The Monkee's," and Carly Simon's "No Secrets."

The reason it is interesting that MJ is playing, is that, that's the thing about Michael Jackson. This could be an ordinary day. I realize it's not unusual that anyone would be playing this song on a typical Friday morning. Though I know it's in tribute, it could be any day. There's a teacher at this very gym who teaches boxing, and we've had, for ten years, a joke about Michael Jackson. He plays a certain medley during a certain part of class, sometimes, when I ask him to, and we dance and box. Then, after it's over, I'll say, "So whatever happened to that guy?" That gets a big laugh.

Of course, this particular day, this teacher is playing a whole tribute, the whole class, long. He says, at the end of a long tough climb, "Today, when we think about Michael Jackson, remember that everyone struggles." There are reports on TV that he may have had anorexia, something people at this very gym might suffer from, but not me. What's interesting is I am remembering during this climb how much I love each and every one of these songs. "I forgot, that one's my favorite!!" What's odd is that I, who have had MJ in my life my whole life, am not even crying.

I see Brian Oxman, the Jackson family attorney, though they say he's not (but you know with the collusion that goes on with this bunch, that anything he says is orchestrated), he says on Day 1, from the hospital, that people have been not being helpful to Jackson. Now, he seems genuinely upset, and I'm gonna give him a break (interesting, everyone, everyone, old managers and record company execs and Berry Gordy and Suzanne de Passé who have outlived Michael Jackson, for goodness sake, seemed to genuinely like him, something we'd forgotten in the past years). But on Day 2, which would be today, Friday, I happen to catch an interview with the lawyer on Fox News and I am horrified.

He makes allegations. He talks about the mother of the boy who'd accused Jackson of molestation. "She colluded with those kids!" Well, I do also recall that Mrs. Jackson colluded with her family when Joe Jackson wanted to mess with his kids, the daughters have all recalled, I'm just saying. Most importantly, he claims that Michael's death was from whatever lethal prescription drugs he has been taking. So that's going to be the creepy family spin. That may be true enough, indeed. But I'll maintain his death was a direct result of his family of origin, those ties binding enough that he'd had to self-medicate. (And who among us doesn't relate)? But that's going to be the 'family's line of defense', pointing fingers instead of taking responsibility for creating said monster.

There was something I said, every single day of the trial in Santa Barbara, when I came to be pretty clear that he'd done something pretty awful and wrong, that there wasn't one day when I didn't feel that the wrong people were on trial. If anyone should have been on trial for child abuse, it was the Jackson's. Those people abused their son. That's what happened to him. At some point, during yesterday's news day, I heard a story of how Michael was told when he was onstage by his father that there were men in the audience with guns who would shoot him if he didn't dance fast.

And then, I realized the strangest thing of all about this interview, was that Brian Oxman, a white man of middle age, who must be college-educated because he's a lawyer, was speaking EXACTLY like the Jackson's. I got a little freaked out. He sounded just like LaToya for some reason, that cadence, the intonation that brands them as a family, a certain missing of some education, for as Michael put it, "he'd only do school work for three hours a day." And I hear Brian Oxman, now in cahoots, talking about how Michael was "Innocent!" In a strange collusion with this strange family; seeming as he has to have morphed into them.

Like I said, though I am so glad to hear each and every song, I haven't cried for Michael Jackson. Because I find myself -- still -- annoyed by footage I've seen, on this morning's local news, about the last time Michael was out. It was three weeks ago, in Beverly Hills, at an art show. He was with his children, holding a big black umbrella, and one was covered in blankets. And I get annoyed, watching it, not sure who I'm annoyed at, even him, because at a certain point, don't you have to take charge, but I had parents who revered me, so I don't know. But I feel annoyed that no one put the man into a mental institution, and I say that with all due love and respect.

I go up the street from my gym to Hayvenhurst, where the Jackson's live. It's less than a mile away. I see that the street is coned off. I wonder how people can get home. I don't see the throngs of people they've reported on the news. I drive into the Gelson's parking lot, which seems to be open, but it's hard to park and I drive away.

I am at Starbucks. It's on the other side of Hayvenhurst and Ventura Blvd., across from Gelson's. I've been here, many times. In fact, there is a lovely fountain in the outside Starbucks patio where a man I thought I was in love with told me he was leaving his wife, but not for me. Today, I have walked through, imagining this place will be abuzz with the news. But nothing. Most people here don't seem to speak English. In fact, we could be in Haifa or Tehran. I don't speak either, so they could be talking in cell phones about Senor Jackson, but I don't think so.

I could literally walk from here across the street to see what's going on with the Jackson's. But I don't want to. I realize it's not laziness, but that I don't want to honor the family. As much as I feel so sorry for them -- and I do -- I don't want to leave them condolences. Not with what I'm starting to see on TV. I feel like what would be appropriate would be a sign saying "You're the child molesters," but I'm not sure how that'll go over with the Encino police, and I decide against it.

Still, that's what I feel. They're going to give those kids to them???

In the end, I decide it must be Governor Mark Sanford whodunit. This news wiped his scandal even off Fox News. Fox News, who labeled him a Democrat. Those Repubs can do anything.

Read more: Michael Jackson, Jackson Family, Gov. Mark Sanford, Farrah Fawcett, Los Angeles, Entertainment News

Wendy Diamond: Lucky Will Remember The Time

2009-07-01T14:46:17Z
Words cannot begin to express the sadness we faced globally this week, we lost some amazingly special souls, animal lovers, and truly talented individuals. Lucky and I, along with Animal Fair Media, would like to express our deepest condolences to the friends and families of the late (and forever great) Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson and Billy Mays. Each one of these stars is iconic in their own right and internationally celebrated. The Hollywood heavens opened wide, greeting a true angel, Charlie's Angel Farah Fawcett, Tonight Show's Ed McMahon probably ran into Johnny Carson and the laughs and one-liners haven't stopped, Thriller Michael Jackson is almost certainly entertaining with a new version of the "moon walk" titled "heaven walk", and Billy Mays is the newest spokesperson, literally for the "stars". Thank you for entertaining and sharing for all the years, the heavens shine that much brighter now.

Michael Jackson's death was felt and weighed profoundly on our own beloved Animal Fair's (animalfair.com) Pete Carter, who like millions of others was one of Jackson's devoted fans from a very young age. Pete turned his inspired passion into a pet personal project and he now is one of world's leading Jackson impersonators by night (and one of our beloved editors, hair stylist, and videographers by day). Pete adored and respected Jackson, and as fate would have it last April he bumped into Jackson in Los Angeles, where Jackson graciously signed his signature across Pete's back. Pete ran and quickly turned it into tattoo, permanently marking his great muse's name. Lucky also had the lucky chance to meet Michael Jackson years ago and she wants to report that the Neverland Ranch animals were well looked after. Many of the animals recently have been transplanted from Neverland to Lake Powell, Arizona where they will be cared for at a wildlife reserve. Our dear friend, legendary actress and animal activist, Tippi Hedren, stepped up to look after Jackson's two tigers Thriller and Sabu, giving them a home at her Shambala Preserve, Roar Foundation (shambala.org). Hedren explained that Michael Jackson was a true animal lover that provided a comfortable and loving home for his pets.

This week Lucky and I attended the opening of Swarovski new Crystallized Concept Store, hosted by Blake Lively. Lucky and I have loved Swarovski since we were pups and are jazzed to have Swarovski join us as one of our sponsors for our 10th Annual Paws for Style (July 27th - tickets available at animalfair.com).

We celebrated the grand opening of Crystallized Concept Store with celebrities such as Chloe Sevigny, Lucy Liu, and Evan Rachel Wood. When our eyes weren't tearing up from the glare of so much bling bling, Lucky and I were able to have a heart-to-heart with Blake about her Maltipoo, Penny. Blake told us that Penny was named after the character from the animated classic The Rescuers. And although Penny is not a rescue, both respect the rescue movement and cause.

Right now I'm getting some "spiritual" culture in Israel, (sometimes even Lucky and I need a break from each other once in awhile) and trying to get some direct sun rays as New York has now officially turned into Seattle (what's with 21 days of rain in June?). We look forward to a memorable July with our 10th Anniversary Paws For Style charity event. We will forever remember the time and those we lost in June. Dog Bless!

Read more: Isreal, Animal Fair, Lucky Diamond, Lifestyle, Pets, Pete Carter, Paws for Style, Swarovski, Thriller, Sabu, Chloe Sevigny, Farrah Fawcett, Wendy Diamond, Michael Jackson, Blake Lively, AnimalFair.Com, Evan Rachael Wood, Ed McMahon, Fashion, Lucy Liu, Celebrities, Living News

Farrah Fawcett Laid To Rest

2009-06-30T16:59:59Z
LOS ANGELES — The life of "Charlie's Angels" star Farrah Fawcett was celebrated Tuesday at a private funeral in the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels. Her longtime companion, Ryan O'Neal, 68, was among pallbearers who accompanied the casket, covered in yellow and orange flowers, into the Roman Catholic cathedral.

Fawcett's friend Alana Stewart and "Charlie's Angels" co-star Kate Jackson were among early arrivals before the hearse pulled up, accompanied by 10 motorcycle officers.
Read more: Farrah Funeral, Farrah Fawcett, Farrah Fawcett Funeral, Ryan O'Neal, Entertainment News

Farrah Fawcett Funeral Is Today In Downtown L.A.

2009-06-30T14:51:55Z
A private funeral Mass will be said this afternoon for actress Farrah Fawcett at the Cathedral of Our Lady of the Angels in downtown Los Angeles. The "Charlie's Angels" star died Thursday of a rare cancer at St. John's Health Center in Santa Monica.
Read more: Farrah Fawcett, Farrah Fawcett Funeral, Home News

Jim Watkins: Celebrities Die in Threes. Except When They Don't.

2009-06-30T13:29:27Z
We humans do hate randomness, don't we? It's what's at the heart, I believe, of conspiracy theories; it's too difficult for many people to believe that a lone gunman could kill a president, or that a small group of men armed with boxcutters could take over airplanes and change the way we all see the world. It's understandable that so many people tend to believe conspiracy theories. It's also nonsense.

Likewise, the old superstition that famous people die in threes (some "research" indicates this particular wives tale dates back to the 1960's). Believers have their "proof" this month after the departures of Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, and Michael Jackson in quick succession. Three celebrities! Game, set, match for the urban legend!

Except that celebrities also die in twos. And fours. In fact, if we add David Carradine and pitchman Billy Mays to our June list, that brings the celebrity death toll to five. Then again, Carradine died a few weeks before the others. So depending on what the exact time frame is for the "coming in threes" rule, we might have to exclude him. And Billy Mays... well, he wasn't really a celebrity in the usual sense. He did commercials. Then again, so did Ed McMahon. Hmmm. This so-called rule seems quite unruly.

And that's because it is. To even begin to apply a scientific measurement to this, we need to get a few things straight: how long is the period of time within which the celebrities have to die to say that it happened in threes? And exactly how is "celebrity" defined? Be loose enough with your standards, and I think you can find that notable people die in threes every day. I would volunteer to be the person who establishes these time/fame standards for examining the rule of threes.... But I'm kinda busy.

The threes rule is really just another conspiracy theory, just another way that people deal with death and randomness. Here's one website that looked into the question (you'd be surprised how many people think about this--google "celebrities dying in threes" and join the party!) that has an accurate take on it, I think:

We remember the names we recognize and forget the rest. When people with bigger names die in groups, that's evidence of randomness at work in the universe, not a law of threes. People see patterns where there is no pattern.

It's more proof that humans are pattern-seeking creatures. The rule of threes is a way to deal with loss, not to mention a way to keep the wolf -- the ultimate randomness of death -- outside our own door.

So, to sum up: yes, celebrities die in threes. So do opthamologists and people who have bowled 300-games. Except when they don't.
Read more: Ed McMahon, Michael Jackson, Ed Mcmahon Death, Michael Jackson Death, Farrah Fawcett Death, Farrah Fawcett, Entertainment News

Francesca Biller-Safran: Jackson's Death Means We're All Older Now and Need to Sober Up

2009-06-30T00:35:59Z
The passing of Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett has hit us near-baby boomers and full-on baby boomers with a rock and roll punch to the gut we weren't ready for.

We were the generation who was going to live forever, immortalized with youthful hip-ness, and mastered knowing how to be laid back while simultaneously running corporations.

We also coined the phrase "Never trust anyone over age thirty" while we will now do anything to look as young as 30.

But what do we do know?

Farrah Fawcett's death was hard enough to take. The wide-smiled blond icon of the 1970's graced the walls of every adolescent boy's room in the Western hemisphere, making us all feel sexy, and that youth and beauty was ours for the taking . . . forever.

But she passed away from cancer, was 62, and we were prepared, as much as we could be; although memories of her summery California looks and roles that ranged from a Charlie's bubbly angel to a beaten wife in the cult TV docudrama "The Burning Bed" are haunting me still.

A couple hours later, CNN sent another breaking news email. I had thought another plane may have crashed, a tsunami killed thousands in some third-world country, or another suicide bombing had left hundreds dead. Sadly, what else may be new?

But the one-line email reported that pop star Michael Jackson had been rushed to a hospital with cardiac arrest.

A stream of weird and panicked emotions flooded my body as I first reacted by manically calling friends, my father and some who didn't care.

Most of my thoughts then turned to how old he was--how could Michael Jackson die? How could the singer of "ABC" , "I'll Be There" and "Thriller" die?

After all, I brought down the house at my own prom and parties with dance moves to his songs, with "Rock With You" the first disco song I accepted, and again . . . wasn't he really, really young?

I tuned on the television and was hyped up and broken down at the same time. We all knew he had been in trouble for a long time. We knew he had a lot of mental and emotional issues, and watched him like some sort of sideshow freak as the news had portrayed him as 'Wacko Jacko' over the last few years.

But I didn't see him this way. The tabloids always take the worst and make up the most vile of stories out of untruths, in order, they think, to help us feel our own lives are somehow better than the kings and queens of celebrity-hood, and to make money above all.

When I thought of Jackson, I thought of the early 1980s when I was still a kid. I thought of his manic, genius, flawless dancing and moonwalk across the stage during award shows, and moves that even propelled the legendary Fred Astaire to compliment him on his grace, perfection and unique artistry.

I thought of my own youth, when I was energetic beyond words, rowdy, excited and without a care in the world except having fun and being careless because I could.

When Jackson was finally pronounced dead and the sound bites on cable news programs morphed into a long parade of surreal words and images that sobered me up, I knew it had to be drugs.

I was too young to remember the deaths of Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Elvis Presley. My god, Presley was only 42 when he died.

I was too young to understand the significance of the assassinations of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., and Robert F. Kennedy.

But I'm not too young to understand the tragic death of Jackson, and this means were not merely all getting older, but more jaded as well.

My parents don't understand. They have been losing icons for twenty years. But Ed McMahon was 86, it was his time.

As I reflect back on my adolescence and childhood which now escapes me like some sort of weird, untouchable narrative, I am truly grieving.

This does not just mean my generation is truly feeling the ravages of age, loss and hard times that has even killed a young celebrity; it makes us feel we "somehow" have to close the door once and for all on the fantasy that we will are immortal and put our own childhoods, at least in most respects, laid to rest as well.

The later eighties and nineties went by in a flash, with most of us building careers and families, buying homes, cars and keeping up with the Joneses.

We are a generation that worked hard at being financially fulfilled at all costs, spent "quality time" with our own kids, something a lot of us didn't get with our own parents, and tried to keep that sweet adolescence of the 70's close to the hearth, as for some of us, these were the best time of our lives.

As millions of boomers have now traded in their daily joints for prescription drugs, we also feel for Michael, as no one has been untouched by drug addiction, either street drugs or prescription medication, either personally or by family members and friends.

We will all have our own way of grieving and celebrating.

As a child of the seventies who remembers The Partridge Family, corduroy bell bottoms, Camero's, Fat Albert, Soul Train and American Bandstand on Saturday mornings, and now the death of 50-year-old Jackson, I have made a conscious choice to celebrate how grateful I am to grow up during that era, rather than only mourn its loss.

But we must all seriously and honestly deal with this new epidemic of prescription drug abuse that has most likely contributed to Jackson's death, and has resulted in addictions and deaths in many forms and astronomical terms yet unforeseen for our generation and others.

According to recent statistics, from 2001 to 2005, more than 32,000 people died because of prescription drug overdoses, more than heroin and cocaine combined, with numbers for the past few years expected much higher, and with addiction growing highest among teens and baby boomers.

If there is anything to be gained, it is the hard lesson that we are all in danger of self medicating ourselves and self-destructing, and having that legacy be the one our children may remember most about us.

And that is a bitter pill none of should be willing to swallow.

Read more: Prescription Drug Addiction, John F. Kennedy, Michael Jackson, The Moonwalk, I'll Be There, Charlies Angel's, Prescription Drugs, 1980's, Farrah Fawcett, Heroine, Charlies Angels, 1970's, Janis Joplin, ABC, "Thriller, Ed McMahon, Ratings, Fred Astaire, The Burning Bed, Keeping Up With the Joneses, Camero, The Partridge Family, Baby Boomers, Wacko Jacko, Thriller, Tabloids, American Bandstand, Martin Luther King Jr., Fat Albert, Jim Morrison, Elvis Presley, Rock With You, Robert F. Kennedy, Celebrity Worship, Soul Train, Cnn, Sideshow, Jimi Hendrix, Cocaine, Living News

David Dean Bottrell: Kings and Angels

2009-06-29T17:48:16Z
Since last week's "Parts and Labor" entry was about Hollywood memorial services, I was hesitant to write another column about celebrity deaths, but Thursday's news about Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett left me without much choice. When icons of that stature pass away it does leave a mark and I'm of a generation that remembers the trajectory of both of those entertainers vividly.

I was nine years old when I first saw Michael Jackson and his brothers on "The Flip Wilson Show." My family had just moved from Kentucky to a small factory town in Southern Ohio. I'd gone from a school with just one black kid to a school with quite a few. And unlike the black kids in Kentucky (who rarely opened their mouths) these kids took no shit from anybody and would kick your ass if you looked at them wrong. Although, racial equality hadn't quite arrived on the national scene, it was in full force on the playground of Margaret Heywood Elementary. I was getting a fast education that the racist attitudes of my uncles (who would turn off the TV whenever a black person appeared on screen), had no bearing on the real world.

Since I wasn't much of a ballplayer or rough-houser, my first few weeks were mostly spent getting beaten-up. The first safe haven I found was in a totally unexpected place. Every day at recess, a group of very resourceful little black girls would run an extension cord from the door of the gym out to the playground where they would then plug in a portable record player and dance to Jackson Five records. One day as I saw an ass-kicking coming my way, I jumped onto the imaginary dance floor with them. Denise, Gloris and Athena initially thought this was hilarious, but eventually accepted the skinny white kid since none of the other boys would come near this deadly "sissy zone." Dancing daily to "ABC" and "Stop! The Love You Save May Be Your Own," bought me a little time until I eventually found my place in the pecking order.

To me, what made little Michael so extraordinary was that he sang like a grown-up. When I watched him on "The Ed Sullivan Show," I found it hard to believe that he was just a little older than me. By the time he reemerged as a mega-solo act in the 80's, I was even more astounded because he seemed so, well... girly. He spoke in a high, effeminate voice, wore make-up and dressed in the most outlandish, over-the-top outfits imaginable. In interviews, I remember wishing he would butch it up a little. But as it turned out, he didn't need to. His talent surpassed anything that could be said about him. I can still remember the Motown 25th anniversary special when he electrified the audience and then the world. In the blink of an eye, he was the most famous, successful (and ultimately bizarre) entertainer the world had ever known.

When his eccentricities (and inappropriate behavior with children) overtook his fame, I began to feel sorry for him. In the early 90's, he donated a chunk of change to an elementary school near where I currently live. To express their gratitude, the school put up a sign (using big stainless steel letters) on the west side of the building, marking the entrance to new "Michael Jackson Auditorium." When news of the first child molestation charges broke, the school covered the sign with a large plywood box. When the charges were dropped, the box came down. After the second set of accusations, the box went back up again -- this time permanently. Hollywood tour buses still stop outside the school to let tourists snap pictures of the awkward-looking plywood box covering Michael's name.

His sudden death last week (on the verge of what may have been his big comeback) brings to a close one of the strangest, saddest and most extraordinary stories in pop culture. Apparently, unimaginable fame and wealth don't buy stability, direction or love. I suspect that when the toxicology reports come back in a few weeks there will be more bad news about the last days of King of Pop. And that will be sad. The tragedy seems complete already.

Thursday also brought the news that Farrah Fawcett had lost her long and very public battle with cancer. As a teen I'd been a big fan of Farrah's. Mostly because she was so perfect-looking. The teeth, the hair, that body. I first noticed her in commercials plugging tooth paste and shampoo, plus I also belonged to a whole generation of boys who owned that famous poster of her in the red bathing suit. I'd watched her skyrocket to stardom on "Charlie's Angels" and witnessed her fall from grace after leaving the show. After floundering around for a while in some really bad movies, Farrah announced that she was going to New York to try her hand at acting in an off-Broadway play.

By that time, I was an overly-earnest young actor struggling to be taken seriously in the rugged world of New York theatre. We hardcore theatre types looked down on Hollywood and were used to seeing TV and movie actors come to town in an attempt to legitimize themselves on stage. Most of those attempts ended disastrously and we took a certain glee at seeing these lightweights banished back to the west coast with their tails between their legs.

Farrah had made the seemingly suicidal decision to replace the much-praised Susan Sarandon in a controversial play running in a small theatre on the Westside. The play ("Extremities") was an incredibly intense, very physical show that opened with a graphic and horrifying rape scene and just got worse from there. I had seen Sarandon do the show and it was harrowing. The idea that Farrah could pull off such a wrenching and physically demanding role seemed laughable. As expected, the critics were kept away for a few weeks while the new star got her bearings. But then rumors began to circulate that she was actually good in the role. In fact, not just good, but really good. When I finally saw her, I was floored. Farrah delivered a raw, emotionally charged performance that set everybody's hair on end. She made us eat our words.

Soon, big deal TV projects like "The Burning Bed" and "Small Sacrifices" came her way. Amazingly, she landed the movie version of "Extremities" (over Sarandon) and would go on to other films earning the praise of co-stars like Richard Gere and Robert Duvall. Nobody was laughing anymore. The most unimaginable thing had happened. Farrah Fawcett was an actor. Like many women of a certain age (especially those blessed/cursed with incredible looks) roles became scarce and personal problems increased. There was the obligatory reality series ("Chasing Farrah"). And then the diagnosis.

It always makes me a little queasy when people opt to have something as personal and gruesome as a battle with cancer documented for the world to see, but when "Farrah's Story" aired on NBC last month, the response was huge. There was an outpouring of love and support and it was inspiring to see Farrah's spirit so intact. She seemed plucky and oddly fearless. Right to the end.

I only saw her once in person. It was at a loud and slightly raucous party out in Malibu several years ago. Determined to meet her, I sailed over and asked her for a cigarette. She gave it to me, but didn't seem terribly interested in talking. I didn't blame her. I'm sure she spent her entire career deflecting gawkers like me. She gave me a light, but that was about it. What I wanted to tell her was that I was happy for her. She had gone from being a contestant on the "Dating Game" to Poster Girl to Angel to legitimate actor (complete with Emmy and Golden Globe nominations). She'd held on, fought hard and kept herself viable and afloat for three decades in a town where that's no small achievement. And she still looked great. I don't know that Farrah's posthumous fame will last as long as Michael's, but for those of us who grew up with her, she'll be remembered for a long time to come.

Copyright 2008 Quitcher-Bitchyn Entertainment, Inc.
www.daviddeanbottrell.com

David Dean Bottrell is an actor ("Boston Legal") and screenwriter ("Kingdom Come") who writes a weekly blog about being strangely middle-class in Hollywood at www.partsandlabor.tv
Read more: Michael Jackson, Entertainment News, Farrah Fawcett, David Dean Bottrell, Boston Legal, Entertainment News

Spencer Green: Remaining Celebrities Moved Underground For Safety

2009-06-29T15:04:59Z
Following a spate of deaths that include Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson, Billy Mays, David Carradine and Gale Storm, all remaining celebrities in the United States have been moved to an undisclosed site where they will be under constant watch and protection. "Celebrities are our most precious natural--and national--resource," says Timothy Barcastle, spokesperson for The Betty Ford Celebrity Relocation Institute (BFCRI), under whose auspices the site was created. "It is our duty to make sure they remain alive for the public to worship and adore and grieve over in a timely, measured fashion."

That famed site, unknown by the general public until now, was built as a temporary safe haven for celebrities to hide from TMZ and other like-minded media reporters but has been adapted for the current emergency. "We will keep our celebrities safe until enough non-celebrities have been taken to even the score," says Barcastle. "If The Grim Reaper wants any more celebrities, he's going to have a tough time finding them." The Grim Reaper, in a press conference broadcast on The History Channel, succinctly noted, "Whatever."

The BFCRI-sponsored site has been described as a vast and impenetrable underground network, with enough food, water, and gift bags to last for several years. According to a press release, it is currently sheltering "instantly recognizable luminaries from the world of sports, films, TV, politics, economics, and miscellaneous/potpourri." Although no specific names were released, rumor has it that top private suites belong to Elizabeth Taylor, Muhammad Ali, Stephen Hawking, and Ashton Kutcher while lesser stars such as Jimmy Carter and Madonna are bunking with Dick Cavett and the original cast members of the PBS show "Zoom."

Some controversy has arisen over the names of people who were not allowed into the BFCRI-sponsored site, a list which includes Kate Hudson, Perez Hilton, Rosie O'Donnell, and Spencer Pratt. "The definition of 'celebrity' changes from moment to moment," says Barcastle. "We wish all non-celebrities the very best." Spencer Pratt's publicist assured us that Mr. Pratt is, indeed, a major celebrity and, thus, safe inside the undisclosed site but photographers caught him outside the main BFCRI offices just this morning, begging for his life like a little sissy girl.

As to the demand for celebrity news, Barcastle assures us, "There is more than enough coverage of recently dead celebrities to last for months, even years, and adequately feed a public entirely willing to lap it all up like salivating dogs. And when that runs out, a new breed of celebrities will be created to supplant the old ones if we have not yet released them."

Says The Grim Reaper, "Bring 'em all on. I'll be waiting."

Read more: Michael Jackson, Betty Ford Clinic, Spencer Pratt, Deaths, Obituaries, Kate Hudson, Celebrity Deaths, The Grim Reaper, Media, Farrah Fawcett, Celebrities, Tmz, David Carradine, Comedy News