Michael Jackson in ‘Thriller’

Protecting the Undead

I have been debating whether to write about the recent celebrity deaths. I actually have a couple of stories related to Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson, who died within hours of each other last Friday. Oddly enough, both of my stories took place in college.

During my junior year I enrolled in an aerobics class. Due to tight scheduling I had to depart class five minutes early, meaning that I left during the cooldown period, got no shower, threw on my sweats and ran to my next class, Combinatorics, in another building on the other side of the river, for which I would arrive roughly five minutes late. I received permission from both instructors, with the understanding that I would have to do extra credit, i.e., create an original aerobics routine, to make up for the time I missed.

I chose MJ’s “Don’t Stop ’Til You Get Enough” as the music for my choreographed routine. My instructor was so impressed she gave me extra-extra credit, due to its length (6 minutes), and inquired about my dance experience. Of course I had none but was flattered that she thought otherwise. Perhaps those early years—when I would glide, jump and twirl around in stockinged feet in my bedroom, trying to imitate my favorite Olympic figure skaters—had given me such grace and panache. [rolls eyes]

I think it was my sophomore year, in Third Culture Rhetoric (a fancy-schmancy title for English class), that I had to write a report on a landmark legal case. Some students were assigned the Scopes Monkey trial, but I was assigned the Francine Hughes case. What was so landmark about Francine Hughes? For that matter, who was Francine Hughes? I had no clue. By the way, this was B.I., Before the Internet.

So your trusty webmistress trekked to the library (i.e., musty building containing books) and, after perusing microfilms of the New York Times, Los Angeles Times, and other sundry publications for the period in question, she came up empty. Geez, I wondered, how landmark can this case be if even these national newspapers weren’t covering the trial? So, I went back to my professor and whined asked for her help. Which papers had I checked, she inquired. Upon hearing my response she replied, “Why don’t you try the Lansing State Journal?”

Huh? But that’s the local newspaper. As it turns out, Francine Hughes was a battered housewife from Dansville, Michigan who was found not guilty by reason of insanity* for killing her abusive husband while he slept. She poured gasoline around his bed (I believe he was unconscious from excessive drinking) and lit a match. Poof. No more husband. Her life story was immortalized in the 1984 television movie The Burning Bed starring Farrah Fawcett. Ms. Fawcett received Golden Globe and Emmy nominations for her gripping performance. (Pssst, like Hayden she has received multiple nominations for a Razzie).

After Tonight Show sidekick Ed McMahon died last week, many were bracing for that superstitious “Celebrities Die in Threes” nonsense. I scoffed upon hearing it. No, that doesn’t happen every time. Instead, there was an avalanche of deaths, so natch I began to worry for Hayden’s well-being. Apparently I was not alone, as this farcical article, “Remaining Celebrities Moved Underground For Safety,” published in The Huffington Post, illustrates.

“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 [celebrity refuge] 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.”

Now, providing the BFCRI considers Chrish to be an honest-to-goodness, card carrying celebrity, aren’t you relieved that he is safe? We can all celebrate Canada Day knowing that Hayden’s obit will not surface anytime soon (knock on wood). So, happy holidays, everyone!

Update: Uh-oh. Score another for the Grim Reaper. Karl Malden, 97, dead.

* “Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity” defenses have fallen out of favor, replaced by “Guilty But Mentally Ill.” [30 June 2009]

Huggable Hayden

Aren’t Dads Great?

It is that time of year when we reflect on what a horrible world this would be without our fathers. Yes, I know that too many guys are allowed to shirk their fatherly duties, but there are a lot of good ones who don’t. And I have a sneaking suspicion that Hayden will be one of the good ones in the not-so-distant future. Sigh. Have you ever noticed how little we hear about Mr. Christensen? No, I don’t mean Hayden… I mean his dad, dad, Daddy-O. Wonder why that is? Hayden has often appeared with his mom and sister Kaylen, especially at movie premieres (before Blanche wandered onto the scene), but where was his padre? I don’t even know what the dude, er, his dad looks like! That’s just wrong. I mean, how can I ascertain if he gets his good looks from Mom or Dad? Or is he truly an amalgam of the two? Obviously, I do see a resemblance between he and his mom, but maybe Mr. C is the one we should thank for those pouty eyes!

Now I don’t profess to have any inside knowledge. Just a gut instinct, FWIW. Just possibly, Chrish was pushed too hard to excel in sports as a kidlet. We all know he preferred to go the acting route (hinted that that went over like a lead balloon with his old man). Still, it seems Hayden’s competitiveness was transferred—from the tennis court/ice rink to the stage and screen.

Ultimately, landing the role of Anakin Skywalker must have been very satisfying for him. It was a way to prove his dad wrong if, in fact, dear ol’ Pops was truly resistant to Hayden’s career choice. Now, I don’t wish to give his dad a bad rap or create a rift between father and son where none actually exists. But sometimes guys just don’t see eye to eye. Stubbornness and all that. Much to my dad’s chagrin, my brother forsook the manly (grrrr!) sports of football and baseball to become a swimmer and subsequently switched his career aspirations from sports commentator to music teacher.

But, in the end, my dad did what all good fathers do. He left it up to my sibs and I—made it clear that he supported us in whatever we decided to do. I certainly hope that is how it was and is for Hayden and his Vader (you just knew I would slip in the Dutch word for “father”). And so, I honor my dad this weekend with an annual tradition. Drumroll, please. The Father’s Day playlist. Ta-da! Follow the linked text for previous NEH musings. I even included a Hayden-related tune this year. Thank me!

Name	Artist	Album	Genre
What a Wonderful World	Louis Armstrong	Louis Armstrong’s All-Time Greatest Hits	Jazz
Botch-A-Me (Ba-Da-Baciani-Piccina)	8 1/2 Souvenirs & Glover Gill	Happy Feet	Jazz
The John Dunbar Theme	John Barry	Dances With Wolves	Soundtrack
Ain’t Too Proud To Beg	The Temptations	Motown: The Classic Years	R&B
How You Live (Turn Up the Music)	Point Of Grace	How You Live	Inspirational
A Jump Off	John Powell	Jumper	Soundtrack
Bandstand Boogie	Barry Manilow	The Essential Barry Manilow	Pop
You Don’t Know Me	Ray Charles	Genius – The Ultimate Ray Charles Collection	R&B/Soul
Drift Away	The Nylons	The Best of the Nylons	Pop
The Entertainer (Orchestra Version)	Marvin Hamlisch	The Sting (25th Anniversary Edition)	Soundtrack
Memory	Elaine Paige	Andrew Lloyd Webber 60	Pop
I Gotta Know	Elvis Presley & The Jordanaires	Hitstory	Rock
What Are You Doing The Rest Of Your Life? (LP Version)	Dusty Springfield	Dusty In London (Lost British Recordings)	Pop
The Tears Of A Clown	Smokey Robinson & The Miracles	Motown: The Classic Years	R&B
America the Beautiful	Ray Charles	Genius – The Ultimate Ray Charles Collection	R&B/Soul
You’re My Brother	Theodore Shapiro	Tropic Thunder Score	Soundtrack
The Old Songs	Barry Manilow	The Essential Barry Manilow	Pop
It’s My Party	Lesley Gore	It’s My Party: The Mercury Anthology	Pop
I Dreamed a Dream	Susan Egan	Live! with Christopher McGovern	Broadway & Vocalists
End Credits/Sgt. MacKenzie/The Mansions Of The Lord	Nick Glennie-Smith	We Were Soldiers	Soundtrack
Main Title	Jerry Goldsmith	Patton	Soundtrack
Schindler’s List – Theme	New World Philharmonic Orchestra	100 Best Tunes	Classical

[19 June 2009]

Sam Monroe's Rage

Close Calls

My heart jumped a few beats this morning when I heard over the radio, “Air France reports that it has lost contact with one of its airliners…” I knew Hayden had been in Paris for the French Open and I immediately feared the worst. Oh, please let him be on an Air Canada flight! But they went on to report that Air France Flight 447 was inbound to France from Rio de Janeiro. It was a safe bet that he and Blanche were not on that flight. Thank goodness!

As I continued on to work, however, I had a close call of my own. I was involved in a road rage incident that was scary beyond belief. I was merging from one highway to another, at an interchange I have managed to negotiate safely at least 5,000 times previously (rough estimate), when I heard this tinny little car horn beep and a black Mazda sail by. “Is that Mazda honking at me?” I wondered.

The Mazda pulled into my lane and slowed down. Warily, I slowed, too. Then he slammed on his brakes, shoved his arm out the window and flipped me the bird.

Yep, I guess he was honking at me. Gulp.

“Sorry,” I whispered sheepishly. I had seen two vehicles off in the distance while negotiating the ramp, but thought I had plenty of time to merge in front of them. This guy must have been traveling at a fairly fast clip.

He then peeled out, burning rubber. “Man, he really is ticked at me,” I cringed.

I had reached about half of normal speed when I noticed he was slowing down again. Not wishing to provoke him further, I also decelerated and trailed behind at a respectable distance. He slowed to a crawl, to 5 mph (8 kph), on a stretch of highway that is notorious for rush hour fender-benders. He seemed to be daring me to pass him.

Not in a million years, buck-o.

I knew better than to lay on my car horn or return his obscene hand gesture. Instead, I remained behind him and turned on my flashing lights to alert the drivers behind me. This seemed to piss him off even more. He sped up a little, but as we approached an overpass he suddenly braked and swerved off onto the shoulder. He definitely wanted me to pass him, but I wanted no part of that. This guy wanted to do me harm, ram my car or something. He was white hot pissed.

At this point I became petrified because multiple vehicles were approaching in my rearview mirror. Although the first three cars managed to slow down and steer around us, I knew it was only a matter of time before a semi-truck came careening around the bend at 70 mph (112 kph). I couldn’t pull off onto the shoulder or pass this guy because I was terrified what he might try to do. I felt like a sitting duck in the middle of a busy highway, waiting to be turned into a puddle of goo. I thought I was a goner. Toast.

Luckily, Road Rage Guy realized the peril he was now putting himself (and others) in and took off like a bat out of hell. I pulled away, cautiously, not wanting to cause an accident. About ten seconds later, my right knee began to shake uncontrollably. By the time I reached my exit, he was long gone and my nerves were completely frazzled. When I got to work, I put my head down on my desk. My insides felt like jelly. I thought I was going to be sick.

That particular entrance ramp is a dangerous one. Highway traffic approaches the interchange on a slight curve which results in a huge blind spot for merging drivers. Because the highway exit and entrance ramps are so close together, you have lots of criss-crossing traffic which means very little room for error. Over the years, I have witnessed the aftermath of many such collisions.

It also happens to be the same stretch of highway that Hayden traveled during Bullrun 2006’s Toronto-to-Chicago leg.

Believe me, I’m thankful that lunatic managed to avoid hitting my car. Although my turn signal was activated as I merged, he likely had little time to react if he was driving at or above the speed limit. Most local drivers know to approach this interchange cautiously, especially during rush hour. I must have scared him witless when I pulled out in front of him, but he must have some serious anger management issues to behave in such a bizarre and dangerous manner. He made a bad situation much, much worse. I truly feared for my life. I am so grateful that no one was hurt or killed.

[02 June 2009]

You be the judge

A Rose By Any Other Name

So, it looks like Hayden and Blanche have hit the first rough patch in their marriage lives as newlyweds shacking up period. I bet he’s seeing a side of his beloved that he never knew existed. Put on the seatbelt, hon, ’cuz there’s turbulence ahead. Designer clothing gone. Vintage and designer shoes gone. Designer bags gone. Jewelry gone. For a “fashion icon” that’s tantamount to a declaration of war.

Ironically, this is a situation where the hated paparazzi could be helpful. No, really. She could make appointments to go over their photos in order to determine which items are missing. I know I’d have trouble remembering all my stuff; she probably has ten times what I have. The fortunate among us have walk-in closets to house their wardrobes, but I suspect Hayden had to add on an entire wing for Blanche’s things. Anyway, I’m sure the paparazzi would help her out. For a fee, of course.

On the other hand, the paparazzi could very well have a racket going: tip off thieves about celebrities who are out of town and take a percentage of the proceeds. I wouldn’t put it past those scumbags. Certainly, some could be harboring a grudge because she left for Canada and took Hayden with her. No more 2-for-1 photo ops. You wouldn’t want to mess around with a passel of pissed-off paparazzi, that’s for sure.

Now, about this “fashion icon” business… I’m still trying to sort this out. Who died and crowned Blanche the goddess of fashion? I’ve seen her in a few outfits where I let out a whistle and thought to myself, “Sharp.” One being the dress she wore for Hayden’s Awake premiere. She looks nice in photoshoots, too, but I assume a bona fide fashion expert picks out those threads.

She cleans up well (Chanel dress), but her casual, girl-about-town outfits can be rather disastrous affairs. Let me put it this way. I don’t go around seething under my breath, “Dang, wish I had that ensemble.” While she may be viewed as a connoisseur of footwear, for me that’s the most questionable part of her street attire. That and the clunky bags. In my book, “designer” is not necessarily synonymous with “classy” or “worthy of emulation.” It must flatter the wearer, regardless of the name on the label. At best, her fashion sense is quirky. I’m just not into quirky (she writes while sporting a blouse that resembles a chenille bedspread). Quirky is tolerable on rare occasions. But as a general rule? No.

Perhaps InStyle, which gave Blanche a fashion column in their magazine, is behind this fashion maven maneuver. Yet, Macy’s chose her as their spokesperson for their DKNY collection. Their “Edie Rose” clothing line is named after Blanche’s grandmother Edie and a close family friend. Well, I can play that name game, too. Keep your eyes peeled for my future clothing lines at your nearest Targét:

• Delia Lee Amelia
• Jettie Dawn
• Essie Lorraine
• Chloe Eve
• Mattie Viola
• Katalin Kay (or Kati Kay)
• Mertie Grace

Mertie Grace? Okay, maybe that one wouldn’t fly. Poor great grandma wasn’t blessed with the most fashionable name. All of the above are named for female relatives or friends.

Yes, we’ve fallen on hard times when I am reduced to musing about Hayden’s muse. Pitiful.

Juliet:
“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.”
—Romeo and Juliet (II, ii, 1-2)

[27 May 2009]

Memorial Day

Remember the Fallen (OT)

Through my many years of genealogy research I have found remarkably few direct ancestors who served in the military. Although I believe I had ancestors in the Revolutionary War, I have not yet proven it to my satisfaction. Therefore, I recognize the supreme sacrifice of the following collateral ancestors and cousins.

• My dad’s cousin 2LT Ted E. Martin, piloted B-26 “Marauder” 391st Bomb Group, 574th Bomb Squadron (9th Air Force); On 10 FEB 1945, he was on Mission #223 to Bergisch Gladbach, Germany. At about 3.15 PM his aircraft was hit by German anti-aircraft artillery. The right wing was blown off and the plane went down in flames in the vicinity of Rhens, Germany. All 6 crew members were KIA. Buried White Chapel Cemetery (Four Freedoms section), Troy, Michigan, USA

• My mom’s cousin T/Sgt Ranold “Ranny” C. Musolf, flight engineer and top turret gunner on “Girl of My Dreams,” 388th Bomb Group, 561st Bomb Squadron (8th Air Force); During a 16 AUG 1944 bombing raid on Zeitz, Germany, another squadron plane overhead (ironically nicknamed “Heavens Above”) hit an air pocket and collided with their plane near Wurzen, Germany. All 10 crew members were KIA. Buried in a mass grave at Jefferson Barracks National Cemetery, St. Louis, Missouri, USA

• My maternal great-great granduncle Pvt Peter Holman, 123rd Ohio Volunteers Infantry Company H; Died in hospital 10 SEP 1864 of injuries sustained in the Battle of Berryville (Virginia). Buried Antietam National Cemetery, Sharpsburg, Maryland, USA

The_Jedi says: Take a quiet moment to be one with the Force this weekend and to remember the fallen. http://www.jedisanctuary.org/

Have a good holiday weekend. [22 May 2009]

Fashionista?

To Catch A Thief

Who knew you had to go to Dubai (United Arab Emirates) to get the really important gossip. Yep, that’s how I discovered the horrifying news that Blanche’s LA dwelling was burglarized. Actually, in my book that’s closer to a hard news story than most of the garbage that’s printed about celebrities.

Now, this is an issue where Blanche and I can find common ground. A sisterhood, of sorts. Oh sure, there’s Hayden, too. Unfortunately, for the time being, she has him under lock and key. No, I understand what she is going through because my house was broken into a few years back. It happened when Darth Kitty was just a kitten. Traumatized the poor thing. To this day, whenever I arrive home early, I usually find her cowering under the bed covers. And she’s mighty skittish whenever someone comes to the door.

her home… was ransacked while she was visiting fiance Hayden Christensen in his native Canada earlier this month

Let’s get one thing straight. She wasn’t “visiting” Hayden. They wuz shacking up. Big diff. Yeah, I know they’re engaged. Sue me. Until they get the essential piece of parchment it’s called shacking up. Ain’t official until it’s official, babe. Make sure you get that raised seal thingy on the paper, too. For some reason that’s important. But I digress.

Her representative: “It’s in the hundreds of thousands. It was her Chanel collection, all her designer clothing, shoes and bags. She had a huge vintage shoe collection... all her jewellery, some of it given to her by her grandmother.”

Apparently a TV as well. My loss was minimal compared to hers. Yeah, shocking I know. According to a sheriff’s deputy, who reported a rash of similar incidents in the neighborhood, my burglars were only after guns and cash. They found the two shotguns previously owned by my late grandfather, but managed to miss all of my deviously stashed cash. Still, the numbskulls ruined an unlocked briefcase trying to get it open, broke open my safe but took nada, and absconded with a Native American talking stick I had bought at a pow-wow.

It sounds like Blanche’s burglars had a little more going for them in the gray matter department, based on the loot they hauled away. I suspect the Internet played a role in her troubles, as it aids in tracking the whereabouts of most celebrities these days. Once they learned she had packed her bags and moved to Ontario, it wouldn’t take an Einstein to realize it’d be free pickin’s at the Bilson abode. Oh crap, I said her name! All you need is to grease the palms of a paparazzo for the address.

I don’t have designer clothes but I do have some vintage jewelry that belonged to my great grandmother. Trust me, nothing valuable, except in sentimentality. Luckily, my bunglers weren’t interested in my jewelry box.

No, the most precious thing stolen was my sense of security. I slept with the light on for a month, all the while wishing Darth Kitty was a Doberman Pinscher instead of a little ol’ fraidy cat.

There was no evidence of forced entry…

Hmmm, now that would give me the heebie-jeebies. [21 May 2009]