A celebration of death

Last Monday I thought God had died.

But it just turned out to be David Bowie.

Now in my book he was a reasonable performer though I never bought any of his music.  I saw him once or twice in films [the daughter used to love Labyrinth and watched it any time she could] and again, he was reasonable but that was about the limit.

However, on Monday every newspaper headlined his death.  It was the most important news story of the day.  Twitter of course went orbital with a great wailing and gnashing of teeth.  The Post Office Tower in London flashed his name across the city and the BBC devoted well over half the 10 o'clock news to the subject dragging on ex-prime ministers and would-be stars to sing his praises.  To listen to them all you'd swear Bowie was the only singer ever conceived and was the inspiration for the entire pop culture.

Get a fucking grip!

I see they have announced the death of Alan Rickman today.  That does sadden me.  Just a little bit.  I thought he was a great actor [and compared to Bowie, a different game altogether].  He was one of those actors where, if I saw his name on the cast list I would be more inclined to watch the film, though I doubt if I'm ever going to wade through all the Harry Potter marathon.

I expected Twitter to be aflame at the moment with people all announcing Rickman's death as if they are first to break the news, but the timing is bad – they are announcing the nominations for the Oscars today so Twitter will doubtless be full of that.   Personally I couldn't give a flying shite who is nominated for what and in which category.  To me, the Oscars are just another bit of glitzy tat that the Mercans love so much.  It's just a celebration of the celebrity cult that now seems to dominate the minds of modern yoof.

When I pop my clogs, some time in the next hundred years I don't expect a single mention on Twitter and certainly I don't want people having to endure half an hour of tributes to me on the evening news.  Mind you, when the time comes I suppose I won't give a fuck one way or another.

But if I am destined to become a celebrity [God forbid] I had better time myself to avoid the Oscars, the Golden Globes, the BAFTAs and all the other celebrity adoration festivals?

I would be happier though if just my family knew.

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A celebration of death — 10 Comments

    • You live so long as people mention your name, which in Bowie's case I suppose will be for a while.  Calling him immortal just after he has died though is a little on the extreme side?  What you might call oxymoronic?

    • I rarely mourn anything with less than four legs. 

      The RTE News tonight was mostly about the Irish nominations for the Oscars.  Poor Alan Rickman was relegated to about tenth place.

  1. Most probably you'll go the way of Captain Ranty – if you've sorted things out with your executor to spread the word to a couple of bloggers.

    Meant, felt and geniune at the time… then his entry on various blogrolls slowly sinks – along with others. Bit like this:


    338 days and counting.

    That's on the assumption you go with all flags flying, not as an antique in a non-smoking old folks home with full blown Alzheimer's.

    • Old folks' homes are for old folk.  As for a non-smoking one – fuck that!

      One person who shall remain in my blog roll thingy is the Captain, or at least while his site exists though even then he won't be forgotten.  I still get quite a few visitors from his site, so some of his old followers must be using his site as a portal.

  2. I still miss Ranty.  I used to enjoy his ranty blogs a lot.

    Oh, and as a "tobacco consumer," you're much less likely to develop Alzheimer's than all those virtuous non-users (or Parkinson's or Motor Neurone Disease, incidentally).  You'll have to make sure that you develop double incontinence if you really want to be a pain in the a**e on that old folks' home, Gramps.

    • Of all the ways to go, Alzheimer's, Parkinson's and MND would be at the rock bottom of my list so it's a grand excuse to keep smoking [for medicinal reasons, you understand!].

      I plan to add a wee condition to my will – if the Daughter ever puts me in an Old Folks home she disinherits the lot.  It will all go to the charity of my choice [and that's not the Irish Cancer Society].

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