closure?

After like a day and a half with my finger on the Publish Post button, things finally resolved here in the passing of Natasha Richardson, age -35 (though imdb, despite posting an article confirmation, has yet to change the date of death, so who knows? Maybe TMZ'll come out and say she's up and at it within an hour. Personally I think this could be the perfect opening for a Liam Neeson zombie feature.)

Seriously though, shit like this isn't funny. Her starring role in the atrocious The Handmaid's Tale -- funny. Being taken off of life support -- not funny. Take it down, folks, you might need to remember this stuff in the future.

But as tragic as this is, there is a silver lining. All we need is to convince Colin Firth to start cranking out horror novels and elect Hugh Grant as Prime Minister of England and we've practically got the real life version of Love Actually. So cheer up, Oskar Schindler. Claudia Schiffer is only a few twists of fate away.

One of these days I'll be jailed for this blog.

getting desperate

Okay, first off: this totally doesn't count. Second off: I noticed this news snippet earlier this morning and have been mulling whether to add it or not all day, because that's basically as hectic as one of my days gets. It's been an agonizingly slow month here at The Joy of Death, and I've constantly had to fight myself from reporting "fringe" deaths of Indian film critics and British footballers, these being basically all Wikipedia's recent deaths stub had to offer. So you might be asking, "why cave in to Jennifer Hudson, a chick who has only been in one movie?" Actually, let's elaborate: "why cave in to the death of not even Jennifer Hudson, but Jennifer Hudson's mother, Darnell Donnerson, age -23, and brother, Jason Hudson, age -51, when, I repeat, the chick has only been in one movie?"

It's simple, really. She didn't deserve that Oscar and I wanted everyone to know that. Now keep in mind, I haven't seen Dreamgirls (I = white), so it might not be totally fair of me to comment, but 1.) I eat fairness for breakfast and B.) Rinki Kikuchi was the fucking bomb in Babel (even though the movie sucked). I mean, that chick blew everyone else out of the water. So Jennifer Hudson is a sissy, young black woman who can also sing? Big deal. Rinko was a better actress by about a billion (again, I haven't seen Dreamgirls, but, you know, whatever). If I could say anything to Jennifer Hudson right now it'd be: "yo, sorry about all this shit and all -- like, death is really... um... it blows -- but you're just some flash-in-the-pan hack who'll turn out to be a huge bust in your next movie (hint: you aren't even working on one, you loser) and fade into the oblivion of C-star, celebrity-poker tournaments and unanswerable Oscar trivia questions about who won in what year. So basically fuck you times a billion. Oh, and if you don't like being picked on like this, then I guess you can just go cry to your mommy."


Though on further consideration, maybe I wouldn't add that last part.

endnote indeed

Unfortunately Blogspot is giving me a hard time creating footnotes for this post, which I planned on using to shower down a barrage of unnecessary notations for every single world. Alas.




David Foster Wallace, age -34, who was perhaps best known for a 1000+ page novel containing lengthy, sprawling, uncontainable endnotes (Infinite Jest), was found hanged by his wife earlier today. One of the premier young writers of the 90s and early 2000s, Wallace always kinda bugged me. He seemed like the kinda guy who would be smug about their smartness and all the articles they got published in Harpers and blah blah blah. Dude was summa cum laude, postgraduate at Harvard, winner of a bunch of prestigious awards, but it seems to me that the only thing those fancy degrees taught him was how to tie a sturdy rope.

... too soon?