Juan Gabriel yesterday, and now Gene Wilder.
The flood of posts on social media is outstanding. I feel like this trend generated a couple of years ago. I remember 2014 as many people posting dead celebrity news and the world weeping. That year everyone was like “how many 2014?” It was the same in 2015. It was the same in 2016.
Oscars have the little memorial thingy for people dying.
And apparently, people don’t understand death.
Two greats are dead. Greats die all the time. Their memory fucking lives on. You were going to see them live. You weren’t going to meet them in their prime. That was dead a long time ago.
And it’s not only the old people.
Young people die as well.
Brittany Murphy comes to mind. My friend got the last shots of her with her boyfriend two weeks before she died. That was a bit more shocking. When young people die.
Someone is dying right now. It might be you. We all are.
And after that second, someone is dead again.
Heart attack, cancer, a ten truck crashed unto us, everyone dies.
Play some Juan Gabriel.
And go die.
AND WITH THAT I CONCLUDE MY DEPRESSION.
Seriously. It’s been weird weeks where I just sit around and mope about nothing. About how I don’t remember what I was doing. About money. About work (or the lack thereof).
With the intention of saving money, I’ve been basically hibernating. I don’t go out much. I only went out on Tuesday to cover a burger place (and because tap Tuesday). Other than that, I’ve been sitting at home trying to work. Reading a lot (or pretending too), and playing a lot of video games. I can safely say I master Mario Kart for the Super Nintendo with Toad or Koopa, but the rest of the chars… pretty complex game from 1992.
(The aforementioned burger and beer)
So there’s not much to write about. Or at least in this blog. Because my life took a sudden stop. California stop. Which means I should roll by after not really stopping at all. And that’s what I got to do. I have a couple of articles to finish up. And it’s Monday (though it doesn’t feel like it). I get to contact editors and pitch them the ideas. That’s what I’ll do.
————————— Sly Stone
I never saw Juan Gabriel. I never saw Gene Wilder. But Juan Gabriel somehow made me into a paparazzi. You see… my brother was working as a photographer in Houston in 2005, when they sent him to cover a Juan Gabriel concert. In that concert… el Divo fell off the stage. There were only a few pictures taken that day. That was when my brother discovered the money potential in celebrity pictures. Basically called agencies in Los Angeles, and my old agency offered him a job. A year and some months later, I joined him.
Now… Sly Stone.
I saw him once. Why him? Because he might die tomorrow.
I am sure I mentioned in this blog before. But a lot of the times my boss would sent me to LAX to shoot really strange and old celebrities. The reason. They might die soon. The most recent picture of a celebrity before dying is worth a lot of money. Like Michael Jackson’s picture that fetched more than 1 million dollars. Of course, this barely happens anymore since pictures have been devaluated a lot.
So no. I don’t hope Sly dies. I’m just trying to make a point, that he might. And at least I saw him once at LAX. But to be honest. It was weird as fuck. And really sad. He didn’t seem to be in the same planet. I saw him as he struggled to open a fruit cup. He was wearing a huge coat despite being not cold outside (I mean.. It’s Los Angeles). It was January, but not for like a coat that he was wearing (and inside the airport at noon).
Anyway, pictures are from January 13, 2010. Sly might die. I might die. We all die.
So go live. Go work. And then die.