Okay, this is the crap that came to mind while I was half-watching the Emmy Awards Sunday night.
First, did you see Sarah McLachlan singing “I Will Remember You” during St. Peter’s roll call of all the celebs that died this past year? That song, which by the way, was played at my hospice volunteer training session years ago, is like the anthem for everything death and dying. It’s a cliché at this point, no? She’s also behind one of those sappy animal rights commercials on CNN that brings tears even to my eyes and I’m not an animal person by any stretch of the imagination. McLachlan’s a good songwriter, but yikes, is she a major bummer or what?
You know I love to give advice, so Sarah, let’s liven things up a bit, shall we? You’re getting typecast with all the “in the arms of an angel” stuff. You need a career booster, something peppy like “There’s a party in my pants, you’re invited.”
You know what’s weird? I read an article in Rolling Stone years ago in which McLachlan admitted she likes to burp and can burp really loud, and so every time she sings these sad, sappy songs I imagine her rattling the windows like Barney on The Simpsons after downing half a pizza and a Coke. Yeah, that’s how I will remember you.
The whole photo montage thing is kind of weird, like I always feel sorry for the people who get only the polite golfer’s clap, especially when their picture comes right before or after a megastar who everyone goes wild for. And there’s always someone who I didn’t even know was dead, or worse, I thought died years ago. Which reminds me, Abe Vigoda still is, in fact, still alive. But when his photo is finally up there, I imagine a room full of decked-out stars during to each other and going, “Really? Just this year?”
And I want to know just who comes up with the order of the dead folks displayed in the montage. They had to have a meeting about this, right? It’s like the person whose face is up there when the music runs out gets the award for Dead Person of the Year. This year the honor went to Walter Cronkite, but let me tell you, if I were on that committee, it would have been Farrah, Farrah, Farrah. And if I didn’t get my way, I’d scowl and swear and then clear all the crap off the conference table with one dramatic swoop of the arm. Just like I do in meetings at work when people don’t agree with me.
And on a much happier note, the season premier of Curb Your Enthusiasm didn’t disappoint. There’s nothing that makes me happier than sitting all by myself on my 15-year-old couch with stains from my kids’ beer parties laughing out loud like a freakin’ idiot. Long live Larry David!