Yes, new entries have been few and far between lately. The wounded lungs (and accompanying insomnia) have leeched a lot of my oomph in recent weeks, and, honestly, I've thought a lot about Heath Ledger's untimely death. I understand the pneumonia/insomnia/general misery situation. If he died as a result of trying to get some measure of sleep in the middle of that garbage, what a miserably accidental tragedy.
And, not to make light of his passing, but, dear friends, family, future pool boy Raul: if you find me face down and unresponsive, PLEASE make your first call to 911. Please. Don't call Mary-Kate (or the other terrifying Olson Twin, or Britney, or OJ, or even Brad Pitt) before calling the paramedics. In fact, please don't call Mary-Kate THREE TIMES before calling 911. Jeez.
My future self thanks you.
It's likely, from descriptions, that Ledger was probably well dead before the masseuse started making (surely, in her mind, helpful) celebrity calls before dialing people with medical training, but still...
Staying on the Ledger situation for a moment -- I was disgusted, saddened, but not surprised to hear that sick, twisted, theoretically Christian uber-freak Fred Phelps and his pathetic troop of followers plan to picket Ledger's funeral because he played a homosexual in "Brokeback Mountain." WTF, folks? I personally don't have the strongest or most defined belief system, but I have a funny feeling that, if there is a god, I have a funny feeling he's got a helluva surprise waiting for Fred in the afterlife. But, then again, I can't say for sure. Unlike Fred, I don't have the hubris to think I know the mind of God.
Frankly, people like Phelps make me wish I really believed in the full-on Catholic version of Hell. He'd have his own level - one that sinks lower into sewage and broken glass each time his sad band protests the funeral of a dead soldier. Not a very Christian thought on my part, I admit. I guess that's my cross to bear. I think I'm okay with it.
I tell you this, if I was told, upon pain of death, I had to sit through a day of proselytizing and had to choose between the wackadoodle Phelps camp and the Scientologists, I'd take the Scientologists in a heartbeat. I see nothing but darkness eminating from the doors of Phelps' church, celebrating needless death and embracing hatred. Jesus wept, certainly. I imagine he still weeps at the very thought of Fred Phelps.
The Scientologists, on the other hand? While they creep me out, at least these guys come with their own punchline this past week with the leaking of the divinely bizarre Tom Cruise indoctrination video (if you haven't seen it, watch it on Defamer.com before some injunction pops up and sweeps it away.) Look, if Scientologists want to spend all their money on getting "clean" and free of all that space alien spirit juju that apparently causes all the ills of this world, who gives a shit? But the sheer hubris that Cruise radiates in this film clip slays me. Apparently, if a Scientologist drives past a car accident, he/she is compelled to stop because he/she is - if Cruise is to be believed - the "only one who can really help!"
Stand back, everyone! I'm a Scientologist! No, I don't have any medical training. No, I don't know how to save these guys. I cannot reattach limbs. But I'm a Scientologist!
What a load of crap.
Big, heaping pile of steaming dung.
If Scientology is a way for people to feel better about themselves, well, that's fan-freaking-tastic. But if it gives you the delusion that you're better than everyone else - that being part of your money-sucking religion is "a privilege", and you're somehow mankind's savior??? Well, that's messed up. Want to help people, Tom? Donate money to charities that do tremendous good. Don't advise people on post-partum depression. Don't think you're capable of cleaning the toxic air around the World Trade Center. Get a grip. Self-confidence is a great thing. Hubris gets you a karmic black eye, a reputation as a joke, and people find you a bore at cocktail parties.
Note to my friends: definitely call 911 for me before you call Tom Cruise. He won't be able to help me. I'm pretty confident on that point.
And, for those who haven't seen it, please enjoy Jerry O'Connell's uncanny mockery of the Cruise video. Jerry, babes, you got it spot on:
Jerry, I guess this nixes your chances to be in Mission Impossible 12. I salute you!
Note to everyone: there will be a little blog change today. Nothing major, but you'll see it when you see it.