Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Too Dark?

Let The Man Have Cancer, But You Can Be Sad About It
Privacy: everybody wants it, especially those who have forsaken it in exchange for iconic status. The most recent case of this is the venerable Paul Newman, of whom it is hard to say a bad word, unless you are one of his salad dressing competitors, an anti-Semite, or both. Suddenly a friend of his accidentally infers that Paul is ailing, and the first world falls into a panic. I say we ought to panic. There should be a rule that when a certain pinnacle of fame is reached, that person should become immortal. Perhaps this is true-Newman’s publicist wound up denying these reports of illness. Let’s just leave this formerly attractive man alone and see what happens. Stop pestering him. Papparazi are apparently parking outside of his lungs, hoping for a good shot. Somebody should pour a high-end vinaigrette on them. What’s next: a Michael J. Fox 24-Hour Shakewatch? All we can hope is that money is taken out of disease research, and moved to celebrity eternal life exploration.

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