Fuck You America, Here's Your Dead

Friday was a pretty slow day, so there was little to rant and carry on about, but the weekends are always good to me.

Norman Mailer, one of the finest writers I have never read, died at 84. He had the misfortune of passing on a Saturday, when blogs are silent and news crews bring in their C-teams. In addition to having penned some of the most critically lauded work of the 20th century, Mailer was the only writer I know of to be name-dropped in a GWAR song. That alone is an awesome accomplishment. But there's much more.

Mailer drank, fought, smoked pot, married six times, and stabbed his second wife, almost fatally, during a drunken party. He had nine children, made a bid to become mayor of New York City, produced five films, and flew gliders. Over the years he challenged professional boxers, was banned from a Manhattan YWHA for reciting obscene poetry, feuded publicly with fellow legendary writer Gore Vidal, and crusaded against women's liberation.

The Pulitzer Prize winning author had numerous run-ins with the law, usually for being drunk or disorderly, but was also jailed briefly during the Pentagon protests in the late 1960s. While directing the film Maidstone in 1968, he punched actor Lane Smith, breaking his jaw, and bit actor Rip Torn's ear in another scuffle.

Ladies and gentlemen, that is what makes an American treasure. And sadly, by Sunday night, the big obit belonged to Donda West.

Who the fuck?
(thanks to PJ Harvey for that)

The mother of Kanye West, that's who.

Goddamnit America, I fucking hate you. The newsworthiness of the story rates somewhere between what I ate last Thursday and analysis of satellite photos of Nova Scotia. I know you want a respite from the news that our so-called intelligence advisors want us to redefine our idea of privacy in order for them to continue a war on invisible enemies. I know that you're scared now that the writers are not penning new episodes of Desperate Housewives. I know that baseball is done and the NASCAR series is all but over, leaving you with precious little to distract yourself with. I know that the CMAs have passed and that the American Music Awards are a pale second to you. But seriously, I fucking hate you so much right now for even reporting it. America, your priorities are all messed up.

Possessing the snizz that popped out Kanye West is just not enough to merit the kind of media that Donda West is getting, especially compared to Norman Mailer. It's a true shame that more people in the country will scan the web news, watch television, or check the paper and take the time to glorify the minor (and even that's a huge stretch) accomplishments of a rapper's mother than many decades worth of multimedia work from a true giant in the entertainment field.


UPDATE: The word is that Donda died due to complications from cosmetic surgery. Fantastic!

Also, Rybot has leveled his finger of shame upon me for not recounting Cremaster 2 amongst Normy's greatest hits. Shame on me indeed.