Tag death

Andy Hallett

Now that’s sad – Andy Hallett, who played the green-skinned nice-guy demon Lorne in Buffy spinoff Angel, has died at the age of just 33.

bill frindall

Now Bill Frindall’s dead (yes, you do – the statistician on TMS). Catrin and I were just talking about him the other day. Then again, just last night we were saying "who uses the Nokia ringtone these days? In a few years it’ll be pure nostalgia." Of course, now we know.

hart

and there goes the third…

It’s John "Rumpole" Mortimer.

ricardo montalbán

…has gone too. Classic quote:

Montalbán has described "the five stages of the actor" as follows:

The first stage is, Who is Ricardo Montalbán?.
The second stage is, Get me Ricardo Montalbán.
The third stage is, Get me a Ricardo Montalbán type.
The fourth stage is, Get me a young Ricardo Montalbán.
The fifth stage is, Who is Ricardo Montalbán?

In memory:

Khaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!

patrick mcgoohan

is dead, alas…

phew

Recovering slowly, still. It’s still a bit painful, particularly if I forget it is and try to move too much or twist at all; and I get tired very quickly, but I’m feeling much better than I thought I would be.

I’ve spent the last couple of days sorting out VPN on this little Ubuntu laptop – which is not easy when you’ve got a rt2500 card and can’t use NetworkManager – but now I can actually get some work done. In the meantime, I’ve been…

  • Listening to Momus now he’s making all his Creation stuff free, which is lovely. I’ve admired the man’s blog for a long while, but never got into his music until I got the kick up the arse from "hey, it’s free." I’m aware that his recent stuff is going to sound nothing like this, and that’s a mystery I shall leave to the future.
  • Saddened by the death of Majel Barrett Roddenberry.
  • Playing Fable 2, a very odd game in which you have to keep having to interrupt your questing to go home, see your family and get a Proper Job.
  • Getting random blood tests.
  • Losing track of too many serial media – online comics, TV programmes, etc. – to worry about.
  • Reading G.K. Chesterton’s Father Brown stories, about which there is something very surreal, in an underplayed way; or that could just be the drugs.

David Foster Wallace

American author, dead. Now, he’s not big over here – he’s one of those American novelists who write great, sprawling works that we tend not to get into over here. His most famous work, Infinite Jest, sounds interesting (though quite a lot like Vonnegut). However, what really got me was this, a commencement address he gave in 2005 that someone posted to Metafilter, probably because of its prescient (but ultimately irrelevant) reference to suicide. The whole thing is well worth a read. Here’s another excerpt:

Because here’s something else that’s weird but true: in the day-to day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship — be it JC or Allah, bet it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or some inviolable set of ethical principles — is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It’s been codified as myths, proverbs, cliches, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.

“in a world gone mad… one man… did all the film trailer voiceovers”

And now he’s dead – Don LaFontaine, the ‘voice of the movies’, has passed away. Going to the cinema will never be the same again. Really, he did all of them – at the rate of up to 60 a week.

This and Ken Campbell, too.

another one

Now Richard Widmark’s dead! Yes you do, he’s the thin, blond bloke with the big forehead in all those westerns. 93, though!

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