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Love Means Never Having To Tweet “R.I.P.!”

January 5th, 2010 | 5 comments | Posted by Diana

Johnson & Johnson heiress Casey Johnson was reported dead at age 30 yesterday, a news story that gained traction because the socialite had recently captured headlines, as the affianced to Tila Tequila and one-third of a love triangle with Courtenay Semel.

Casey Johnson and Tila Tequila

As soon as the news broke, readers realized quickly that Johnson’s death–which must have come as a painful shock to her family (father is NY Jets owner Woody Johnson) and lifelong friends–was overshadowed in the headlines by her fledgling ties to Tequila.

Continue reading Love Means Never Having To Tweet “R.I.P.!”

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Sometimes Goodbyes Should Take Up More Than 140 Characters

September 1st, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

The death of DJ AM, also known as Adam Goldstein, becomes increasingly sad as the details publicly unfold. The New York Post reported that AM, who passed away from an apparent drug overdose, was confronted by his worried sponsor and manager on Thursday night. After smoking crack and swallowing pills in front of his sponsor, he eventually promised to check into rehab after a scheduled gig at the Palms in Vegas. He just never made it.

The drugs found in his apartment, largely painkillers and anti-anxiety meds like Vicodin, oxycodone, Xanax and lorazepam, tell a tacit story that doesn’t seem to be one of wild, thrill-seeking self-destruction, but instead: a deep and dark struggle with a great deal of inner pain. It seems difficult to imagine how one might cope with events so traumatic is the plane crash he survived last year–which woefully injured him and friend Travis Barker, while stealing the lives of four others. I didn’t know him, but I feel truly sad for his suffering, and the fact that it led to a very lonely and tragic end.

In the web universe, many of AM’s Hollywood pals were predictably quick to show how not alone he was, elegantly honoring his memory via Twitter.

Listen, I would never condemn anyone’s expression of grief. I just wonder: if you lose someone you really care about, aren’t they at least worth capital letters? Might their tragic passing perhaps warrant spelling out “you” for? Couldn’t the event amount to something more meaningful than a quick blip–the kind of thought mandated by Twitter, a platform with ephemera and meaninglessness built into its very structure, making it possible to bury a statement about the loss of one’s friend, five tweets later, with:

I certainly hope so.

[NY Post: Horrible Final Daze]
[ONTD: Celebrities Speak Out On DJ AM's Death]


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R.I.P. Ted Kennedy

August 26th, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

Goodbye, Ted. Thank you so much for believing.


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Who Is the World’s Biggest Asshole? Kim Jong Il v. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad [VIDEO]

July 2nd, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

Our cameras caught up with, um, Kim Jong Il and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad on a recent hang.

Let’s see what happens when these two “leaders” address one of the planet’s most pressing questions: Who Is the World’s Biggest Asshole?

We think you’ll be delighted with the results.

Want more? Subscribe to our YouTube channel here.

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Scrunchies Kill

June 29th, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Jen

I like to think of myself as a game person who’s up for a lot of things, but there are a few things in life I’ve never tried that I’m really glad I haven’t. The reason being that these things, in one way or another, I associate with death.

  1. Heroin
  2. Roadkill for dinner
  3. Scrunchies in my hair

I have never worn a scrunchie in all of my [REDACTED] years on this not-so-green Earth. Not even to the gym. (Okay, okay, I never go to the gym either.) But a scrunchie has never touched a hair on my head and it never will. I don’t care what you say, American Apparel.

I don’t care how much T & A & Mounds-of-Crotch you throw at me. I don’t care how old this makes me sound (“I remember when they came out with scrunchies the first time around…honey, be a dear and hand me my teeth, will you?“). And I really don’t care that that this means I will continue to be judged through lowered, sloppily-mascaraed wall-eyes as someone who doesn’t “get it” by some 80 lb. airhead working the American Apparel cash register who subsists solely on a diet of vegan food, Parliaments, and bad spelling.

I’ve got a record to uphold. Not to mention my dignity.


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He’s Out of My Life: Goodbye, Michael Jackson?

June 25th, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

We’ve lost a lot of stars this week to that great walk of fame in the sky (R.I.P. Ed and Farrah).

But I wasn’t ready for the emotional blow that accompanied today’s announcement of Michael Jackson’s cardiac arrest, resulting coma and death.

Jackson is the reason that a perfect stranger sang “Dirty Diana” to me over morning coffee, why I danced under a restaurant awning at lunch–and why I feel shocked and empty now.

Say what you will about the man–he was the greatest performer that ever was, and a bearer of some shames we may never understand–he will never be forgotten.


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DISGRASIAN OF THE WEAK! The Binghamton Gunman

April 3rd, 2009 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

Our heads have been swimming with emotions today as we wait anxiously for news developments, regarding today’s shooting at The American Civic Association building in Binghamton, to trickle out of New York.

Personally, I’m collecting all of the details, trying to process them methodically. But my mind inevitably strays from the facts of today’s tragedy–wandering off to think obliquely about the people I don’t really know anything about: the yet-to-be-identified victims and hostages. I picture small, simple rooms filled with immigrants–like my parents and grandparents were three decades ago– so committed to making their family’s lives better and doing so by the book, the old-fashioned way. I think about how they couldn’t possibly have known what was going to happen to them today and how they absolutely didn’t deserve it. How they probably didn’t understand what was happening, except that they were probably going to be killed.

What are their parents thinking? What are their children feeling?

I wonder what it felt like for the survivors, in the hours they spent thinking that they were probably going to die in America without being an American.

Mostly, I feel confused. And deeply sad. In a way that I can’t really articulate, I just feel sorry that this is what happens sometimes in this country.


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May 5th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

Conversasian between George W. Bush and Kasha Maria Charlton, a student whose Kansas town was devastated by a tornado a year ago, at her high school graduation:

GEORGE W.: Well, Kara, this is some graduatin‘ y’all are doin’ here.

KASHA MARIA: Thank you Mr. President. Um… Mr. President, my name is actually Kasha, not Kara.

GEORGE W.: That’s what I said, darlin’. Kara. I know sometimes it’s hard to hear through my axe-int. I’m from Texas. The Mexicanos call it Tey-hoss, but they are wrrrrongo.

KASHA MARIA: Sorry, sir. So yeah, er… Mr. President, there’s a “sh” sound in my name. Kasha.

GEORGE W.: I heard you the first time, goshbedarnit, Kara. It’s not nukular science.

KASHA MARIA: (ashamed) Oh my gosh, you’re right, sir. I’m so sorry, sir. I apologize, Mr. President.

GEORGE W.: Don’t worry about it, kiddo. So what’ve we got goin’ on up in here?

KASHA MARIA: Well sir, this is our high school graduation. We’ve overcome a lot to get here, what with the natural disaster and all.

GEORGE W.: (panicked) There wasn’t a hurricane, was there? Should we Chevy to the levee real quick?

KASHA MARIA: Oh no, sir. So um, Mr. President, I thought you knew–a really big tornado ripped through this area exactly one year ago.

GEORGE W.: Oh yeah! Tornad-a. Rhymes with Al Qaeda. That’s how Dick taught me how to say it. Tornad-a-Al-Qeada is like, a demonic device, which means it helps you remember stuff and stuff. Tornad-as, shoot, we call ‘em spinners at home. They look like Bugles. Delicious! Man, speakin’ of crispy corn snacks, I could really go for a box of Bugles right about now. How’d that spinner of yours turn out, anyway?

KASHA MARIA: Sir, it destroyed 90% of this town. 11 people died. I thought that’s why you came here to speak at our graduation. Because you wanted to take the time out to congratulate us on our success through tragedy, and lift this area’s morale–that is, between your hectic schedule of war-waging, fact-faking, and daughter-marrying.

GEORGE W.: Oh, only 11 people died?

KASHA MARIA: Uh… only?

GEORGE W.: Yeah, it’s like I tell all those donkey-asses every day. Only about 2,000 people died in Katrina. Only 5 grand have died in Iraq. That’s a small price to pay for American national security.



KASHA MARIA: What do natural disasters have to do with national security?

GEORGE W.: I guess mostly it all has to do with the fact that I don’t give two shakes of a lambs tail about poor people.

KASHA MARIA: What?!?! That doesn’t even make sense!

GEORGE W.: I mean, I feel t-terribly for your people. But t-terror has got to be stopped. Lots of folks kicked the bucket under Clinton and Reagan and heck, tons during World War II. Git the heck off my back, ‘naw what I’m sayin?

KASHA MARIA: Mr. President, no. No I don’t.

GEORGE W.: Well Kashi, that’s because you’re very young. You’ve only finished high school. And I’m sure you worked really hard studying all that ‘rithmetic and verbs and tests like the C.A.T. and stuff. But sometimes you’ve got to be a wealthy white oil man to understand stuff like this.

KASHA MARIA: Right. Mr. President, I actually think I have to go speak to the principal now.

GEORGE W.: That can wait, can’t it? We’re havin’ a blast! I can probably get us some Jell-O shots, if you want ‘em. Jell-O shots always remind me of graduations. Or is it the other way around?

KASHA MARIA: Actually, sir, I have to go to the bathroom.

GEORGE W.: Number one or number two?

KASHA MARIA: Oh my Lord. Will somebody please take the picture?


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Die Another Daysian

January 14th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

My friend Anthony’s mom held a staged pre-death funeral last year, and all of her family and friends attended knowing full well that the event was merely a dress rehearsal. Still, the gathering didn’t feel quite like theater: Her husband delivered the eulogy, emphasizing that she had been taken from all of their lives too soon. Her friends dropped flowers on the casket and shared pleasant and ridiculous memories. Her children sobbed, feeling abandoned.

And then, about two hours later, she showed up at the post-funeral lunch, just as alive as she had been two hours before. It was joyous; in fact, she and her family and friends felt a renewed vigor just being alive. It was as if they had all gotten a second chance.

Dude, if you ask me, that shit was fucked up. Severely twisted. A cruel thing to do to one’s loved ones. And just plain awkward.

This week, CNN discussed just this thing as a growing trend in Korea: mock funerals, a branch of a concept called “well-dying.” During the funerals, perfectly healthy individuals go through the experience of their death remembrance (like, in-casket) as a quick-jolt reminder to celebrate their existing lives. The end result is for each person to realize hey, it’s pretty freakin’ good to be alive.

I am pleased that “happiness” is on the radar of our Korean brethren. And how ambitious–the ability to actually appreciate living has got to be one of the most difficult things imaginable to attain. So yeah man, I’m behind it all the way. Whatever it takes to keep “wellness” on the Asian priority list.

But isn’t there a less muthafuzzin’ creepy way to do so?

Thanks, Chris!

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