To Celebrity, with Love

One of the world’s heavyweights has passed away this week: the wrestler Randy “Macho Man” Savage.

It appears that the Macho Man died in a car crash near Tampa Bay, Florida. There is speculation that he suffered a heart attack first, which may have caused the crash. Did a lifetime of steroid abuse induce this heart attack, echoing the murder-suicide of Chris Benoit in 2007? That’s for the doctors to figure out, not some lowly, opinionated blogger.

Another disturbing incident happened this week. In the middle of a taping, the normally sharp Judge Judy Sheindlin spouted a few sentences of nonsense, and then said that she wasn’t feeling well, having to be carted off to hospital. The tough old broad was released the next day, but we are given a cautionary reminder in all this news: our beloved celebrities are fallible.

It only makes sense. After all, despite their transcendent qualities, celebrities are relegated to the same inferior form as other humans. The body is weak. Especially an old person’s body. I mean, a moderate breeze is enough to knock a senior citizen over, and Lord help you if they hit that mushy head of theirs on the way down. Not that Judy’s head could be anything but hard, and pointy.

When a celebrity dies, especially one that we have been a fan of, a coming of age is thrust upon us. It’s not unlike someone we grew up with dying. When someone famous dies, we are reminded that we haven’t done fuck all with our lives. Just knowing that a whole life has passed forces introspection. Then a drinking binge, at least in my case.

I bet everyone, even the most cynical of trendies, can conjure up a story or two about being shocked or affected by a celebrity death. Whether you’re old enough to have been upset about Kurt Cobain’s suicide, shallow enough to have given a shit about Heath Ledger’s overdose, or young enough to have given thought to the murder of Tupac Shakur, these are the things that affect us.

Besides 9/11, which dwarfed nearly every other tragedy in the Western world, one of the most memorable sadnesses of my young life was the death of Princess Diana. I never gave a shit about the royal family. I was twelve years old. But I had the overwhelming sense that this wasn’t supposed to happen. This is an interesting thought considering the conspiracy theories that surround the death of Diana. But then as now, I was largely ignorant of conspiracy theories, and anyway a non-believer when it came to distrusting the world I saw with my own eyes.    

Maybe the best way to avoid celebrity death syndrome is to not care about celebrities. That being said, most of my favourite celebrities are still alive: the guys from The Kids in the Hall. Bob Odenkirk. Steve Carell. As long as these people live forever, I’m good. For now I’ll put it out of my mind, and cap this by saying: we’ll miss you, Macho Man. I hope you’re munching on Slim Jims up in heaven.