Vernon Forrest

We can only hope that Vernon Forrest marks the end of an an unfortunate summer for boxing deaths. First Alexis, then Arturo, and now Vernon.

But who am I kidding? Boxing is a dangerous sport and its practitioners face far greater odds of death than most. It didn't make the top ten list, but I wonder if that's because the size of the overall population is relatively low. The thing about at least two of the aforementioned gentlemen is that they died due to the people that they hung out with and the places they traveled.

So, either you die Apollo Creed style, as was the case with Marco Antonio Nazareth or Benjamín Flores, two young Mexican boxers whose summertime deaths flew under the radar. Or you end up murdered like Mr. Gatti or Mr. Forrest. Clearly, I am generalizing here. Some boxers, like Johnny Caldwell, live relatively long lives and die from cancer.

So, what to make of Vernon Forrest? I've got to say, I sort of missed his career. Unlike Gatti, who was vaguely familiar with, Forrest's rise and glory days ocurred virtually unnoticed by me. But, he was an Atlanta-based boxer, just like Evander Hollyfield, who I did see one day in the Atlanta airport. But I don't want to give too much of that encounter away, given that Real Deal is very much alive, and I want to save that story for another day.

So, what of Vernon Forrest? By many accounts, he was a good guy. Clean living, well-educated, and charitable. He was the only man to ever drop Shuga Shane Mosley, which was quite impressive. And, given the age we all live in, yes, Mr. Forrest was involved in MySpace and Twitter... a perfectly good place to foretell his own demise.

Gidget

The presentation to the Darden Restaurant Group (who don't really have any Mexican joints, by the way) is this afternoon. But irony firmly noted.

"Yes, but that cute, weird little dog from the Taco Bell ads died."

I have a huge proposal to write for the Mesa County Community College account.

"Why haven't you covered the dog yet, dude? That's like right up your alley." Some would say he's (she's?) bigger than Michael!"

There's a big wireframe presentation with the nice folks from well, ...well, those nice people.target="_blank"

"We're going on Two Days here. God you're insensitive. Oh, and you really missed your moment. Thank goodness for Conan!

"The five kids are driving me crazy, especially the baby, got your ass home right night now. It's Friday afternoon and I know you don't have any thing better to <expletive> do"

But, this famous dog really does mean a lot to me. A part of me, at least 23 pounds, has passed on when this female WTF? dog died over two days ago.

Friday night es Taco Night at the Marrelli House. Dad's making his famous tacos and he's gobbling down a soft enfolded clump of irony mixed with ground beef, sour cream, cheese, lettuce, and a tad of guacomoletarget="_blank.

OK. Game over. You can' do the God Damn Dog anymore. You missed it. People have stopped following you on Twitter. Destroy the T-shirt plans. It's over.

WHAT a GORGEOUS DAY!Now, go landscape and put up a 15 foot trampoline in the backyard. But first, clean up the dog poop. Sniff Sniff. Not at the dog poop. I'm crying here. What kind of creep do you think I am?

Bed time festivities and I get a little thought about how life sometimes gets in the way of important projects. All of a sudden, it's a angle. Let me sleep on it. But first let me check...anything else out there...Les Lyle? Usted can' t hace eso en celebituary!

Sunday Morning, 3 AM for me is pretty much the high point of the Taco Bell experience. It's the truce that you offer to Saturday night. OK. I didn't win. You didn't win. So give me a Meximelt. They never publicize the Meximelt and it's the best thing they go going. Perhaps it's because of the negative connotations. Yup, Meximelts and that cute, weird, little...OH GOD. Please take me instead.Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

Frank McCourt

"You love me, ...you really love me."

I tried to get out of this Frank McCourt post, but the overwhelming response was for me to honor this school teacher turned Pulitzer Prize winner. And why shouldn't I? Despite my surname, I have always felt more Irish than Italian. Oh, and I'm a writer, and, at times, a reacher of writers. And I live in Connecticut, for Christ Sakes! Where do I send the flowers?

I suppose I just didn't want to open the doors to all the writers of the world, because then you have to do all the screenwriters, the potters, ...pretty much anyone famously involved in the creative arts. But, fair enough, I'll do McCourt, because there is a story in there, I think.

Thus far, some of the best couple years of my life were those spent in Chicago in the late nineties. I was running the creative department in the Modem Media Chicago office. It just so happened that I ended up working with a bunch of Irish guys...McCue, Feeley, Tullis. And, one of these guys, I think it was probably Tullis, turned me on to "Angela's Ashes." Heard of it? So, when I think about that book or movie, I think about the good times down on West Erie, my commute on the green line from Oak Park, Kerry Wood's ridiculous 20K performance, and the Mexican place down the street from our rental which was eventually shut down by the board of health, but I enjoyed very much. What can I say? I'm Irish. I have a high tolerance for filth.

Speaking of filth, a professor friend of mine, Scott Barnett, wondered how McCourt contracted menningitis which is more or less a college kid's sex disease. The thing about McCourt is that his days in the spotlight were relatively brief and his back story has been neatly summed up, not only by the press, but by McCourt himself in the aforementioned Ashes, 'Tis, and Teacher Man.

But I got a huge bag of tricks from this here Internet. Let me shine a light on Stuyvesant High School, where he taught for 30 years. How about a shout out to his less famous brother, Malachy. And, I'll even throw in the other famous Frank McCourt who isn't dead yet.

Walter Cronkite

It's well-known in the circle of obituary writing that many tributes arrive pre-written, based on the expected death of the subject. Such was undoubtably the case with my 92 year old uncle, Walter. Many of the obits were exquisitely well cooked or even over-cooked, if you ask me. This is my challenge with celebituary. Being three or four people, but mostly me, there really isn't the chance to write these things in advance. But, I sort of like the reactionary ethos of celebituary. It carries that little "punch in the stomach" you feel when, out of nowhere, you hear that someone you knew has passed on. Here's one of my favorite jokes to play on people:

"Did you hear Elton John died? ... Me neither."

And pranks is where I will start in my recollection of Walter Cronkite. Who remembers the notorious "Walter Cronkite Spit in My Food?" web site? I sure do. It came out in the early early days of the Web, and to me, it was one of the early examples of the audacious "you gotta see this" potential of Internet content. While, I liked it very much, Uncle Walter was not amused. Legal action ensued and the site no longer exists. A free celebituary T-Shirt to anyone who can find artifacts to the original site.

So, the whole irony about this is that due in part to these shenanigans, Mr. Cronkite was not a fan of internet journalism. So, here I am, some random guy in Fairfield, CT, getting the last word on Walter Cronkite. Well, that's the way it is.

The most personal connection I have with this icon is actually via my wife, Jennifer, who saw the guy speak while attending his j-school in Tempe.

"Did you meet him?"

"No."

"...it was a really big auditorium."

So, her relationship with Cronkite is basically like my relationship with Michael Hutchence of INXS. Well, I'll take it. But, unlike a rock star or a president or a rock star president, I think many of us feel like we know Walter, given his regular dinnertime appearance in all of our homes. He sort of came into prominence before cable's 500 channels, so his relevance is magnified. For me, though, my fondest Cronkite memory is one that I never experienced first hand. That Kennedy reaction was so real, so human. Like my own uncle showing up at the door with bad news.

Tom Wilkes Booth

Tom Wilkes Booth, famed art director and album designer, passed away recently. There’s no relation between him and John Wilkes Booth, in fact his name is just Tom Wilkes. Sorry, I was just trying to spice this burrito up. Anyway.

If you’re of a certain age, you probably grew up pondering the cover art and posters Tom Wilkes created. Me, I’m a little too young but I think I recall a t-shirt a creepy guy who lived in my neighborhood wore that was probably a Wilkes design.

The Stones, Beatles compilations, The Who (Grammy for Tommy album design), Ike and Tina, REO Speedwagen (ironically making Pitchfork’s worst cover designs ever – scroll to bottom), Streisand, Mr. Neil Young and tons more all had some groovy designs courtesy of Wilkes. This was when cover art was truly a part of the experience. Will we ever see those days again? Will we think back years from now about the wrapper Taylor Swift or Black Eyed Peas music came in? I don’t know.

But Wilkes’ talent was too much to be contained by the drifting, rebellious music scene and he spread his love around to book jackets, print ads and illustration projects. Check it and see. Really cool stuff, and if you’ve read this far, you might as well spend a few more minutes getting some value.

Ever hear of the Monterey Pop Festival? He was art director of it. Ever lust after the One Show Award in your boss’ office? Wilkes had one. Think the world could be a better place through a “planetary enhancement program”? So did Tom!

Heeding the aptly titled George Harrison album All Things Must Pass (the cover of which is awesome), we take the needle off the record briefly to sit a quiet moment for Tom Wilkes.

Dash Snow

OK, I confess. I didn't know who he was at first. Being the suburban creative director that I am, I'm a little slow on the uptake and behind the times on the hip downtown artists.

Bitter? Guilty as charged. I have just never had much tolerance for trust funders who call themselves artists. It's probably a bad trait of mine. Why be so angry? Why not give the guy a break? Why you be hatin', C?

I dunno. I just don't know if it is possible to be hardcore if you grew up as art royalty. He's sort of disqualified from day one.

So, what does it mean to me? Well, I see the guy's Polaroid work, and I think about my good friend, Steven Cloud, who has been doing shit like that for years. OK, so maybe no pictures of penises (that I know of), but I just feel like this Snow fellow gets a little advantage that most of us wouldn't get and for that I hate him. But, I do enjoy art, particularly provocative art -- and, to a degree I'll give him a pass. I even like partying hard, although I have never done H, and I never plan to. My brother, who got hit by a car was a big fan of Dylan Thomas who basically drank himself to death. So, I sort of romanticize the tortured, fucked up artist persona more than most. And for some reason, all of a sudden, I am thinking about Layne Stanley, who I think captured that heroin addiction vibe quite well on one of my favorite albums, Dirt.

Back to the formula. Give the information age that we dwell in, there is no shortage of hyperlinks, trivia, videos, and Tweets to be had from a contemporary artist. For some of these older folks, I have to work all night just to find a decent link, but anybody famous and under thirty is well-indexed.

Arturo Gatti

What are the odds of two recently retired athletes, both 37, being murdered on consecutive weekends? If I were Michael Strahan, I would stay home and lock all the doors next weekend. But even then, with all the domestic disputes and what not, are you truly safe? The whole thing is really sobering.

Arturo Gatti fell into the category of sports celebrities I "knew of," but did not follow. If you read the Alexis Arguello post, you'd remember that I was into boxing in the eighties, but have since lost interest. I do find it somewhat ironic that the suicide and murder of two boxers occurred in all the pre-fight hub-bub of UFC 100, a sport which I also do not follow, but I know it has really gained some momentum in the last couple years, at the expense of boxing.

I have to say, I wish I followed Gatti a bit more, given his reputation as the human highlight film. His trilogy, as they called it, with Irish Micky Ward was epic. And at this point I have to give pause and reflect on two things I just said. This "trilogy" idea makes me laugh because I associate the word with elves and minotaurs. Or perhaps other self-important works of art. And then, the other thing is "Irish" Micky Ward. As if the name "Micky Ward" needs some sort of modifier. In the absence of a deep frame of reference. I have nothing to cling to but interesting little turns of phrase. It's what I do. I'm a writer, not a boxer.

Robert McNamera

The Vietnam War. Missed it.

I was born a little too late to have any direct memories of this very unfortunate part of American History. I once had a very smart, but underachieving substitute history teacher who remarked that the history we live, and in particular, the more immediate history from the first ten years of our lives, is a massive blind spot. It was probably more true back then, when text books were woefully out of date and we didn't have the internet and we routinely ate dirt to survive. Oh, wait that was the thirties. Nevermind.

Forget about text books and internet for a moment. Even with those things, recent history isn't really history yet, and everybody takes for granted that if they lived through something (even if they were five) they MUST know about it. So, hence the blindspot. And, since I am not a big book reader, all I have to go on is Oliver Stone movies and long-haired "Nam" vets who talk my ear off down at the Pensacola American Legion. Believe it or not, this is absolutely true. My mom used to tend bar there. They served cans of beer. I'll leave it at that.

So, guilty as charged, this McNamera death was a good excuse for me to do a little homework on the Vietnam War. Call me lazy, but Wikipedia is a pretty damn good place to start. Then, I ended up at this site, which besides having amazing pictures, had a map of Vietnam. One look at the map sort of tells you why there would be a war in the first place. It looks like a "3" with thickness on the extremities and thinness in the middle. So, it isn't surprising that Vietnam has had a history of north and south tensions. I also can't understand how the hell Chile ended up like that, but now we are worlds away from Robert McNamera.

McNamara was responsible for a number of other things besides our greatest military failure. He was responsible for the 4 seater Ford Thunderbird. He was responsible for redefining the mission of the World Bank to focus more on developing the third world. He was largely responsible for JFK's burial in Arlington National Cemetary for greater public access. Oh, and he is responsible for the bespectacled walnut farmer, Robert Craig McNamara. But, he will forever be memorialized as the tragically misguided architect of Vietnam.

Allen Klein

This one has been on the back burner for about 48 hours, and my apologies to my fans and followers. Believe it or not, I have been extremely busy with my job, ripping off music artists from all their royalties, ...oh wait, that's somebody else...

Well, this Allen Klein gentleman is not a very popular man at all. He's almost universally hated as a rat bastard scumbag. So, what is one to do? Do you go for the jugglar like the Telegraph? Do you treat him with kid gloves like the Times? Do you give him the benefit of the doubt?

Well, in keeping with the spirit of the blog, you just give your own take on the man, toss a link or two, and move on.

Just in case you missed it, Allen Klein was the notorious manager of BOTH the Beatles and the Stones, fired by both, and spent the duration of the next twenty years or so in myriad lawsuits with both. He was famously chased by Mick Jagger throughout a NY hotel with Jagger shouting "Where's my F%$#ing money?"

I had a Beatles "Let it Be" poster in my bedroom as a kid, which was really just an expanded version of the album cover. There was no band at all, really. It was just four pictures of four guys, all doing their own thing. Contrast that with the early days, when they all dressed the same and looked the same. Even for Peppers, they were more or less, down with the program. Yes, for me, Allen Klein is right up there with Yoko in terms of Beatle-busters.

As for the Stones, I specifically remember buying "Hot Rocks," at a department store called J.M. Fields which is one of many, many, many Rolling Stones compilations from the sixties. Why so many? Well, the whole catalog is owned by one, Allen Klein, and he just kept pumping them out in different flavors.

I looked long and hard, and I couldn't find many people who had positive things to say about Mr. Klein. All of it was negative. So, let me give the guy a little parting gift. Unlike many dead celebs, Allen Klein has a nice Web site. And I should know. I specialize in both matters. Ok, so it was all about selling whatever Stones, Sam Cooke, and other catalogs he still owned. I sure would hate to be on the other side of the table in negotiating the price on that site, though. I'm sure he got a great deal.

Steve "Air" McNair

So, I am sitting at Penfield Beach waiting for the Fairfield fireworks display and my neighbor dropped this bomb shell on me.Perhaps I have lamented this before, but I really have made a 24/7 job for myself what with this celebrity death blog. I continue to wrestle with the whole "timely vs. thoughtful" issue. Instead of rushing home and banging out a hasty version of this, I decided to wait until today. And, then Allen Klein kicks it, and now I am all backlogged. Ugh.

So, regarding Air McNair. Guts. Guts. Guts. Root for the Titans or not, and I imagine most were indifferent, the guy earned his rep as a real throwback type guy who played through injuries. He was the kind of guy who was more valuable in reality to his team than in the abstract, statistical world of "fantasy" football.

Interestingly, my strongest McNair memory is a non-memory. Everyone who knows me, knows that I am a huge sports fan. As such, I don't miss Super Bowls. Well, Super Bowl XXXIV was a different matter. At the time, I worked for Modem Media NY and we were pitching the site design of what would ultimately become the travel portal, Orbitz. I'm not sure how it worked out that we ended up working on Super Bowl Sunday, but sure enough there I was on 26th street in the old Bozell building. I recall "watching" the game, one of the most exciting Super Bowls ever, via a primitive version of ESPN's GameCast. Well, McNair's Titans lost the game and Marrelli's Modem Medians lost the pitch. I was miserable, especially given the personal sacrifice.

One of the things I like to do is go to the area where folks are most affected by the loss. A little research on McNair's roots brought me to Alcorn State University Athletics site which has a nifty flash intro. I also discovered that Jefferson County, Mississippi, has the highest density of obese people in the U.S. In keeping with the back to the roots theme of this entry, there is a really nice career retrospective in photos from the Mississippi Clarion Ledger. Taking it even a bit further back, I found this very humble home page for Mt. Olive High School that serves the less than 1,000 population of M. Olive, Mississippi.

Karl Malden

Mladen Sekulovich.

That's Karl's birth name. No biggie. That kind of stuff happens all the time with celebrities. Just ask Vincent Furnier, Lawrence Turead, or even Allan Stewart Konigsberg.

So, why is that important? I will submit to you, dear reader, that Karl Malden's story is a story about branding. Were it not for his 25 year relationship with Ogilvy and American Express, today's passing of Mr. Malden (if that is your name) would be merely a footnote.

Sure, there was "Streetcar Named Desire." And "On the Waterfront." And "Patton." It's all very good. Indeed, excellent. But, I think it's fair to say that Karl owes his true relevance and exposure to my profession of choice, advertising.

Karl was the first person, sorry, the first actor to utter the words "Don't Leave Home Without It/Them." It became his calling card. I don't think you get away with such a positively straight forward tag line these days. But it worked. Again and again and again. It was classic FUD (Fear Uncertainty Doubt). It was like, "...holy shit, if I am in a foreign country and I don't bring this with me, and I lose my wallet...that's it, I'm never making it back."

Amex did the class move and issued a statement, albeit a vanilla one, about old Karl.

OK, so yet again, I went and hijacked a fellow human being's obituary for my own selfish purposes. But, I maintain that this is my frame of reference. Sure, I have seen the movies, but, ...close your eyes, when I say "Karl Malden" do you think "collar" or "hat?" Hat, of course. And, OK, I will give you the fact that this look was originated in the show "The Streets of San Francisco." But I still maintain that were it not for American Express Traveler's Cheques, Malden would be about 10% as famous.

I've belabored the point enough. Here is my favorite Malden tidbit. Karl was a major player in the postal service as a member of The Citizen's Stamp Advisory Committee. These are the people who decide who gets on a stamp, which, in my opinion, is a pretty awesome gig. Karl was so influential and important to the group that he got a post office named after him. For my money, though, I'll always think of that office as Mladen Sekulovich Postal Station. Rolls off the tongue a little nicer, huh?

Alexis Arguello

Now that some, if not all, of the MJ hysteria has ebbed, I can just get back to a more workmanlike obituary. I do still need to revisit the Farrah one and add links. And I need to do a little housecleaning in general, going back and adding labels and what not. I guess of should apologize right away to the Mayor of Managua for being so matter of fact during this somber time. In fact, I bet if I were Nicaraguan, I wouldn't be so phlegmatic about the whole thing. So, let me get down to my side of the story and maybe I can make things right, again.

I really wish the major networks would carry boxing again. When I grew up, boxing seemed to be a bigger part of the entertainment equation. Who can forget Hearns, Hagler, Leonard, Duran,...even Ray BOOM BOOM Mancini who quite literally killed the Korean southpaw Duk Koo Kim on CBS Sports Spectacular. I was a huge Mancini fan, and that bout was a bittersweet return to form after his crushing defeat to, you guessed it... Alexis Arguello. I didn't like Arguello, or really any non-American fighter or team. I feel like the world was different then, and perhaps we all were a bit more patriotic.

So, here's this guy, Arguello who was #1) a foreigner and #2) the champ. And those two tings didn't sit well with me. Which is why I rooted hard against Arguello in his "Battle of Champions" against Aaron Pryor. The fight was on HBO and was a certified classic. I was so happy that Pryor won, mostly because of my extreme dislike of Arguello, which is unfortunate in retrospect, because it turns out that Alexis was apparently a helluva a guy. So much so that he was elected Mayor of Managua. But, by many accounts, he was a better boxer than a mayor.

And while we're talking about Sandinistas, I just can't stop thinking about the under-appreciated Clash triple album.

So, what is with all the suicides?