The dead people.
When they show all of the dead people.
The poor folks in the biz who have died in the last year.
In Memory I think it’s called.
It’s my favorite part of the night. It’s my favorite part of any awards show.
I don’t exactly look forward to it. Because I don’t even think about it until it’s on. But I’m always happy to catch it.
Because, well, I’ll let Robin Williams from Dead Poets Society say it:
“Because we’re food for worms, lads! Because we’re only going to experience a limited number of springs, summers, and falls. One day, hard as it is to believe, each and every one of us is going to stop breathing, turn cold and die!”
Even the goddamn celebs which we jerk so hard.
All of us.
No one gets out alive.
Death is coming for our parents, our kids, our friends, our partners… and us.
You’d think this, and this alone, would convince us to be more lovely to each other.
We’re greedy, angry, meat eating, selfish fucks.
All I can say, regardless of where my life is now, is that I’m so grateful I’m me.
And if love is your reflex, as it is mine, I’m grateful for you too.