How Dare the Robins Sing

I found out Sunday that my favorite Uncle had died. He was the only uncle I claimed and the only one I thought anything good about. He alone of all my father's family took any interest in us after my father died. He alone cared about our well being. He alone commanded and received my respect.

Born and raised in a city he somehow had country life in his heart and moved out to the middle of no where after his first marriage ended. He'd still find time to come visit and have us up whenever time and money allowed. He never forgot us and I will never forget him for that.

This was the only man I ever allowed to call me "boy" after I considered myself a man. The image I will always carry of him is the day he came to visit and drew down, old west style, on a group of west Baltimore ghetto rats. They were friends of mine and we were all hanging around outside my house when he drove up for a visit. One of the young lions (not me, I had MUCH better sense) said or did or looked a way the old lion didn't approve of and quick as you please he had a magnum in his hand and under the nose of the offender. After a hasty apology he gave the guy a few dollars and sent him to, "Get me some coddies from the store up yonder. Be quick and mind my change, boy."

Old school.

I could go on and on but I don't imagine him as one to want anyone going on and on about it.

Anderson Collins

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Uncle and Friend

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Rest In Peace

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I'm shakin' it, boss

I've just heard that Paul Newman has died. I hope I don't need to go on at length about why this is a tragedy of monumental proportion. Butch Cassidy has ridden into the sunset. Eddie Felson has hustled his last. Reggie Dunlop will goon no more. Luke has finally stopped shaking the world.

A true Hollywood giant, the likes of which they can't make more of, has fallen and the world is a little dimmer today as a result. Even taking away all that he gave to movie lovers, his philanthropy alone would be enough to mourn his passing. Last I heard he'd pulled together in excess of 200 million dollars worth of charitable contributions. Wrap your mind around that.

Rest in peace Mr. Newman. There will never be another like you.

All you need in life is a little place for your stuff.

I woke up this morning and the first thing that greeted me was news that George Carlin had died. What can you say about ol' George that hasn't been said already? Not much. All I can really say is that he was and will ever be my favorite comic ever. The very first time I ever heard him he made me laugh so hard that I stopped breathing. Literally. Over the course of many years I watched many HBO specials and listened to many albums and read his three books and he never failed to make me laugh and think.

Rest in peace, George. There will never be another like you.

Against the laws of nature, there is no appeal.

It makes me incredibly sad to have to say that Sir Arthur C. Clarke has passed away after giving the world a mere 90 years. Would that he could have had 90 more.

When asked who my favorite sf writer is, the answer is invariably Arthur C. Clarke but he was much more than that. He wasn't just a good sf writer, he was a damn fine writer, period. As far as sf goes he wasn't a giant of the field, he was a titan. The fact that he wanted to be remember as a writer in spite of his many other accomplishments says all I would ever need to know about him.

I could go on at great length about all the things that make him great but you either already know or probably never will. If the former then I grieve with you, if the latter then I pity you.

Mr. Clarke, for all of the many hours of joy and wonder you have given me I can only say thank you and as long as I live you will never be forgotten.

So it goes.

I've been in mourning all day over the passing of Kurt Vonnegut but as the man himself would say, so it goes. Even for a giant of literature and an absolute genius. So it goes.

I first discovered him for myself with Cat's Cradle and that continues to be my favorite of his works though he never wrote anything that wasn't worthwhile. Novels and plays and essays and stories all with a brilliant wit and a gift for words that was truly humbling.

To quote the man himself:

"...a plausible mission of artists is to make people appreciate being alive at least a little bit."

Mission well and truly accomplished, sir. Being neck deep in a Vonnegut book was to be alive and to be more than appreciative for it.

So even giants have to pass eventually and here's to wishing that this giant will be remembered for the treasure to the species that he was for as long as the species endures.

So it goes.