The SPITWAD Chronicles - whatchoo talkin' 'bout?

As I think about what needs to be purged from my unnecessary trappings of youth before we move, I recall that I have the trifecta of Gary Coleman 'Dynamite' magazines. Because everyone liked Arnold. Even though he apparently never learned to sign his name...

But what of the rest of the cast?

Conrad Bain, though 87 years old, is still kicking about somewhere. I'm shocked, wasn't expecting that.

Charlotte Rae, everyone's beloved Mrs. Garrett and a native of my hometown, is also still alive and actively pursuing roles. Honestly, I thought they replaced her on The Facts of Life because she died, not because she simply had the good sense to know when they Cousin Olivered the whole mess.

Then there were the sundry useless characters that wandered through, including Danny Cooksey, once Gary Coleman's cuteness waned.

Dana Plato, of course - dead. Only since 1999, much later than I expected but still...dead. Pity.

Which brings us to today's SPITWAD recipient! Todd 'Willis' Bridges! Prison time, drug problems, uncreatively named bands, promotional wrestling, but the man's still alive. Congratulations, Todd! Way to overcome the odds! This means I can't even feature him on an upcoming Dead Wrestler Trading Card!

Speaking of people and things I figured were dead, Warrant's career certainly outlasted their 15 minutes. I was actually amazed at the number of songs I recognized. Odd, since I don't remember being a hairband fan. And the model and actress featured in their Cherry Pie video, Bobbie Brown, eventually married (and divorced) lead singer Jani Lane.

To be sure, if I'd had to vote, I would have expected another Bobby Brown to be gone years ago, but I suppose we can add him as SPITWAD runner-up. Not bad for a man with a Gumby fade.

The SPITWAD Chronicles - Pull the string!

It bothers me to see an actor, know who he is, but have no idea why I know that. This is what has led, in part, to the SPITWAD phenomenon. Martin Landau is only 81, old enough to have a special term (octogenarian) specifically for people of his decades, but not medically phenomenal. However, as I look back at his impressive list of work, I can't say I've seen two of his collected works in their entirety. And yes, I will confess now to having never seen North by Northwest in its entirety. It will be rectified at my earliest convenience. Please accept this, my apology, dear reader.

Somehow, though, I got it in my head that Marty was no more. He had ceased to be. Shuffled off this mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible. But I was wrong. In fact, he's still working actively, something many younger actors cannot claim. On the opposite end of this is Walter Matthau, whose name and visage pops into my head when I hear 'Martin Landau', some sort of social disconnect. Walter Matthau, whom I truly thought was still making contrived Neil Simon-inspired films with Jack Lemmon within the past few years, like The Odd Couple III in 3D and Grumpiest Old Men. Somehow I missed the memo, or just haven't realized the rapid passage of time, since Mr. Matthau kicked the bucket, snuffed it, became the ex-Mr. Matthau way back in 2000.
Leaving, of course, Jack Lemmon. As it turns out, also also dead, since 2001. Where has the decade gone?

The SPITWAD* Chronicles - charter edition

Imagine that, another feature! Shocked you are, I'm sure, that I would try to foist yet another gimmick on you, my tired yet tolerant readers. But it had to be done.

Art Clokey passed away on Friday at the age of 88. This is the man who brought us decades of joy with Gumby and Pokey, and taught us morality on Sunday mornings with Davey and Goliath. If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Mr. Clokey was the recipient of many, many compliments. From Eddie Murphy to the folks at Adult Swim, and the scores of claymation artists that appeared in the decades following Gumby, Mr. Clokey's work was highly influential.

Growing up when I did, my first encounter with 'Gumby' was the SNL sketch, and it was a while longer before I knew that Davey and Goliath came from the same mind. But that really didn't matter to me as an eight-year-old looking for anything with entertainment value on Sunday morning television, which usually landed me on the church channel, amazingly the only channel that WASN'T broadcasting a church service. "I dunno, Davey, seems suspect."

On a slightly sadder note, Miep Gies passed away last night. Miep, aged 100, was one of the brave people (along with her husband and several employees) who helped to hide Anne Frank and her family during WWII. She continued to crusade against naysayers, those who claimed the young girl's diary, as well as the holocaust as a whole, were myths, right up to her death. Right on, Miep.

And really, what kind of post would this be if I didn't segue to another Dead Wrestler Trading Card?

Bam Bam Bigelow, we hardly knew ye.

Bam Bam (formerly known as Scott) passed away in 2007 and the ripe young age of 45, only three years after his second retirement. Sadly, a man with myriad health problems who survived dumping a Harley at speed, who survived a house fire where he rescued three children, died with toxic levels of cocaine and sedatives in his system.

Stay off the drugs, kids. Really.

*Some People I Thought Were Already Dead.

The SPITWAD Chronicles - Bridging the Gap

A while back, I wrote about Todd Bridges, and how I was amazed that he was still alive. I wouldn't have called it. Honestly, if you'd asked fifteen, twenty years ago, I would have picked Lloyd Bridges to outlive Todd Bridges.

Even with the glue sniffing.


Now, as we mourn the passing of Arnold "Whatchoo talkin bout" Drummond, aka Gary Coleman, security guard extraordinaire, (and we are mourning...mourn, damn you!) I have to ask once again, did anyone really expect Todd Bridges to be the sole survivor of the original 'Diff'rent Strokes' cast?

And okay, Charlotte Rae, born in my hometown of Milwaukee, is still out there making movies, but at 84, I still think Todd might be in the running. Conrad Bain, 87. Not doing much of late, might even have died and nobody noticed. Anyone?

But if you ignore the facts, (and take the good, you take the bad...) you'd think Todd Bridges was selling the souls of his castmembers for eternal life.

(Speaking of eternal life, that Golden Girls reunion is looking at a change of venue...too soon?)

Alas, poor Arnold. We knew him, Willis.

The SPITWAD Chronicles - I'm not as well-read as you might think

There are some fantastic modern American authors. There are also prolific American authors, whose books keep showing up at the checkout at Target. I don't read those, since I don't have a thing for chick-lit (or Chiclets - what's the point?). But the classic 'modern American author', if I can be allowed the oxymoron, is rare to find.

The down-side to having my Sony reader, if there is one, is that I don't go to book stores and browse anymore. While I still find great authors accidentally, bumping against their work when I seek out those that I know, it's rare.

And in the sudden demise of Jerome David Salinger last week, it suddenly, after nearly 39 years of NOT reading Catcher in the Rye, means I must now seek it out. Being that I haven't been a teenager for nearly 20 years, and seeing as I was far from the typical teen back then, will it's angst and sexual charge be lost on me? I can hope not. I can also hope I won't be let down by the hype. Was it a classic because it was so controversial and frequently banned, rather than due to the prosaic stylings of Mr. Salinger himself? I read Rushdie, and love Rushdie, but have never touched The Satanic Verses, since even the author will admit it isn't his best work. (Yes, I know Rushdie is Indian, not American. Still an author.) I can hope I'll enjoy it, given that I recall enjoying a Salinger short story in high school, and though it runs slightly into a Mamet play I read in college, I can cite most of the details.

Understandably, given as Salinger stopped publishing in 1965, and all but disappeared from the public eye some time in the 80's, I believed him to be dead. Catcher was published when Salinger was 32, and with rare exception, I like to believe that successful authors aren't published until later in life.

(This delusion allows me to delay finishing my own great American masterpiece. Procrastination works much better when you can justify it.)

Updike? Dead. Asimov? Dead. Steinbeck? Dead. Vonnegut? Sadly, dead, though the gifts he's left us carry on. Daniel Keyes? NOT dead.

So there's that.