As we are all regrettably aware, last week was the worst, in terms of celebrity welfare. We lost Ed McMahon, then Farrah Fawcett, then Michael fricking Jackson, then late night infomercial titan Billy Mays suddenly died yesterday. That is so sad! I don't know why, but it's really freaking me out to think that Billy Mays will never shout me to sleep at 4 AM on a Sunday morning with a new infomercial ever again. What am I going to unwisely buy in the middle of the night now? Pizza? I can't secure a bookshelf to the wall without screws or brackets with a pizza like I can with all that Mighty Putty I bought that one time. Can't do it with Proactive either. See what I mean? Billy Mays was an important part of my life!
It's a bright, sunny day in New York City. As I'm typing this, the sunlight is streaming through the window, and I can hear the crowd of tourists bustling down below--all a mockery of today's news, which consists of death, sadness and more death. If you can get past the depressing start, things will look up, because there's some regular TV news.
TGIF, TV fans! Not too much to report today, except that Dancing with Stars is without question the most dangerous show on television. Seriously, does a day go by that we don't have to update you some horrible-sounding injury or almost-tragedy befalling one of the contestants? If I were a fake celebrity and ABC asked me to be on that show, I would 1.) try to figure out who in my life wanted me dead and 2.) move to Antarctica, where the only stars that dance are actually in the sky during the aurora australis. It would be cold, but my Achilles tendons would be safer than they've ever been.