I know it's perils of aging, but another one of my teenage idols died. Malcolm McLaren was an innovator, a firebrand, a dick, an inciter, a user, a visionary and many other things to many other people. This makes me haz a sad like the lolcats say. He died from mesothelioma, a lung cancer caused by exposure to asbestos. The picture above is him at his infamous shop he owned with Vivienne Westwood. They reckon it was this shop that the exposure came from as they tore out the ceiling to make it look like a bomb hit it. That was SO THE SHIT when I was a wee baby punk rocker. We aspired to that. Coveted it. sigh. Be careful what you wish for.
I found out about this from reading Mr Roger Ebert's blog this am. I truly love his blog, his writing is amazing and makes me tear up on a semi-regular basis. Since he lost his voice, he found mine. Truly awesome.
Anyways I read that, and sat here surfing the Internets aimlessly for hours it seems. I finally got up and took a shower and missed a phone call in the shower. Don't you hate that? When I got out I went and checked caller ID* and it was Jakey. You know, all it takes to buoy you up is to hear from your kid.
I'm gonna go call my parents now. You should too.
*How did we live without this? EVER?
