Originally posted on Kate Foo.:
I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t crazy for the Beastie Boys. In fact, I am pretty sure I was weaned on Licensed to Ill as opposed to Baby Einstein. But more importantly, I know I’m not the only one in this boat. Everyone has their own story of when they first heard “Sure Shot” or saw the “(You Gotta) Fight For Your Right (To Party!)” video and wished they could somehow be that crazy-funny, crazy-clever, and crazy-badass.
It’s hard for me not to feel phony or insincere when it comes to the death of actors or musicians. They are people I never knew beyond their body of work–how does this make them different from an old lady that lived down the street or someone thousands of miles away who is victim to the same disease? Besides a passing “Oh, well that is unfortunate…” before I got back to my life, I never thought it seemed fair to grieve more or value a life more because someone won an Oscar.
When I read the news today, all of that went out the window. Hearing of MCA’s death was incredibly difficult, and for a moment I didn’t even believe it. Though he had been sick for a few years, and this was no secret, it still all seems so sudden and so strange.