God fucks the world over yet again.

 

I don’t usually give a shit when a public personage dies. I mean, I might  miss their work, whatever it may have been, but I didn’t know the person, would never  have known the person, and other than “Yeah, ain’t it too bad?” I don’t really care if they die or not.

Usually.

Now and then someone famous dies and I find out that I had some sort of unrecognized solo emotional relationship with them.  It almost always shocks me. Sure, of course I knew that I liked their work a lot, or their perceived personalities, but to find myself crying, or feeling like one does when one feels like crying but is taking antidepressants and the drugs won’t let them actually cry, is always a surprise, never a fun one, however good it might actually make me feel.

There have been the occasional actor or actress, a novelist, some musicians, Julia Child, for Christ’s sake.  Well, a smattering of famous and known folks thru the years.

And now Maury Chaykin.

I didn’t know him, no, nor too much about him, come to that.  My connection to him, what makes his death an emotional event for me (no, I’m not planning on slashing my wrists, nor will my nap be disturbed…I’m just sayin’ here…) is maybe a little bit interesting.

My dad introduced me to Nero Wolfe novels when I was a kid in high school, and I fell in love with them.  If you’ve never read them, each one has the same basic set of characters, with others added as each novel demands. So the more one reads them, the more one necessarily learns about the standard cast of characters, and the more they take on personalities in one’s mind.

Anyway, in this one’s mind.

I not only came to know all about them, but to like, and sometimes love, all of them.  They are like members of my “right brain family.”  Kinda.  I dunno, you figure it out, it’s too dumb for me, but there it is.  Over the years of reading every single Nero Wolfe novel, I’ve developed emotional attachments for these people.  It’s not too much different than being emotionally attached to Bugs Bunny, if any different at all, and I’m glad I don’t much care if I’m rational or not, because when I say this out loud it doesn’t seem as though it is.

Philosophically, it falls into that ever-widening Fuck you if you can’t take a joke school of thought, one of my favorites.

So, with this emotional connection of mine in mind, let me tell you that one of the characters I love the most IS Nero Wolfe. That’s not too surprising when, if pressed, I’d tell you I rather resemble the man in attitude, if not in execution and amenities.  I love him, it’s no exaggeration to say.

Of course, as one does, I developed a picture in my mind of Wolfe, his voice, how he looked, he mannerisms, how he dressed and moved…all of those sorts of things.

THEN…someone brought out the series of Nero Wolfe Mysteries on TV, which were wonderfully well done. Perfectly enjoyable, even if there were areas where we might argue they strayed from the novels.

Maury Chaykin was cast as Wolfe.

It’s hard to believe, I know, but Chaykin was EXACTLY the Wolfe I’d had in my mind all these years, with the one exception of the silly hat they put him in. I don’t know what novel that was supposed to have  come out of, and am sure it was an obscure reference if it exists at all. What I think it was was a silly affectation that some asshole director dreamed up, but I don’t know that for sure.

And now he’s dead.  Chaykin, not Wolfe.  I’m not that fucked up.  But it’s a surprisingly emotional thing.

Fucker was my age.

Jesus Christ, do you suppose I’M next?

Probably not, but one never knows, does one? And how about that Mel Gibson, huh?  I sure would like to fuck his chick now that he’s no longer tapping it.

What?  Relax, relax, I’m just saying, is all.