DON'T YOU PLAY GOLF OR SOMETHING?
Nooooo. You decide to go skiing. You decide to leave the trail. Cher decides to give your eulogy while the clips of your life crawl out of every cable station's Biography. White doves and wives flutter all over your funeral.
I must tell you, I've been a collector of Cher stuff since I was five or six. (That's 23 odd years ago). Therefore, my stuff-span includes part of the Bonethan period. I've been pretty hot and cold on Sonny since then. Despite his recent induction into "Never-give-up" Pop Mythology, I found his politics alarmingly reactionary, his dip into Scientology creepily scientologelous and his autobiography mean-spirited and bone headed. Nonetheless, I slipped into quite a melancholy little funk when I learned that he had died and I subsequently O.D.ed on S & C video clips and periodicals in the following week. No doubt I've suffered some brain damage as a result.
But I would just like to say, boys and girls, that it is always easier to pick on the small and goofy. But it's also true that our jeers and put-downs sometimes deep down come from a place of real affection. And maybe this is why we suddenly, indescribably, find that we will miss what we never thought we would.
My final thoughts on the matter reflect a philosophy that I've "dug" since I was a wee child excerpted from a song sung so groovily, gospelly by Cher in 1972: "Somebody"
"In a world of wonderland, one thing's plain to see
Someone told me long ago:
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