These are in no particular order. Just one giant RIP dump. I’m in a really bad mood today so there likely won’t be much commentary.
I used to kind of watch M.A.S.H. as a kid as somehow completely missed the fact that this dude’s character was a priest.
I am just not eloquent enough to put into words everything that Leonard Cohen encompasses and represents as an artist. And now I’m sitting here crying at my desk. Thanks, guys.
Really??
REALLY!?!?!!?
I’m sorry, but words escape me with these two as well. And for all the dickheads who are all, “Oh boo hoo, a celebrity has died. Get over it” NO YOU GET OVER IT. 2016 chipped away at peoples’ childhoods left and right, man. Let us grieve.
Ugh. I wrote a whole thing here in case you missed it, or purposely skipped it, whatever. You don’t get paid to read this shit!
As sad as it was to hear of the passing of John Glenn, I was excited to get to actually utilize the “glenn” text that prints out on all of my Glenn sheets. LOL all through space.
Subtle Tracy Gold vomit.
Eh.
Sandy said she appreciated the inclusion of the Wesson bottle.
I only know the iced tea/lemonade thing.
UM LE DUH.
A few weeks ago, when I was growing through a mad dash to get all my RIP Glenns done, Alive Glenn mumbled, “Did you make a Glenn for America yet?” And I was like, “Um, yeah Glenn. On November 9th. Pfft.”
OK, today has been awful. But I’m going to see Pianos Become the Teeth after work and I’m really thankful for that! And also for Lauren who took my dumb Thursday late shift so that I could go.
COUNTING MY BLESSINGS, as they say.
P.S. If you’re all, “But no George Michael, though?” I would like to take this moment to direct your eyeballs here.
For the newcomers or FAIRWEATHERED BLOG READERS (lol, j/k – fairweathered is better than no-weathered), RIP Glenns is the brainchild of Amber2. It’s a mash-up of the Halloween-costumed Glenns I made for my Halloween desk theme in 2012, where I printed out pictures of Glenn’s employee ID and essentially defaced them and put them in prize capsules. Then people would come to my desk every day to get their daily Glenn and candy and it was so much fun! Prior to that, we had a wall in the department where we would hang pictures of dead celebrities, but then we had to take them down for whatever reason. So Amber2 had the brilliant idea to merge the two! The more you know.
***
Ugh you guys. So many celebrities died in 2016 that I could barely keep up with the RIP Glenns. In fact, I didn’t even do all of the ones I had on my list (sorry, Janet Reno!) because contrary to popular belief, I actually have real work to do at work, too. If there’s a celebrity that died sometime in the first half of 2016 that you feel is sorely remiss from the Glenn collection, please let me know and I will make one JUST FOR YOU. Because that’s the new me, you guys. Accommodating.
I think only three people appreciated this one, but man — Garry Shandling brings back fond memories of my childhood and watching age-inappropriate television.
Meh. I don’t really have anything eulogy-ish to say about Chyna. SORRY CHYNA.
If you’re any kind of hockey fan, you probably shed a tear when you heard that Mr. Hockey himself had passed away. </3
Chiller Theatre was a little bit before my time, but my dad LOVED IT and would often reference it, so I had no choice but to know about it. For those non-Pittsburghers, Bill Cardille is a local treasure. As the persona Chill Billy, he hosted the show Chiller Theater, which aired sci-fi and horror movies. He also had a tourism company, which my grandma and Aunt Sharon used a few times for their trips to Europe, and it was like a huge deal that they were essentially “vacationing” with Chilly Billy. They always raved about how nice of a guy he was, and now I wish I had met him!
When I was helping my mom clean out my grandparents’ house last year, I came across a bunch of pictures they had taken from those trips, and he was in a lot of them. Everyone looked so happy AND NOW EVERYONE IS DEAD.
#SoDepressed
UGH talk about total childhood memories! When I was a kid, Nick At Nite used to play legitimate classic sitcoms, like The Donna Reed Show, Leave It To Beaver, and the Patty Duke Show. I used to fucking watch the shit out of those shows after dinner, while writing letters to my pen pals that I found in the Alby’s Big Boy kids menu. (THEY EVEN PRINTED MY ADDRESS ONE TIME!!!!!) So when I think of Patty Duke, I think of innocent TV times. Also, HELEN KELLER? And she gave birth to MIKEY FROM THE GOONIES?! This lady ruled.
Who would have thought the murder (I don’t care what you say, it was murder) of a gorilla would spawn such an intense Internet meme? You can’t even read the comments on ANYTHING without seeing at least one Harambe-centric comment (unless you peep the comments on this here blog, because there are usually none, lol all the way home from the market). Harambe is the new Illuminati, I guess.
Dicks out for Harambe. :(
I’m not a boxing fan by any means, but this was just a big loss for sports in general. We were in Louisville last September and I wanted to go and see his grave but Henry was all “[BIG DUMB EXCUSES]” so I didn’t get to see it. :(
****
OK, I think that pretty much covers the RIP Glenns from spring and summer. I’ll be back later with fall and winter 2016. Boo hiss. Death sucks.
It had been about 6 months since I quit my job at stupid EchoStar, and my old co-worker Roniece wanted to catch up. The problem was that Roniece was over 21 and she didn’t want to go to Eat n Park for a motherfucking milkshake, you know? Her plan was to go to a strip club. Some male strip club in Braddock, one of the less savory neighborhoods of Pittsburgh.
This sounded like A Great Idea to me. I mean, this was back when I used to spray paint my feet gold, so most ideas sounded like great ideas to me.
My friend Keri wanted to join us, and now it was really starting to feel like a legit party. So on this hot summer evening in 1999, Keri and I drove to Roniece’s house in McKeesport, where Keri got stung by a bee and that’s how I found out that my friend of approx. 10 years was allergic to bees. Roniece’s grandma performed some old housewives’ miracle and Keri was healed, but that’s a story for another time because I only want to talk about myself right now.
THIS STORY IS ABOUT ME.
Before we left Roniece’s, she pulled out a fat blunt and this back when I was dumb and did stupid things like pop pills full of Ephedrine and starve myself for days because So Fat, Such Chunk. So Keri was all, “JUST SO NO” but I was all, “GIMME DAT” and thus started the night out on a high note.
OH….!
Now we were ready. Roniece wanted to go to a bar beforehand and I pulled my pockets inside out, like “Hello, no fake ID.” But Roniece just laughed and promised me that Keri and I wouldn’t get carded where she was taking us….
…which was the diviest bar that ever dove on some pot-hole ridden side street in Duquesne. We had to park in an alley, and go in through a suspiciously plain door on the side of a building that had no name, no windows.
“Just be cool. Don’t draw attention to us and ya’ll will be fine,” Roniece prepped our underage asses before entering The Bar.
Motown wafted out as soon as we pulled back the door; the bar inside was small and non-descript, not even the tiniest hint of saloon aesthetic. It was all over-flowing ashtrays and varying shades of brown. The patrons were older, urban, and all-around unenthused at the prospect of sharing their sacred space with a bunch of youngins. Keri and I got a few quick side-eyes as we sat down at the bar, but everyone quickly went back to staring into their beers while we giddily shared a pitcher of Long Island iced teas with Roniece.
Thank god I can’t remember how cool we must have thought we were, sitting at some sticky bar, drinking amateur cocktails in the company of legit sad sacks hiding from their wives.
I started digging around in my purse.
“What are you doing?” Keri asked suspiciously. Homegirl had been my friend since elementary school and was well-versed in my shady ways. My every movement was a cause for concern in her eyes.
“Just looking for some change so I can request a song on the jukebox,” I answered happily, because Long Island iced teas.
Armed with quarters, I went over to the jukebox and assessed the situation. Clinked in a quarter, punched in the numbers, went back to the bar.
“What did you play,” Roniece asked, right as the SEXY SAX INTRO of “Careless Whisper” cut through the thick swirls of cigarette smoke and regret.
You know that scene in Adventures in Babysitting where the suburban kids infiltrate a blues club? And everyone immediately stops talking because disgusted glares work better in a quiet room? That’s what happened on this night, in this bar, in this dilapidated part of town.
Every last bloodshot eyeball was focused on me, the giddy white bitch who skipped-to-her-lou into their bar and polluted their nicotine-curtained air with George Michael’s oozing sex appeal.
Keri covered her face.
“What? It’s Careless Whisper,” I said.
“Yeah, I know what it is!” Keri snapped and went back to shielding her face from the scowls attacking us from every angle.
Roniece threw her head back and let out a huge laugh. “Girl! I told you to be cool!”
And I’m like, “But this is fucking George Michael, man!” Literally I had no idea what I did wrong, because anytime I hear that song, it always felt so right.
SO VERY RIGHT.
We left after a second pitcher of Long Island iced tea, and before I had a chance to request any other tracks from the Carlton Banks Greatest Hits mixtape.
This next part has nothing to do with George Michael, but it does have to do with the moment I died.
We arrived at whatever that goddamn strip club was called in Braddock, but it wasn’t open yet. I remember standing inside the vestibule while Roniece spoke with someone inside, and suddenly I wasn’t feeling right. I stepped back outside to get some air, and the next thing I knew, I was going down, but Ke$ha wasn’t around yet to yell timber.
This next part happened while I was dead.
(Because I swear to you, I was dead. I had done DIED on that sidewalk outside of Sleazy Braddock Stripperie.)
It was Christmas and I was little again! My Pappap was there. We were on the big porch, which is where most of the Christmases were celebrated throughout my childhood. I remember being overcome by extreme happiness and warmth (and most importantly – toys). I was engulfed in one of my greatest childhood memories!
Granted, it was Keri and Roniece who were screaming my name into my face, and the bright white light was the streetlight above me. BUT STILL.
Friend has near-death experience on street in a dangerous part town: that’s a pretty big party foul. Keri grabbed my car keys and dropped Roniece off at home. Then we stopped at a gas station in McKeesport where she bought a loaf of bread through a bullet-proof window, the bread was to soak up the poison in my stomach. And then she took me home where three more of our friends came over and babysat me in shifts.
And this is one of the reasons why Keri’s mom absolutely hated me. I was “too much drama” apparently. Like, who? Me!? No, not me.
A few days later, Roniece called to check in on me, and she admitted that maybe, perhaps, possibly there was a slight chance that the blunt she gave me was laced. That in addition to my so chic eating disorder, diet pill addiction and Long Island iced tea dinner was probably enough to stop my fucking heart. But what do I know!? I turned into a walking billboard for Just Say No after that.
Every time we go to Kennywood, I love to point out the little turn-around on the side of a road in West Mifflin where Keri had to swerve the car so I could puke up all my regrets on the way home.
***
“And so that’s what I think of whenever I hear George Michael,” I said in conclusion to this very personal tale at work on the Tuesday after George Michael’s death.
Well guys, it finally happened. We got new copiers/printers at work and everything is NEW and CONFUSING and even though dumb Printer 39 shat the bed all the time, at least we all knew how to use it.
I actually got a headache today from all of the NEW THINGS hullabaloo and I rarely get headaches!
The one highlight of the day though was when the Ricoh lady was hanging around, waiting for the next training session to start, when she noticed the Wall of Glenns next to her. “Oh, who’s the artist?” she asked and I nearly choked on my tongue in my effort to be the first to let her know that–ME! ME! ‘Tis I! Right here! And then I explained to her what the RIP Glenns were all about and she laughed and said, “These are really funny! Patty Duke, haha” and I was so fucking smug because those dumb Glenns are basically the best work I’ve ever done in this place.
I was telling Glenn about it later and he said, “That’s why you have a headache, from your head expanding.”
Before I had my training, I was complaining about “HOW AM I GOING TO PRINT MY LABELS!?” just as one of the Ricoh guys (the one with a beautiful maybe-Australian accent and not deep-Texan like Ethan suggested) just happened to be walking by, stopped in his tracks and said, “I can help you with that.”
AND HE DID AND IT WAS SUPER INTIMATE.
Maybe that’s when my headache started….
Amber2 basically threw a fit when she came in and saw that her desk printer was gone, just want to put that out there. She eventually calmed down, though.
I tried to imagine what today would have been like if BARB still worked here and I had to stop thinking about it because it was making my head hurt even more.
Then Sandy found out that I know how to scan on this new machine and I walked in on her offering up my scanning services to Bridget and I was just like, “Ugh Sandy, stop reminding people that I know how to do basic admin things.”
Everything sucks and is stupid, but one of the machines makes colored copies so this could really elevate the ‘ZINE to new heights.
Now I have to go and make a RIP Glenn for the old printer.
2016 has not been kind to musicians, man. Yesterday, when Glenn mumbled that Prince had died, it kind of felt like time had stopped for a minute, like I was hearing him say those words while drowning in the deep end of a pool.
The only silver lining to these major celebrity deaths is the brief “coming together” stage of grief. Even if it’s just reading people’s posts on Facebook about the first Prince song they ever heard, or the time they went to one of his concerts—I like knowing these things about people.
So while everyone was sharing their favorite Prince songs on Twitter and Facebook, I’m kind of shocked that my mind didn’t go straight to When Doves Cry, because DAMN, THAT SONG. However, the first Prince-related memory that popped into my head was actually not from my beloved 80s, but the 90s. It was the first album he released after changing his name to the love symbol. I was in middle school and listened to the ever-loving fuck out of that CD on my bad-ass Aiwa stereo.
But most of all, I listened to “The Morning Papers.” It wasn’t a super successful single from what I remember, but there was something about it that resonated with me. Look, I love 80s-era Prince, but his early-90s work was just bananas to my ears and it soundtracked a very pivotal time in my life when I was starting to really piece together my own identity, culminating in my inevitable entrance into the Yo Girl Years. (Junior high was rough, you guys.)
And don’t even get me started on “Love Sign,” his jam with Nona Gaye. So many memories of begging my mom for Karl Kani boots while that song played on the radio.
But of course, I can’t find either of those songs on YouTube so just go buy the albums or make it up in your head if you’ve never heard of them.
Wait! Here’s a live performance of The Morning Papers from Arsenio Hall, lol:
We’re decompressing at the Country Inn in Lancaster, with a little bit of time to kill before the Silverstein/Emarosa show tonight so here is a quickie.
I try to make the most out of my lunch breaks at work. It’s when I typically churn out the RIP GLENNS and now it’s also when I work on the Law Firm zine which has survived to see a second issue! I tread carefully with these because they’re fun, most everyone seems to enjoy it, and I don’t want to cross any lines that’ll get my DIY printing press shut down.
In this current issue, I interviewed one of the mail room guys, had a feature on our old co-worker Nina (“Hello From the Other Side” lololol), gave Chris a full-page spread for his mixtape, and concluded with a SPOT THE DIFFERENCES using a picture that Patrick provided—a screenshot from when he was accidentally on the news after walking past a murder investigation! Amber1 was the first one to find all the differences so she got an Easter bunny lipgloss and a tiny succulent as her prize.
These things bring me great joy. And also much stress.
And my #greetingsfromerinslunchbreak project is going well! I think I’ve mailed 12 so far. So much happens when I’m outside on my break!
LASTLY, I made an Easter picture for our processing group! I didn’t get a chance to make one last year (probably because I was still in a depressed stupor from BARB quitting), but in previous years, I made a Noah’s Ark, a shepherd (Glenn) with his sheep, and a really epic Last Supper. This was the first year I got to include myself! My employee ID photo is from 2010 and my hair was soooooo dark then—I don’t miss that at all.
I was cracking up so bad at my desk while making this and Glenn just mumbled, “Wow.” But then when I showed him the final product he LAUGHED.
Friends and foes, welcome to the quarterly collection of RIP Glenns. My last RIP Glenn dump was back in September, because I’m a slacker. I try to be diligent with the celebrity deaths, but sometimes some fly under the radar or maybe I just determine that they’re too obscure/plain to deface a Glenn. If there’s someone who you feel I sorely dropped the ball on and are desperate to see a Glenn made in their honor, please let me know and I will do my best!
It seems like there’s at least one big horror icon in every round of RIP Glenns. :( Marilyn Burns died in 2014 so now Leatherface is chasing her around again in…Heaven? Probably not Heaven. Seriously though, look at how effortlessly Glenn transforms into Leatherface.
I woke up one morning and noticed that one of my friends had posted a video from the 2001 Rolling Rock Town Fair. I thought it was just a random thing, and I commented that hey!
I was at that show too. And then right after that, another friend posted on my timeline about the same thing, the time we were at this one particular show, and I was like, “Huh. That’s a weird coincidence…” Then it occurred to me that it was because Stone Temple Pilots had headlined that festival….and Scott Weiland had been reported dead that morning….
…and from there, Lemmy. What a start to 2016.
Learned about Bowie’s death from someone I hate-follow on Instagram. It’s such a dumb habit but the first thing I do every morning after I turn off my alarm is mindlessly open Instagram. My life is so rich.
So many iconic faces of Bowie but I went for Ziggy Stardust. Still seems so unreal!
AND THEN GLENN FREY? My first instinct was not to listen to the Eagles, but his solo jam “You Belong to the City.” I used to make Lisa so mad in high school because I insisted he was saying “boobs” instead of “moves” in one of the lines and Lisa would shout, “MOVES. MOVES!” Lol forever.
I’m listening to it right now, and have a strong urge to watch Miami Vice.
ITS IN YOUR BOOBS
ITS IN YOUR BLOOD
YOURE A MAN OF THE STREET
He seemed like a real dick though, didn’t he?
I love that I didn’t have to do a single thing to Glenn’s plain face and this one is still recognizable.
I had Punky Brewster high tops when I was a kid. Man, she was such a cooler role model than all these gross Miley Cyrus fembots girls idolize nowadays.
Sorry George Gaynes. I really have nothing else to say about you. Thanks for taking care of Punky…
I’m going to be 100% honest here, I thought he was already dead….?! I bet that Mayberry tourist trap we visited over the summer was poppin’ off when this death occurred.
OMG the day Harper Lee died, I had posted a different RIP Glenn because I was trying to get caught up and people were like “WHAT ABOUT HARPER LEE!” and I was like, “FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, GIVE ME A SECOND, FUCK!!!” People are hungry for the RIP Glenns, and I love it.
What a strange thing to be the subject of so many death hoaxes that an actual death watch website is made for you. Much like Don Knotts, when Abe Vigoda legitimately passed away this year, I was like, “Wait….didn’t that happen in the 90s? And then he came back for Good Burger? And then died again?” I’m so confused.
But what I really miss are the “This is your brain on drugs” commercials with the sizzling egg in a frying pan.
Man, this one hurt. I know he had a long and storied career full of brilliant character portrayals, but I gotta be That Guy and go with Snape. What an icon.
Crazy fact about me: I don’t really care about the Beatles one way or another. I don’t hate them, I don’t love them, I won’t turn the station if they come on the radio, but I don’t own any of their albums. I know. I’m a fucking monster.
Man, sorry Angus — he had the worst timing possible for giving up the ghost because it was right smack in the middle of the whole world shutting down in remembrance of David Bowie. And then I forgot to make his RIP Glenn until YESTERDAY. Amber1 said she didn’t know who he was, and I told her that the horror movie Phantasm was really the only thing I knew about him. “He was one of those actors who made a living on the horror convention circuit,” I said.
I can’t believe how far I’ve fallen behind with the RIP Glenns. Internet, you must have been stumbling around blindly! HOW HAVE YOU KNOWN WHO DIED?! Anyway, here is a collection of dead celebs from April through September. I’m sure I missed a ton, but sometimes they fly under the radar, OK? I do have other things to do here at work! (Hard to imagine, I know.)
Glenn makes an effortless Rosie the Riveter, doesn’t he?
I thought it was pretty bizarre that BB King and Ben E. King died so close together. Unless they planned it that way?!
Mrs. Voorhees! CH-CH-CH HA-HA-HEARTBREAKING. :(
Here’s a rare, behind the scenes look at a sheet of Glenns pre-Glenning, with my dumb fingers in place for scale.
The quintessential Dracula. RIP, OLD FRIEND. (Fun Fact: This is actually what Glenn looks like every day IRL.)
Man, Mary Ellen Trainor had some golden roles in the 80s, but I chose to depict her in all of her broken arm glory as the mom on Goonies. #momgoals
I was a big fan of WWF (I guess it’s WWE now, though?) when I was a kid in the 80s. The Undertaker was my favorite, obviously, and I have super fond memories of splaying out on the floor of the family room, wrestling on in the background and my Lisa Frank stationary fanned out before me. Because that’s when I was also super heavy into penpalling, you guys. I got my first handful of penpals from the back of the Alby’s Big Boy kids menu (there was a section for pen pals, can you believe it!? The 80s were such a darling time—no way would any parent let their child’s name and address be printed and mass-produced on a restaurant menu) and it just spiraled from there.
I’m getting off topic. I started to write all of that in an effort to say that even though I was big into wrestling back then, I don’t really have many memories of Dusty Rhodes. Luckily, Facebook and my co-worker Carrie alerted me to his death. But after staring at his picture long enough, I feel like I really knew the guy. :(
I honestly thought he was already dead. No offense, Sharif estate. Also, I spelled his name wrong because I’m a terrible, ignorant human.
Now THIS is a wrestler I remember! His death was weird because he apparently had just given a statement a few days prior regarding the whole Hulk Hogan fuckarow, and then BAM. Sudden death. :(
This whole Bobbi Kristina situation was plumb fucked, you guys. I was happy to draw Whitney Houston as an angel, though.
THE WORST. I wanted the MTV Scream series to give him more of a tribute than just the measly 10 second In Memory Of they flashed on the screen before the season finale of Scream, but whatever. It’s not like he’s a horror LEGEND or anything.
You know Glenn has a hidden library stocked with Jackie Collins’ entire smutty oeuvre.
I honest to god just can’t with this one. The goddamn Log Lady, you guys. And right when this whole Twin Peaks continuation is about to (hopefully) happen, and she was on board with it. I’m devastated over this and will probably be dressing up as the Log Lady for Halloween, provided that Henry dresses as my log.
I have a Frank Gifford Glenn sitting on my desk, but I don’t like it and want to make a new one. Other than that, now you know most of the important people who have died since April. Basically, if I don’t know who the person is, I don’t make a Glenn. I CAN’T KEEP UP WITH ALL OF THEM!
[As always, if you’re new here, you can read the origin of this project here.]
Remember back when Amber2 was about to have a baby at any given moment and we got a temp up in here to ensure that our little group didn’t quit/perish/Donner Party each other while she was out on maternity leave? Allison turned out to be a godsend. She was such a quick learner and eager to work and, most importantly, liked me the best out of everyone. (I mean, DUH.)
Our department tried so hard to keep her, but it didn’t happen. ;(
This is what I felt like the day she told me her assignment was up in two weeks, the day after my dumb birthday:
(I am obviously both Artax and Atreyu in this scenario.)
Even worse? I was on vacation for her entire last week so I didn’t get to pantomime my thoroughly awkward and uncomfortable, however appropriately-timed, farewell. Instead, I had to do it a week early and it looked like I was just being really weird. Like, “Wow. Erin is going to REALLY miss Allison this weekend.” But then it would probably get shrugged off like everything does involving me.
I was going to buy a card but then I was like, “Wait. Der. I make greeting cards for a living.”
(NOT REALLY. I don’t make enough cards to live.)
So I made her a law firm-y card and glued Glenn versions of our little group within the department:
Obviously, there’s me (FIRST!) with my Cure shirt, crying a bucket of tears. Then we have Amber2 and her baby (WHICH GOT US ALL INTO THIS MESS OF HAVING TO SAY GOODBYE IN THE FIRST PLACE!), Amber1 and her NKOTB shirt! (I had to explain to Glenn what that stood for. What a Lame.) Todd, who does this thing here at work called LINKING (you wouldn’t understand: j/k — I don’t understand) and ALWAYS gets Qdoba for lunch, Dumb Glenn, and GAYLE with her HANKIE. Maybe she should embroider my BIRTHDATE into it so she won’t FORGET it again.
Anyway, it was disorienting coming back from vacation and seeing all her stuff gone, BUT I’m happy to report that she is moving on to better things. She better not forget me though!
I will end this with a picture from the one day in April when Allison was still super new and we had cake to rejoice Amber2’s impending due date because I’m in the background looking happy and I’ll tell you why: it was because this was the day Allison thought I was REALLY YOUNG. God what a great day that was.
That was also the day I determined Allison was my new work BFF, much to Wendy’s chagrin.
Also, I cat-faced Amber because it’s like 1 in the morning and I’m not sure she’d appreciate a text from her weird co-worker asking if it would be OK to post her face on my blog.
Time for a RIP Glenns winter dump! If you’re asking yourself, “WTF is a RIP Glenn?” then please refer to this informative link that is sure to leave you amazed. And then if you’re still like, “OK but WTF is a GLENN?!” then might I direct you back to this Glenn Origins blog post?
OK, onward fat girl.
First up is ROD TAYLOR. I was like, “Oh” when I heard he died, but BARB was all, “YOU HAVE TO DO A ROD TAYLOR GLENNNNNN” so I went with his role in The Time Machine, because why not choose something stupidly detailed to recreate on a tiny face.
IT’S GLENN’S PARTY AND HE’LL CRY IF HE WANTS TO! Just like he did when he found out his favorite singer Lesley Gore died. Actually, he didn’t know who she was until I sighed and started naming off song titles and even then, I think he just pretended to know to get me to stop talking.
Not to sound like a callous asshole, but this Ken Weatherwax Glenn was pretty fun to make.
I know this seems incredibly unbelievable, but I am a super die hard fan of The Real World, and its drama-filled spin-off The Challenge. So when I heard that Diem Brown had succumbed to cancer last fall, I cried real tears, to the point where Henry was like, “This might be a problem.” I mean, I was crying about it at work. And then Amber1 told me to go and read what her off-and-on boyfriend, fellow Challenge competitor CT had written about her and I was just a mess. Diem was such an inspiration. And yes, I watched the MTV tribute show. And cried some more. (OK, a lot more.)
NOOOOOO NOT EDWARD HERRMANN!!! My two favorite Herrmann roles are Richard Gilmore in The Gilmore Girls and MAX FROM THE LOST BOYS, AHHH. So I went with Max. Glenn was like, “Oh.” Because he’s an idiot and has never seen The Lost Boys. Just re-looking at this RIP Glenn makes me really want to just leave work right now and start my Lost Boys painting.
Um, can we all agree that Glenn should wear his nonexistent locks in pigtails every damn day?
THIS IS WHY I DON’T JAY WALK!!!!
According to Facebook, it seems like Glennard Nimoy is the uncontested fan favorite. I was never into Star Trek, but this was sad even for a non-fan. Sorry the Glenn is all out of focus; I use gel pens and sometimes that makes photographing difficult. I need to build a better studio at my desk here at work, clearly. Everyone knows that making these Glenns is like, the most important part of my job. In fact, Glenn, Amber “Get this Baby Out of Me” 2, and I are all moving our desks tomorrow and the very first thing I did in preparation of this last week was to delicately move all of the Glenns down to our new quadrant. Now they can be seen by fresh eyeballs! Most people didn’t even know the Wall of Glenns existed because of how tucked away our current desks are. Well, NOW THEY WILL KNOW.
It all started with an innocent trip to Eat n Park after work last week. I worked late shift that night, so it was already well past 8 by the time Henry, Chooch and I got there. I couldn’t help but notice that the room we were seated in was full of older couples on dates. I could tell it was a date, and not just a casual “I don’t feel like cooking, let’s go out to eat” because every older person seemed smitten with their older person companion. In fact, one of the older person couples even sat on the same side of the booth and shared a plate from the salad bar. Every so often, male older person would lean over and kiss female older person on her temple. It was all at once endearing and nauseating, and I struggled to take a picture of them, eventually managing a slick under-the-table shot.
Another older couple arrived right before we left, and thank god because otherwise I might have died not knowing the precise way the female older person orders her side of broccoli (a double serving, extra-steamed so the florets are on the threshold of disintegration).
I couldn’t stop giggling about this, all these old people hitting the town (well, Dormont anyway) after hours on a Thursday night.
“It’s like a Boz Scaggs concert just let out!” I texted to some friends, along with the pictures. The responses varied from “I don’t know who that is” to “Is that some old singer, I guess?” to “*radio silence*”.
Was my inner old person showing? Or WAS I JUST IMAGINING THAT BOZ SCAGGS EXISTS? I could hear myself saying his name. Boz Scaggs. Boz Scaggs. Bozzzzzz SCAGGsssss. It was sounding more and more foreign until eventually it just sounded like a frog ribbitting under water.
I tried to defend myself, plead my case by insisting that “if you’ve ever been in a grocery store, you’ve probably heard a Boz Scaggs tune at least once in your life” while willing myself to conjure up in my mind my mom’s Boz Scaggs record that I know I used to play in the basement of my parent’s house, didn’t I? DIDN’T I?! JOJO?!
I mean come on: “Lido Shuffle”? “Lowdown”? “LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME”!??!?! That was a staple on all of my soft rock mix tapes when I was in high school! BOZ SCAGGS IS REAL.
And then my music-loving friend Terri rescued me from my self-doubt, because she too, has a space in her heart for his smooth yacht rock tracks. Then after Janna and I went to see Birdman on Friday, I made her listen to Boz Scaggs songs on my phone until she finally exclaimed, “Oh, OK! Yeah, that guy. He’s real.” And then she wouldn’t stop singing “Lido Shuffle” which made Chooch irritable.
***
Sunday morning, I awoke to “Lowdown” playing on my bedroom radio. No joke, there it was, wafting out of the dusty speakers like it was no big deal, just another Boz Scaggs Top 40 hit to stuff a Taylor Swift and Bruno Mars sandwich. I’ve been listening to a variety-type station in my room lately because of my penchant for nostalgic earworms and soft rock’s natural ability to ease me into a sweet slumber, even if it means having to tolerate the occasional current pop hit. How else do you guys think I get to hear Laura Branigan’s “Gloria” approximately twice a week? (Seriously, that station LOVES to play that song for some reason.)
Anyway, I excitedly texted Janna and Terri that “Lowdown” was on. And laying there in bed, taking in the jazzy trumpets and silky background vocals, I started to draw some comparisons to Steely Dan, another band I loved so much when I was growing up thanks to my step-dad, and even got to see them once about 15 years ago and it was amazing. (I had to choose between them and Yes! It was a hard choice.) So I spent a good chunk of my afternoon listening to Steely Dan, and then Emerson Lake and Palmer, and I really started to feel like I needed to grow a beard, put on a white leisure suit, and steal away into the night in my Chevy Van.
Somewhere during this time, Terri texted me and said that “Lido Shuffle” was on in the grocery store she was in! I started freaking out about this, and Henry was like, “Calm down. It’s not that exciting.” BUT IT FELT LIKE I WAS PSYCHICALLY WILLING BOZ SCAGGS TO SURFACE!
And then, this is the weirdest part, that evening Henry and I put on Breaking Bad. We’re way behind and only on season two so DON’T TELL ME ANYTHING. But in this particular episode, Walt is having breakfast with his family, and he starts talking about music with his son, and is appalled that his son has never heard of Steely Dan. I started laughing, since I had been revisiting Steely Dan earlier that day. Henry was like, “Whatever, not that big of a deal.” OK, just watch this:
MY HEAD NEARLY SHORT-CIRCUITED. I literally jumped off the couch and was shouting, “REALLY? REALLY?!” and Henry mumbled, “OK that’s kind of weird.”
Anyway, this is all a really long-winded way to tell you that after looking through Boz Scaggs albums all weekend, my new Glenn Defacing Project involves Glennifying RECORD ALBUMS!
IT’S ALMOST LIKE BOZ SCAGGS POSED FOR THIS PICTURE PURPOSELY KNOWING THAT GLENN’S HEAD WOULD ONE DAY SO PERFECTLY REPLACE HIS OWN!
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have the day off work, which I am now going to fill with more dreamy yacht rock until later tonight when Pierce the Veil blows my heart out of my chest. Don’t judge.
It’s time to unload all of the deceased, Glennified celebs that I have been hoarding on my phone. You will note that there is no Robin Williams Glenn yet. I want to make a collection of Robin Williams Glenns, like a Brady Bunch-esque grid of them, but I just haven’t had the time yet.
I think I posted this one already, but I recently found out that Glenn used to be a beekeeper and now is not a beekeeper.
When I was a kid, I remember finding out that Bob Hoskins was supposedly (“supposedly”) British and I disputed this furiously. “I saw him in Who Framed Roger Rabbit and he is definitely from America because he talked American!” I MEAN, REALLY.
My god, I was so giddy when I made this one.
This one was suggested by my friend Kristy when we were at the Zombie Luau and it was apparently the nth anniversary of Elvis’s death. I know this because Kristy said to me, “Hey, it is the nth anniversary or Elvis’s death.” So, here is his RIP Glenn. You’re welcome, Mr. The King.
It makes me really happy when people who don’t work here/know Glenn suggest an RIP Glenn. I told him that this happens sometimes and he was like, “OK.”
Out of all the Glenns I have made over the years, this one probably is the closest match to his likeness.
This one hurt. Jan Hooks’ had a small role in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, but it was huge enough to make a lasting impression on me (and millions of others!). I am not big on referencing movies, but her scene is such a metaphor for my life, always looking for something that doesn’t exist, finding myself asking for something that gets me laughed at. I have written about countless “Alamo Basement” moments on this blog.
One of my fondest Alamo Basement moments was a literal one. It was the summer of 1992, when we were hosting a French foreign exchange student so suddenly my family was doing textbook family stuff, like “going on outings together.” One of those outings was to Laurel Caverns, about an hour away, where we took French Kid on a tour so he could take home a souvenir of stalagmite with stalactite confusion, like the rest of us dumbass Americans. So we’re on this tour, deep inside a fucking dripping cavern, and my dad raises his hand and asks, in a perfect deadpan, “When do we get to see the basement?” My dad and I barely got along back then, but goddamn did I laugh.
Jan Hooks will always represent something happy from my childhood. And now, she is a Glenn.
I’m pissed about this one. The gown looks like stupid Alaska water and a stupid Alaska mountain. Ugh, Alaska, you constantly mock me!!
I KNEW I should have made the dress red.
After I made the Wayne Static Glenn, Glenn shrugged. “I don’t know who that is.”
Mean Amber turned around and said, “Yeah, either do I.”
So then I felt confused. Was I astral projecting again? Was Wayne Static someone who only exists in the astral projection town I visit on my fantastic subconscious trips and now my two worlds are colliding and everyone on this side is going to think I’m nuts, bringing back memories of characters who don’t exist here on this side?
But then Nate walked by and said, “Yes I am familiar with Static X” so I was relieved until it occurred to me that Nate and I are astral projecting together somehow, to a town on the other side that never advanced past pre-millennium hard rock.
+++++++++
FUNNY STORY: Glenn’s wife came to visit with their new baby a few weeks ago and Glenn took her to the other side of his desk, where two poster boards of Glenns hang on a wall.
“So, I never told you about this before,” he started slowly. “Because it’s kind of hard to explain, but…here is this thing.” And then he Vanna White’d an arm along the poster boards and maybe it was just the angle but I could swear I caught a glimmer of PRIDE on Glenn’s face.
There was a tense moment of silence while his wife took it all in. I was prepared to throw Amber under the bus.
“IT WAS ALL AMBER’S IDEA! AMBER STARTED IT! AMBER IS A SICK PERSON WHO NEEDS HELP!”
But then Glenn’s wife started cracking up and pointing out her favorites. YES!
Later that day, Amber and I were reminiscing about all the Glenns we’ve defaced over the years.
“You know, when you first started this, I thought, ‘Yeah, this is going to get old.’ But no. No, it’s still funny!”
And then we laughed for awhile until Amber realized she had gone more than 5 minutes without being mean.
Man, I was making some new RIP Glenns today at work when I realized it’s been awhile since I did a nice, big, satisfying RIP Glenn dump up in here. So, here’s all the dead celebs I’ve used to deface Glenn since…April? I think April. I’m really tired.
This was supposed to be H.R. Giger’s famous work from the movie Alien. “Supposed to be.” My apologies for desecrating your work, Mister Giger.
I legit cried over this one! And then a week later, “The Brady Girls Get Married” was on TV and I cried all over again.
I looooooved The Young Ones (bought the whole series on VHS from Columbia House in the 90s!), but opted to go for Rik Mahall’s portrayal of Drop Dead Fred instead because that’s more recognizable. Otherwise, it would be like trying to explain my Sidney Crosby/Sid Vicious shirt all over again.
That’s supposed to be a raisin in the sun. Get it? Because Ruby Dee was in the movie “Raisin in the Sun”? I know, these get worse and worse. And then worser and worser.
FUNNY STORY: When Casey Kasem died, I mused out loud, “I don’t know if I want to turn a Glenn into Shaggy, or have a ball dropping behind him.” Henry was like, “WTF are you talking about? What ball?” and I was like, “THE NEW YEAR’S EVE TIMES SQUARE BALL, IDIOT.” And Henry was like, “THAT’S DICK CLARK NOT CASEY KASEM.” And I totally knew that too, but somehow I combined them into one person and thank god Henry corrected me or else everyone at work (I mean, everyone who gives a fuck about the RIP Glenns, anyway) would have ridiculed me for some time. Especially BARB. That would have been sweet, delicious payback for her after all the times I’ve called her out for being WRONG.
Really sad about this one too! I loved Designing Women when I was a kid.
FUNNY STORY: I needed some Wite Out for this one and when I went to open it, the brush was stuck and I yanked it entirely too hard and wound up with Wite Out on my face, in my hair, on my keyboard, on my computer screen and worst of all, on my black shirt. :( I forget who, but someone at work was like, “Who uses Wite Out anymore, anyway!?” because everyone loves those correction tape strip things. I was like, “ARTISTS WHO ARE TRAPPED IN OFFICES, OK?!” Seriously, that shit is the closest thing to white paint I have at my desk. I have made many a Glenn with it.
James Garner was also in the Rockford Files and Henry and I had a big fight about that once when we were in Rockford, IL and I was like, “Is this where the Rockford Files was supposed to take place?” and Henry was like, “No, it was called the Rockford Files because that was the guy’s last name” and I was mad because I wanted to be right so we fought about it. Which, you know, typical. Henry wanted me to make a Rockford Files Glenn but I was like “FUCK YOU! MAVERICK GLENN FTW.”
I forgot that Johnny Winter died mid-July but I was reminded of that on Friday when I was at Dave’s Music Mine with Terri and Christian (whose visit I still have to write about but I am so lazy this week!). Glenn was like “Who is that?” and I said “SHUT UP, GLENN.” But then I told him, because I love schooling people.
“I was going to email you about that one,” Glenn mumbled disinterestedly as he walked by my desk and saw me furiously working on the Marilyn Burns masterpiece. I think he was secretly excited about it, so I used that as my chance to ask him which RIP Glenn is his favorite.
“Oh gee, there are just so many to choose from. I don’t think I can pick a favorite,” he said in his patented monotone, BUT I think I detected just the tiniest spark of glee.
The Easter Glenn Hunt might be over, but the need for new Glenns will never run out thanks to celebrities dying all the time. But I guess that’s life, right? PEOPLE DIE AND IT SUCKS. Especially these national treasures:
This is how I inadvertently discovered that like 75% of the department had never heard of Devo. Them: “I don’t know who this is.”
Me: “He was in Devo. That’s why I wrote Devo on his shirt.”
Them: “What is a Devo?”
BUT WE ALL KNOW KATY PERRY. FML.
This broad from Green Acres. Barb was REALLY UPSET about this one. So upset that I feared she was going to start coming into work wearing overalls of remembrance.
This was one of the saddest ones I had to make. :(
Last of the singing von Trapp siblings. I went with a generalized Sound of Music Glenn to represent the whole goddamn clan.
I have said the Gwar frontman’s name a million times but really struggled to spell it.
UGH. :(:(:( TERRIBLE.
You may have noticed that there is no Fred Phelps Glenn, and that is because that guy doesn’t deserve to be memorialized, not even as a Glenn. And I haven’t gotten around to Mickey Rooney because I can’t figure out how to make that one recognizable. SOS.
