I like to party. I like having a good time with my life, and damn the consequences. I just pray that I make it big before I die, so I can achieve legendary status. Because dying young is the only way you can become a legend. You leave while you're on top, while people love you, and you don't have a chance to screw up. Look at Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, or Lynyrd Skynyrd. All three checked out when they were at the top of their game, and people worship them for that. Wouldn't it be a little different if say Hendrix lived to the disco era? He would be slightly fatter, balding, and be considered a dinosaur. Everybody would have shunned him. And Jim Morrison? Oh, I'm sure people would have loved his fat ass on a small club tour in 1994. Nobody would have cared. And what would the politically correct 1990's have done to the confederate flag touting Skynyrd?

And when a star dies, all of a sudden everybody falls to pieces and automatically loves everything they ever did. George Harrison recently passed away, and the whole nation grieved. Everything he ever did suddenly became ok. They weren't saying that when he recorded “I got my mind set on you.” But the ornery cuss dies, and he's the greatest thing that ever happened to music, because of his small contributions thirty years ago.

The point is, artists go through phases in their career. Picasso had his blue period, which expressed his solemn views, and his recent loss. Aerosmith had their drug period, where they couldn't write an album, let alone sell any. George Harrison had his selling out period, where he put out absolute crap in the 80's. If Aerosmith died in the eighties, when they were nothing, they would have become legendary, and it would actually have been good, because they would have actually achieved that status through classics like “Walk this way” and Back in the saddle”, and not “Rag Doll,” or “Janie's got a gun.”

George Carlin is under scrutiny from the comedy world; people are saying that he's lost it; his material isn't as edgy as it was, and that he might as well quit. Folks, let me ask you this. What if Carlin went down in a plane crash in the 70's? He would be remembered as the godfather of comedy. Now, people can't tell the difference between him and Soupy Sales. If he kicked off tomorrow, then the people would change their tune.

Andy Kaufman is another good example. A “character actor” if you will, an oddball, an outcast, that was never completely understood. That's complete bullshit. He was just like every other starving artist out there, struggling to get their break, make lots of money and be famous. Do you think people would have loved to see Kaufman do the same tired routine ten years after he started? No. Neither would Kaufman. Instead, he would have ventured into newer territories, only setting him up for scrutiny. He would have most likely fallen to far lower levels, and I'd probably be his feature act at the Chucklehut in Augusta. But, say he died this year, then what would have happened?

“Oh god, the world suffered an incredible loss today when famous comedian Andy Kaufman slipped and fell at a Ramada inn in Augusta and hit his head against a room service tray, which somehow caused him to squeeze the trigger of the gun he had in his hand. Our sources cannot substantiate the rumors that Kaufman was trying to kill himself.”

Oh yeah? Well allow me to give you a couple of clues.

Famous comedian, known for his work on “Saturday night live” and “Taxi”, was appearing at the Chucklehut in Augusta with Shane Kinney on a Tuesday night when slipped and fell at a Ramada inn in Augusta and hit his head against a room service tray, which caused him to squeeze the trigger of the gun he had in his hand.

Does that put it into perspective? Lets recap. A once famous, now shunned, comedian is APPEARING AT THE CHUCKLEHUT IN AUGUSTA ON A TUESDAY NIGHT AND SHARING A ROOM AT THE RAMADA WITH RELATIVE UNKNOWN SHANE KINNEY.

That's low. That's one hell of a fall from “Taxi” and “Saturday night live.” And don't think it doesn't happen, because it does. Screech from “Saved by the bell” is on a worldwide comedy tour right now. If he died when that show was airing, people would have said; “Oh god, I've watched that show from day one, and I always knew that Screech was the one with the most potential.”

That's how fickle our society has become. A guy with a modicum of talent gets on a TV show, the show gets cancelled, and then ten years after all his money runs out, he hires a team of writers to build him a comedy act, and goes on tour to pay for his cocaine habit. He's at the lowest of the lows. Our pop culture society would be singing a different tune had he died when he should have.

And don't think he's happy about this, because I've seen his headshot. The clubs promoting the show have to crop the photo, so people can't see the gun he's holding to his head.

And how about the R and B singer Aaliyah? She went down in a plane crash at the end of August, and all of a sudden it was the biggest thing in the world. Here's my question. Who in the hell is Aaliyah? She holds as much significance to us as Fred the tire salesman down the street. But, she was a hot piece of ass that sold a few records, even though the majority of the record buying or downloading public didn't have a clue as to who in the hell she was. But she dies, and every fucking television show and every fucking newspaper covers it not one day, not two days, but for one god damned week, we hear about this waste of talent, this tragedy, this loss to the music world. Then, a couple of days later, two planes crash into the world trade center. What was her name again?

Look. The Big Bopper died when he should have. He had one catchy novelty tune, and went out a star. That's how it should be. He had little or no artistic credibility, and would have been considered a joke probably only a couple years after recording “Chantilly Lace.” But, down he goes with other potential has-beens Buddy Holly and Ritchie Valens, and they're legendary. The same goes for Aaliyah. She may as well have been on her way to do an R and B tribute to “La Bamba.” I'm sure that would be a fantastic rendition that none of us would have ever heard, because nobody gave a shit about her until she died.

Adios, Aaliyah.

The price of fame is that you set yourself up for embarrassment and scrutiny. People want to see you fail and struggle down to the lowest levels that they, the nine to five buying public, are at. They constantly judge you, criticize and mock you. Once you get prostate cancer, they take it all back. The media buying public is nothing short of an Irish Catholic Christmas reunion. They hound you and kick you down until you accept that you're at your lowest, and near death. Then they run to your side as if they were supporting you from day one. It's bullshit.

Jerry Seinfeld left his million dollar a week job to avoid all of this. Like a true comic, he left the stage when the audience still loved him. He has the talent and the work ethic to build something else productive and entertaining, and his audience will follow him to whatever it is he decides to de next. He completely bucked the system. He did what everybody should have done when they peaked. Get out. Leave. Let the audience remember only the greatest moments, and let them fantasize about what could have possibly been. It's similar to fantasizing about a member of the opposite sex; you dream about what sex would be like with this person for ages, and once you get the opportunity, it's a letdown. If you did get to meet your object of affection and had ten minutes of passionate kissing and then a turn down, you would spend the rest of your time dreaming about how fantastic and mystical a sexual encounter with this person would be. It's the timeless art of seduction, and Jerry Seinfeld knows it. Todd Rundgren doesn't.

Now that you've seen the costs, do you still wanna be a rock and roll star, or a character actor, or a stand up comic? Of course you do. We all want the brass ring. We seek the grail, the sultry taste of fame. It's what many of us fragile ego empty souls wander this earth in pursuit of. I know I do. If you work hard enough, and are lucky enough, it just may happen. Be prepared though, and do as Seinfield or Cat Stevens did. Don't give all of yourself to people who only want to be near you. Let them fantasize about what it would be like to be near you, and when their fantasies are at their peak, get the hell out. Seduce the buying public into an emotional erection, then call a cab and get the hell out. Where ya' headed?