COLUMN: Grief

Grief sucks.

Yes, I know. Insightful, eloquent, and original postulations like this are why they pay me the big bucks. (And maybe one day I'll get that check as soon as I figure out who "they" are and how I might be able to invoice them.)

But it's the truth. We've all spent the past week being thankful for life and the lives that surround, inspire, and nurture us. But part of appreciating life is the knowledge that we've all got expiration dates. And perhaps the only thing worse than death impacting our lives is when it impacts the lives of those we care about.

Over the past month, one of my close friends lost her mother and another lost his sister. And that -- well, that sucks. All you want to do is give them a hug and say just the right thing to make everything all better, but those words don't really exist or honestly even matter at times like this. Instead, all you can do is be there with a shoulder to cry on and as much strength, comfort, and support as you can muster.

I'm no expert in grief, but I know it can take many forms. There's no "right" way to grieve, and everyone handles loss in their own way. Its just that, in the world of social media, we now get to witness it a lot more often. Just today, I read an article about a woman who had recently lost her fiancee in a motorcycle accident. Rather than cancel her wedding photos, the grieving woman instead donned her wedding dress and posed for happy wedding pics -- solo. With some digital magic, the photographer then added semi-transparent images of her late fiancee to basically make it look like she was happily posing with a ghost.

I'll be completely honest with you guys -- it kinda creeped me out, and I made a snarky Facebook post about it. But then my friends checked me and put me in my place a little bit, and I'm glad they did. The photos might seem a bit macabre, but I also can't imagine the trauma of being in the midst of wedding planning and envisioning a future that's suddenly snatched away.

It's not the kind of souvenir I'd want on MY mantelpiece, but I've never been in this woman's shoes. If completing a set of wedding photos helps her grieve, so be it. It might seem weird, but grief IS weird. It's a complicated and insanely personal thing to bear.

I recently watched a special series of the show "Expedition Unknown" that was focused on the afterlife -- where we go when we die and how different cultures handle death, and it was fascinating. In one episode, they traveled to a remote part of Indonesia and spotlighted a tribe who live alongside their dead. When a family member passes, they mummify the remains and just leave them in the house for any number of years. The deceased are talked to daily, given meals, and treated like living family.

To them, it's just tradition. To us, it's the sort of thing that gets you locked away. One culture's normal can be another's Norman Bates. That same Indonesian tribe might find OUR burial customs just as weird as we find theirs. In that same tribe, after some time has passed, their deceased are finally removed from the home and given a funeral procession that puts the "fun" in funereal. It's basically a week-long party, and wouldn't that be the BEST way to go?

I mean, I don't particularly want my friends to think, "Finally. He's dead. Let's party!" But I don't want people blubbering over me, either. I want people to think of me, laugh, and tell stupid stories. And if there's any legacy I stand a chance of leaving, it's a cornucopia of stupid stories. I want to be remembered with a smile more than a tear.

And that is why, I beg of you people, in the event of my untimely demise, I openly encourage all of you to Photoshop ridiculous images of me into ANY AND ALL photos you'd like to post on the internet. I want my semi-transparent ghost to haunt the walls, halls, and superhighways of social media for all time.

There's a kajillion ugly photos of me out there, so use any you choose. Taking selfies at a nightclub? Stick me in the background with a serious DJ face, like I'm busily soundtracking your life from my afterlife. I never do a thing athletic in life, but it's never too late to start. So if someone captures you running a marathon, put my face on one of the other runners. Heck, put me on ALL the other runners and make it look like you're being chased by an army of ghost Shanes. Bonus points if you figure out a way to set it to "Unchained Melody."

I could become your new relationship litmus test. After all, what better a conversation starter than, "Who? Oh, HIM? That's the dead guy I put in ALL my photos. It's a long story." If the person doesn't run away screaming, they're a keeper.

At the end of the day, we're all on this marble together -- which unfortunately means we all get to leave it at some point, too. If you experience loss, don't be afraid to grieve as weird as you want, because it's a weird process. Don't hesitate to lean on your friends, and let them lean on YOU when they need it. Death might suck, but life always wins - and for that, I'm thankful.

COLUMN: Red Dead

My life is full of sacrifices. I hope you people are happy.

As a beloved and cherished local columnist and celebrity-about-town, there are certain responsibilities I must bear to my vast and ever-growing fanbase. I guess it's just the burden I have to carry for being so goshdarn loveable and awesome.

For instance: As some of you may be aware, two weeks ago the most anticipated video game of the year came out: Red Dead Redemption 2. Normally, a mature and professional writer such as myself wouldn't dream of wasting time on something so foolish and frivolous.

But what of my fans? Sure, I might be too evolved and sophisticated for such a childish pursuit, but some of you might be wondering about "Red Dead Redemption 2" and naturally you'd turn to a cultural superior such as myself for opinions.

Okay, fine. Because you people demand it, I'll waste countless hours playing a new video game. These are the sacrifices I make for my fans.

Honestly, though, I don't know if I'm the best person out there to judge a game like RDR2. I've NEVER been a fan of the Old West. I've never made it through a western without changing the channel, not even the one I'm named after. Some people romanticize the Old West as a grand historical period in our nation. To me, it just looks smelly and filthy and gross. I prefer Hyundais to horses. I am most definitely a city slicker.

Except for the past week, when I have been Arthur Morgan, cowboy outlaw with a heart of gold. Or Arthur Morgan, the cowboy outlaw who shoots his friends in the head for no reason. You can play Arthur any way you want, unless what you want is to drive a car, sit in air conditioning, or NOT kill people.

I know little about life in the Old West, but thanks to a week of Red Dead Redemption-ing, I've gained some important knowledge, such as:

- Horses are apparently a lot easier to tame than I thought. All I did was hop on a horse and ride it down a mountain when suddenly the game went "Ding! You and your horse have achieved level 1 bonding. He will now come when you whistle." This is pretty cool. My car never comes when I whistle. If I can figure out how to install a subwoofer on this horse, it just might be a keeper.

- Is it bad that I'm jealous at how Arthur Morgan can grow facial hair faster than me? There's spots in the game where you can shave, but not me. I want to see if I can make my Arthur eventually look like an refugee from ZZ Top.

- Surviving the horrific wounds of gun violence is MUCH easier if you maintain a liberal supply of baked beans on your person. Just last night, I was out jauntily robbing a train -- you know, like you do -- when I was suddenly ambushed by them pesky no-good O'Driscoll boys. I barely had time to draw my revolver when BAM! I'm hit in the shoulder and good as dead. No worries, though. I simply reached into my pocket mid-gunplay and chugged down a can of baked beans with my one good arm. Suddenly I was right as rain and would live to cyber-fight another day. Chia seeds and kale are for chumps. Pork 'n' beans are my superfood. 

Red Dead Redemption is being hailed for its detailed renderings and realistic gameplay. But there may be a such a thing as TOO realistic.

I had barely made it through the tutorial when some cowboy yelled, "C'mon Arthur, let's go hunt some deer!" The game lets you choose from various replies, but sadly none of them were, "No thanks, deer are cute. Pass the baked beans." Instead, within minutes, I found myself crouching through snow sneaking up on some poor innocent virtual deer I'd rather not virtually kill.

No worries, I thought. It's just a video game, right? I'll shoot the deer and it'll disappear, make some happy little ding noise, and probably say something like "FOOD +1." No big deal. I grabbed my bow, aimed, and fired. Ding?

Nope. Instead, I was greeted by the ungodly screech of a wounded animal and my cowboy friend going, "Aww, Arthur, it wasn't a kill shot!" And then the game makes you follow the BLOOD TRAIL and the DYING SCREECHES OF AGONY until you find the wounded deer and put it out of it's cyber-misery and now I'm pretty sure I need therapy. From there, it's just a matter of picking up the carcass, carrying it to my horse (I forgot to whistle,) and transporting it back to camp.

Impressively life-like? Yes. Moderately traumatic and emotionally scarring? You betcha. But I manned up and made it back to camp. And that is the precise moment when, hand to God, the game goes, "PRESS (X) TO SKIN YOUR DEER." Annnnd now I might be a vegetarian. Thanks, Red Dead Redemption 2. 

Bambi-murdering aside, it's a fantastic game. I've only scratched the surface, but I plan on playing a lot more -- you know, for the benefit of you guys. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go do some research on the pros and cons on sitting on the couch, eating Twizzlers, and watching Jimmy Fallon. In case you people ever need my input on it.

Sacrifice, thy name is Shane.

COLUMN: Post Malone

This is going to be a difficult column to write.

Wait, that sounded ominous. That's the kind of intro you use when you're quitting or if there's some horrible secret from your past about to be revealed. This is NOT the case (I hope.) No, this will be a difficult column because I'm about to come to the defense of someone I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to hate.

Ever since my parents presented me with a second-hand record player at probably too young an age, I've been a music junkie. I have no talent to make music, but it turns out I'm fairly gifted at listening to it. Over the years, my collection has grown from big to really-big to I-clearly-have-a-problem to hmm-time-for-a-bigger-house.

Some people get on the internet to argue about politics. I'm usually there to argue about music. My favorite t-shirt says "Your Favorite Band Sucks." My second favorite says "I listen to bands that don't even exist yet." I proudly grew up on a diet of artists like The Smiths who once pleaded for us to "hang the blessed DJs, because the music they constantly play says nothing to me about my life."

For years, I've revelled in critical attacks of bands that dumb down the musical landscape, from the despicable bro-rock of Limp Bizkit to the faux earnestness of Creed and the steaming pile of mediocrity that is Nickelback. But many critics have now set their sights on a new target -- and for once, I'm not jumping on the hate train.

In fact, I may just be a fan of Post Malone.

If you don't know 23-year-old Austin Post, then your kids probably do. Both his albums sit towards the top of the Billboard charts, and the rapper/singer's been selling out shows around the globe. His fanbase is as huge as the disdain of his critics. Last week, the Washington Post ran a claws-out piece that called him a "rhinestone cowboy who looks like he crawled out of a primordial swamp of nacho cheese," and that's about as nice as it gets.

The arguments against Post Malone go something like this:

(1) Post Malone has nothing to say. This is absolutely true. The guy had a #1 hit this year with a song about a new watch and how shiny it is (seriously.) Most of his songs are about cars and jewelry and girls -- in other words, he's just like all the other artists on the Top 40. Not every musician needs to be Radiohead or U2 and make some grand statement about the human condition with every release. There are times I want to hear challenging music that questions our world, but there are other times when the only question I want answered from my car stereo is who put the bomp in the bomp bah bomp bah bomp.

(2) Post Malone songs are nothing but one hook repeated over and over. This is also true -- and kind of amazing. The average Post Malone song reduces the verses to a quick whisper that just gets you to the hook without delay. But here's the thing: by and large, they're GREAT hooks that get stuck in your head for DAYS whether you want them there or not.

(3) Post Malone isn't very talented. I don't even think Post would argue this. Part of his appeal is that he's an average dork who made it big. He doesn't look like a pop superstar. He looks like any of the dudes I used to play Dungeons & Dragons with. He's an everyman with an okay voice who makes decent songs and spends his success on stupid stuff like cars and ill-advised face tattoos. There are worse crimes.

(4) Post Malone is a culture vulture. The thinking here is that a dorky white guy from the Texas suburbs has no business making hip-hop. That's just kind of unfair. I've always thought of music as a cultural uniter, not a divider. He's not pretending to reinvent rap music, and I've never seen him dishonor the origins of hip-hop. Pop music has a time-honored tradition of thieving from various cultures (do you really think the Beach Boys hung out on the beach?) Maybe he'll expand to other genres in the future. Maybe he won't even have a successful future and THIS right now is his fifteen minutes of fame. Who knows?

Music aside, it's hard to hate on Post Malone because he seems like a genuinely nice guy. Critics rip him and he laughs it off. Instead, he goes on talk shows and takes Jimmy Fallon to lunch at Olive Garden. He's a funny dude, and it's nice to have a chart-topping artist who really seems to be enjoying his moment without any pretense.

So yeah, I'm going to neglect my duties as an elitist music snob and give Post Malone a pass -- which is fine because it gives me more time to hate on Nickelback. Maybe you disagree and can't stand Post Malone. If that's the case, look on the bright side: One of the fastest ways to become uncool is to have random middle-aged newspaper columnists gush over how cool you are.

Sorry, Post.

COLUMN: Litter

When I sit down to write this column, there's only one rule I try and give myself: BE POSITIVE.

I'm not remotely qualified to discuss the problems of the world. I'm barely qualified to discuss my cats. There's enough depessing news in the world, there's no need for me to add to it. A high percentage of daily life is utterly ridiculous -- if you don't stop to appreciate the silly side of life, you're not really living.

I've always believed that humanity is innately good. You see it every day. Maybe it's a stranger holding a door open for you. A driver yielding the right-of-way. A friend enduring yet ANOTHER cat story. We're all in this absurd life together, so let's make the best of it.

But THIS week, it's been tough to stay positive.

We've had mentally disturbed people mailing bombs and gunning down innocent faithful in Pittsburgh, and that's the kind of awful you just can't wrap your head around. Obviously, the folks responsible have more than one screw loose, so I don't know if we CAN understand or if we should even bother trying. All the while, our leaders condemn the "terrible, terrible thing what's going on with hate in our country" and then seemingly contribute to it.

I've never shoveled poop in my life -- but I think I'd prefer THAT job to being the White House press secretary, no matter WHO'S in office. Remember the days when the government would call press briefings to actually brief the press? Nowadays, the press secretary's job is less news conveyer and more news spinner.

I feel bad for Sarah Huckabee Sanders sometimes. Her entire job is to defend and rationalize a vast number of indefensible tweets and gaffes while reporters bait her into MORE gaffes through a barrage of slanted and leading questions. I wouldn't take her job for a kajillion dollars (unless I got paid upfront and didn't have to return the money the first time I told someone precisely where they could shove it.)

I tried to escape news the other day and opted to peruse social media. Within minutes, I found myself roped into a war of words with someone trying to DEFEND the area teacher who got caught partying in blackface. Wow. You don't understand what the big deal is? Once upon a time, people didn't understand the problem with Amos & Andy either. At worst, it's racist. At best, it shows wickedly poor judgement. Neither are qualities I want in a teacher, sorry. 

I needed an escape, so I stepped off the information superhighway to go wait in line for deliciously awful fast food. And there I was, patiently chilling in the drive-thru lane, when the car ahead of me rolled down its windows while both driver and passenger began chucking trash out onto the ground. It was a straight-up litter party with bags, cups, and debris everywhere.

Is this REALLY where we're at as a society? Does our town matter THAT little to people that they can dump detritus on the ground in full view of strangers with nary a pang of guilt? I'm no angel. I'm sure I'm leaving a shamefully sizeable carbon footprint in my wake. But never in my WILDEST delusions would I just start heaving trash out the window.

I almost took a stand. I imagined picking up their trash while giving them the stinkeye. But then I also imagined a gigantic dude getting out of that car and starting a rumble. Although it's probably the most appropriate spot for me, I'd prefer not to die in a drive-thru lane. "Here lies Shane, He Sure Liked Tacos." So I wussed out. Actually, I yelled "Are you SERIOUS right now?" but I doubt they heard. When I got to the window, I told an employee about the trash dump, and she replied with an "okay" that clearly indicated she couldn't care less.

So it's been a tough week to be Up With People, but I haven't lost hope. There's still good out there. And if sometimes you can't see it, prove it to people. Keep holding doors for strangers. Don't hate or offend people. Don't make the world your dumpster. And if you REALLY want to be positive? VOTE. When you make your voice heard AND get a free sticker out of the deal, everybody wins.