…but at the same time, I would be unwise to put on my car, lest it be vandalized by rightwingnuts.


They say that having the blues takes years off your life. If that’s so, Robert Schimmel, who died yesterday at age 60 (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/05/arts/television/05schimmel.html?_r=1 and many other references), has insured I’ll live to be 100.

Despite painstaking attention to the “Recent Deaths” page on Wikipedia, this one escaped my attention until Steve and Sonny Fox broke the news  on XM 150 (Raw Dog Radio) this morning. I was in shock. I just sat there in the car with the ignition off, not believing my ears. It’s probably a good thing that the car wasn’t moving at the time. What a raw way for someone who beat cancer and survived a heart attack and hepatitis to go. I’m sure he wouldn’t say he got a raw deal, living only sixty years as he did, but there was, I’m sure, so much humor left in him. Besides being a front-row persona in my list of hot guys over 50, the oldest on the list in fact (https://shutyoureverlovingpiehole.wordpress.com/2009/08/28/in-praise-of-middle-aged-men/), I’m not ashamed to admit that lately I’ve had a major crush on this guy. Probably that’s emblematic of my inability to form real relationships, but I’ve been susceptible to celebrity crushes my whole life. And it may sound mean to say, but ever since he lost his hair to the chemo, he was sooo gorgeous. My eyes were glued to the TV screen every time I played his DVD or viewed one of his YouTube videos. How can one little (5’6″) sixty-year-old guy be so hot?

Everything he said resonated with me. He was like a BFF—a really, really hot middle-aged BFF—who said out loud everything those of us with X-rated senses of humor are thinking. Nothing shocked him, nothing seemed to bother him, at least not on stage. I love that he hosted the AVN Awards three times (http://avnawards.avn.com/). He was perfect for that event. Sometimes when I was a bit depressed I’d listen to one of the albums I have or his web site and just let his velvety smooth baritone soothe me, if soothing includes such observations as “It’s wrong to fuck your pets. …’Gee, thanks for that tip, Bob.’ ” Other times, I’d be in the car and have to pull over to the side of the road, I was laughing so hard from a bit they’d play on XM150, usually the one about premature ejaculation. It didn’t matter if I’d heard it twelve times before, which most likely I had. He still brought tears to my eyes.

He was at the DC Improv in November, and I blew it off—the District is 150 miles away now, after all. Of course, I’m kicking myself now. Sure, I wanted to meet him, but I wanted him to meet me, too.

So Bob, if you’re watching, and in a Jewish afterlife kind of way I know you are, I just want to say G-d bless you, I love you, and thank you for making me laugh my ass off. See you soon in olam ha’ba.