Out-of-the-blue, now and then, a screwball comment glides into my e-mail box which causes me to scratch my head in disbelief.
Some folks are so ignorant about subtle Noble truths and glaring realities on this mortal plain of existence, that it boggles the sensibilities.
Yes, life is like a box of chocolates, rife with both treacherous land mines and awesome treasures.
The nerve of a pushy handfull is downright disconcerting, though.
For instance, over the weekend, two individuals (unknown to me 'til now) zipped off e-mails urging me to delete a post which contained negative comments about a pal of theirs who met an untimely death in a traffic accident recently.
One of the blustery characters tried a bit of psychology to bully me into zapping the offending post into oblivion on the grounds that "allowing" negative comments about a person - in this instant case, quite a despicable one - was disrespecful to the dead.
In a nutshell, the publication of the disparaging post was initially triggered because of shocking abusive conduct levelled at me during the course of a local film festival (all to my damage).
I was attending festival circuit screenings in my capacity as a Film Critic in the Los Angeles area, and in the nerve-wracking midst of zipping off upbeat posts for publication on the Tattler (from a make-shift Press Room hastily thrown together by the organizers at a local Mall), when the wiry little know-it-all strode up and chastized me for allegedly "hogging" a laptop.
What a heapload of BS!
Instead of being grateful for the thouands of dollars of free publicity - and flattering posts which triggered quite a few ticket sales at the box office - the demented gal continued to gun for me thereafter.
At every turn, she pestered and annoyed me whenever possible, in fact.
At this juncture, her snotty unprofessional conduct - and a gross lack of organization at the Festival - inspired the idea for an expose on the film festival circuit.
For example, I tossed the glare of the spotlight on disturbing behind the scenes screw-ups, a lack of organization on the red carpet which caused film honchos to groan and mumble, and the shoddy way festival officials and inexperienced "could-care-less" volunteers dealt with crowd control, celebrity guests, and so forth and so on.
The neurotic little whiff of a thing must have been sitting on her computer to catch my posts fresh off the laptop - because seconds after the article was published on line - she bolted through the press room doors and made a bee-line for me, crouched down, and hissed:
"I want you to leave right now!"
"Okie Dokie," I mumbled, or something to that effect.
As I started to exif, she suddenly screamed at me in a nails-on-the-blackboard tone of voice:
"Why would you do that (post the nasty article)," she angrily demanded, as festival-goers lolling about nearby snapped to attention all ears.
"Because you're an asshole," I retorted.
She glared at me in shock and - for once - was totally speechess.
"And," I quipped - almost as an afterthought - "You know what? I never used to think a woman could be an asshole. But, you are definitely an exception to the rule, obviously."
In a sincere effort to avoid any further altercations, I plucked up my briefcase, and headed toward the glass doors for a quick exit.
Just as I was about to step through the opening that beckoned, the looney co-ordinator suddenly grabbed the handle, and tried to slam the door in my face.
As I was about half-way through the exit, the screwball loser grabbed my body, and tried to physically prevent me from going my way.
One moment, the dizzy broad was demanding I leave the festival grounds - in the next - she was trying to prevent me from departing the press room in one piece.
As I dashed down the walk to get as far away as possible from the mentally-disturbed young lady, she proceeded to scream out at the top of her lungs:
"Security! Stop that man."
I continued on in a bold-faced effort to escape her bizarre clutches.
However, as I started to trot across the parking lot, she came from the rear (spunky little spitfire!) and yelled at shoppers in the Mall parking lot to detain me.
When I spied security about to cross my path, I came to a stop out-of-breath, and asked for his kind assistance.
"Some wacho festival employee is trying to hold me against my will," I managed to utter.
Almost on cue, she dashed up to the security guard, and demanded that he prevent me from driving off until her boss arrived on-the-scene.
The security guard, an intelligent thoughtful man, scolded her.
"Miss, you can't physically hold this man against his will. He hasn't done anything."
So, with a nod from the Mall employee, I headed off to my car.
That was the last night I ever saw Miss goody two-shoes alive!
Then, as aforementioned herein above, I learned a couple of days ago that the power-hungry festival nut lost her life during the course of a traffic accident recently.
For this reason, and "out of respect for her", a couple of friends asked that I delete the original post.
On the contrary, it shall remain in its published state on the world wide web, until the sorry day the Internet falls down and goes boom all around us.
For the record, I take the position that while death "releases" the spirit from this mortal coil, the footsteps of the individual (DNA, too) remain etched in space and mark their place in time (whether good, bad or indifferent).
The notion that the young woman's untimely demise should be worthy cause to delete the post - which reported on her shocking abusive conduct - is sheer lunacy.
When Hitler died, was there a cry for an expungement of all documents and papers and things Hitler, and his gang of murderous thugs?
No, of course not!
If I am not mistaken, while obit authors handle the "dead" with kid gloves generally, it is not beyond History buffs to give a brief run-down on scandals and/or associations which may have plagued their sorry individual lives, which resulted in a fall from Grace, and so forth and so on.
The attainment of " Death" does not bestow great honors on the dearly departed.
So, why should life's chroniclers take a stab at polishing up flawed personalities on the world stage, after the last gasp has finally sealed their fate?