Righting on the Wallz: Hef is dead. So why do I feel nothing about his passing?

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Hef is dead. So why do I feel nothing about his passing?

by Angela K. Durden
Technology inventor protecting creator's copyrights. Business writer, novelist, songwriter, and Citizen Journalist.

I woke on the morning of September 28, 2017, to the news that Hugh Hefner was dead and I felt absolutely nothing. No joy in his death. No sadness at the loss of his presence. No passing of an era nostalgia. Not even the generalized acknowledgement that here but for the grace of God go I because — FACT! — if anybody lives long enough, they're going to die.

Hef is dead.

Searching.

Nope.

Nothing, nada, zip, and zero.

As a Citizen Journalist and an all-around caring person, I found this lack of response extraordinary. I usually have an opinion about such things. For instance, any news story that features a man — especially an old man — who must pop blue pills like candy just so he can put his whangdoodle in a new warm spot is just ewwww.

See? Opinion that I've held about the man. Hef should have taken a page out of Jack Nicholson's playbook when (eventually, thank goodness) Jack said there came a time when dating young women became unseemly. Now that is as a gentleman would do. I'm sure I shall shed a tear when Jack passes.

But not Hef. Not one tear in sight. Hef wasn't a gentleman. In fact, the older he got the more disgusting those pictures of him with women became, juxtaposed as they were with his decrepitness and their fresh and firm flesh.

Again, opinion easily formed and stated on is which I think a lot of people agree with me because my Facebook feed was incredibly silent on his death. Only two people said anything about it and very few Liked their posts.

Granted, the women used Hef as a marketing/branding position/option. In other words, free column inches for them. Quid pro quo and so forth. Still, you would think Hugh Hefner's death would have brought about another feeling that would lead to another snarky opinion. But it didn't.

So why this lack of any emotion for Hef's death? It's simple.

This lack is because the news came after an entire evening of being embedded with creative people from around the world.

My friends own a popular live performance music venue in Midtown Atlanta (Georgia) called The Red Light Cafe. Ellen put out a desperate call on Facebook that she was without a door person for Tuesday and Wednesday. As they are a sponsor of the Atlanta Songwriter's Club, of which I am organizer, and are a friend to the live performance community, I messaged her and said that I would be happy to be the door on Wednesday. I was performing on Tuesday, so I couldn't be there that day.

Michael setting up stage.

I had no clue who would be playing, but arrived at 5:30 to find a Malian band called Trio da Kali setting up the stage with Michael's help. (Ellen and Michael are married.) The trio would be joined that evening by South African Derek Gripper and the African String Project consisting of two other musicians from a couple of other countries.

But as The Door, I got to sit directly next to the stage, up close, personal, and hear music the likes of which I don't usually hear. Then directly after that show ended at 10:30, the Gordon Vernick Jazz Jam set up and there was all this wonderful music from folks I know and love.

That's when I sat in the back of the room at the bar, ordered Spinach Artichoke Dip and a Chocolate Martini, and simply relaxed. Here for your listening and viewing pleasure are photos and video snippets of my wonderful evening and the reason I had no feeling one way or the other about Hef's death.