So. Now Alan Rickman has been taken.
Fuck cancer. Not that I was a fan before. It’s taken the lives of a few family members and caused some pain for a few friends, but it’s really been a bitch this week.
If we could at least try to pull some of that 1960s space-race optimism/competitive idealism out and push on as President Obama urged for that whole kicking its ass thing (my phrasing, not his…obviously), that would be just the best. (And by “we” obviously I mean “scientists and doctors” while I cheer on the sidelines. Sorry to pass on the burden… damn do I feel absolutely useless and awful.)
Once again I offer my sorrows for those friends and family who loved the man, and mourn with those who found pleasure and inspiration in his work. Whether it was depressed robots in Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, foul-mouth angels in Dogma, spoon-wielding lawmen in Robin Hood, free falling villains in Die Hard, one of the bravest men Albus Severus’ dad ever knew in the Harry Potter series, or anything else, he was amazing. He was wonderful.
Here’s a picture of him with a lion-style shaved cat.