One of my biggest pet peeves in life, other than the phrase "pet peeve," is the adverse reactions some people have to other people's reactions to the death of a celebrity. Whether it's Philip Seymour Hoffman, Paul Walker, Jeff Hanneman, George Jones, Sid Caesar, Lou Reed, Andy Pafko, or hundreds of other legends that we lost in the last year in TV, film, music, sports, or anything we consume, the impact that they've had on countless people's lives can not be underestimated.
"Everyone's so sad that Philip Seymour Hoffman killed himself, but somewhere a cop was killed and nobody cares. Get your priorities straight, America."
-Paraphrase of an actual Facebook status somebody posted.
First of all, you are an idiot. You'd have to be to think that not a single person cared about that hypothetical police officer's untimely death. I'll bet every single person that knew that man was heartbroken, or at the very least, extremely upset. And it's no different for his more famous counterparts who left this life before their time. That officer and Paul Walker are missed by everyone who loved them and what they did. The only difference being more people knew who Paul Walker was because it's impossible not to know him. He's in our movies, on our TVs, in our magazines, on our computers, everywhere. Just because less people knew that police officer doesn't mean he was less important. Though the actual numbers of people who cared about them are very different, I guarantee you that the percentages of people who cared about them and were upset by their deaths were pretty damn close.
That being said, the hardest loss of one of our Tinsel Town heroes in recent memory for me was Harold Ramis.
The man's name may be lost on much of my generation, but his work definitely was not. Without him or his groundwork he laid in the comedy world, we may not even have many of our present day comedy classics we take for granted. His peak in movies may have been slightly before my time, but thanks to my first introductions to comedy movies coming from my Dad, I didn't miss a thing. Some of the earliest ideas that shaped my sense of humor, which is probably what I consider to be my defining characteristic, came from Mr. Ramis, even without me knowing it. "Animal House," "Caddyshack," "Stripes," "Meatballs," "Vacation," "Analyze This," "Groundhog Day," and a movie I worship to this very day as one of the greatest to ever be put on film, "Ghostbusters." These are some of the keystones of my tastes and personality that had been instilled in me since the beginning. These are some of the earliest examples in my life that pointed me in the direction of what I wanted my true career path to be: a comedy writer. I may not have realized it until 10 or 15 years later, but I'll bet I can trace the very first planting of that invasive "comedy writer" seed in my brain to the first time my Dad ever sat me down and watched "Ghostbusters" with me.
Harold Ramis never took a bullet for me or my freedom as an American. He never caught someone trying to murder me. He never saved me from a burning building. But he constantly brought me laughter and joy. And coming from someone who hopes to spend the rest of his life doing the same for some other dumb kid one day, he did something on an extremely personal level for me: He gave me happiness, and he inspired me.
And your brave, self-righteous, non-conformist stance you took on a Facebook status or tweet will never take away what he meant to me.
Rest In Peace, Harold Ramis, and any other person who we've lost that has brought you joy in your own life through their creativity.
