Movin' on up (or RIP Paul Benedict)

[PeaceNikki]

http://cajunboy.tumblr.com/post/63175779/movin-on-up

It all gets back to childhood, doesn’t it?

No matter where we are, no matter what we do, no matter what we become, whether we’re kings or queens or janitors or jerks, it all, one way or another, gets back to childhood. It’s the common thread. We can’t escape it, nor, frankly, should we try. It’s who we are.

Like when one day you’re walking down the street doing your thing that you always do, you’re on your way to work, you’re dropping off clothes at the cleaners, you’re buying a cheap frame in which to place a photograph of your genitals that you plan on secretly placing amongst your best friend’s collection of family photos the next time you’re over at their place, whatever, you’re living, you’re simply just living, and you’ve got your iPod on or you’re listening to the radio, whatever, and a song comes on that you remember that your mom used to love when you were a kid, she used to sing it at the top of her lungs whenever it came on when she was driving you to your grandma’s house, and all of a sudden, for a brief moment in time, no more than a few seconds, you’re transported to another place and time, you’re a kid again, buckled into the child safety seat on the rear passenger side of your Mom’s old Toyota Corolla, and part of you is so damn happy to be back there again if only for a few seconds within your mind, while another part of you is so fucking sad because when you really stop and think back on it, life will never be better than it was back then, life will never be as innocent, as unencumbered, as free of emotional baggage and responsibility, fucking responsibility, as it was back then.

Never.

So when I came home tonight at 4am and discovered that an obscure British character actor who rarely, if ever, crosses my mind, but who once played a supporting role on a cheesy American sitcom that I used to watch with my family as a kid had died, I felt compelled to search for old clips of the show on YouTube and VOILA!, there I was again in the living room of the little wood frame house I grew up in, me sprawled out on the sofa while my Mom and Dad sat in their matching recliners.

It all gets back to childhood.

All of this gets me to the larger point I’m making rather poorly which is that art, even cheesy 70s/80s sitcom art like The Jeffersons, has a profound ability to touch the soul. Then again, my emotional sway could have more to do with the three Jack and Cokes I’ve had since walking through the door than it does with the death of Mr. Bentley, but I doubt it. But I will concede that perhaps it’s a combination of both.

So yes, this gets me to an even larger point I was trying to make, the original purpose of this post in fact, which is that Paul Benedict, the actor who most famously portrayed Mr. Bentley on The Jeffersons, has died. May his soul find peace in the afterlife.

[terrya]

1. Awww, that's sad.

Paul Benedict was a fine comic actor. Besides being in "The Jeffersons", he had a nice television/film career. As you and I know, he was "Mr. Guffman" in "Waiting for Guffman", among other roles.

RIP, Mr. Benedict. :-(

[PeaceNikki]

2. Kick for Mr. Bentley

[Rambis]

3. God rest him (nm)

x

[LouisianaLiberal]

4. "I am as God made me, sir."

NT

[Dr. Strange]

7. Nice post, you twisted old fruit.

:thumbsup:

[Capn Sunshine]

5. Nice piece btw

very evocative essay. A+.

[PeaceNikki]

6. FTR, I didn't write it. The blogger in the link did.

I adore his work and am a regular reader so I agree with you. :)