Damn..this is the last thing I needed.
Yesterday CNN fetched me over to their Sunset Blvd building to discuss the death of reality adjunct Russell Armstrong whose estranged wife Taylor is part of Andy Cohen‘s Housewives Of…circus/franchise.
Are you aware of how many reality TV stars commit suicide?
The problem with reality TV is that it’s never real, so when something real actually happens the reality TV community…reels.
Her take on Russell was more pragmatic than mine. He should have gone for the cash. I felt that Russell probably saw his wife’s involvement in the show as an opportunity for them both to do well.
Taylor threw her husband under a bus. Claiming all sorts of headline grabbing reasons why her marriage wasn’t working…except the glaringly obvious problem…reality TV. Essentially thrown out of the show poor Russell, swimming in debt and hideous accusation hung himself. Fully clothed.
No more red carpet for Russell.
Reality is all at once intrusive and life affirming. Getting the big bucks for being ones self. As I have said many times before, I found the entire experience unexpectedly validating.
Would I kill myself naked? I suspect I might.
Having been in two wildly different types of reality TV shows I felt very relaxed discussing my experience. Of course, I mentioned the restraining order. It was the perfect opportunity.
My segment here.
Had coffee at Groundworks with a friend. The excessively large limo they sent gliding back up the mountain.
Had dinner with Robby in Santa Monica. We ate huge raw steaks.
When I got home I walked the little dog. He was being tentative. At the edge of my terrace, no more than ten feet from my front door, a huge coyote lunged at The Little Dog puncturing his back. I lunged at the coyote screaming like a banchee but in my haste falling down a flight of stairs as I fought back. As it ran into the night, I felt my ankle go. I felt that huge muscle in my left leg tear. In extraordinary amounts of pain I sat on the step and sobbed.
Then something weird happened. I started to shake violently. Teeth chattering, body convulsing I crawled back up to the house. I tore off my clothes and dragged myself into bed. I called Robby who came back almost immediately and very kindly iced my foot and leg. That boy is a fucking dream.
Finally my body calmed down. The dog was/is petrified and it will take a few weeks for him to recover. Damn it, it will take me a few weeks to recover.
Slept badly, my swollen legs sweating. Unable to go to the bathroom I pissed in a cup. A portent. Prematurely infirmed.
Jason is heading over this way. I am staying with the Piette’s until I get well.
What was I saying about naked suicide?