I just had to laugh, I saw the photograph

If there's one thing I've learned about the internet, it's I'll never learn.

A few days ago, I posted the above picture on my Facebook page. If you are not currently my Facebook "friend" or if you are unfamiliar with the weird, wonderful and often wacky world of Josh Pincus, let me tell you... I post a lot of stupid shit on Facebook. I know, I know — everyone posts stupid shit on Facebook. But, the stuff that I post has only one purpose — and that's to make me laugh. Not, necessarily to make you laugh, but to make me laugh. If you happen to laugh along the way, well good! But, believe me, that was not what I set out to do. I find a lot of things funny and they may not be the same things that you find funny. Honestly, more often that not, you won't find them funny. But, as long as I do... well, mission accomplished.

So, as I started to say before I interrupted myself, I posted the above picture on Facebook. It is allegedly one of the last pictures taken of The Beatles as a group. Supposedly, it was taken as part of a photoshoot at John Lennon's home on August 22, 1969. The caption I wrote to accompany my post read:

When this photo was taken...

John Lennon was 30.

George Harrison was 27.

Paul McCartney was 28.

The drummer was 30.

Now, the purpose of this post — as I have previously stated — was for my own amusement and it covered a few of my... um.... uh... shall we say "obsessions." First, there's my long-standing fascination with people's ages. I am constantly confounded by old photos of stalwart-looking celebrities or actors on television sporting gray hair and wizened features, only to find out that they were twenty or even thirty years younger that I am now. I still can't get over that fact that Carroll O'Connor was just 46 when All in the Family premiered. 46! Or that Brad Pitt and Art Carney were the same age when they won their respective Oscars — and that age was 56. I just discovered that Julie Andrews was just 28 when she filmed Mary Poppins. 28!

Secondly, this photo plays into my long-running, exclusively one-sided nonsensical feud with beloved (by some) Beatles drummer Ringo Starr. I have have a completely unfounded disdain for the left-handed Liverpudlian stickman. I regularly post jabs at Ringo for no other reason than it makes me laugh and it pisses Beatles fans off. Folks who know Josh Pincus personally and have kept up with my internet antics, know of my feelings towards the probiscusly-endowed percussionist — and they know (I think) that's it's all just a stupid joke that has gotten way out of hand. Now,  it's too late to stop. It's also too funny to stop.

Speaking of Beatles fans, especially Beatles fans of a certain advanced age — they are a relentless bunch. Beatles fans as a whole, are predominantly old, predominantly white and predominantly uncompromising and very defensive of those four mop tops. They spend a good portion of their time on the internet trying to educate members of the younger generation on how great the Beatles were and how you should not be listening to any band except The Beatles. Never mind the fact that the Beatles' last album of completely original material came out 56 years ago. 56 years ago! That is ancient history to someone in their teens. This was five years before the Vietnam War "officially" ended. To someone currently in eighth grade, the Vietnam War was fought between the United States and England and ended when the Constitution was signed. And Paul Revere announced "I shall return" somewhere along the way. Nevertheless, die-hard Beatles fan love to expound on how there would be no Oasis or Nirvana or Metallica or Taylor Swift or hip-hop or sliced bread or NASCAR if it weren't for the Beatles. But, younger generations (with a few "old soul" exceptions) couldn't possibly care less. To them, the mighty Beatles were just another band that their parent's parents listened to. 

So, I posted that picture and that caption and I moved on. I'm sure I posted a stupid sign or a misspelled headline or the death of some obscure celebrity. By that time, I have forgotten all about my Beatles post. But... the internet would not let me forget. The post got 87 reactions, 5 "shares" and a whopping 46 comments — mostly from people that I am not connected to... or even know. Most of them were furious that I did not identify Ringo by name, with several going so far as to actually tell me his name. Others haughtily corrected me on the date of the photo and the ages of the subjects. A few of those people went on to contradict each other on the actual ages. One of them pointed out that John (in the photo) looks like his son Sean, who is now 50. (Off topic and I don't give a shit.) One commenter felt compelled to leave the single word "Nope" as their assessment. I decided not to respond to any of the comments. Any reply would have set off a lengthy argument and I have learned that no one is wrong on the internet. 

My friend Kathy summed things up nicely by inquiring: "Doesn't anyone here know you at all?"

No, Kathy, they don't. Evidently, I'm not as famous as the Beatles' drummer.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

the masterplan

Laurie Jacobson started following me on Instagram a few years ago. Just out of nowhere, based on our common interests in old Hollywood, dead celebrities, pop culture, she started following me... dumb, ol' Josh Pincus. This struck me as odd, because I'm just a nobody in the vast world of social media. Laurie, on the other hand, is a celebrated author who has appeared on CNN, Entertainment Tonight and The History Channel. She has produced high-profile television programs like Mary Tyler Moore's Twentieth Anniversary Special. She is a noted and respected authority on Hollywood history. If that isn't enough, she was enrolled in a comedy workshop taught by Harvey Lembeck. Among her classmates were John Ritter and Robin Williams. Oh yeah, and she's married to Jon Provost, the star of over 250 episodes of Lassie. And me? I'm just some yutz who draws pictures of dead celebrities and posts pictures of things that make me laugh. But, Laurie likes my sense of humor and we've enjoyed lively on-line exchanges centered around our shared passion for Hollywood trivia. However, we have never met.

But I had a plan.

Laurie and Jon make appearances at various fan conventions all over the country. Laurie talks about her books, the latest of which is an exclusive, behind-the-scenes look at the Beatles iconic performance at Shea Stadium in 1965. Jon signs photos and cheerfully greets fans who grew up watching his adventures with the world's most famous dog (no, not Scooby-Doo!) Because Laurie and I are "Facebook Friends," I saw that the couple were going to be at the Lehigh Valley Heritage Museum on Memorial Day weekend, as part of the society's celebration of America's 250th anniversary. Situated just an hour outside the birthplace of America (Philadelphia, for those of you who flunked history), the Lehigh Valley Heritage Museum presents a sort of mish-mash of history. Its permanent displays highlight people and events that impacted the germination and growth of our country. Some are specific to Allentown, Pennsylvania (the actual location of the museum). Most, however, are not. It's as though someone from the Lehigh Valley Historic Society visited the museums in Philadelphia and said to themselves: "Fuck this! We'll start our own museum!" Their hearts are in the right place. It's just their actual history isn't. (In their defense, in September 1777, the Liberty Bell was hidden in a church in Allentown for nine months to prevent the advancing British soldiers from melting it down for weapons. Oh, and Billy Joel sang a pretty disparaging song about Allentown.) 

I presented the idea of driving up to Allentown to Mrs. Pincus. My wife, who is also a Facebook connection of Laurie Jacobson's, is always up for any sort of long car trip. I also decided not to tell Laurie that we were coming. Again, we have never met and the pending surprise would be... um.... surprising!

My day started early. I had an appointment to have my car inspected. So there I was, in the waiting room of a Subaru dealer, scrolling through Facebook while I waited for my friendly Subaru  service representative to let me know my car was ready. On Facebook, I saw pictures of a smiling Laurie and Jon buckled into their airplane seats, along with the caption: "On our way to Allentown." This sort of excitement, of course, is the sentiment of folks who have never been to Allentown. 

With my car all serviced, I drove home. Mrs. P was getting ready for our little adventure. She gathered together a few small Philadelphia-centric items from her Ebay store stock to give to Laurie and Jon as a memento of their friends in the City of Brotherly Love. I grabbed a few "Josh Pincus"-branded pins and keyrings as a reminder of the evils of the internet. I loaded the address into the trusty Waze navigation app on my phone and we were off. We followed Route 309 North, which is a straight shot to Allentown from our house. As we got closer to our destination, Waze led us through a few small, congested neighborhoods dotted with shopping centers and housing developments — hardly the place one would expect to find a museum... speaking as a spoiled Philadelphian who is used to museums being sprawling architectural marvels placed along side other architectural marvels. But, as we turned a narrow corner, there it stood — the Lehigh Valley Heritage Museum — just like it looked on its website. We found a convenient parking spot right on the street out front. I gathered up a little gift bag with the goodies we planned to present to Laurie and Jon and we headed in.

A fair amount of folks had gathered and queued up in the facility's auditorium to have a quick chat with Laurie and Jon, as well as getting some memorabilia signed. I purchased Laurie's TV Dinners book and joined Mrs. Pincus in line. Ahead of us, Laurie and Jon were seated at a long table. They were chatting and laughing and posing for pictures with a crowd comprised of people mostly around my age. There were a few youngsters (around eight or nine) who seemed bored with being dragged along on grandma and grandpa's little jaunt. The line crept along at a pretty steady pace until we found ourselves in the coveted "next" position. As Laurie was speaking with the woman in front of me, she shot me a glance and, I could tell that she did not recognize me from any picture I may have posted on Facebook. I interjected a smart-ass comment into their conversation and Laurie smiled. Then it was my turn.

I stepped up to the table and said to Laurie: "I just wanted to make sure that you've been getting my holiday cards.*"  Laurie looked at me with a half-smile and a puzzled expression. Then I spilled it. "I'm Josh Pincus," I announced and I dropped a handful of JPiC buttons and stuff  — all emblazoned with my 5-yerar old redheaded visage — on the tabletop in front of her. Laurie lit up! She jumped from her chair and exclaimed: "JOSH PINCUS! You're Josh Pincus!"... and she threw her arms around me. I introduced her to Mrs. Pincus and she gave my wife's hand a warm embrace. Mrs. P offered her Philly souvenirs and Laurie smiled and beamed with appreciation. It was so humbling to see Laurie express such excitement to meet dumb ol' me... but it was very sweet. Laurie signed my book. She told me that I keep her laughing all day with my Facebook posts. I thanked her several times and Mrs. P and I took seat at the back of the auditorium for Laurie's and Jon's presentations.

After some brief introductions, Laurie delighted the room with stories of Hollywood acquaintances. She revealed secrets of what it took to stage the Beatles show at Shea Stadium at a time when rock concerts at a ballpark was just not a thing.  She talked about meeting and marrying Jon and then spooked the crowd with an eerie tale of the last days of Marilyn Monroe. Laurie was followed by Jon Provost's account of life as a working child actor in the 1950s. His compelling stories were both informative and amusing, as he spoke of working with the likes of Jane Wyman (his mother's idol), Natalie Wood and Robert Redford. He offered heartfelt memories of the late June Lockhart and humorous anecdotes concerning Kurt Russell. At the conclusion of the presentation, my wife and I made our way down to the front to say our "goodbyes." before leaving for home.

Laurie was cornered by three women who were gabbing non-stop about classic television. They weren't having a conversation as much as they were droning pointlessly. They peppered their dissertation with memories of long-forgotten stars of black-and-white series, some of whose names slipped their minds. But, they weren't headed towards any apparent conclusion. Mrs. P and I politely hung back, waiting for these ladies to wind down their time. But, they showed no sign of stopping. Laurie smiled politely and offered me a wink and silent plea of "help!" Finally, she courteously attempted to bring their filibuster to a halt by saying she had to say goodbye to some friends. The women would not relent, so Laurie just stepped past them to greet Mrs P and me. We said our farewells and Laurie posed for a quick picture before reiterating how happy she was to finally meet us in person. It was truly sweet. We waved to Jon, who was busy with a couple of fans. He smiled and gave us a wave back.

My plan was successful. 

www.joshpincusiscrying.com.

* A few years ago, Laurie asked for holiday cards to cheer up her friend, actor Jay North (of Dennis the Menace fame). Jay was ill and she thought some cards from fans would brighten his spirits. I sent one and also sent a separate card specifically for Laurie and Jon. Sadly, Jay passed away in 2025.

you wanna try ...?

I can't imagine how my internet algorithm translates in terms of... of...  honestly, I don't think it falls into any sort of definable terms. On any given day, I log into some aspect of the internet a few dozen times. On Facebook or Instagram, I see all sorts of videos (or "reels" or "stories," as the different platforms call their videos) from people talking to their cats, to clips of comics' stand-up routines, to insider "hacks" at Disney theme parks, to pan-and-scan shots of cemeteries accompanied by wind-blown off-camera narration from someone who cannot pronounce anything. Mixed among this seemingly unrelated content, I recently started seeing videos from a woman named Emmymade. I see Emmymade's videos more and more frequently. I suppose since I watched one all the way through, my algorithm was adjusted to show me more of Emmymade's videos. And her videos are adorable.

I am a nearly 65-year old white male. I would consider myself "out-of-the-loop" as far as trends in current pop culture go. I don't think I could identify a Taylor Swift song. I'm not quite sure why Sydney Sweeney is famous. Considering my longtime undying love of television, there are dozens of shows on dozens of streaming services that I have never heard of nor seen. I find myself Googling various phrases I see written or hear spoken on the internet to get some context as to their meaning. So please forgive me if I'm a little late to the party where Emmymade is concerned.

A little quick research answered some basic questions. California-born, Rhode Island-raised Emmeline Cho began making videos sixteen years ago when she was living in Japan. With her very first video, demonstrating how to use a Japanese candy-making kit, she attempted to combat her boredom and show what it was like for a foreigner living abroad. She continued making videos after moving back to the United States. She branched out with her content, presenting herself taste-testing new foods, examining and tasting the contents of military ration packs along with simple recipes for comfort food or unusual food combinations. To date, Emmymade has amassed over three million subscribers.

What makes Emmymade so compelling is her unpretentious demeanor. She displays a sense of naivete that manifests as bewilderment. For someone whose main focus is food and food-related subject matter, she seems astonished by things like bread and butter and forks and plates. One video, shot in her car just after getting food from a Burger King drive-thru, was highly enjoyable. Her description of the fast food outlet's signature Whopper came across as though she is the first person to ever try a Whopper and you were there to witness it! She says things like "the bun is soft and chewy... really fresh and it has these little sesame seeds all over it." or "the meat is good and well-seasoned." Then, with her mouth full, she politely dabs the corners of her lips while nodding her head in approval and offering several affirming "hmm-mm, hmm-mm"s, careful not to speak with her mouth full. It was just delightful.

In the majority of her videos (at least the ones I have seen), Emmymade is just positively gobsmacked by the things that emerge from her oven... or her blender... despite the fact that she put the individual ingredients in there just minutes prior. She is shocked when she opens a can and it is filled with the contents pictured on the label. She is overjoyed when a finished loaf of bread is extracted from a vintage breadmaker after adding the required ingredients and waiting the prescribed amount of time to bake. She smiles and tells her loyal viewers that the whole house smells like bread. She enthusiastically slices the freshly baked loaf, awkwardly adds a little butter and takes a dainty bite. For a moment, while she is close-mouthed chewing, she offers her trademarked "hmm-mm, hmm-mm" before swallowing. Her assessment of the bread is usually "it is very chewy and bready, slightly sweet, very airy".... you know, the way you or I would describe bread. But, the whole presentation is so endearing and Emmymade is as cute as a button.

I was telling my son about my discovery of Emmymade's videos. He laughed and told me that there are dozens if not hundreds of people on the internet that do this sort of thing. (there I go revealing my "out-of-the-loop"ness again!) He went on to say the funniest one of these folks is the woman who makes fun of these "content creators." In her videos, she tries the most everyday foods as though it's her first time. In one video, she explains that she will be eating chocolate chip cookies and she has never eaten chocolate chip cookies before. After a hesitant, but healthy bite, she describes the experience with such adjectives as "chocolatey" and "crunchy." She further admits that she never expected them to be so filled with chocolate chips. Once she is finished, she moves on to the next item she will be tasting, and that item is chocolate chip cookies. She repeats the entire first segment, as though she didn't just do that very thing, again confessing that she has never had a chocolate chip cookie before.

I still watch Emmymade's videos when they pop up in my feed. She's still entertaining and unintentionally comical. However, my algorithm has determined that I'd also enjoy watching a personable young Scottish guy named "Hugh Abroad" who travels to various Asian countries to sample their culture, primarily through their street food.

Once again, the algorithms are right.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

five years

This story is five years in the making. Five years! FIVE, as in "one two three four FIVE!" and YEARS, as in "three hundred — HUNDRED — and sixty-five days!" But first, a little background.

Sometime in early 2020, I lost my job when the place I was working shut down as a victim of the COVID-19 pandemic. Locked in my house while I searched for my next employment, I found I had a lot of time on my hands. I drew pictures. I watched television. I spent way too much time on the internet, specifically Facebook. I joined — and quickly resigned from — a number of Facebook groups that I thought would interest me. I briefly followed a group devoted to The Munsters TV show. When it devolved into a heated debate over which "Marilyn" was the hottest, I couldn't hit the "Resign from Group" button fast enough. I next joined a group dedicated to the Dr. Demento radio show. After a few days, six people created posts asking if anyone had ever heard a song called "They're Coming to Take Me Away." I had had enough.

As many of you probably know, I enjoy visiting cemeteries and I am very interested the stories from the "golden age" of Hollywood. Combining those two interests, I joined a Facebook group called "Death Hags." This group seemed to be right up my alley. It was started by one Scott Michaels, the self-proclaimed "Original Celebrity Death Guy," and boasts thousands of members. I quietly observed the goings-on in this group before I contributed anything myself. There were discussions about notorious Hollywood scandals, like the infamous Fatty Arbuckle incident. There were grainy graphic photos of Elizabeth Smart, the ill-fated "Black Dahlia," accompanying conjecture and speculation of her gruesome murder. There were photos from other taphophiles depicting a subject splayed out on a celebrity grave, smiling and  flashing a peace sign. So, after a week or so, I thought that this group was ready to be introduced to the world of Josh Pincus. I scanned my illustration website and began reposting entries from my "Dead Celebrity Spotlight" collection. I did this on a daily basis, posting a drawing on the anniversary of the subject's passing. I got a lot of "likes" and a slew of comments offering praise and congratulations... as well as a fair share of criticism, because — after all — it is the internet. This was going along swimmingly... until one day. June 21, 2021, to be specific.

I navigated to the Death Hags group on that particular Monday, only to find that it was gone. A little research revealed that it was not gone, but that I was gone. A few of my personal Facebook connections began sending me private messages asking where my posts were. I replied (via private message) that I no longer had access to the group. It quickly became apparent that I had been unceremoniously booted from the group with no warning, no explanation, no nothing! Through some sources, I learned that Scott Michaels allegedly tried to contact me, but was unsuccessful. That, dear reader, is what you call "bullshit." Many years ago, that could have been a valid excuse. You could have called someone on the telephone and let it ring and ring and ring. That is "trying to contact" someone. In the age of instant messenger and email and Facebook, you can no longer "try" to make contact. You either do or you don't and then lie. Emails are received. Undeliverable emails are flagged and the sender is notified that it did not go through. Facebook and other social media platforms, ring and ding and alert you in any number of ways. So, "attempts" at contact just don't exist. But, allegedly unable to get in touch, Scott just flat out banned me from his group. 

After further investigation (through sources that shall remain nameless), I discovered that Scott felt threatened by the attention that my posts were attracting. Scott, it seems, fancies himself a "celebrity" and becomes jealous if he is not the focus of attention, especially in his own Facebook group. Me? I'm just a stupid artist who was biding my time while I looked for a job. Scott also was trying to push a "celebrity death" app and he felt that my posts were a distraction from his marketing efforts. So, he did the internet equivalent of blindfolding me, zip-tying my wrists and kicking me out of a moving car into a ravine. 

In the wake of my dismissal, I was invited to join another death-related group called Death & Discussion Uncensored. The admin of this group welcomed my daily death anniversary posts and illustrations. I announced, on my own Facebook page, that I would be posting in this new group and was immediately inundated with friend requests from fellow "death heads" who liked my work in the Death Hags group and wished to continue to follow my antics. I also learned that posts in the Death Hags inquiring about my whereabouts were immediately deleted. (Every awards season, I post about those celebrities that were not included in the "In Memoriam" segment of the broadcast. Someone had copied my post about the Oscars broadcast and reposted it in the Death Hags group... where it was quickly deleted by the admin.)

After I got over my initial... I don't want to say "anger" because I really wasn't angry. Instead, I'll say irritation. Eventually, I found the whole episode funny. It was childish and petty. You know... everything that Facebook stands for. Nevertheless, I still make daily posts in the Death & Discussion Uncensored group and I go about my life.

This week — five years after I was evicted from the Death Hags group — I received an email. This email, as a matter of fact...

It read:

Josh, I was a dick. 

I gave you no explanation for removing you from the group. I blanked you. People were disappointed with my actions and I am sorry. 

I was being neurotic. I felt threatened by the attention you were getting as I was trying to push my app. I thought of your work as a threat. 

This was a long time ago but I do still think about how shitty I was. 

I don't expect you to respond, I don't expect you to accept my apology. I wouldn't blame you if you did respond with an fu. I would deserve it. 

I regret what I did. I am sorry. 

Scott

I will admit, when I got kicked out of the group, I wanted to blog about it right there and then. But I didn't. I waited. Or I just forgot. Now, I'm glad I waited, because — now — this story comes to a funnier end. Kicking me out must have really upset Scott when he thought about what he did after his initial knee-jerk, tough-guy action. It must have been eating away at his conscience (if he has a conscience). Actually, from the phrasing of his email, he sounds like he's going through a twelve-step program and he has reached Step Nine — seeking forgiveness. I never expected to ever hear from the Great Scott Michaels, let alone receive a heartfelt, sorrowful, on his knees, hat-in-hand apology.

But, I'm still Josh Pincus, this little corner of the internet's mischievous redheaded stepchild. I will say this much, Scott is right. He should not expect me to respond... because I will not. Everything in his email after "I was a dick" was redundant. I hope he waits for a response that will never arrive. I hope this continues to gnaw at him for a good long time. It has been for five years already. Let's go for a full decade. I hope members continue to ask "Whatever happened to Josh Pincus's posts?" in the Death Hags group. (I'll never know, however, because, although Scott apologized to me, he did not reinstate me into the group.)

I'll continue to draw my little pictures and post my little celebrity death announcements and visit my little cemeteries. I hope Scott Michaels is still losing sleep.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

i can tell that we are gonna be friends

Please. Can someone please explain to me why it is so important to some people that I like what they like? Can't I have my own opinions on things? I don't mind if you like something different than what I like. It doesn't bother me in the least. We can still talk. We can still be friends.

Why do some people do their very best to try to convince me to like what they like? Why is it so important? Is everything a contest? Is everything a debate? 

Years ago, my brother-in-law (who, by the way is the king of "you must like what I like") made some sort of stew with ingredients selected specifically to impress everyone who would ask: "Hey, what's in this?" After a long session of cajoling that was borderline intimidation, I sampled a small spoonful of his concoction. First of all, it had an aroma that was very unappetizing to me. Despite that immediate turn-off, I tasted it anyway... just to be polite. I didn't like it. I told him I didn't like it. He got furious. I mean raving, seething, face-turning-beet-red furious! He threw the spoon down and began berating and insulting me — waving his hands and cursing like a longshoreman. (Side note: I never have to worry about this scenario ever repeating because I no longer speak to my brother-in-law.)

I like music. My musical tastes lean towards the eclectic. But, boy oh boy! do people get downright defensive about the music they like. Some people are very quick to declare that  a certain band sucks if you express the slightest affinity towards something that they don't like. Conversely, those same people will label you as an idiot if you do not like their favorite band. I have started to say "I don't care for that" if I am asked my opinion on a song or band I do not care for. I have come to the conclusion that there is no bad music. Every band is someone's favorite band. It's just some bands appeal to me more than others... and those bands may be different from the ones you like.

I was reading the reviews for different movies on the invaluable Internet Movie Database (IMBD). On one particular movie, someone had posted a very thoughtful — although decidedly negative — review, complete with in-depth commentary, analysis, and comparisons to similar films within the same genre. The first comment on this amateur reviewer's post read: "If you didn't like this movie, your mother sucks, asshole!" 

I watch a lot of movies and I happily admit that I have specific likes and dislikes. I don't like superhero movies. I don't like science fiction movies. I like horror movies, but I don't like the current trend of so-called "body horror," which I feel is more of an endurance test than entertainment. I prefer comedy to drama, but I do like a well-written, well-acted story. That said, I have gotten recommendations from friends, acquaintances and others with whom I come into contact. Mostly, these suggestions are "You'll love this because I loved it!" Honestly, that means nothing and it's hardly a valid reason to get me to watch a movie. I have been told — told! — to watch superhero movies, despite the reminder that I do not care for that genre. "No! No!," the referrer insists, "You'll like this one!" Others have told me to watch a particular Jim Carrey movie, even after expressing my dislike like for the Jim Carrey films I have seen. "No! No!," come the protests, "This one is different! He's different in this one." Of course, he's not.

I just watched a recent movie, one that shall go nameless but recently broke the record for the most Oscar nominations is history. I watched this particular film. In my opinion, it was okay. I thought it was beautifully shot. The cast was great. The acting was top-notch. The story was very, very compelling... until it wasn't. In my opinion (and I keep stressing that), it fell apart at its climax. Author Jason Pargin (John Dies At the End and former editor of Cracked.com) offered a very good assessment of the movie in question. He said that the first half was a great story, with stellar character development and an intriguing set-up. The first part of the movie was so well done that there was a feeling of disappointment when  — SPOILER ALERT!!! — the monsters show up. It was as though the monsters interrupted a story that I wanted to follow and see to a conclusion. I felt cheated. That is exactly how I felt... and I expressed my opinion briefly on social media, grabbing my phone as the credits of the movie were rolling. Almost immediately, I was chastised, rebuked and castigated by a contingency of folk to whom I am connected. I was berated for not getting the "true meaning" of the movie. Oh... I got the "true meaning." I fully understand symbolism. I have been watching symbolism in books and movies for years. I know that George Orwell's Animal Farm is not really about talking pigs. I understood the symbolism in A Face in The Crowd and Get Out. It's just this particular movie didn't do it for me. I don't need a refresher course in Film Making 101. I don't wish to be schooled. I watched the movie for entertainment... to take my mind off of bills I have to pay and assholes I have to deal with at work. As a distraction from bad drivers and unexpected car repairs. The movie was just okay. In my opinion (and I can't stress those three words enough), it was another case of great acting of a run-of-the-mill script. I see a lot of that. There are movies I like and movies I don't like. Just like you.

If you liked that movie... if you thought it was a meaningful, groundbreaking, important tour-de-force — well, good for you. I'm happy that you enjoyed it. Why is it so important that I feel the same about it?  And why do I need to be convinced that I cannot dislike a particular movie?

You have your opinion. I have mine. Let's still be friends.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

many miles away

The internet is a funny thing. 

Thanks to the internet, I have discovered and interacted with dozens and dozens of people with whom I share a common interest. Some people share my love of old television shows and movies. Some, like me, have decided to make graphic design their chosen career. Others — and these are a decidedly eclectic group — have eschewed "normal" hobbies like stamp collecting, scrapbooking and crocheting in favor of seeking out the final resting places of celebrities. Yep... I number myself among those folks. And we are a surprisingly large contingent.

Through the magic of a network of interconnecting computers that stretches completely around the globe, I have "met" a number of folks who think it's totally normal to traipse through a cemetery on a sort-of scavenger hunt to locate the grave of a favorite actor that has passed... or perhaps an unsung hero to pay long overdue respect.

That's how I "met" Mark Masek. Mark Masek has written several books about cemeteries, chock full of tales of the famous, the not-so-famous and the notorious, for no other reason than keeping their memories alive. He also created the cleverly-named Hollywood Remains to Be Seen website, wherein he provides maps and directions for locating the graves of all levels of deceased celebrities across all of the major cemeteries in California and beyond. I used Mark's invaluable resources when I planned my first cemetery visit over a dozen years ago.

I don't remember when I first connected with Mark via the World Wide Web. It was either on Instagram or back when I was still a Twitter user. Then, when I joined Facebook, (reluctantly, I might add), Mark and I connected and engaged in "conversation" that reached beyond cemeteries. We discussed old movies and television programs from our youth. Then there was baseball. Mark was a fan of the beleaguered Chicago Cubs and we often exchanged friendly jabs when baseball season got heated as the coveted post-season approached. I would make rapid-fire posts about the soon to be beleaguered Philadelphia Phillies and Mark was right there to remind me what I had said about the Cubbies. In 2020, I began a series of artistic posts on my website that Mark really liked. I created movie posters, recasting current, popular titles with actors and actresses from Hollywood's Golden Age. I did my best to mimic the style, color, design and fonts for the era. I ended up doing 76 of them. Mark commented regularly, expressing his appreciation of the series and singling out some of his favorites. I was humbled by his compliments.

And then there was the calendar. Mark created the Deathiversaries calendar, a comprehensive chronicle of celebrity death anniversaries (a different one on each day of the year), accented by beautiful photographs of grave markers — one for each month. Mark did some extensive research and never duplicated anniversaries from year to year. Mark also took the pictures himself. Every year when I received my calendar, I'd post a little plug on my Facebook page, touting the possible appeal to my fellow taphophiles (yeah, we even have a collective name). Mark would always thank me for the post.

On December 15, in my own daily celebrity death anniversaries, I noted the 1675 passing of Dutch painter Johannes Vermeer. Mark commented that he'd never forget where he was when he heard the news.

On December 29, 2025, I had a brief online text conversation with Mark. A friend of mine posed an open inquiry for information about "print-on-demand" for calendars. I contacted Mark to ask about his experience with the company that prints his calendars. Once again (and certainly not unexpected), Mark quickly replied in great detail about his satisfaction with the process and the final product. He wished me and my family a "Happy New Year" and I returned the sentiment.

Another friend — also one I have never met, but who shares my love of cemeteries, television and all things pop culture — sent a message to me yesterday. She told me that Mark had passed away on New Year's Eve. 

I was devastated. It made no difference that Mark and I never met face to face. I had lost a friend. Condolences began to circulate among the tight, online group of cemetery enthusiasts to which I am connected — mostly from folks who, like me, had never met Mark. But, it was quite apparent that Mark was a good guy. Humble, knowledgeable, generous, funny, sweet, kind.

I'll never forget where I was when I heard the news. Rest in peace, Mark.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

man on the moon

Much like the moon, the internet is a vast wasteland. And the "wastiest" of wastelands on the internet is Facebook.

Beats me, Ethel.

If you are a friend or follower of Josh Pincus... well, I question your judgement. Aside from that, you know that every morning, I post a smattering of celebrity death anniversaries. You know this... unless you have me muted, which I certainly understand and I don't blame you. If I were a friend of Josh Pincus, I'd probably mute him.... er, me, too. Just after I eat breakfast and before I leave for work, I scan the good old internet and post a series of photos of famous — and not-so-famous — folks to commemorate the anniversary of their passing. I have been doing this for years. Years, I tell you! I usually get a handful of "likes" or "cares" from the regular group of loyal, death-obsessed Facebook friends that are also awake at the ungodly hour of 5 AM. But, every so often, one post — right out of nowhere, for no discernible reason — gets a ridiculous amount of "likes" from people with whom I am not connected. Now, I have no idea how Facebook's algorithms work. I'm not even sure if I spelled "algorithm" correctly. But, these extra, added "likes" just baffle me. A few weeks ago. a post honoring the "death-aversary" of Lucille Ball's dependable co-star Vivian Vance racked up 27 responses, most of which were from people I don't know.

One small step

On August 25, along with Senator Ted Kennedy, singer-actress Aaliyah, celebrated author Truman Capote and baseball footnote Archibald "Moonlight" Graham (yes, he was a real person and, yes,  he only had one Major League at-bat), I posted my early morning acknowledgment of the passing of astronaut Neil Armstrong on the thirteenth anniversary of the sad event. Then I went to work.

Through the course of the day, as I toiled over the inane changes several supermarket owners had to their store's advertisements (my day job), I marveled as the "likes" for the Neil Armstrong post increased at an astounding rate... astounding for me anyway. Between requests to make a picture of a pint of blueberries bigger and instruction to change the price of country-style spare ribs from $1.69 per pound to $1.67 per pound, I checked Facebook to see Spaceman Neil's "likes" approach the 100 "likes" mark. I checked the actual post to find that, in addition to all of these "likes," several people had made comments.

And, as they say, the comment did not disappoint. They puzzled me, but they didn't disappoint.

The first one kicked off my bewilderment. One guy named Ian questioned...

...and he was quickly joined by a few of his conspiracy-theory leaning cohorts. Traitor? Neil Armstrong? Really? Oh wait. Are we still subscribing to that "man never went to the moon" bullshit? Do we still entertain the belief that the whole moon landing was staged by NASA and a group of Hollywood filmmakers led by the notorious Stanley Kubrick. Are we still standing by the unproven postulate that Kubrick's The Shining was a veiled attempt at an apology for partaking in a hoax on the world, filling his film with hints and symbolism, revealing that, when the film is played backwards or in reverse or something, it clearly states that the moon landing was a fake. Y'know.... if you're a moron.

Moments later, this comment appeared, thanks to the insightful Randall... whoever that is.

Um.... what? What does this mean? What does this have to do with Neil Armstrong? Or the space program? Or... or... anything, for that matter?

Yes, my friends, the internet is the lawless Wild West, fraught with colorful characters, ornery outlaws, shifty townsfolk, angry gunslingers, town drunks, and a group of people who still believe the world is flat and the great sun god drags the morning sun up over a mountain and pulls it back down at the end of the day... possibly in a great golden chariot. Regardless, I will keep posting my silly, stupid. mindless, borderline funny (the jury is still out on that one) entries on Facebook for your amusement... but mostly for mine.

But one thing is for sure. Facebook, oh, Facebook, why can't I quit you?

***UPDATE*** As of today, 38 people, most of whom I do not know, nor have any connection to, reacted to my early September post commemorating Steve Irwin's death. Oh.... the internet.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

i think i'm in trouble

Last week, I wrote about baseball. The week before, I wrote about being an instigator on the internet. This week, I combine the two.

I spend a lot of time on the internet, specifically Facebook. On any given day, I get a lot of suggestions to join various Facebook groups based on my interests or something I may have clicked on or something I searched for on Google or something I discussed with my wife or even something I may have just thought about. You know how the technology has advanced in those algorithm things.

Because I have shown an interest in baseball, primarily my hometown's team, I get a lot of suggestions to join Facebook groups that are devoted to all things Philadelphia Phillies. In an effort to entice me to join, I get to see a post here and a post there from the particular group — sort of a "free preview" as though it was a weekend of free HBO MAX. In typical "Josh Pincus" fashion, I feel compelled to leave smart-ass comments mostly for my own amusement, but also hoping they will cause the algorithm to immediately reject such unwarranted — and unwanted — behavior. So far, it hasn't worked, but I am still mildly amused.

The once-dominant Phillies have hit a late-season snag. After a rocky start, the Phillies turned things around, riding high and defeating opponents left and right... until they didn't. While they still hold a substantial lead over the other teams in the league, the gap has begun to narrow as the season winds down to its final weeks — weeks that will determine who moves on to the coveted post-season. With a glimmer of hope for ending this nasty slump, the Phillies scored a whopping 11 runs on the Kansas City Royals on August 24. The Phils' offense was on fire with bats a-swinging, including catcher J.T. Realmuto knocking two over the outfield wall and racking up 7 RBIs. Every starter in the Philles line-up recorded a hit. Well... almost everyone. Poor Alec Bohm, the Philles usually-stellar third baseman, couldn't hit nuthin' despite five times to the plate. At the end of the evening's contest, the Royals retreating to their clubhouse with their collective tails between their legs, the fraternal assembly that is the current Phillies roster, hung around to congratulate their efforts. Photographers captured a tender and intimate moment as first baseman Bryce Harper, who went 1-5 with an RBI in the game, threw a brotherly arm across the sagging shoulders of Alec Bohm in a gesture of camaraderie, consolation and compassion for his beleaguered teammate. A Facebook group called A2D Radio posted the image with the single word caption "THIS!". Hell, it didn't even need a caption. Everything you needed to know about the team bond these players have for each other was apparent in this photo. Harper's Jesus-like expression of benevolence. Bohm's sadness and frustration with just a touch of hope at the words of his colleague. The dimly-lit, slightly out-of-focus, slightly off-center composition. It was all there. I didn't even need the thirteen hashtags A2D thought were necessary. The initial post generated 41 thousand positive reactions as well as 276 comments, most offering some sort of variation on the "I love this team!" sentiment.

I say most offered a positive comment. Most, not all. Let us not forget about one Josh Pincus, the internet's favorite redheaded stepchild who was only put here to be the cynical smart-aleck that you have come to know and love... or loathe... whichever the case may be. 

Among the outpouring of love, I commented: 

Yeah. I did that. Yeah.... I know. But it made me laugh and that is what is most important. Jeez, it even garnered 32 reactions — granted three of them were angry. But, as they say, there's no such thing as bad publicity. Honestly, I was just making a joke. I'm always making a joke. Some are funny. Some are not. I know that. Depending who you are, none of them are funny, but I can't help that. We each have our own taste in humor. Personally, I don't find Sebastian Maniscalco to be funny, but I think Andy Kaufman was hysterical. I love the Marx Brothers but Laurel and Hardy do nothing for me. I understand that my sense of humor isn't for everyone and I will happily admit when one of my jokes bombs. Just like I'm sure you'll happily admit when one of my jokes bombs.

And then along came a wave of folks who were only too happy to tell me exactly how funny they thought my comment was. On a scale of 1 to 10, they found it to be not funny at all.

I was told, in no uncertain terms, to:

• get my head out of the gutter
• grow up
• grow the fuck up
• come out of the closet (After all, where would the internet be without a homophobic slur. One thing you can say about Facebook, it is consistent.)

In addition, I was informed that "one day I would make a friend," that I'd "probably start gooning all over [my] living room" (I didn't understand that one.) and that I had made a "douche bag remark." (That one I understood.) I was questioned with "Dude? Really?" and "Are you 10?" All in all, it was a funny diversion until I got bored and looked for the next post just begging for a "Josh Pincus" comment.

Will this make me stop making comments on the internet? Are you kidding? Does the Pope shit in the woods? (Oh, you know what I mean.) No sir. This is only the beginning. I am on a mission.

And that mission is to make me laugh. Me. Not you.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

dumb boy

Do you think I'm dumb? I don't think I'm dumb. Sure there are plenty of things about which I am not knowledgeable. I will be the first to admit that. I'm terrible at math. I don't know the technical names for medical procedures. (My wife — with no medical training or background whatsoever — will happily inform me when such terms are mentioned in a movie or TV show.) I am not mechanically inclined. I don't know much about building things, as evidenced by the three screwdrivers and four hammers that make up our household set of tools. Same goes for the ins-and-outs of automotive repair. Aside from pumping my own gas, I am lost regarding anything that goes on under the hood of my car (It is called a "hood," right?) I can't cook and I can't sew.

I can, however, identify an episode Brady Bunch within the first 20 seconds. I can recognize an actor on a fifty year old episode of The Andy Griffith Show as the same guy who appeared (much older, of course) briefly in a Season 4 episode of Seinfeld. (I am referring, specifically, to prolific character actor Bill Erwin.) I can remember nearly every drawing I have done and posted to my illustration website. I can remember, with near pinpoint accuracy, the locations of almost every celebrity grave I have visited over the past several decades. Are these qualities I have included on my resume? No. Are these qualities of which I am proud? Yes. Embarrassed by... but proud. Some of this knowledge has resulted in a small collection of coveted trophies awarded at the end of a number of cruise ship trivia contests. It has also brought on jeers and dirty looks from those who can fix cars, do math and cook.

If you are my Facebook friend or perhaps follow my antics on Facebook, you know that each morning, I post a group of "death anniversaries" for that particular day. I go through several sources and select an assortment of famous names (and not-so-famous names). Then, I choose a photo from a quick Google search to accompany my post. Sometimes the post is illustrated by a drawing I did of that particular person. In other instances, I include a photo of the celebrity's grave, if it is one I have visited. I post between three and ten celebrity death anniversaries per day, depending on if it was a particularly moribund date in history.

Each of my posts gets its fair share of "likes,"👍 "loves," ❤️ "cares" 🥰 and sometimes even "ha-has," 😂 depending on the level of "belovedness" of the celebrity in question. Some of my connections will leave a comment, usually along the lines of "awww" or "I miss him/her" or, again depending on who it is, "good riddance!" (This is usually reserved for someone like Adolf Hitler or Charles Manson.) Every so often, someone will comment with a single, out-of-context line, stating the name of the person or the most famous character they played. As an example, on November 30, I acknowledged the passing of actor-singer Jim Nabors. I received comments from a few people that merely read "Gomer Pyle." Not "I loved him in Gomer Pyle" or "I hated him in Gomer Pyle"... just "Gomer Pyle." When I see comments like that, I stare at them for some time. Does the commenter think I don't know who he is? Does the commenter think he is doing me a favor by identifying a photo that I posted and found through a Google search? Does the commenter think.....? I have to stop myself from replying: "Yes! Yes! I know! I fucking know who Jim Nabors is! I posted this! I am not, nor have I ever, posted a picture and said "This guy died on this date in this year. I have no idea who this is. Please tell me." I pass on a lot of names that I don't recognize. I don't post their death anniversaries. I leave that to their families. If I really wanted to know who they were or what they did to make them famous, I'd Google it.

I have "friends" on Facebook that I do not know. I am connected to them via the common bond of death, cemeteries and old Hollywood. I am very, very well versed in those subjects. Very well versed. Sure there are people who know more than I do about those subjects. I have gotten information from them and I am thankful for the exposure to such information. I like information. I like to learn new things about the subjects in which I am interested. I don't like to be told things that are painfully obvious. If you have seen my Facebook posts for a period of time, you should be able to gauge what I know, what I don't know and when I am joking about what I know. If you can't tell, then just sit back and wait until you can tell. But, please — please! — don't talk to me like I am stupid.

Wanna be helpful? Instead of telling me that Bob Denver played "Gilligan" on Gilligan's Island, as though you are disclosing a long-protected government secret, tell me how to change the oil in my car.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com