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

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

get out of here with that (boom * boom * boom)

As a twenty-plus year seller on eBay (Oh for crissakes! NO! She will not sell your stuff!), Mrs. Pincus joined a Facebook group called "eBay For Beginners." She joined to offer her years of experience on the commerce website to those who are just starting out as sellers and are overwhelmed by the whole thing. The membership is mostly comprised of novice sellers, hoping to cash in on the untold riches they've been told are available on eBay. On a daily — sometimes hourly — basis, folks posts questions and scenarios that are filled with a combination of wonder and wrong information. After reading responses to these questions, Mrs. P chimes in with a clear-headed solution, based on a previous experience with the issue at hand. After twenty-seven years, she has seen it all and has become somewhat of an expert on the ins and outs of the mighty online auction and "buy-it-now" website. She has fielded questions about shipping and the head-scratching policies of the United States Postal Service. She has deciphered eBay policies that can sometimes be very confusing to new sellers. She has offered tips and tricks to make for more visible and enticing listings. She has even identified mysterious items that someone discovered while digging through Grandma's attic in hopes of finding some priceless antique that will result in a huge monetary return.

Like this one...

An anonymous member in the group (as anonymously identified by the user name "Anonymous Member) posted multiple images of a particular item. The user asked for assistance in identifying this piece. The item in question — a double ceramic cup decorated with dainty flowers and a large handle joining the two vessels — was like nothing this particular user had ever seen. They came to the good, sometimes helpful, folks in the "eBay For Beginners" group for some help.

In addition to her years of eBay experience, Mrs. Pincus has many more years of experience attending assorted Jewish religious services and practices. Immediately, upon seeing the photos, Mrs. P knew exactly what she was looking at. She explained that this was a ritual handwashing cup that is used before a meal. A blessing is recited and a bit of water is poured from the cup onto each hand to cleanse before eating. The wording on the overarching handle reads "Al Nitilat Yadayim" in Hebrew. It translates to "taking up of the hands." She went on to explain that these cups are made from a variety of materials, including copper, silver, glass even carved wood and some come with a bowl to catch the excess water. Most often they are a single cup with two handles. Mrs. Pincus commented on the uniqueness of this one, adding that, although she had never seen on quite like it, it was most definitely a ritual hand-washing cup. (Curiously, it does not have a specific name, like "sure, that's a piece of clothing, but it's called a scarf" or  "yes, that's a part of a cow's muscular system, but it's called a hamburger.")

The anonymous user thanked Mrs. Pincus for the information. But, because it's the "never satisfied" internet, a few comments under Mrs. P's clear and concise explanation, was a comment from another member of the group who offered a contradictory take on the object, as though this was a game of  The Liar's Club. This person — one Janet Roberta Mahoney — asserted that, and I quote...

"I disagree that it's for handwashing as pouring from one side spills the other. Can't tell from the photo how big it is. Is the open part connected between the 2? If so, I'd say it was a vase."

I'm going out on a limb here, but I'd say that Mrs. Pincus has been to many more Passover seders than Ms. Mahoney. I would venture to guess that Mrs. Pincus has held as many ritual hand-washing cups as Ms. Mahoney has held shillelaghs. While I wouldn't question Ms. Mahoney's knowledge of leprechauns, the Blarney Stone or St. Patrick's secrets of ridding a country of snakes, I would like to know how many times she has sat through the full reading of the Magillah, how many times she kisses the mezzuzah affixed to her door jamb before she leaves the house or  how much cholent she has eaten in her lifetime. If the original post featured a photo of a thurible, I would trust Ms. Mahoney in her assessment and explanation of that piece and its function in the rituals of the Catholic Church. But, alas, it was a photo of a hand-washing cup adorned with Hebrew writing — something with which Mrs. Pincus is intimately familiar. This is a case of staying in your lane, Ms. Mahoney, even if that lane is on the left side of the road.

I have often said that Mrs. Pincus is the nicest person I know. I don't say that just because she is my wife. I genuinely believe she is the nicest person. However, after hanging around with ol' Josh Pincus for over forty years, some of that "Josh Pincus"-ness has unfortunately rubbed off on her. Every once in a while, a "Josh Pincus"-style remark slips through when a more "Mrs. Pincus" reply would be expected. Mrs. P read Ms. Mahoney's comment and replied: "You're wrong."

Kinehora.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

special delivery

Mrs. P has been selling stuff on eBay for years. (For the last time, NO! - she will not sell your stuff for you!) Over the years, she has dealt with unusual customers and unusual requests. One item — a vintage children's rocking horse on a metal frame — was clearly marked on the list page as "LOCAL PICKUP ONLY." After the auction ended, the high bidder inquired about shipping, identifying himself as residing in Ohio. I realize that Ohio is closer to Pennsylvania that say Zimbabwe, but that does not qualify for "local pickup," even in the most relative of senses. After some fevered emailing, the high bidder consented to driving to our home in suburban Philadelphia to pick up their purchase.

Another buyer bought an item — this time it was a wicker baby carriage from the early 20th century — and inquired about shipping. Once again, they interpreted "local pickup" to their own needs. This buyer lived in the area of the Chesapeake Bay. After some email back-and-forth, my wife (the nicest person in the world, as we have previously established) made the offer to deliver the item herself, if the buyer could wait a week when my wife would be visiting family in Northern Virginia. 

I guess, by now, you understand that Mrs. P sells items that fall into the "nonessential" category. Although, based on some of the desperately needy buyers, you'd think she operates a blood bank or a vital organ repository. Poor Mrs. P has been harangued by over-eager buyers negotiating quick delivery for a 30-year-old coloring book as though it were a pint of AB negative blood.

This past week, a potential buyer ("potential" at this point in the story) contacted Mrs. P regarding a particular item in her eBay stock.

TUESDAY 1:20 PM

Mrs. Pincus was contacted by a fellow who is interested in purchasing a pair of wooden crutches. He explained in his email that he needs — needs — these crutches for the weekend. (Let me point out that nobody needs a pair of wooden crutches. The Red Cross does not accept donations of wooden crutches, as they are difficult to disinfect. Lightweight aluminum crutches are the standard now and have been for some time.) Mrs. P acknowledged that several options for delivery could be made, however, because of the unusual size of the item and the immediate need (there's that word again), the cost could run towards the high side. She did not receive any further correspondence from the potential buyer.

WEDNESDAY 11:18 AM

Mrs. Pincus takes it upon herself to contact the potential buyer, offering another option for delivery. The potential buyer lives in New Jersey. North Central New Jersey to be more specific. She offered to meet in a convenient location, as she would be going to an appointment in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, which is actually no where near this guy's location... but, Mrs. P is nice and likes to be as accommodating as possible to make a sale. She received no response.

THURSDAY 9:02 AM

Mr. "I Need Wooden Crutches" sent an email, reiterating his intent to purchase. Although he had not made the actual purchase yet, he listed a number of delivery options including overnight express via the US Postal Service and hiring an Uber driver to pick the crutches up. (This is a service I was not aware Uber offered. To be honest, I have never availed myself of any of Uber's services.) Once again, Mrs. P suggested the "meeting halfway" option, to which he — once again — did not acknowledge,

THURSDAY 12:22 PM

Still no purchase.

THURSDAY 2:10 PM

Still no purchase.

THURSDAY 5:30 PM

The first word in over seven hours arrived. The potential buyer had decided to use the services of Uber to deliver his not-yet-purchased crutches to his location. He requested our address, which Mrs. P wisely will not reveal until a purchase had been made and confirmed.

THURSDAY 8:03 PM

Success! The crutches were purchased! Mrs. P sent our home address to the buyer and he confirmed that an Uber drive will be at our house at approximately 10:30 PM. Some of us (namely me) have to go to work the next day. Usually by 9 o'clock at night, Mrs. Pincus is waking me up on the sofa to go to bed. At this time, Mrs. P began readying the crutches for pick-up. She removed the rubber tips and put them in a small plastic bag. Then, she put the crutches themselves into a large trash bag as far as they would go, tying the bag securely. Then we waited.

THURSDAY 10:24 PM

As I sat dozing on the living room sofa, Mrs. Pincus checked a message on her phone. An automated text message informed her that the Uber driver was just minutes away.

THURSDAY 10:31 PM

A car pulled up in front of our house. Mrs. P woke me up and I ran out to the vehicle, gripping the knotted trash bag with the crutches in one hand. The driver of the car lowered her window and I asked if I should just put the bag in the back seat. The driver smiled and nodded, answering, "Sure" before the driver's window went back up. I opened the back door of the car and was immediately hit with the heavy overpowering aroma of cigarette smoke. I held back a cough, placed the bundled crutches on the seat and slammed the door shut. The car drove off into the darkness of our street.

"I wonder where the crutches are headed now," Mrs. Pincus asked aloud. "I wonder if they are going right to the buyer or if he is picking them up at another location."

"You got paid, right?," I asked.

"Yes.," my wife replied.

"My wondering has ended."

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

silver threads and golden needles

It's coming up on a year since I left the vile, bubbling, hate-filled cesspool that Twitter has become. I was pretty active on Twitter for years, but after psycho melomaniac Elon Musk purchased the ubiquitous social media platform, things just took a nosedive. Twitter became rampant with heinous, venomous bullshit and I no longer wanted to be a part of it. Besides, I was already getting my fair share of bullshit on Facebook.

In July 2023, the folks who brought you Instagram and Facebook launched Threads, a near carbon copy of Twitter specifically created to unseat the mighty microblogging giant. In its first week, Threads signed on over 100 million — 100 million — new users. I was there at the beginning, watching the joy unfold, seeing familiar names greeting an abundance of potential followers with heartfelt greetings of "What's up Threads?" and "What's this all about?" By week number two, the excitement subsided and things evened out and I began to ignore Threads, focusing more on Instagram and Facebook, both of which I use daily. One morning, while posting on Instagram, I noticed that a "share to Threads" option had been added along with the similar Facebook option. This way, I post to Threads and Facebook without ever opening up the Threads app. Great! I was growing weary of Threads and the "Hey everybody" messaging that was prevalent over there.

There's a music guy in Toronto named Eric Alper. Not being Canadian, I was first made aware of Eric Alper on Twitter. Eric Alper's MO was to pose (mostly music-related) "conversation starters" and then not wait around for the conversation to start. He'd post things like: "What was the first concert you attended?" or "What was the first album you purchased with your own money?"  Soon, he was branching out beyond the music business. "Does mayonnaise belong on every type of sandwich?" or "Do you like summer or winter best?" Then, while the replies would pour in, Eric Alper would already be on to the next question, never checking back to review the answers from his faithful followers on the first question. He never commented or countered or even cared about how many followers were responding. I found this to be rude and frustrating and just adding to the overall attitude that was slowly turning me off from Twitter. Elon Musk was just the rancid icing on the stale cake.

Recently, I logged on to Threads — possibly out of boredom — to see how and if things had progressed. I found Threads to be chock full of Eric Alper wannabes. Threads was overrun with nonsensical questions and easily Google-able trivia. "Who's the most famous person you ever met?" and "What are the best vegetables to put in chicken soup?" and "Do you put on a sock and a sock and a shoe and a shoe or a sock and a shoe and a sock and a shoe?" and the often posed "Does pineapple belong on pizza?" Twenty or so minutes of scrolling will reveal dozens and dozens of these inane non-sequiturs, all posted with the intention of bringing the author untold internet fame and the proud title of "influencer." All of this prompted the inner Josh Pincus to unleash his redheaded ire. I decided to answer some of these questions in the most Josh Pincus way possible, keeping up my brand as the internet's most loveable smart-ass.

Someone asked: "What's one Mexican food that you will NOT eat?" I answered: "Chihuahua."

Someone asked: "What do you think of when you hear the word 'debunk?'" I answered: "De summer camp."

Someone asked:" Did you ever like something so much, you bought two of them?" I answered: "Yes. Shoes and gloves."

Feeling cocky, I mistakenly tread into an area of Threads occupied by a bunch of folks with absolutely no sense of humor — Beatles fans.

Someone posed the question: "Who is the best musical trio?" Among the responses of The Police and Rush and Cream, I replied "The Beatles." and I sat back and waited for someone to take the bait. Just a few minutes after my reply, a fellow named "Bakemaster420" with a profile picture that screamed "I am so stoned," corrected my answer in a very matter-of-fact manner. He said: "Trio," to which I quickly replied "I don't count Ringo," Understandably, not everyone is familiar with my long-standing "pseudo feud" with the Liverpudlian quartet's drummer. But, this, of course, was the response I wanted to complete the joke. I laughed to myself because I do this for my own amusement and I am, admittedly, my own best audience. A few hours later, "Mr 420" added: "Well, that's pretty fucking stupid." I laughed some more.

Not content with ruffling some feathers in the staid Beatles camp, I wended my way over to an even less humorless group of musical faithful — Bruce Springsteen fans. Springsteen fans — the current ones, anyway — are an odd bunch. Way back in high school, I numbered myself among the loyal legion of Asbury Park's guitar-slinging pride-and-joy. Over the years, however, my love for The Boss has waned and I find his current persona as the raspy-voiced elder statesman of Americana rock & roll to be grating, tedious and downright irritating. Unfortunately, you take your life in your hands if you mention this to a Springsteen fan. Most Springsteen fans are in my age group (late 50s to early 70s) and spend their surplus free time trying to convince the younger generation that not only is Bruce Springsteen the greatest singer-songwriter-performer of all time, but that any other music by any other artist (save for Springsteen-adjacent acts like Southside Johnny) aren't worth listening to and one should be ashamed and even berated for doing so. Knowing full well of the consequences ahead of me, I decided to — in  RFK Jr. terms — "poke the bear."

Someone innocently asked, with the hope of becoming an internet celebrity: "What celebrity did you used to be a fan of but aren't anymore - and why?" I answered: "Bruce Springsteen. I think it's pretty obvious." The bear had officially been poked and the angry retirees lifted themselves out of their golf carts to come to the rescue of their beloved New Jersey crooner (that isn't Frank Sinatra). The first salvo came from a guy that asked "It is? What are you referencing?" I replied with a link to a blog post I wrote in 2014 in which I first confessed my love of all things Bruce but went on to explain how my admiration dissipated as Bruce's music — in my opinion — became less heartfelt and more of an exercise in corporate branding. I thought I did a good job of explaining my disillusion. (To date, that post got 585 views. You can read it HERE, if you really want to.) Well, this particular Springsteen fan couldn't bear to have someone — especially snotty little Josh Pincus — not like Bruce Springsteen. So, he tried to convince me in the most eloquent way possible. He told me "Your writing is fucking atrocious." Several more of Bruce's disciples chimed in. They attacked my writing, my opinion and my musical tastes. I am fairly certain that if I gave undying praise to Springsteen, my writing would have been compared to Hemingway. But maybe that's just wishful thinking. Oh, and each angry response was punctuated by "Dude" either at the beginning or at the end of their statements/threats. I ignored all of the replies and just watched as the palpable frustration grew and grew until they all just gave up... or I just stopped reading them.

For the time being, I have decided to lay off mocking the musical opinions of the ultra-defensive, ultra-fragile "Classic Rock" devotees. I certainly wouldn't want to keep them from cashing their pension check or taking their afternoon nap. So, I'll stick to telling everyone that "Fiona" is my favorite kind of apple and that kitty litter doesn't belong on pizza.

But pineapple does.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com