I must preface this post by saying that I did not create anything you see here. If you read my blog with any regularity, you already know I’m not that creative.

No, every file is real, which means I’m only the curator of this exhibit. If you’re offended by anything you see here, or you think it’s too soon, or you knew someone who knew someone who almost died that day, or you have proof that the Jews all got an email warning them to stay home that day, or Building 7 was actually made of sugar, I don’t know what to tell you. Start with the man in the mirror.

Anyway, there is a lot of crap here, so I’ve taken the liberty of grouping this garbage into the following categories:

Let’s roll!™

• gifs

This was probably the most prolific category of Nine-Elevenalia, and I’m not surprised. After all, in this MySpace-age world we live in, everyone needs a sparkly way to say, “Thanks for the add!” or “Sorry your friends died in that building thingy.”

While there are thousands of glittery memorial snowglobes and weeping eagles on the internet, I have contented myself to show you just a handful. Please download them and put them all over your Facebook today, if only to annoy the terrorists in your extended network.

• music

Of all the tragedy came out of 9/11, nothing is sadder than these.

• tattoos

Unless you put it on your back. Then it’s your wife’s problem.

More here

• merchandise

• personal expression

• inadvertantly offensive

You could make the argument that some of these images were designed to provoke an emotional response, but I think they stop short of pure trolling, which is the gold standard. I also think some of this was pure stupidity, which is not the same as being an asshole.

• deliberately offensive

Trying to make a couple of bucks on 9/11 is one thing.

Trying to get some bullshit advertising award by doing unauthorized, unsolicited work for a charity and making them look like ghouls in the process is something else entirely.

This year’s Twin Douchebag Award goes to . . .

DDB ADVERTISING, BRAZIL

For this spectacularly horrific and ultimately meaningless bit of batshittery.

“Now we can create a custom urn in the image of your loved one or favorite celebrity or hero!

Yes, now you can have the disembodied head of your recently deceased loved one, stuffed with its own remains like some kind of turducken of the damned.

Not into your husband’s head? Well, how about the head of “your hero”? They’ll whip that up for you, too! Just bring in a couple of snaps of say, Thurgood Marshall, and before you know it, your beloved will be enjoying eternity in his hollowed out fake head.

Sports more your thing? Who could resist the sloe-eyed gaze of Derek Jeter, watching you thoughtfully from the bookcase, with your loved one on his mind?

Or if the whole thing just isn’t creepy enough for you, have one made in your own image, and turn the whole fucking thing into a bong.

Order yours today!

Yesterday, when I snagged tickets to see Liza at the Morongo Casino, I was so high. Not quite as high as Liza, but still, pretty high.

Today comes the flipside of happiness; the inevitable, soul crushing disappointment. What comes up, must come down. Spinning wheel, got to go round. You know what I’m talking about.

The point is, I bought this yesterday, in anticipation of the big event. I wanted to wear it to the show, as a tribute.

I mean, this is definitely the way to honor someone’s musical genius. Not to mention the fact that Nate Giorgio has just been airbrushing around the clock to get this piggy to market.

And I also bought this, because it too, is a fitting tribute. And you can wear it with anything.

I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do. And they’re both available on the installment plan, so there’s no reason not to.

Besides, what if the glistening Swarovski crystals caught Liza’s eye as she stammered through the Kander and Ebb medley? What if she stopped the show, all Patti LuPone like, and demanded to know who was glittering in the upper tier? I could stand up, and sob, “Liza! It’s my Michael Jackson commemorative charm bracelet!”

And she would blink back tears, and I would start to sing, softly . . .

You and I must make a pact
We must bring salvation back
Just call my name . . .

And people would start to stand, one by one, picking up the refrain when it stuck in our throats.

Christ, is that a beautiful piece of imagery or what? It’s like something Aaron Sorkin would write, only a lot shorter.

Anyway, it all came crashing down when I got a receipt from CollectiblesToday.com, with the following heartbreaking words:

Estimated shipping: Ships in 6 – 8 weeks

What?

Six to eight weeks?

Okay, granted, he still won’t be buried by then, but come on! You’ve got to strike while the body is warm. I can’t sustain my grief for two more months. I’m already losing interest.

What could I do? I canceled my order. Wearing Michael Jackson jewelry in September is going to be like wearing white after labor day.

I only hope that Nate Giorgio learns from this, and is hard at work on that limited edition White Diamonds decanter.

In 1952, LIFE Magazine did a story on my father. He was still married to his first wife at the time, and would not meet my mother for another 8 years.

I’ve seen this issue. I used to have it, but I gave it to my half brother, who would be born the year after it came out. My older half sister is featured prominently in the photos; his only child at the time.

A story in LIFE was a big deal, but my father was big news. By this time in his life, he had already been a major radio star, and appeared on Broadway with Peter Lorre and Angela Lansbury. He was a hugely popular part of the first regular television programming on CBS. And when this story was printed, he was in the middle of a 5 year run of his own show on NBC.

He was 29.

Last night, someone forwarded an amazing link to me. Here are all of the photos that were taken for the story, the majority of which I have never seen before (only a handful of pictures accompanied the actual article). It’s fascinating to see him so young, and part of another family.

Even more fascinating is the discovery that these photos were taken by Gordon Parks, the first black man to work for LIFE magazine, and arguably one of the finest photographers of his time.