in memoriam

 

So were you thinking, no, not another Jack-O tribute? Nah, I save this space only for discussions of true pop culture icons, like Carol Burnett and Simon LeBon.*

And Billy Mays.

Truthfully, I have to admit that I didn't give the man a whole lot of attention until Ryan was born. And then, somewhere in the fall of 2007, we started watching the Sprout Channel here and there. Yes, I let my infant watch television with me, and no, I don't feel guilty about it. I have enough other things to feel guilty about. It's not like it was Cinemax or something. Don’t ask me what show we were watching, because I really don’t remember—I just remember that there were two commercials that aired back to back every half hour or so, and Ryan was more enthralled with those than with the actual programming.

The first was an ad for some kind of prescription-strength diaper rash cream and featured lots of crying babies. I hated it. The last thing I wanted or needed to see or hear was crying babies when I had one of my own, but here was my 3-month-old, watching that screen and practically giggling at these babies in pain. I used to get this perverse pleasure watching him stare all wide-eyed at these little ones who had big tears streaming down their beet-red faces because of their relentlessly sore butts.

And then, those crying babies would transition to Billy Mays, hawking OxiClean. And Ryan would continue to watch, totally enrapt. The man would power through those stains, telling us, in that booming voice of his, how this stuff was powered by the air we breathe (if you say so, Billy). As I think about it, I’m now convinced that all those commercials are responsible for Ryan’s obsession with emergent removal of all dirt from his body, clothing, bathtub, and car seat as soon as he discovers its presence. Spaghetti sauce stains on his highchair tray? Mama, you need to work a little harder on that spot. In fact, he’s taken to calling dirt on his skin “boo boos,” which then requires that I clarify whether we’re talking about “boo boo hurt” or “boo boo dirt.” Perhaps I need to start carrying a tub of OxiClean with me at all times.

At any rate, I did think as I watched those commercials over and over again that this guy had made a great career for himself by merely pushing cleaning products. Seemed like he’d probably be wearing that blue shirt and singing the praises of OxiClean and Orange Glo well into his golden years. I’m sorry I took you for granted, Billy. Rest in peace, and maybe Ryan will try to fill your shoes in a few years. He gets pretty darn excited when I cut through those spaghetti stains.

*Both of whom, God willing, will live loooooong, healthy lives.

Comments

[Scary Mommy]

It's very odd that I found Billy's death to be sadder than both Farrah & MJ. Billy and I go way back--- pregnancy insomnia, wee hours of the night with a newborn and late night ER visits. He'll live on forever between 1 and 3 am.

(And, I'm loving your blog. It's rare that I follow someone over and they're actually FUNNY!) :)

[anya]

Unrelated to your post. THANK YOU, thank you, thank you.

[Emily]

That guy DIED?! Jesus Christ, who's next?!

[Lillian Simmons]

He probably died becuase he yelled so much. I mean, I know that oxyclean is amazing, BUT DID HE HAVE TO YELL AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS?!?!?

[Kate Coveny Hood]

I only just heard about this today. As someone who is easily brainwashed, I vaguely remember him as selling something revolutionary...