Death

If you live long enough, you'll eventually see the death of your pop culture.  Technically, mine has been dying for awhile now, but the deaths of Ozzy Osbourne and Hulk Hogan solidify it for me.  It's a strange feeling.  Plenty of people will point out that no, Hogan was not the superhero that we grew up watching.  I get it.  I'm not jaded enough, however, to act like he didn't mean something, even in 2025.  He's still Hulk friggin' Hogan.  People on social media can dance on his coffin if they want, but I'm choosing to pay my respects.  Of course, everyone loved Ozzy.  My mom loved Ozzy, for crying out loud.  While it's true that he didn't write any of the riffs on the Black Sabbath records, the role he played in the creation of heavy metal cannot be denied.  He was there for all of it.

I'm not sure if I have a point to make with any of this.  Just jotting down my thoughts on a hell of a week.  I'm going to go listen to Master of Reality now.