Unfunny business

Celebrating a Deathday™: Former Saturday Night Live® funnyman — and cereal spokesman — Phil Hartman died in his sleep on this day (May 28, 1998), but if you’re thinking there are worse ways to take one’s eternal leave than in the midst of an evening slumber, we should mention that Master Hartman’s was not of the “golden slumbers” variety, as his troubled Hollywood missus put a bullet in his noggin, hastening his exit, stage left. ‘Twas sad business and methinks a misjudgment on the Grim Reaper’s part, for surely there were ex-SNL-ers more deserving of the actor's hook — bleached, brain-breached Victoria Jackson comes immediately to mind. Hartman was a native of Canada whose family moved to the states, where he was art-schooled in his first love, designing album covers for sensitive, fringe-jacketed bands like Poco, America and CSN — a tissue-soft rock ensemble that former Hollies singer Graham Nash was so embarrassed about, he preferred the initialed moniker than having his name on the marquee — before Hartman stretched his creative skills into acting. He enjoyed a lengthy run at SNL — that American institution of only occasional humor, Hartman being a rare bright spot in the pantheon of dim-bulbed lesser-thans to cross its threshold, many graduates of The Second Rate City™, itself infamously unfunny. Hartman later veered into film and commercial work, where he would make his mark as a spokesman for Colon Blow® cereal. High fiber was the rage in the late 1990’s, as gents were forced by their well-meaning mesdames to eat oat bran until it was coming out their ears — not to mention the southernmost port — and if it took 30,000 bowls of oat bran to equal the fiber in one bowl of Colon Blow, then Colon Blow, Colon Blow snack treats and Colon Blow protein shakes it ‘twas! Soon Hartman was sponsoring colonics and such and it seemed his career post SNL was set. Alas, wife number 3, Vicki Jo, later Brynn — whom he had met a decade prior on a blind date arranged by unfunnyman Jon Lovitz — had other, despairing ideas. She took Phil’s life, then her own, leaving the kids to fend for themselves at their bloody aunties, all of which goes to show you that blind dates are scary business — crikey, Hartman’s role in the movie “Blind Date” should have told him that — and I would advise anyone to steer clear of the fakery that a blind date affords, unless you are of the actual, visually-impaired blind variety, which I heartily endorse, especially if you’re capable of “seeing” your partner’s face by running your mitts over his or her lumpy surface. That’s a good trick I never tire of.