How my screen name originated has little to do with spirits. A day without music is like a day without sunshine. Please love everyone & be kind to animals.
@Ikennect This may be click bait but I’ll play. I definitely did all 20. One if my favs was # 12. Did it regularly. Wore those tape recordings of my favorite songs out, I played them repeatedly!
Kurt Russell chose the life most people only dream about and never looked back.
He moved to Colorado when he was 26 years old and said, "At a certain point, you find yourself asking whether you're going to live the life you want to live, or if you're just going to talk about it." He stopped talking about it and bought a log cabin ranch in Old Snowmass with Goldie Hawn over 40 years ago.
They have been together since 1983 and have never married. They split time between Los Angeles, Palm Desert, New York, and Colorado, but Russell has made it clear that the ranch is his favorite place on earth. Their son Wyatt and his family also live in Colorado now, keeping the whole family close to the mountains.
He grew up in a log cabin in Maine as a child and said he never got it out of his system. He and Goldie share a passion for log homes, and the Old Snowmass property is a time capsule that has barely changed in three decades.
The man who played Wyatt Earp in Tombstone lives exactly the way you would hope he does.
America's sweetheart was diagnosed with MS in 1987. Tabloids called her a drunk. In 1992, she revealed the truth and changed MS awareness forever.
Her name was Annette Funicello, and she taught the world that courage isn't about being fearless—it's about being terrified and speaking anyway.
In 1955, a 13-year-old girl from California became one of the original Mouseketeers on Disney's new television show, The Mickey Mouse Club. Annette Funicello, with her warm smile and genuine sweetness, became America's favorite Mouseketeer—the one every parent wanted their daughter to be, the one every kid wanted as a friend.
Walt Disney himself adored her. He personally guided her career, protected her image, and became a mentor. When the show ended in 1959, Disney ensured Annette transitioned to a successful film and music career.
Throughout the early 1960s, Annette starred in a series of "beach party" movies with Frankie Avalon—lighthearted, musical films that defined teen culture. Beach Party, Muscle Beach Party, Beach Blanket Bingo—these weren't high art, but they were pure joy.
Annette represented wholesome American youth. Even in beach movies, she wore modest one-piece swimsuits—Walt Disney had specifically asked her to maintain a clean image, and she honored that throughout her career.
By the 1970s, she had gracefully transitioned from teen idol to adult actress, mother, and businesswoman. She appeared in television shows, did commercials, and raised her three children largely out of the spotlight.
To the public, Annette Funicello had lived a charmed life—fame, success, family, and that enduring wholesome image.
Then, in the mid-1980s, people started noticing something was wrong.
Annette began stumbling. Her speech occasionally slurred. She seemed unsteady, disoriented. Tabloid photographers captured her looking unbalanced, her movements awkward.
The tabloids did what tabloids do: they created the cruelest narrative possible.
"ANNETTE'S SECRET DRINKING PROBLEM"
"FORMER MOUSEKETEER BATTLES ALCOHOLISM"
"ANNETTE FUNICELLO'S SHOCKING DECLINE"
The speculation was vicious. America's sweetheart, the girl who represented wholesome values, was apparently a drunk. The whispers spread. Her reputation, carefully maintained over decades, was being destroyed by speculation and lies.
Annette said nothing. She retreated further from public life. The rumors intensified.
What the public didn't know: in 1987, Annette had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis—a progressive neurological disease that attacks the central nervous system, causing symptoms that look exactly like intoxication.
MS destroys the protective coating around nerve fibers, disrupting communication between the brain and body. Symptoms include: loss of balance, slurred speech, vision problems, tremors, difficulty walking.
The exact symptoms tabloids were attributing to alcoholism.
For five years, Annette kept the diagnosis private. She was terrified—of public scrutiny, of being pitied, of losing her identity to a disease. MS has no cure. The prognosis can range from mild to devastating. She didn't know what her future held.
But as the tabloid speculation grew crueler, as her reputation was demolished by rumors, Annette made a decision that required extraordinary courage.
In 1992, she went public with her MS diagnosis.
She appeared on television, explained the truth, and faced the cameras with the same warmth and honesty she'd shown as a Mouseketeer 37 years earlier.
"I have multiple sclerosis," she said simply. "That's why I've been having difficulty walking and talking. I'm not an alcoholic. I have a disease."
The public response was immediate and overwhelming. The cruel tabloid speculation evaporated, replaced by sympathy, support, and apologies.
But more importantly, Annette's announcement transformed MS awareness.
In 1992, multiple sclerosis was poorly understood by the general public. People didn't know the symptoms, the progression, or the challenges MS patients faced. There was stigma, misunderstanding, and very little public advocacy.
Annette changed that.
She became the face of MS awareness—not by choice, but by necessity. And she used that platform powerfully.
She established the Annette Funicello Research Fund for Neurological Diseases, which has since raised millions of dollars for MS research. She spoke publicly about living with MS, educating people about symptoms, treatment, and the daily reality of progressive neurological disease.
She gave dignity to a disease that had been hidden, misunderstood, and stigmatized.
But going public didn't stop the disease. MS is progressive, relentless, cruel.
Over the next 21 years, Annette's condition deteriorated. She lost the ability to walk independently. Her speech became increasingly difficult. Eventually, she needed full-time care, unable to perform even basic tasks without assistance.
The woman who had danced across beaches in the 1960s spent her final years in a wheelchair, her body betraying her while her mind remained aware of everything she was losing.
Her husband, Glen Holt, cared for her with devotion. Her children watched their vibrant mother disappear into a disease that took everything except her sweetness—even near the end, people who met Annette described her as kind, warm, present despite her physical limitations.
On April 8, 2013, Annette Funicello died at age 70 from complications of MS.
The world mourned. Disney aired tributes. Former Mouseketeers shared memories. Fans who had grown up watching her remembered the joy she'd brought them.
But Annette's legacy isn't just The Mickey Mouse Club or beach party movies.
Her legacy is changing how the world understood MS. Her legacy is giving a face and a voice to a disease that had been hidden in shame. Her legacy is proving that even when your body fails, your courage can remain intact.
She went public with her diagnosis in 1992 not because she wanted sympathy—she went public because the alternative was watching her reputation destroyed by lies, and because she knew other people with MS were suffering in silence, too ashamed to speak.
By speaking, she made it possible for countless others to speak too.
Today, MS research has advanced significantly. Treatment options exist that didn't in 1987. Public awareness has grown. And much of that progress can be traced back to Annette Funicello's decision to say: "I have MS. I'm not ashamed. And neither should you be."
In 1955, a 13-year-old girl put on mouse ears and became America's sweetheart.
In 1992, a 50-year-old woman faced cameras and revealed a devastating diagnosis, transforming how the world understood MS.
Both moments required courage. But the second one mattered more.
Because Annette Funicello didn't just entertain us. In her final decades, when she could have quietly disappeared, she chose to educate us, to advocate for others, to use her fame for something bigger than nostalgia.
She showed us that true grace isn't about never falling—it's about how you face the fall.
Annette Funicello fell. MS made sure of that.
But she fell with dignity, courage, and a determination to help others who were falling too.
That's not just a career. That's a legacy.