RIP Billy Mays

They say things tend to happen in clusters, that when one famous person passes on, a number of other famous people will soon follow. And so it has been this week, first with Ed McMahon, then Farrah Fawcett and finally Michael Jackson.

Only it wasn't so final, as infomercial pitchman - and star of the Discovery series "Pitchmen" - Billy Mays passed away suddenly this morning at his Tampa, Florida home. Like the erstwhile Michael Jackson, he was 50.

I'll admit to not liking Mr. Mays's style. His perpetually amped up voice grated on my nerves, and it didn't take me long to resent his near-ubiquitous presence on the air. I don't watch a whole lot of television, but for some reason he kept popping up on the news channels that I often keep on during late night writing sessions. The comforting voices of anchors and reporters have long provided a normalizing backdrop to the emptiness of post-midnight writing jags - a backdrop that seemed to help me write more effectively when I was up all alone.

Until Mr. Mays came on, that is. His voice would instantly invade my brain and prompt a mad scramble for the remote. I understood his need to have a gimmick, a certain degree of shtick that set him apart from other informercial pitchpeople. I get that The Voice was why he was so successful in his chosen career.

Which is why I'm saddened by his all-too-young passing. Like all of us, he was simply doing what he needed to do to provide for his family. As annoying as some found him, he found his niche. And who among us wouldn't have wanted to enjoy similar success?

It's never fair when someone's cut down in the prime of life. It's never fair for a spouse and children to be left behind. Life is at once precious and unfair, and at times like this I find myself wishing it could be a little bit less of the latter.

Somehow, I suspect the much maligned late night infomercial just won't be the same anymore.

Your turn: Appreciating those we may not necessarily appreciate at first blush. Please discuss.