Sit down Waldo, tonight’s Van Halen Concert at John Paul Jones Arena in Charlottesville, VA has been postponed. According to the Richmond Times Dispatch the band’s equipment trucks had already arrived at the venue, suggesting a last-minute catastrophe. Normally we would speculate cocaine/herion overdose, but the boys are getting up there in age; perhaps heart attack or stroke? Maybe Eddie Van Halen’s hair is suffering from exhaustion. Either way, countless Budweiser-fueled tailgate parties will be postponed until an undetermined later date. Same goes for Monday’s concert in Duluth, GA.

John Paul Jones could not be reached for comment. But I still think his production on Butthole Surfers’ Independent Worm Saloon was totally badass.

Whatever, you still can’t front on the drum intro to “Hot For Teacher.”

In other news, I haven’t seen how Eddie Van Halen looks in a bit. Let’s check in:

Eghad! Keith Richards he isn’t. I guess decades of rock doesn’t suit everybody well. Wicked Witch of the West over here.

So what if Mary Kate Olsen and Heath Ledger were hooking up? I don’t really care and neither should you. The point is that Heath’s masseuse found him “cold to touch” and called Mary Kate 2 times before the police, knowing that she was at least a trusted friend who had the ability to send help. She knew the situation was delicate. She was probably thinking about the massive amount of cameras, the morbid public eye, and the apathy of police work when she dialed Mary Kate to frantically ask what to do. Yeah, it looks a little shady, but when you read his last interview in the New York Times, you’ll see there’s no foul play. Just a tragic accident with sleeping pills; a male Marilyn Monroe. May he rest in peace and his life be celebrated.

As often happens when he throws himself into a part, the actor is not sleeping much.

“Last week, I probably slept an average of two hours a night. I couldn’t stop thinking. My body was exhausted, and my mind was still going.”

One night, he said, he took an Ambien, which failed to work. He took a second one and fell into a stupor, only to wake up an hour later, his mind still racing.

Even as he spoke, Ledger was hard-pressed to keep still. He got up and poured more coffee. He stepped outside into the courtyard and smoked a cigarette. He shook his hair out from under its hood, put a rubber band around it, took out the rubber band, put on a hat, took off the hat, put the hood back up. He went outside for another cigarette.

Polite and charming, he nonetheless gave off the sense that the last thing he wanted to do was delve deep into himself for public consumption.