I didn’t know Jason Scott, but I sure did see his name a lot.
With a common name like this one as my general name (it’s not my real one), it would be expected that I would bump up against other Jason Scotts. There’s Jason Scott Lee, the Hawaiian actor. There’s Jason Scott Roberts, who killed a cop. There’s Jason Scott the Delaware Liberal. There’s even a movie in 2009 (supposedly) called Hello, My Name is Jason Scott. I am not in this movie and have nothing to do with it.
And then there’s Jason Scott.
He was billed as the “Mentalist to the Stars”, and working out of Las Vegas, he was one of those guys doing amazing tricks involving guessing games, manipulating glass and metal and other nearby objects, and generally freaking people out. He had a show in Vegas at various times and had done a lot of different private parties for celebrities, including one that put him up in my area, Boston, where he performed for Sting.
He came home from that performance, said he wasn’t feeling well, went to bed, and died. He was 33.
Jason, it turns out, had taken some oxycotin, and then later had a drink. He might have thought he was fine, but it turns out that’s what killed him; the autopsy report just recently came out.
We never met, never exchanged any mail, and I never saw any of his shows when I was in Vegas. But his name was always popping up on my searches, always getting in the way of my ego surfing, a smiling bald face that said “ha ha, here I am”.
Sorry we didn’t get to meet, dude. You seemed pretty amazing.
Categorised as: jason his own self
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