Another celebrity washes up on shore

Whitney Houston died this past weekend, because apparently she hadn’t died already. The news that she was dead was startling to me only because I had forgotten she was alive. Her timing – only a day before the Grammy awards – was apropos.

I can’t be the only person cynical enough to wonder if the has-been diva wanted to co-opt the music award show with her (un)timely passing, knowing she had blown her last appearance there and was unlikely to ever blow any audience away again. As a performer she was done, but with her passing she was just getting started as a legend. And what better kick off for the creation of your posthumous legacy than a Grammy show?

Semi-directed demise or unexpected but inevitable end aside, it’s still frustrating to see the way our society lauds its drug-addled failures. A druggie with extraordinary talent is a “troubled soul”; a druggie who can only claim mediocrity at best is just a druggie. A druggie with extraordinary talent that never made it? Also just a druggie. Fame exempts an addict from the tarnish of social scorn, and then we are surprised when so many of the famous are addicts?

It’s sad to see talent waste itself in a spiral of self-destruction. It’s even more sad to see a society waste its adulation and reward ungrateful individuals who will turn around and throw their talent away. I realize that sounds harsh. But I also realize that a singer-turned-crack-addict was given an opportunity millions wish for, and surely there were at least dozens in the world so gifted they deserved it every bit as much as she did. She was not irreplaceable; she was the right voice in the right place at the right time, and that’s why the whole world knows Whitney and nobody knows about a middle-aged diner waitress somewhere who has a big voice and used to have even bigger dreams.

I fear that as long as celebrities know that at least the world will mourn them as a treasure taken too soon, they will have no true ultimatum to get their shit together. Maybe it’s time to stop coddling our beloved cautionary tales.

Half-hearted at half-time

I barely watched the Superbowl last night; more than most years, I was apathetic to the outcome. There were two strong franchises, neither of which holds my allegiance, and both of which had won relatively recent championships. With no underdog or home team to root for, the competition was not so much compelling as it was tiresome. Still, Tom Brady irritates me for no reason I can defend; there are a number of people in the world that I want to punch in the face because they exist, and he is on that list with Beyonce and a handful of others. Everyone else that I want to punch in the face? I can at least tell you why.

My best guess behind my response to Tom is that he projects a sort of hyper-masculine stupidity; I’ll bench press a Ford 150, impregnate a supermodel, win a few Superbowls and yet — at the corner of his mouth you can see the drool starting to gather. I like manly-men, but I like them better when they can project intelligence. Eli Manning is boyishly adorable, like a ferocious puppy or a hyper-alert infant, so as a woman I find myself having a slight preference in his direction. Which is still not to say I want Eli to win so much as I would rather see Tom lose.

Anyway, in that sense this year’s Superbowl was really a preview of this year’s election cycle. It’s not so much that I’m rooting for a winner as I’m hoping for a particular loser. The winner, whoever they are, is by definition better than the vacant alternative; however, I have no hope that they will be so much better that I will care to root them on.
Reading through the headlines today, I wondered if it was my own cynicism that was causing me to view current events in terms of such futile dichotomies that I can hardly care whose interest prevails:

Jews versus Arabs? Both so fucked in the head and blinded by their own religious hysteria I can only hope they have a showdown resembling a matter/antimatter particle collision.

The Catholic Church versus Obama’s mandate? Let me see, who do I like more…the institution that tends to fondle children after they’re born or the administration that says its OK to kill them off first?

The FCC versus M.I.A.? A talentless hack trying to gain attention for herself with an “edgy” gesture is pathetic, but maybe not as pathetic as having a government entity care to censor something every kid who ever sat in the backseat of a car has seen a million times.

US versus Russia and China? We told Russia we didn’t want to go out with her and then we act all surprised when she starts sleeping with our abusive boyfriend.

I’m trying not to become completely complacent; I remind myself to remain passionately critical of the players even if I am apathetic to the outcome of the game. Our descendants are the ones who ultimately get to scribble “good” or “bad” in the margins of the history books; we can’t declare winners, but we can judge the teams on the field. Staying engaged despite the momentary meaninglessness is our responsibility to someone else’s tomorrow, and when I feel the creep of despair I try to ward it off with gratitude for our ancestors who fought in the face of their own futility and brought us every good thing we enjoy today.

Oprah got fat again

Would this bitch just die already.

Every year it’s: “Yeah! I’m healthy and fit and sexy!”

Then it’s: “Waaah, I’m fat!”

I feel like this is just a circuitous orchestrated stunt in an effort to prove that billionaire women have problems too. She gets skinny – how inspiring for her overweight, middle-aged, mid-Western viewers! They can do it too! Then she gets fat – just like her overweight, middle-aged, mid-Western viewers. She understands their struggles!
I don’t think billionaires should be allowed to pretend they have problems. If you can’t figure out how to have a damn near perfect life with a billion dollars, your ass deserves to be permanently broke.  And fat.