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Here's the thing:
In the paper today there was a heartfelt editorial. "Whitney provided the soundtrack to my life."
And I'm like, "That's fucking sad. Vacuous pop from a mediocre talent who had absolutely nothing original to say to the world? That's your soundtrack?"
Unfortunate she died, however she died? Yeah, sure. I guess. But before I weep for her, I'll weep for the death of--let's face it--other people more talented and actually important than that dipshit could ever dream of being.
Lucian Freud died back in July 2011. Remember how everyone was talking about it, how cable news went on and on with endless tributes, how the internet roared with mourning?
Of course not. So I'm tempted to agree that I don't really care about WH's death one way or the other. Maybe that's unfair. Maybe the attention given to her life and death over the life and death of real artists is the fault of our "culture." Whatever. Fuck her, anyway.
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