As you may know already, Anna Nicole Smith died today. Let’s just assume, for the sake of argument, that she died of an overdose.
Anyway, I was just watching a little “YouTube Retrospective” that AOL put together for its story on her death, and it reminded me that she was once an object of desire rather than an object of scorn and pity. It’s easy to forget, now that we know the sad end of the story, but millions of corn-fed American men (and a few corn-fed American women too) once imagined that they’d like nothing better than to share an evening or two with her.
Strange, isn’t, that such a desperately lost person—as it’s now obvious that she was—can ever contain that much meaning. And sad, too, that as a culture we enjoyed watching the spectacle of that meaning draining out of her until she was just a bloated, empty husk of a person.
R.I.P. Anna Nicole. Someone (probably your parents) should have loved you better.
