Does New Jersey bother lowering the state flag to honor men and women who have given their all for America? Just asking. I noticed that he has ordered the state flag to honor Clarence Clemons, who died at age 69 following complications from a stroke. The Pink Flamingo would never have paid attention to any of this if my mother had not called me last night, furious over the fact that the Governor of New Jersey had lowered the state flag to honor a chronic drug addict who, we all know, either died from an overdose or something related to it. It appears the State of New York has a bit more sense, and may not “honor” Whitney Houston.
I’ve not paid much attention to Houston’s death. The fact is, I never could stand her. I thought she was a pathetic excuse of a human being who was all hype and no talent. When one of her songs was played on the radio, I turned it off. If she was on television, I changed the channel. I made the mistake of going to see The Bodyguard, and never felt the same way about Kevin Costner. She was the most shallow creature I ever saw in my life.
When I saw that she had died, my first reaction was, well, she finally managed to take it to the final frontier with her drug use. I am appalled at the tributes to this addict, with states planning honors for someone who, by their chronic use of illegal drugs, was nothing more than a common criminal. If she had not been pretty, famous, and cute she would have been spending her days in prison for the very act of procuring her illegal drugs.
My mother rarely rants and raves over something pop culture. Since I’ve stopped watching the news at night, now that I no longer watch FOX. I watch the Bloomberg crawl in the morning, and that’s about it. So, I’m not paying attention to this vile and disgusting hype, lamenting the tragic death of a woman who destroyed her own life.
Yes, it is tragic. Instead of being honored, Whitney Houston should become a poster child for what happens to a person who ruins their life with drugs. Unfortunately, her fame and fortune cushioned her from the down and dirty of what a true drugger experiences. I knew someone who was a hard-core addict. Her stories are hair-raising, terrifying. She came from a family of wealth, but she was cut off from everything, forced to go her own way until she finally stopped doing drugs. The dirty secret with an addict is they cannot be helped until they want help.
Whitney Houston did not want help. She went back, time and time again, breaking the law like a common criminal, to get her drugs. The problem with her wealth and fame was the fact that she was protected from the vile life on the streets that any other addict faces. She did not end in the gutter, but she ended her life.
She does not deserve praise.
My mother was so angry I couldn’t believe it. “Did they do this tribute for Pavarotti when he died?” I explained that they had, in Italy. Like she said, the press basically ignored Pavarotti. They basically ignored the death of the most important American born opera singer in history – my idol, Beverly Sills. Oh, wait, Bubbles (I named a cat in honor of her) wasn’t a cute little druggie. She was a strong, powerful woman who led a life dedicated to making the world better for everyone around her.
I guess that doesn’t matter. All that matters was that Whitney Houston was cute and could hit high notes. Her voice was nothing but tin cans grating against a microphone. Bubbles had the most magnificent voice the Good Lord ever endowed a woman, with. She died of a rapidly growing lung cancer after spending several years caring for her husband, who had just died from Alzheimer’s. She lived with the fact that she had a son who was violently autistic and a daughter who was so profoundly deaf she could never hear her mother’s magnificent voice.
Oh, wait. That doesn’t matter. What matters is a cute little druggie once sang the National Anthem at a football game. Big fat hairy deal. If you want to hear a voice:
Yes, I know I’m being tacky. I really don’t care. Maybe I just don’t see things the same way most people do. I’m not all that in to pop culture and the popular people promoting it. The woman’s life was tragic. Any addict’s life is tragic.
We don’t need to make heroes of them. Like everyone else, give praise where praise is due, but get a grip with your life.