Congratulations, AP.
Yuck.
Within this is a post about the truly twisted nature of the celebrity death cult which resides in an ugly corner of our enormous subculture of starfucking, but I'm not going to write it. It's too depressing.
And I don't think I could get through it without unleashing the not totally unrelated fury I feel about the misogynistic under- (and often over-) tones of the coverage of Anna Nicole Smith's death. To be filed under Ya Learn Something New Every Day is my recently acquired understanding that the only thing worse than being an important woman with a strong opinion and something to contribute is to be a trifling woman with an inexplicable allure (beyond your appearance) to which no one will admit being drawn, even as your beautiful, tragic, charming, infuriating, famous, ubiquitous visage is paraded before us all one...last...time.
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