Amy Winehouse dies and everyone has something sassy, weary or shrewd to say. A theatrical expression of addiction is celebrated, taunted and voraciously consumed until the death at which point she is dismissed as having been too weak to embrace her gifts, too corrupted and stupid to even live.
People love the overdose death the same way they love a really fucked up accident on the freeway. Disappointment/relief at the absence of detail, no blood or hand dramatically flung out from some folded metal. They have to love it because I can't otherwise explain the flood of expert commentary.
Expert commentary about a failure at life, coming from those salt of the earth average Americans. People who avoid disaster by the grace of their reason and foresight...that is, disasters other than their home foreclosures, strings of epically failed relationships, colossal debts, obese children, and life expectancies hovering somewhere between 56 and heart attack, not to mention the addicts in their own lives that they doubtless enable as it suits their own personal needs and expectations. Yes, life is just one first prize after the next when you're not as stupid as Amy Winehouse.
Call me dramatic, but I think I might prefer to choke on my own fluids at age 27 than to live that confused, filmy life full of coincidences, "fate," unknown aggressors, completely unanalyzed, feeling like a victim to outside influences always, never quite able to figure out why things never work out, not quite self-aware enough to ever implicate my own behaviors. Too stupid to know that I am stupid.
The self-satisfaction people must feel when they say something like "good riddance" must be like a salve to their own wounds. If I say it first, then you can't say it about me - right?
ETA: It was alcohol poisoning, not drugs. Now how foreign are her problems?