...why I will not cry or update my Facebook status for WHITNEY HOUSTON

Whitney Houston (Photo credit: asterix611)

I’ve never cried for a celebrity. Hopefully, one day I will – when I’m so ridiculously famous that I call all my celebrity buddies by personalised nicknames and loosing them is like loosing my subscription to Weekly Magazine (or other tabloids that will feature me regularly). I’ll be the one walking down Hollywood Boulevard, calling out  “Hey Brad P. Daddy”, “TomKitten”, “Justin-lizard-in-your-pants” and “Puffy-puff-puff-puff-D”. You know, famous stuff.

But for now, I admit to finding no reason to cry. Or update my Facebook status about how much I’m crying, as per the latest trend. While everybody around me makes tissue-towers, I sit here a little dry (take that as you will).

Please don’t think I’m a heartless bitch. I resent the tag-on adjective ‘heartless’ – after all, I cried at the ending of The Little Mermaid when I was six.

I think it’s sad when anybody dies, even animals. I can’t squash a mosquito for the guilt of murder (ok, and for the whole ‘don’t-know-who’s-blood’ factor). Don’t even get me started about ants. The sight of death stabs at our own mortality, and brings to focus the passing of life and the concept of our ‘souls’. Who are we really crying for, anyway?

But it is tragic when a person close to you passes away and loosing them feels like you are, in fact, heart-less. Then I cry buckets.

Like most people, I knew Whitney like the back of my hand. Do you even know what the back of your hand looks like? Me neither.

So, while I will join followers commiserating the untimely death of a wonderful vocalist, a leader for black women singers, and an icon in the music industry, I will not cry for Whitney Houston:

1. Because the people who really knew her are crying tears for all of us.
2. Because I am not one of those people who really knew her. In fact, I never met her. Also, I didn’t buy her last CD.
3. Natural vocals are no longer a requirement in the music industry. It will go on.
4. Britney Spears is still alive.
5. Because her death reinforced a very important life lesson we often choose to ignore: do not mix medication with alcohol.
6. She died before her comeback had a chance to crash. Leave while you’re still on a high (too soon?).
7. I didn’t cry for Princess Diana, Steve Jobs and Other Famous People. I prefer to remain non-discriminative.
8. Because all top rock stars are meant to die from drug overdoses. Now she can happily rest in the Hall of Fame with Elvis, Morrison, Cobain,  Hendrix, Joplin, Winehouse and Jackson. I wish I was invited to that party.
9. Because I can’t cry on cue, unless onion induced. And I hate cutting onions.
10. Because life goes on after death. If Bobby Brown still managed to host a concert just hours after Whitney’s death, then I think it’s safe to say we’re allowed to assume our normal, meaningless lives. Just as long as you make a tribute, as did Clive Davis at his pre-Grammy party that raged on while police investigated Houston’s hotel room and her body was still in the building. Move on folks – is the message I’m getting from her friends.
11. The coveted “The Voice” title is back up for grabs. And I think I’m in with a chance (what with computer enhancement and all).
12.  ‘I will Always Love you’ has been on repeat for the last…twenty years. I need a break.
13. Dolly Parton wants her song back * (she did not confirm this fact).
14. Because Whitney paved the way for pop. I can’t say I appreciate how that turned out.
15. Because she was late to a dinner honoring Nelson Mandela. And he did stuff for a whole bunch of people, not just singers.
16. I’m too angry to cry. I was late setting up a memorial page and missed out cashing in.
17. I’m upset because I don’t know why I wasn’t invited to the funeral.

I will celebrate her life, however, for everything she taught us about dating men: hanging with bad boys only leads to trouble… and raging parties, copious drugs, and crippling fame. Who would want any of that anyway?

Thanks Whitney, for the little bit of something you gave us all.