I don't think it was the same in the mid-afternoon of November 22, 1963.
But today, for the 10 minute time period beginning at 3 PM the news spread like wildfire.
Ana Nicole Smith had died.
I was in the middle of re-printing a few documents, and had to make two separate trips to the main printer during this firestorm of conversation. From all angles I heard the news, the gossip and the recounting of a public life.
Executive Vice Presidents to Temporary Hires were abuzz remarking on the notes of the fallen playmate. Discussions of deceased offspring here and conversations regarding lost inheritance there seemingly perpetuated every inch of the large company.
I'm no better. A few days ago, while filling up my water bottle the headline of a nearby Red Eye paper caught my eye. Apparently Jim Carry is dating Jenny McCarthy. "Oh, look at that" I thought to myself before I caught myself with a "Why the hell do I care?"
What is to become of someone who becomes Playboy Playmate of the year? It's pretty much an end game sell out move for these women. With the given exception of an expanded fame frame via Reality Television they get stripped of a future.
Best case scenario, you date either a respectable actor who vows to never marry you (McCarthy) or you date a respectable entrepreneur / legendary rocker who also vows to never marry you (Shannon Tweed). Medium case scenario, you never find your clothes again and live for 12 months at a time on a dorm wall. And then you have Ana Nicole Smith: the absolute worst case scenario.
Given fame
Given a massive inheritance
Given the luxury to let go physically and emotionally
Given a Reality television show
Given hope
At her highest point, which was probably a little over a year ago – fresh off her Trim Spa rejuvenation and expecting a baby – she thought she had beat the system. Soon afterwards she experiences one of the worst pains of humanity: outliving an offspring. And today it ended. Her misery is complete, for her.
But nobody is talking about the arc of her life today… expect me.
Good Night Ana. I won't necessarily miss you, and in 72 or so hours you may be forgotten from my memory forever. But your death today set a firestorm of gossip that made me want to add my own comment. And for that opportunity to comment, I thank you for a memorable life.
