Whitney

I was driving around Sunday afternoon when I heard the radio DJ's talking about Whitney Houston. I wasn't really listening as I was concentrating on not being a road hazard. As I pulled into the driveway at home, the female host mentioned that "tributes" were starting to pour in and that information was still a bit hazy. Tributes generally mean one thing.

"Is Whitney Houston dead?" I asked Dallas the second I walked through the door.

Of course, you know how that turned out and now, we hear speculation that it was a combo of prescription medication and alcohol. I'm clinging to the possibility that the official cause of death is something natural. Not likely, I know but I can still hope. I hate the thought of her being yet another statistic.

I saw Whitney live in Toronto in 1986 and she was impossibly good. I remember watching her sing the Star Spangled Banner during the Super Bowl and being awed by that voice, that incredible, goose bump-inducing gift . How it is, that a person with that kind of talent, let's it all get away from her so spectacularly?

It's just a bloody shame.

Years ago, I tried watching Whitney's interview with Diane Sawyer and had to shut off the TV because it was so disturbing. At the time, I thought that it was shitty of the network to exploit her obvious downward spiral. Then came the Oprah interview two years ago. Whitney looked great. She was coherent and thoughtful. Gone was the telltale twitchiness and irrationality that accompanied her drug use. Although it was sadly apparent that Whitney's former lifestyle had ravaged her voice, she was alive, seemingly healthy and by all appearances, she'd put the worst behind her.

"Found dead in the bathtub of her hotel room"

I hate that her ending is an ignorant, all too familiar, cliche.