Once upon a time, a long time ago, I was flipping through the 1207 channels on my TV and thinking, “My god, there is nothing on,” when I happened upon a train wreck the likes of which I had never seen before.

There, in full bosomed glory, on my television screen, was a rather large blonde, blue eye shadow applied by putty knife and all, laying on a pink bed, with pink walls and pink feathers and some flaming guy with about two inches of lip gloss on, talking to her about leopard print or zebra stripes or something equally offensive in the world of home fashions. She was having it wallpapered to the beams on her ceiling along with pink paint and pink feathers. There may also have been glitter involved.

“Uh, what?” you are probably asking yourself. I know, I almost couldn’t believe it myself. This was what my cable bill was paying for!

“Wait a second…that’s no drag queen, that’s Anna Nicole!” I realized and the hurried clicks away from that channel screeched suddenly to a halt and I returned, ever so reluctantly to the dreaded channel 30 to watch, in horror, at the train wreck I had seen before me.

You know, there are few things in this world that can actually rattle me. I think of myself as worldly, opinionated, experienced and exposed to so many different cultures, ways of life and lifestyles that the sight of a flaming voodoo doll on my doorstep, a few years back, came as no surprise and resulted in almost no second thought after the flames were extinguished. But, this show, Anna Nicole, on E, well, to me, this had all of the elements of a mangled heap of sideshow freaks and doped up dolls that came together with such offense and hilarity that I just couldn’t quite look away. And with that, I am ashamed to say, I was hooked.

In all honesty, I wish I could say that I was above it all. I would like to pretend that in this world full of rubberneckers and butinskies, that I can mind my own business and really care less about the fortunes and misfortunes of others; but I find myself both entertained and fascinated by the fiascos that certain celebrities have made of their lives. I mean, really, don’t you find it the least bit interesting that celebrities will have cameras installed in their homes so we can watch them do laundry and eat tuna out of a can?

As a culture, we watched the Barkers, the Osbournes and others all let us sit back and watch their day to days and it was probably the biggest waste of a collective of 17 minutes of my time, EVER. In most cases, reality TV involving people who are famous and want to be more famous by having you listen to them flatulate and talk on the phone, well…yawn…I really don’t care.

But, Anna Nicole, this woman was the poster child for dysfunction. She was surrounded by money hungry help, was involved in a battle for her share on billions, she was naked, drunk, drugged, fat, skinny, beautiful, tacky, raunchy, wasted, ignorant, brilliant, sweet, simple and apparently, she slept with most people she came into contact with. I mean, this woman was golden and she knew how to work it.

A simple girl from Mexia grew up and got the attention of the world for both her beauty and her debauchery and died in the midst of it all.

I loved that show. I cheered for her, I hated her, I was disgusted and intrigued by her and I watched as she became famous for wanting to be famous and all of the drugs she took to forgive herself for what the cost of that fame became. Anna Nicole put her life on display and we all got to see that she had a son who was disgusted by her, an attorney who used her, a desperate need for people to approve of her and she was just lonely and, even though there were camera crews and staff and assistants and parties, Anna Nicole was sad, desperate and alone.

I have heard and read so much about Anna this past week, that I think I could be her in a made for Lifetime movie. No script necessary, I could just walk around with my eyes half closed, a couple of large pumpkins stuffed down my shirt and slur and I could do it, I really could. Or could I?

In the midst of all of this insanity, I find myself watching about Anna, about Howard and his pimping out his grief to E, Anna’s mom wanting the baby, her friends, the nine million baby daddies that have all come forward and I keep asking myself, “Is a press conference about all this really necessary?”

Why? Why does every single person who ever knew her, talked to her, smelled her or whatever, why do they all call a press conference?

The woman is dead. There is a baby. Show some respect.

But. We. Can’t.

Anna Nicole fascinated us, still fascinates us and everyone wants a piece. I think that in her life, she could trust so few people because so many she would meet wanted to ride her coattails to fame. And now, even in her death, the same sad story continues for her…

Her “husband” called a news crew and her mother called Larry King.

---

Tag this article: