I do most of my grocery shopping on Sunday morning. On most occasions the stores are empty and the aisles are well-stocked with the items I need to survive another week here at Crabb Hollow.
Today I did my usual rounds and headed to the one checkstand that was open for business. While waiting, I read the tabloid headlines for the latest Hollywood gossip, usually accompanied by unflattering photographs of the hapless celebrity.
There, glaring out at me in bold caps was the lede “WHITNEY COLLAPSES!”, followed by “It’s worse than anyone knows!”. Yeah, I guess it was. The troubled diva was found dead in her hotel room last night, right before she was scheduled to sing at the Grammys.
It’s another coup for The National Enquirer. Readers may recall that it was The Enquirer, not the Post, not the Times, that uncovered the sordid truth about former Senator and ’04 VP candidate John Edwards and his pregnant mistress. You would think such a scoop would earn a Pulitzer for the fearless reporters, but no, such rewards are not meant for purveyors of ghetto journalism. It would be too embarrassing.
But now the Enquirer team has beat the mainstreamers to the punch again. Maybe I should subscribe.