I don't care.
I really don't care. Earlier this month I was part of a funeral for a man who lived his life to the fullest. He raised two wonderful kids who are raising their own kids now. He retired as a Master Sergeant form the USMC. He ran rifle competitions for both the USMC and the NRA.
His funeral was attended by maybe twenty people. And in my opinion, he was eminently more worthy of a send-off than some Hollywood celeb.
Last month, one of the folks at my parish in California died of cancer. We was younger than I am. He left behind a beautiful wife and five wonderful children. His death was exponentially more tragic than any of these Hollywood people who spent their lives doing drugs and being stupid, or in the case of Debbie Reynolds, lived a decent life and died at the ripe old age of 84.
I'm a little tired of seeing people wail and moan and gnash their teeth as these celebrities kick the bucket. Maybe if George Michael didn't do lines of coke of a male hooker's ass for decades, he would have lived longer. Maybe if Prince wasn't popping pills like a ten-dollar whore, he wouldn't have died. Many people have died this year, and I've mourned for many of them but Carrie Fisher isn't one. Without going to Google or IMDB, can anyone name a movie other than any of the Star Wars franchise that she was a part of?
I didn't think so.
More people are going to die. We all die. Let's mourn the folks who deserve it.
And just in case, Dear 2016: Amy Schumer and Lena Dunham are still alive. Just so you know.