While no one should really be surprised at Whitney Houston's passing, given her past woes, it still comes as a shock. The arts seem to suffer drug casualties at a much higher percentage than the rest of the world. Still, many escape. Ozzy is alive. Sharon saved him. Perhaps Whitney had no one or was too stubborn or too far gone to be saved by love. Even if an autopsy determines the cause of death to be heart failure, it is another case of death by lifestyle. She had it all, beauty and talent, and threw it away. It's a sad chapter in the bittersweet mystery of life. Rest in peace.
Well, I've done it. I will soon be part of the problem. I applied for Social Security, as my 62nd birthday will be in May. I know I paid a lot of money into the program through the years, but it still feels like a handout. I can also rationalize that by not waiting until 65 I'm saving the government money in the long run. And there's the rub - none of us knows how long we will live. I can also rationalize that I ceased applying for unemployment after 39 weeks when I could have continued to bilk taxpayers for 99. Guilt wouldn't let me. I could have found a job. I've had low-paying jobs in the past. I chose to give the artist's life a full shot, adopting a personal austerity program the past three years. Soon I will have to decide whether to purchase health insurance or continue to gamble. In the very least I'll be able to splurge on a check up.
The only way I would set up shop this cold, windy day was if I found the perfect parking spot. I did, and I thank the young mom who purchased a bunch of children's books and who received a bad weather discount for her kindness. The Russians still aren't buying, even at reduced prices. I would have sold books in Polish, as a gentleman asked if I had any.
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