Having a few days to reflect on my post on Heath Ledger’s death, I think I may have been a bit harsh in my judgement (not that anyone cares what little old me thinks).

I do believe that people who abuse narcotics or prescription drugs or engage in other risky behavior while aware of the risks deserve a certain amount of the blame for their own demise when it happens. I also believe that our culture places way more value on the death of a famous individual than it does to the deaths of hundreds of nobodys: 300 people die in Baltimore, and CNN won’t do a story on it, but they’ll run a dozen when Britney Spears finally croaks.

Still, I chose to exploit the death of Heath Ledger to make these points, when I could’ve chosen the tactful option of shutting the fuck up or waiting a bit or not referencing him in my post at all. Shame on me. I feel quite awful with myself, but at least I can comfort myself with the knowledge that there are, in fact, bigger assholes in the world.

But it’s a very small comfort.