Someone else died ten years ago this week:


And just about the time that Sir Elton was finishing up his rewrite of “Candle in the Wind,” and the Bennie Baby people had approved the final specs for the commemorative stuffed Bear, and the home office had decided that it would be okay if the Queen flew the Union Jack from the top of the Palace just this once, in India, a woman who will actually be talked about 500 years hence passed from life. A death which, any other time, would have shook national headlines and commanded the full attention of the media was subsumed by a tsunami of publicity over the untimely demise of a blond almost-was who, despite her pretty face and some good qualities, got in a car driven by a drunk and forgot to buckle up.

To the people of England: I am sorry you lost the mother of your future King.  I appologize if I offend, as I am as much a monarchist as the next American, that is, I am perfectly supportive of monarchy everywhere else but here.  Nevertheless, from a public relations standpoint, Mother Teresa could not have picked a worse time to die.

Or, maybe, that is exactly the way she would have wanted it. 

When the deaths happened, I was 19 and working at Arby’s.  I remember that no one was willing to juxtapose the two lives out of fear of getting lynched, but many commentators came close.  The timing was so odd that the temptation was assuredly there.  They just . . . couldn’t. . . go . . .all . . .the . . .way . . .there.  I figured that I might as well say something.  Hell, it’s been 10 years.  It’s time to get historical.

Who had the bigger impact?  Who led the more note worthy life?  Who are they gonna name churches after (okay, Catholic churches)? 

Who is Elton John gonna rehash a crummy song for?