A few weeks ago, August 31, was the third anniversary of Princess Di's death. 

I know this because I read it on the Net, where I get most of my news.

"Princess Diana's death was a milestone event in Net history, as millions of people flocked to the Web to share their grief by posting to online bulletin boards and building Web page shrines." MSNBC, August 30, 2000

Whether historians will look to Diana's death as an "Important Internet Event" on par with, say, the release of Netscape 3.0 is debatable. But it's another issue that the MSNBC article brought to mind that I'd like to flog to a bloody pulp. 

Here's the thing that floored me. Why would anyone feel the need to expunge their uncontrollable grief over the death of someone they did not know, with whom they had no personal relationship, and who was a highly privileged, wealthy member of an archaic aristocracy to boot? It just doesn't make any sense to me.

Don't get me wrong - I have nothing but respect for the person who was Princess Diana. By all accounts, she was kind, gracious, and worked for all the right causes. She was a glowing icon for the country of England. She was a wonderful mother. She was an outstanding role model for women everywhere. She even looked great in polka dots. 

So when Lady Di smacked into a wall at 800 mph, it wasn't like I wanted to throw a party or anything. Far from it! In the early hours, I followed the news and hoped that she might pull through. I cursed the paparazzi. I kept vigil by the TV for the latest developments from the police. I felt sorry for Will and Harry and even Prince Charles, the poor schmuck.

Later, I purchased the special Princess Diana memorial issue of "People" at the grocery store. (However, I did not purchase the collectible commemorative plate that they were hawking on QVC. Those things are pricey.) 

Yes, I mourned her passing. No, I did not grieve. 


ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST

Last year, it was America's turn to grieve for dead royalty. John F. Kennedy, Jr. died in a plane crash near Martha's Vineyard. It was regrettable, it was a real shame, and I felt bad for the Kennedy family who have lost so many in such awful circumstances. 

But again, I did not feel any grief in John John's passing. I did not know the man. 

In fact, JFK Jr.'s death provided the ultimate example of the absurdity of mass public grief over the loss of public figures. In the days following his death, AOL presented an opinion poll in which you could vote on the following:

     Which do you think affected the nation more?
         • The death of John F. Kennedy, Jr. in 1999.
         • The death of President John F. Kennedy in 1963.

I found this to be ridiculous beyond belief. 
Which do YOU think affected the nation more?

The death of the man who...

• Was voted into the nation's highest office by the citizens of the United States of America.
• Was the first president born in the 20th century, as well as the nation's first (and so far only) Catholic president.
• Challenged and inspired the nation to win the space race and put a man on the moon.
• Engaged the world's most powerful military force in a war that tore the nation apart, a war that would be ultimately abandoned without victory.

Or the death of the man who...

• Was voted the "Sexiest Man Alive," by the editors of People magazine (1988).
• Was well known for failing the New York bar exam twice.
• Started a magazine called "George," where he "developed a reputation as an editor who took a 'hands-on' approach to stories" - then posed nude to increase sales and publicity for the magazine.

Look, I've got absolutely nothing against JFK Jr. - he seemed like a nice guy and he never ran for office, which he could have because he was a "Kennedy." That's big points as far as I'm concerned. But which affected the nation more? Give me a break.

MY SPECIAL TALENT FOR BEING A JERK REARS ITS UGLY HEAD

All of these thoughts about the idiocy of experiencing grief for the death of public figures left me feeling quite morally superior as I read MSNBC's story about the third anniversary of Diana's demise. "How can people grieve for someone with whom they have no real-world relationship?" I thought to myself smugly. "I've never done that. I can't imagine that the death of ANY public figure would make me grieve enough to write a sappy poem, or maintain a memorial Web site, or...

Then I remembered Kurt Cobain.

KURT COBAIN?

I can hear you thinking, "Morally superior? You chastise us for grieving Diana, a princess turned humanitarian, a role model for children, a veritable saint who walked the Earth? You sick, celebrity-worshipping scum! You grieved over the death of a heroin junkie rock star (worth millions) who shot himself in the head rather than face up to the fact that he didn't want to be a rock star anymore?"

Yep. That's me. I grieved for Kurt Cobain like he lived next door. I guess I felt like I DID know him personally, since I'd listened to the words of so many of his songs. I felt like he was the voice of - well, not really my generation, since I never really identified with my generation of paisley-wearing, Polo-shirted, Whitney Houston-listening idiots. But I felt like he was the voice of those of us who never really fit in, the unfashionable, the nerdy, the people who were always picked last for sports, who would rather watch Brazil than Top Gun, who'd rather read an obscure book about depressed botanists than play golf, who dress funny, look funny, have peculiar ideas, and who will always harbor vast insecurities about themselves no matter how successful they grow up to be.

He was the anti-Mick Jagger. He was our hero.

Kurt Cobain was a terrible rock star. He didn't really like being in the limelight, he wrote sensitive songs, he was a feminist. He weighed like 120 lbs. He wore cardigan sweaters and dyed his hair pink. He screwed up even when he didn't want to screw up. 

He was both sensitive AND dangerous to the establishment. These days you can easily find any ONE of these qualities, via Sarah McLachlan or Eminem, but nobody out there is doing both. And Britney Spears and NSYNC don't even bother to pretend. 

Yeah, he was stupid. He got addicted to smack and was obsessed with suicide. He married someone who LOVED being a star and was obsessed with fame. And although he had minimal obligations, the freedom of wealth, and the adoration of millions, he blew his brains out with a shotgun in his garage. 

He could have done anything he wanted. He could have destroyed his guitars, divorced Courtney Love, and holed up like J. D. Salinger. He could have lived in a box in Montana, released bluegrass songs on cassette tape, and appeared in person only at the soup kitchen where he volunteered to serve the elderly homeless insane. 

What a cretin. 

But yeah, I grieved the day his dead body was discovered in that garage. I sometimes feel a twinge of regret when I hear "All Apologies." I wonder what music he would have composed by now, and what music he would have continued to write as we both grew old. After all, he was a few years younger than me.

What a waste.

I GET THE PICTURE NOW

To all you Princess Diana fans, admirers, and mourners out there, my condolences. She was a great lady. 

"All events have a half life. What's interesting about Diana's is how long her half-life has extended. In moments of really intense grief, in a culture where people have trouble expressing that grief with one another, an online service is the ideal center for people to express really deep and powerful emotions. This was national catharsis, that's the point. We've seen this again and again since then." Jesse Kornbluth, editorial director of America Online, as quoted by MSNBC, August 30, 2000

Comments about this story? Got a topic you'd like to suggest?
Send email to matt@rustybrain.com

©2000 Matthew Farr