As much as I’d like to stop publicly mourning the death of a person I never met, I’m not ready. Tweeting #shoopforjesus, randomly saying “‘Re ain’t here!?” to whomever will listen, and concluding that Whitney wasn’t that bad of a dancer after watching the “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” video are clear indicators that I’m: 1. my mother’s child and 2. not quite ready to let go. So, (un)fortunately, I must write about Whitney again. (I’m sure you can find a pundit sounding off on Rush Limbaugh somewhere on the internet.)
It makes sense, then, that I went in on my friend Maegs when she mentioned news of a Houston biopic and tried to defend why Jennifer Hudson was a legitimate option. My profanity-laced diatribe not only included the “J.Hud’s not pretty enough” angle, but also featured a rather long-winded digression about how much I hate her Weight Watchers commercials and thus would not stand for her playing my mama’s favorite singer.