Who Needs People?

They say money can't buy happiness, but it seems to me, not having much, that it could go a long way towards getting some. For example, if I had lots of money right this very second I would certainly be having a better afternoon, and not be sitting in my house writing this blog. I might be out sailing on a yacht in the Greek islands, or perhaps working with my architect on the finishing touches for that children's hospital I would build. Or I might be at a Broadway matinee, since besides my home here in Maine I would also have an apartment in Manhattan for a weekend getaway. I could go on, but you get the point: money might not buy happiness, but it sure does buy a good time. So I find it surprising, in light of all they have and all they can have, that so many celebrities are so desperately unhappy, and not having any fun at all.

Take, for example, the Woody Allen/Mia Farrow sex abuse saga, wherein she says he molested her daughter 20 years ago and he says of course he did not. This monstrous allegation coming right on the heels of actor Philip Seymour Hoffman's overdosing on heroin must have made for quite a few late nights over at People magazine last week. The current issue has all of them on the cover, with Hoffman front and center ("His Tragic Final Days") and Woody over to the side ("New Details: A Family at War"). I'm not ashamed to admit that I bought it, mostly because I am a big fan of Hoffman and wanted to somehow register that fact, perhaps making his death an all-time bestseller in their history of dead celebrities. Also, there was a fairly long line at the supermarket checkout and reading it helped pass the time.

But once I got home, I reconsidered the wisdom of my purchase. (With a weekly readership of 46.6 million adults, People has the largest audience of any American magazine, so they don't need my business, that's for sure.) Besides the awful descriptions of Woody's mess and Hoffman's death, there were scads of photos of beautiful, smiling celebrities partying up a storm in fabulous clothes and glamorous surroundings, seemingly over-the-moon happy. There were no photos of them snorting cocaine, lying face down in a pool of vomit, drinking themselves into a stupor or crawling into rehab. Maybe if some of those moments were shown to an adoring public, fewer celebrities would end up in such dire straits.