Andrew Breitbart, RIP


I don`t actually know much about the late Andrew Breitbart, who dropped dead last night at age 43, but I want to relate something my wife observed when I had cancer at 38. Lots of people would eventually ask her, “So … Steve smokes, right?” When she said I didn`t, the nonsmokers would look worried and unhappy, and the smokers would look relieved.

We like to believe that whenever anybody dies, it`s his own fault. That means, that you, personally, not having any major faults, don`t ever have to die.

It`s like the test pilots at Edwards AFB in The Right Stuff sitting around at a backyard cookout after one of their neighbors died flying some experimental piece of junk.

Husband 1: Poor Mike …

Husband 2: Yeah, it`s kind of surprising he let himself get in that situation.

Wife 2: What situation?

Husband 2: You know, not being able to handle it.

Wife 1: Handle it? The left wing fell off his airplane!

Husband 3: Yeah, but if afterward`s he`d vectored the ailerons with a little more reactive thrust.

Husband 1: And updrafted the trailing surfaces.

Husband 2: Of course.

Wives 1, 2, and 3: The wing fell off!

Husbands 1, 2, and 3: He just didn`t have the Right Stuff …

Conversely, this reminds me of my own automatic assumptions about anybody with more energy than myself (i.e., about 75% of humanity):

A. Obviously, he`s on cocaine / Adderall / steroids / adrenochrome etc.

B. Obviously, he`s bipolar and is this close to snapping into a full-blown manic episode in which he declares himself the Emperor of Antarctica.