Oh, very clever, kangaroo boy.
Twenty-four hours ago, I sat down at my desk at work and, as I usually do in the fifteen minutes or so before I'm due to actually 'clock on', I drank my coffee and checked the news online. And a few seconds later, I read that Heath Ledger had died of a suspected drug overdose.
Those words, they did not make any sense. But sadly, as you all know, they were true.
I emailed several people, rang my husband where he'd just arrived at his job, then went back to staring at those words on the screen. Which still didn't make sense, of course.
It was impossible to forget it yesterday. Working with a huge number of females aged between 18 - 35, you can bet that Heath's death was a very big deal. Every single person who came past my desk yesterday morning looked at me with that distinctive 'have you heard?' expression. When we got home from work, the news bulletins and current affairs shows were full of it, and I winced every time someone said his name and 'dead' in the same sentence.
Australia is in shock (you know it's big when the Prime Minister weighs in) and it's got me thinking about why we, as a country, are always so completely devasted when one of our famous people dies. It's very strange, how the death of a particular celebrity (not that he would want to be known as such) can affect an entire nation, but I think I know what it is.
You see, we're a relatively young nation. We don't have hundreds and hundreds of years worth of history behind us, and we're still not used to watching our famous people die. When it happens, it feels like we've lost a member of our very large and sometimes globally scattered family. And it hits us very, very hard.
Like Steve Irwin, Heath was one of ours, no matter where he lived. We'd watched him grow up, from Home and Away to Roar (totally awesome holiday television viewing) and Sweat (let's face it, he was the only good thing in that piece of drek) to Ten Things I Hate about You, he was our Aussie boy Heath, the boy with the long hair and the funny nose and great smile who sounded like a man when he was still only fifteen years old.
We were incredibly proud of him when Mel Gibson (another famous "Aussie" at one time) chose him to portray his son - it seems very fitting, somehow, almost like passing a torch. Then came Two Hands and Candy and Brokeback Mountain and there was nothing he couldn't do or be and wow, I'm choking up just writing this because his death is such a senseless waste, so stupid and pointless and foolish. He leaves behind a wonderfully normal and grounded family in Perth and a beautiful little daughter (how much more did I love him when they named her Matilda?) and an ex-partner who no doubt still loved him very much and a world that can't believe someone so smart, so sensible, so anti-bullshit could have slipped away the way he did.
So, yeah. There's no real point to this ramble. I just wanted to put it down on paper, so to speak. To all the people on my f-list who loved him and are mourning his death, I'm so very sorry.
Those words, they did not make any sense. But sadly, as you all know, they were true.
I emailed several people, rang my husband where he'd just arrived at his job, then went back to staring at those words on the screen. Which still didn't make sense, of course.
It was impossible to forget it yesterday. Working with a huge number of females aged between 18 - 35, you can bet that Heath's death was a very big deal. Every single person who came past my desk yesterday morning looked at me with that distinctive 'have you heard?' expression. When we got home from work, the news bulletins and current affairs shows were full of it, and I winced every time someone said his name and 'dead' in the same sentence.
Australia is in shock (you know it's big when the Prime Minister weighs in) and it's got me thinking about why we, as a country, are always so completely devasted when one of our famous people dies. It's very strange, how the death of a particular celebrity (not that he would want to be known as such) can affect an entire nation, but I think I know what it is.
You see, we're a relatively young nation. We don't have hundreds and hundreds of years worth of history behind us, and we're still not used to watching our famous people die. When it happens, it feels like we've lost a member of our very large and sometimes globally scattered family. And it hits us very, very hard.
Like Steve Irwin, Heath was one of ours, no matter where he lived. We'd watched him grow up, from Home and Away to Roar (totally awesome holiday television viewing) and Sweat (let's face it, he was the only good thing in that piece of drek) to Ten Things I Hate about You, he was our Aussie boy Heath, the boy with the long hair and the funny nose and great smile who sounded like a man when he was still only fifteen years old.
We were incredibly proud of him when Mel Gibson (another famous "Aussie" at one time) chose him to portray his son - it seems very fitting, somehow, almost like passing a torch. Then came Two Hands and Candy and Brokeback Mountain and there was nothing he couldn't do or be and wow, I'm choking up just writing this because his death is such a senseless waste, so stupid and pointless and foolish. He leaves behind a wonderfully normal and grounded family in Perth and a beautiful little daughter (how much more did I love him when they named her Matilda?) and an ex-partner who no doubt still loved him very much and a world that can't believe someone so smart, so sensible, so anti-bullshit could have slipped away the way he did.
So, yeah. There's no real point to this ramble. I just wanted to put it down on paper, so to speak. To all the people on my f-list who loved him and are mourning his death, I'm so very sorry.