Andrew Breitbart 2/10/12. Photo by Gage Skidmore. Via Wikinews.
I was asked if I had any particular thoughts on the death of Andrew Breitbart, and the primary answer to this is, holy shit, he was my age. He was older than me by about three months, which is a trivial amount of time. And unlike death of previous notable contemporaries, which were cause by drugs or suicide or relatively unusual fatal diseases, Breitbart appears to have been felled by a heart attack, which is not entirely outside the actuarial tables for men our age. As I’m sitting here typing this and also coincidentally eating my second slice of meat lover’s pizza, I can’t say Breitbart’s death doesn’t give me pause.
As for Breitbart the public figure and mini media mogul, well, I can’t say I was much of a fan, and at the moment I’m content to leave it at that. But as someone who’s looking at his 43rd birthday in two months and ten days, I feel I can say this with all sincerity: Dude, you left too soon.




The Blatherations of Others