Gawker
Sirens! Sirens! Amy Winehouse has fainted and been hospitalized. "Doctors are unsure of the cause of the incident," says a rep for the fantastically addled singer. We took a biology class in high school and our grampa's a doctor so let us, if we can, offer our medical insight: It's. All. The. Fucking. Drugs. But that's not what troubles us, really. What bothers us is that Winehouse is, at present, the most dazzling trainwreck in town. But! She's not in our town.
She's over there in filthy old England (though she's been bountied to the Russians.) As is her baby sister in catastrophe, Lily Allen, who is well on her way to Disaster City. All of the good meltdowns these days have been across the pond. Maybe American gossip is dying, after all. Add the treading-on-me insult of the Chrysler Building being bought by an Arab company, and it begins to feel like what makes America great — our drunken supernovas and towering phalluses — are being spirited away to foreign lands. We're gonna lose the Olympics, aren't we? Even the basketball. (Well, there's hope.)
