Heath Ledger, The Only Dead?

When I heard about Heath Ledger's passing in a tony New York City apartment today, I was crushed. Immediately my memory went back to the time I first laid eyes on him in his adorable performance in "10 Things I Hate About You," then followed by his disturbing role in "Monster's Ball" and to his critically-acclaimed role in "Brokeback Mountain," which earned him an Oscar nod.

With that incredible smile (and body), he was climbing up the Hollywood food chain - fast. So of course, every talking head of both news and infotainment telecasts lead their broadcasts with the strange circumstances surrounding his death. It was reported that he was found by his masseuse in a NYC apartment bedroom naked with a series of sleeping pills scattered on the bed yesterday.

And no doubt having women - and even some men - gawking at the television screen, soaking up every detail, me including.

Then I snapped back to reality.

Here I am in Philadelphia, a city that has tallied nearly 400 deaths in 2007 and a death toll of over that number in 2006 and I'm grieving over Heath Ledger. Now, I am not saying that we shouldn't care that he died. He was a human being and one that had a life. But because Heath has graced our silver and big screens several times we care more about what happened to him than the "average" Joe down the street. What gives?

I find it terribly wrong that the public - and media - are so fixated with celebrity deaths (i.e. Anna Nicole Smith) than neighbors. We would much rather buy the next copy of a cheesy tabloid detailing Smith or Ledger's suspicious, drug-related deaths than read the local news section detailing little Tyreek Walker's death (that person does not, or did not, exist to my knowledge).

We pride ourselves in being pop culture connoisseurs and not tuned-in to the pulse of our streets. Let's care more about cleaning the blood off of North and West Philadelphia 'hoods than catching the 1:00a.m. repeat of Access Hollywood.