It’s always weird when you cry over the death of someone famous. It’s not as if you knew them, bbut yet you still have an emotional connection. I don’t think I’ve done it too often. I remember a lot of celebrity deaths that really shook me up — Phil Hartman, Elliott Smith, Kurt Cobain — but I don’t remember too many that actually reduced me to tears upon hearing the news. Kurt Vonnegut, and now Tim Russert.
Much like the rest of the world, my love affair with Tim Russert started during the 2000 election. Nobody will ever forget him, Tom Brokaw and the Whiteboard of infamy.
Watching MSNBC is a weird sort of morbid and comforting. It’s odd to watch these journalists report on the death of their very own friend. It’s hard to turn my head away as Andrea Mitchell loses it on air when discussing how Russert always called her Mitch, just like her dad.
So here I sit, kind of crying and feeling foolish about it, mourning with Al, the cutest girl on Earth™, and, weirdly, collecting condolences from my friends and family who knew just how much I adored him.
The NY Times Caucus blog has some great coverage.