After a solid six months and change, I think I'm sorta done with my Amy Winehouse phase.
I still love her sound, still appreciate and give a sincere "girl, I feel you" to her "Tears dry on their own" lyrics and will still recommend her freshman effort, "Back to Black," to anyone looking for an album they can listen to all the way through without skipping a track, but as for my girl crush - and the twisted desire I had deep down to live a bit of her sordid, strung-out life - I think I'm done.
Unlike the Kate and Pete adventure, Amy and Blake's is much less glamorous to look at (Ms. Moss would never show her face post-squabble without having first touched-up her makeup), much less despite-the-drugs-they-do-seem-right-for-each-other and much less likely to spiral into a situation involving a settling of differences with razorblades, methorexic fists, a call girl and shards of glass from an innocent fifth of Wild Turkey.
Cross your fingers that Amy, her giant hair, tiny waist and signature doo-wop sound somehow make it back into rehab and back into the studio to record another fantastic set of songs. We can't let her devolve into the Lauryn Hill redux. We just can't.
In the meantime, to end your Friday on a less wrist-slitting note, enjoy Blogspot's newest video-adding feature and check out how blasé my pup is when someone other than his Mum showers him with affection: