Poor Little Rich Girl?

Sometimes there are just those weird juxtapositions in life that others might properly ignore, but I can't help but notice.

This Vanity Fair cover story on teen diva Lindsay Lohan finally confessing to drugs, bulimia and worse, comes out the exact same time a nation is mesmerized over those West Virginia coal miners.

Both struck me as very sad: the miners, for obvious reasons; Lindsay, for not so obvious ones.

Miners who had little wealth but in a town that had lots of love.

Lindsay who had a lot of wealth but in a town that had little heart.

Those without money constantly wonder, "If only I had money." It's why so many play the lottery, hoping fates change and lives get better.

Before they realize that the things that matter aren't things at all.

I suspect not a single coal miner's wife, or child, or mom, laments a breadwinner lost today, but a husband and dad and son gone today. Just as I suspect that most reading of a teen queen's abuse of drugs and drowning her sorrows in $100,000-shopping sprees seems kind of pointless today.

Because at least Lindsay is alive and trying to get her life together. And those miners are not and their families wonder whether they ever will.

Let's just say I feel for the poor little rich girl. I just feel more for the so-called "little folks" who lost something far bigger, far richer, today.

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