I heard around the middle of this morning that Elizabeth Taylor had died. The cause was congestive heart failure, for which she had been hospitalized in Los Angeles.
About two weeks ago, I read she was in the hospital. I said to myself then: Well, that's is for her. She is suffering from heart failure and it's just a matter of time before she goes.
I had posted two pictures of Taylor as cheesecake. If you want to see them, please click here and here.
A third one, obviously, is at the top of this post. It's in color to best show her beauty -- especially her "violet eyes to die for," as a former co-worker said in the early 1980s, quoting a line from Doonesbury in 1979.
Of course, Taylor was known for her beauty. But she had the acting chops. Many film critics praised her performances in National Velvet, Butterfield 8, and Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?
Some people remember her performances in A Place In The Sun, Giant, and Suddenly Last Summer. And some people might also remember the wretched excess that was Cleopatra.
Her health problems and romantic entanglements -- the overall messiness of her personal life -- made her not just the queen of the tabloids, but their empress. And she had a long reign; she died at age 79 and had been in the public eye since she was a teenager.
That life, along with her friendship with closeted gay actors like Montgomery Clift, Rock Hudson, and Roddy McDowell, made her a gay icon.
So I wrote this brief note of a life that was amazing and interesting. RIP, Miss Taylor.
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