I got a text this morning from my ex-husband asking if Andrew Breitbart was really dead, or if the announcement was a hoax. I woke up my roommate, Mark Ebner, who wrote a book with Breitbart, Hollywood Interrupted and he is now outside drinking coffee and staring at the lawn after saying
Don’t dance on his grave. He was young.
I had met Breitbart a number of times when he worked for Drudge and he was a smart, kind, sweet, funny guy back then, though our politics didn’t match up. He took me to a screening of Oliver Stone’s movie about Castro. A bunch of us watched the Oscars at his house one year, eating pizza and goofing off. The last time I chatted with him was online, after many years of no contact; we exchanged a few remarks about Occupy, and in chat he teased me
So Occupy is being run by Wiccans?
From our pre-HuffPo, pre-Big Hollywood conversations, I learned some things about Andrew. He was adopted, which is why he was anti-abortion. He told me that his birth mom was kind of hippie, and he had been liberal himself, but after spending time with his father-in-law Orson Bean, his politics shifted.
Andrew was an instigator, a rabblerouser and while our politics so did not line up, he became an unlikely ally of the LGBT community last year when told a CPAC audience
If being conservative means rejecting gay conservatives because they are gay, then fine, I’m not a conservative.
He later resigned from the board of GOProud over allegations that the group’s leaders, Christopher Barron and Jimmy LaSalvia, had outed an official working with Rick Perry’s presidential campaign.
I disagreed with a lot of what he did, but I appreciated that he existed, if only to be a huge counter balance. I often wished he had used his brains, balls and brawn in other ways, but …
Andrew leaves behind his wife and kids. And a world that will be less outrage-filled and smaller without his bombastic presence.
No word yet if the Mormons plan to baptize Andrew.