Dear Amy Winehouse:

I love you. No, I really do. Not in the creepy sort of way, but perhaps in the I-dressed-up-as-you-for-a-costume-party-and-think-your-voice-is-amazing sort of way. Er, well, maybe that IS the creepy way. Oops.

Ahem. Anyway, what was I saying? Right, I love you.

I think what has happened to you is unfortunate. Do you remember how you used to be, Amy? You know, back when you were still healthy?

I’m torn, Amy. You are so talented. And I do feel that to some extent, you’ve been a victim of your own success. It can’t be easy living in a fishbowl. The media are everywhere. Those in the public eye have more pressure on them than ever before, especially since every single stumble, every single mistake can be broadcast across the world within seconds of it happening.

That being said, I don’t know if I can entirely approve of your current lifestyle, Miss W. Drugs? Seriously? Have you never asked your mom or asked your dad about which drugs are good and which drugs are bad?

What I’m saying, Amy Winehouse, is that I want to be listening to you when I’m an old(er) lady, so you should consider laying off the crack. Even Whitney Houston says it’s bad.