Ah, Anna Nicole. I have such a soft spot for her, in all her boozy, crazy, now-she’s-fat-now-she’s-thin glory. And now she’s won the right to pursue her claim to a share of her late husband’s estate in a California federal court.
The case itself is a pretty esoteric matter of jurisdictional jurisprudence, and Justice Ginsburg’s opinion is a pretty dry analysis of the competing claims and various exceptions to limitations on federal court jurisdiction. But the case has been pretty sensational from the get-go because of the whole narrative: buxom and zaftig blonde topless dancer marries 89-year-old billionaire Texas oilman, becomes Playboy centerfold, becomes widow, throws late husband a bizarre teddy-bear-filled funeral, asserts claim for trust promised to her by husband, gets into probate fight with husband’s son, stars in scary reality show in which she abuses loyal assistant and mugs with lawyer, gains and loses tremendous amounts of weight, shills for TrimSpa, shows up drunk/drugged at awards shows, cries during oral arguments at Supreme Court, causes commotion on courthouse steps during which several photographers get knocked over while jostling each other for shot.
She’s not out of the woods yet; she’s only won the right to pursue her claim. But best of luck, Anna.
Of course, the big shocker for me was learning that J. Howard Marshall III, Anna Nicole/Vickie Lynn’s husband, was a professor of Trusts and Estates at Yale Law School. And yet he left his will in a mess. The hell?