michael jackson died on thursday.
he was 50 years old.
i decided not to write about it until the media frenzy had died down and i could present my words from a truly unemotional and completely unbiased perspective.
i had spent the day (june 25, that is) shopping with my mother and sister. at about 5, we had all developed ravenous appetites and decided to have dinner. walking into a fairly posh restaurant, i immediately noticed loud 'michael jackson' music sounding from the speakers. perplexed, given the otherwise polished atmosphere, i became uneasy and highly suspicious. sitting and waiting for service, four 'michael jackson' songs had now played consecutively and i was looking for answers. finally, our waitress came to the table and before i could utter a word, she stated:
"i hope you guys don't mind the michael jackson music. he just died a few hours ago. can i get you any drinks to start?"
actually, i'll skip the drink. just bring me some fucking answers!
michael jackson died?
didn't farrah fawcett die, too?
needless to say, it was a relatively shocking revelation for the three of us. i don't think any of us actually enjoyed michael jackson as a person. cynical as ever, even as a philanthropist i always thought he had ulterior motives. to most white people, michael jackson just could not bounce back from the child abuse allegations, the erratic and eccentric behavior or the physical deterioration of the once healthy looking black man. however, on the drive home, radio stations all across the dial were playing commercial-free michael jackson marathons, which made for a very nostalgic and deeply reflective hour-and-a-half ride. regardless of your opinion of the guy, every time a classic came on, we each had our own story about where we were when we had first heard it. and for him to die just days before rehearsals for his comeback tour were to begin seemed all the more sad and somewhat pathetic.
once we had arrived home, tv stations were inundated.
cnn was awash with random celebrities, phoning in to 'larry king live' with their own stories of mj.
*by the way, did anybody else actually listen to anderson cooper's mj story? how, at the age of 10, his mother [gloria vanderbilt] would take him to studio 54 with bianca jagger, marisa berenson and grace jones, where they would all dance to 'don't stop til' you get enough'?
did they also tell him that the powder they were chopping up at the table was fun dip mix?
first of all, at any age, if you are going to studio 54 with bianca jagger, marisa berneson and grace jones, you are a homosexual. secondly, there was complete and utter sincerity in his delivery. not a hint of abashed sarcasm or exaggeration. anderson cooper, age 10, at studio 54.
if true, i'd like to exhume his mother's body just to kick her ass.
*unfortunately, i did my research AFTER writing this and discovered that gloria vanderbilt is still alive.
the above statement may be false, but the sentiment remains.
but i digress.
the jackson family are a strange group of people.
that father absolutely fucked up every one of his kids, and i guarantee that he will outlive at least one more.
michael jackson's was such a sad story, that ended in such an appropriate manner. not that he deserved to die or anything, but could you really see mj living to a ripe old age? all the plastic surgery. all the medication. it really was only a matter of time. really sad day.
god speed, mj.
don't worry, everybody is pretty in heaven.
rest in peace.