The King Is Dead
So, did anything happen while I was gone?
I took a week off to attend my granddaughter’s baptism and play grandpa to my grandson. I’m worn out and sore but infinitely grateful to have been reminded of what is most important in life and how truly blessed I am.
During my week long sabbatical much transpired that would make for good blog fodder. I’ll talk about some of it, like Sarah Palin deciding to resign as Governor of Alaska and Al Franken being installed as a US Senator later in the week. And I’ll explain a little deeper some of my feelings, like the fact that Republican Representative Mark Kirk can now take a long walk on a short pier if he thinks he is getting any reelection support from me, thanks to his dim-witted vote in favor of the even dimmer Waxman-Markey bill on climate change.
But having spent a few days in downtown Chicago and seeing an army of devoted fans wearing Michael Jackson tee shirts I’ll start off the week with a few thoughts on the death of the alleged King of Pop.
First off I have to admit that much of my confusion over the devastation some feel over Jackson’s death is an age thing. Michael Jackson was a pop star to my kids and his music was far more important to them than me. I appreciate the talent he showed back in the 80’s when he was still a black male who was perfect for the then burgeoning music video market.
America’s youth delighted as this little dynamo moved from being the focus of his brother’s group to a solo sensation. Michael’s sequenced glove, flood pants and moon walk made pop culture history. The Thriller video, complete with a creepy voice over by Vincent Price and special effects and production values surpassing many full length movie classics, was a mega-hit beyond anything that came before and will likely hold its place for many years to come.
We watched and listened because he was young and energetic and talented.
But as time passed we began watching for other reasons. The hyperbaric sleeping chamber, the chimp named Bubbles, the weird attraction to child stars like Emmanuel Lewis and McCaulay Caulkin, the crotch grabbing, baseball gear wearing, skin lightening and countless facial surgeries that only helped to feminize his appearance and force speculation about his sexuality and mental state. We began watching him less for his talent and more for the oddity he was becoming.
We watched as he was blackmailed by greedy parents claiming sexual abuse and as he turned from an iconic pop star into the punch line for countless jokes. We watched as he was interviewed at his Neverland Ranch showing off his collection of everything Peter Pan and explaining why it was OK for a grown man to sleep with children. We watched as this grown man showed how he climbed into the tree that he supposedly spent hours in for relaxation and inspiration. We gawked at the miniature train and veritable zoo of exotic animals that roamed the grounds. And we snickered at just how bizarre this grown man turning into who knows what had become.
And then some way somehow he genetically fathered two children. This person who was completely unstable on his own was now given custody and responsibility for raising kids and it began to get uncomfortable to watch anymore.
Then came the charges of yet another incident of sexual abuse with a minor. We stared as he moon-walked on the hood of his limo outside the courthouse and laughed as he showed up for the proceedings of this serious crime in his pajamas. The umbrellas to keep him from melting in the sun and the surgical masks to hide his disastrously reconstructed nose. Swinging his baby over the hotel balcony railing, dressing his children in full body veils and fleeing the United States for the more tolerant shores of Bahrain. We heard the reports of the outrageous spending and the financial disaster and bankruptcy of the business that was Michael Jackson. We watched because it had become a train wreck and it seemed impossible to turn away. It wasn’t funny anymore; it wasn’t entertaining or even interesting. It was just sad.
And now the final tragic page of this dreadful plunge from grace has played out. Perhaps we will never truly know all the details of the who and the why. I don’t think anybody was shocked, or even mildly surprised for that matter, to hear that copious quantities of very powerful drugs were involved. But for me the talent that was Michael Jackson died years ago only to be replaced with a sad circus sideshow.
Now what is left of his legacy will be picked through by the vultures and disseminated to the legions of those who still remember what used to be. There is still plenty of money to be made off the pelt of Michael Jackson. And have no doubt, many will try.
For me, I’ll just remember that his music made my kids happy. And that’s enough.
