The first rule of book club: show up for book club.
Tonight? It was just me and the host. Oh, and the guy who showed up 2 hours later.
I blame Michael Jackson and the fact that everyone else was probably just as glued to CNN as we were. That and the fact that the book kindof sucked.
Anyways, instead of discussing the crappy book, we ended up talking about Michael Jackson while the news played quietly in the background. It was a surreal moment, to say the least. Breaking News! Michael Jackson has died. Breaking News! We have Randy Jackson (no relation, that I know of) on the phone. Breaking News! Michael Jackson’s body in a helicopter. Breaking News! Michael Jackson’s body in a van (not in a van down by the river, that I know of). Breaking News! We have no idea what to talk about, so we’re just going to show the same 12 clips from our archive.
What is it about the death of Michael Jackson that resonates so strongly with so many people? Well, you don’t sell 50 million copies of an album without picking up a few fans along the way. And the man was a living train wreck. That’s bound to garner a few gawkers.
For me, the fascination is in watching someone who had so much talent and potential literally disintegrate over the years. It’s a sad sort of fascination. A melancholy sort of fascination. A bit of a voyeuristic sort of fascination. The man was undeniably talented. He was reportedly extremely smart. And he was robbed of his childhood and spent the rest of his life trying (completely unsuccessfully and disastrously so) to make up for it. He became a caricature of himself. He may or may not have done some truly horrible things to some vulnerable boys.
I don’t know where I stand on Michael Jackson. It’s not my job to judge him. But I feel for a boy who was horrifically abused by his father. For a man who went from the King of Pop to becoming a freak show. Who tried so hard to make people love him again and who only made them angrier. Who built up the playland that he never had as a child and then lost it all. Who was so uncomfortable in his own skin that he felt the need to transform himself into… well, I don’t know what he transformed himself into. But it wasn’t pretty.
RIP, MJ, RIP.
I’ve heard some really tacky (and still kinda funny in a “that was clever” kind of way, but really tasteless at the same time) jokes about his death. Mostly having to do with the molestation charges. What is the deal there, was he ever found guilty of any of those charges? I feel badly because he’s still being cruelly judged for things he may not have ever done.
People seem to feel passionately about it on all sides — either they’re sad and will miss him, they think he’s a dirty pedophile and are glad he’s gone, or they strongly insist that they *don’t* care via every means of communication possible.