Friday, June 26, 2009

RIP MJ and Farrah.

When I left for work in the morning, Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett were alive, I think. I didn't check. Didn't really think I needed to.

Got home, and then they were dead.

Michael Jackson may have devolved into a epaulet shouldered, nose rotting, baby waving, freaky voiced anomaly, but deep down under all that, he was still MJ, Horribly Complex Royalty of Pop.

Wait. Stop reading this. Put Billie Jean on.

There. That's better.

I guess we didn't need him anymore. Became too painful to look. Shuffling along with an umbrella protecting his dictator costume, bodyguards shuttling the masked toddlers, I know I couldn't watch anymore. Young MJ lives in my ipod, so we can practice the Thriller dance any time we want. Remember that about him? The way the man could dance? Or lady. Not sure what he really was anymore. Kept the face rot concealed under flowing wigs and dust masks, a cautionary warning to everyone going under the knife for better, stronger, faster faces. Looking for something that might not really be there.

Farrah might have been a little loopy, a little tipsy, never really lived up to her swingy, shiny, fantastically blow dried hair and that one nipple, popping out of that red bathing suit forever. Her big white teeth and non stop hair kept girls and their curls in a dysfunctional relationship from junior high until the revelation of punk rock saved the day. Farrah hair was something we all endured, just because.

They both hit the top, back in the day, and maybe had a hard time figuring out what to do after. For years and years after. Let's say personal amusement park rides. Exotic animals. Marriage to Elvis's daughter. Maybe bought a country? Life got creepy for MJ, and then it got creepier, and even creepier, until he went broke and sort of faded back.

I'm not crying, but something seems wrong. That both of them died on the same day? And that Farrah had been sick a long time, but Michael Jackson? I guess he was too. Just in a different way. Did anyone ever call him Mike? Something always seemed wrong with his eyes. His gaze was so very indirect. The look of a man who had a pet chimp and who couldn't ever bring back what he used to have. His devolution may have been painful for everyone, but I don't think his flavor of super mega, nova star is someone that comes along very often. So when he vanishes from the ether, the gap that's left leaves a blazing sting.

In a day or two, for us it will seem like a distant memory. I guess. The legacy of a genuine legend doesn't really go away. What do we think about now when we practice the zombie dance? And I feel guilty now for not teaching it to Ruby better. Total deficit in my clicker training. The reminder that nothing and no one lasts forever, even when it seems like they will.

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