All this blah weather does strange things to the head. This morning, I'm trying to write a new short story for an idea that's been stuck in my head all week. I'm all finished my short story collection called Moonlight Sketches, but I can't help feel that it needs one more story, something that it's missing to make it feel more complete. My brain is stuck in sleepy mode, though, with the road crews working outside my office window, and I just can't seem to get anything worthwhile down on the screen. So I figured a little blogging wouldn't hurt.
I've sorely neglected this blog for a few weeks now, not for lack of anything to say but simply for lack of time. The media seems enthralled by the whole Michael Jackson fiasco, but I find I can't work up any enthusiasm or feeling.
He died while I was out having coffee with a friend of mine who's going through a rough time of it. I got home about ten thirty or so to find out that MJ had kicked the proverbial bucket. My response was "Oh." No surprise. I guess he was talented, but his carnival personality over-shadowed all that. It gets really hard to separate one from the other, and so my feeling is that, yeah, he had a lot of talent for music, but he didn't endear himself to me with anything else, so why should I give a rat's behind?The thing is, I genuinely care about humanity--the lost tribe. Most people, as Thoreau said, do live lives of quiet desperation, and I think Michael Jackson was one of those. How could he not be? Assuming he's human, of course. He'd write songs saying, "Leave me alone!" and then he'd dangle a child over a balcony like she was part of a Cirque du Soleil trapeze act. (Great show, by the way. The Cirque, not Michael, I mean.) He'd complain, "Nobody understands me!" and then he'd pose for pictures with Bubbles the Chimp on the Neverland Ranch or go shopping with his mask on and a full entourage in the middle of Beverly Hills. Or he'd give interviews and then refuse to answer questions, or just give daffy answers that made you think the guy was mental.
Fine. He was mental. He possibly did have severe psychological problems. To which I say, so what?
As for the child molestation charges, I don't know what to believe, but I can't deny that they have tainted whatever opinion I might have had about the man. I try to be objective, but who can manage that, given all the circumstances and conjecture? If he was the kind of person who was capable of looking you, or the camera, straight in the eye, and explaining how it all went down and that he was perfectly innocent in every sense of the word, then I could probably say he was as victimized as anyone. Fact is, I don't know that.
So I'm left feeling nothing about whole thing. Not conflicted, not bemused, not perplexed or even numb. Just indifferent.
May he rest in peace. And may that be said for any man or woman or child who ultimately succumbs to the inevitable good night. Farrah Fawcett (I remember doing a jigsaw puzzle with her and the other Angels on it). Ed McMahon. That "pitch" guy who died last week. Karl Malden (my dad and I used to watch him on "The Streets of San Francisco" when I was a kid). And anyone else I may have missed. Oh, and then there's David Carradine. I hope he's thanking MJ, wherever they both are. For a while, the media was about to swallow its own tongue in excitement over the whole Carradine auto-erotic asphyxiation thing (allegedly). But as soon as MJ died, they forgot all about the sordid Bangkok affair, at least for now.
And now MJ sells more albums in death than he did in life. Now who could have seen that one coming?
Who among us would be totally shocked if it turned out next week that MJ actually faked his own death so he could be like Elvis, the other "king"?
I'm not saying he did, but I'm just saying that this circus has gone on way too long, and I wouldn't put anything past him or his money-grabbing people. Nothing.
Enjoy the show.
I think I've cleared my brain enough to be able to do some fiction writing now. No crowds, please, and no pictures. Nothing to see here. Just a man at work.
GC
