At the risk of being called a “hater” and inflaming a lot of people, I would like to formally come out and opine that I will not be mourning the loss of the self-anointed King of Pop, Michael Jackson.
Sure, when anyone dies, it’s a tragedy. The snuffing out of a life by whatever means is sad. Death is the reminder that our human existence is a tenuous thing. Here today, gone tomorrow. (I need people to die. When someone passes away, I am energized into working on my novel, simply because I don’t want to leave it half finished. I use death as a kick in the pants and as a tool to curb procrastination and to improve time management.)
MJ is everywhere: not just on TV, where every scintilla of information leaking out of California is probed and dissected, but on the local Detroit news and in the papers. Since Jackson’s passing, throngs have come out to the original Motown site to lay flowers and mementos, and there have been much teeth-gnashing and tears.
My tolerance for television is next to nothing. I turned down the TV (hubby in the room watching golf) and started reading Atlas Shrugged. Again.
So why do people care?
Michael Jackson was young. So what? Young people die every day, as do old people and those in between. The human condition says we want our graduations, our first jobs, our first home, children, success, and retirement, but not many look past that to the ultimate demise. It’s the one part of the human experience that no one wants to stare dead (no pun intended) in the face.
Michael Jackson was talented. Yes, so true. He was in control of dance moves that defied the law of gravity, and penned many great songs, although not much has come out of his camp in the last few years. Lots of other people are also talented, artists who aren’t privy to the lucky break or who don’t have (alleged) abusive stage dads in the background.
Michael Jackson was the poor child star. Here I have little sympathy, even though many child stars succumb to the pressures of stardom. Danny Bonaduce, Macaulay Culkin, the Facts of Life kids, the list goes on and on and on. However, others come out amazingly unscathed by an overdose of excess and attention. Could it be that their parents viewed them as children and not as commodities?