Michael Jackson is dead. He’s been dead for a year.
I was not a MJ fan. From the first time I saw him years ago on television (when I was a mere tyke) I thought there was something seriously wrong with him. He was creepy to me. Little did I know the depth of how creepy he would eventually prove himself to be... drugs, frightening plastic surgeries, little boys, publicity stunts, sham marriages, and dangling a baby over a balcony to name a few of his “quirks.”
Yet people adored him. It’s the marketing team that surrounded him that should be adored. Without them he would never have seen the level of success he had. Go ahead and boo me, I don’t care. The only reason he was nicknamed the “King of Pop” is because he gave himself that dubious title.
I made the mistake of getting caught up in the “Thriller” hysteria for about two minutes and in that weak moment I bought the album. Two listens later and I packed it up and hurried to the used record store. The clerk just laughed at me saying it wasn’t worth the vinyl it was recorded on. The store was getting way too many people wanting to dump the album.
There are a couple of his songs I will concede I like, but surprisingly those are the songs he didn’t write.
When he died of a drug overdose, which I’m sorry to say was his own fault, people wanted to turn him into a mythical saint. They want to blame everyone for what went wrong with him, but they need to do what he should have done: look at the man in the mirror.
A woman I met emphatically told me that MJ was “love.” She stammered on and on and on about how Love = Michael Jackson. I forgot to ask her to define “love.”
I’m all for remembering the good when someone meets their final destination, but MJ’s remembrances are as creepy as the man/boy himself.
And don’t get me started on how certain people, especially his father, are out whoring MJ’s name with fake tears and fake concern with a jaundice eye aimed at money to be made. Shameful.
I just proclaimed myself the King of Blogs.
I was not a MJ fan. From the first time I saw him years ago on television (when I was a mere tyke) I thought there was something seriously wrong with him. He was creepy to me. Little did I know the depth of how creepy he would eventually prove himself to be... drugs, frightening plastic surgeries, little boys, publicity stunts, sham marriages, and dangling a baby over a balcony to name a few of his “quirks.”
Yet people adored him. It’s the marketing team that surrounded him that should be adored. Without them he would never have seen the level of success he had. Go ahead and boo me, I don’t care. The only reason he was nicknamed the “King of Pop” is because he gave himself that dubious title.
I made the mistake of getting caught up in the “Thriller” hysteria for about two minutes and in that weak moment I bought the album. Two listens later and I packed it up and hurried to the used record store. The clerk just laughed at me saying it wasn’t worth the vinyl it was recorded on. The store was getting way too many people wanting to dump the album. There are a couple of his songs I will concede I like, but surprisingly those are the songs he didn’t write.
When he died of a drug overdose, which I’m sorry to say was his own fault, people wanted to turn him into a mythical saint. They want to blame everyone for what went wrong with him, but they need to do what he should have done: look at the man in the mirror.
A woman I met emphatically told me that MJ was “love.” She stammered on and on and on about how Love = Michael Jackson. I forgot to ask her to define “love.”
I’m all for remembering the good when someone meets their final destination, but MJ’s remembrances are as creepy as the man/boy himself.
And don’t get me started on how certain people, especially his father, are out whoring MJ’s name with fake tears and fake concern with a jaundice eye aimed at money to be made. Shameful.
I just proclaimed myself the King of Blogs.
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