Michael Jackson, R.I.P.

Anyone that knows me also knows that I am not a fan of Michael Jackson. I did like the young, “cool” front man for the Jackson Five, but I got sick of him during the Thriller years. What was supposed to be a 15 minute video surrounding the hit song, Thriller, in my recollection, went on and on for about two straight years and spawned an inaesthetic fashion trend that went on even longer.

This year has been especially bad for Hollywood; Ed McMahon, David Carradine, Bea Arthur, Farrah Fawcett, Karl Malden, Dom Deluise, and of course, Michael Jackson… and the year is only half over!

We’re all saddened by these deaths. Yes, Jackson and company were talented, and in some cases part of the nightly T.V. routine, but is that really why so many people are grieving? The level of news coverage over Jackson is almost as bad as that for O.J. in ’95. They could probably beat it (no pun intended) if Jackson's L.A. funeral procession was slow, and the casket delivered in the back of a white Bronco (and in his case the glove DID fit), but is it really necessary? Seriously, just when I started to long for those tacky infomercials Billy Mays passed away, no doubt from boredom!
I'm inclined to think that the passing of Billy Mays may be far sadder and have greater ramifications because his heir apparent is Vince Shlomi, the Shamwow guy.

The real reason we are saddened by these deaths is that they remind us of our own mortality. It doesn't really matter how they died; only how they lived. Jackson and Mays departed this life at the somewhat tender age of fifty - Farrah went before her time too - reinforcing the image of Death as a thief in the night. So I am confused over the Jackson clamor and all the people trying to steal the spotlight. Don't they get it? Jackson’s death should be a reminder to us all to live every day as if it were our last.