That’s right. I don’t care. Not one bit. Not an iota. In fact, if it is possible to have a negative value in caring then that’s how I feel about this guy dying.
I never listened to his music except on the radio when I didn’t have a better station to go to and I certainly never bought his albums. I never enjoyed his dancing because men dancing was only cool back when guys like Gene Kelly, Frank Sinatra, and Fred Astaire danced. (Okay, maybe John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. But he wasn’t so much cool as he could get chicks by dancing and that was a cool.)
I never found his life fascinating. I rarely even thought about his life and when I was forced to I only thought about how really weird, sad, creepy, and probably criminal it was.
And most of all I never felt sorry for him because his weird, sad, creepy and probably criminal life was of his own making.
I also don’t think I am alone. I don’t think most people really care that he died. Surely many are waxing nostalgic now, thinking back to that damnable Thriller album which everyone says was the greatest compilation of music ever heard and to which they danced under the delusion that they, too, had his moves. (Me, I just found it annoying for the most part and I KNOW I had the moves.)
Or they may be smiling as they think of that young kid who looked so cute singing with his big brothers. (Every little kid looks cute singing, even your fat nephew Little Freddy.)
But most aren’t and for those who are one can only hope that after that moment passes they will quickly move on to thinking about other more important things and forget the boy talent who turned into his own personal freak show.
Of course it’s hard to not think about him. What with the news and entertainment media talking endlessly about him since yesterday. Talk that will continue for at least a week I am sure.
Because that’s what’s important in America. The life and death of a pop star.
Not the fight for freedom in Iran. Not the biggest tax increase in history being pushed through Congress at this very moment. And not the threat of national health care that is being sold in infomercials by Obama and his luvah ABC.
No, the guy with the chimp, some poor guy’s bones, and one glove is what’s important here.
Which says so much about America. About Americans. And what it says is not good.
It explains the election of Obama though.
He’s a pop star. Just like Michael.
He went through his cute kid stage. Singing for everyone on the campaign trail, winning over so many hearts that he was able to shoot past all the other established political stars to win the Democratic Party Grammy.
And then he had his Thriller. His win. The Presidency. A hit album that people all over the world celebrated and played again and again in their hearts. (Not their minds though because his election was all about emotion, not logic.)
He was officially crowned the King of Pop-ularity.
But like Michael he is also moving towards his weird days. Only faster.
Like Michael, he surrounded himself with lesser talents politicians and hangers-on who have only served to make him seem weaker, weirder and out of control.
Like Michael, he has bankrupted himself America by spending all his our money and borrowing even more.
Like Michael, his music rhetoric isn’t as enjoyable as it once was and fewer and fewer people seem to be buying it based on his recent record sales polls.
But, again like Michael, his personal popularity remains high despite all this crap.
Still, personal popularity can only take you so far. Micheal was – is – loved by many people yet with all that he ended up losing all his money, friends, and most importantly his credibility.
Which is exactly the way Obama is heading. He is still personally popular, but his music is starting to grate on the public’s ears. People aren’t sure they want to buy it and if it weren’t for the media whoring it out for virtually nothing it would be gathering dust back in some wholesale music warehouse or headed to the dump.
“It’s free,” say Obama, Pelosi, Reid, and the media. Take two if you want. Free health care. Free climate change.
Free, free, free.
Until it isn’t. Which is sooner than you think.
So anyway, my point was I won’t miss Michael Jackson. Not one bit. In fact, I’m glad he is gone, though I hope he rests in peace.
Just like I will be glad when Obama is gone. When he loses in 2012 and heads back to Chicago. Joining the Former Presidents Club playing casinos and doing reunion tours.
No, I won’t miss him.
Cause if I’m lucky, I’ll be listening to some soothing Sarah Palin on my iPod.