I don’t give a fat rat’s ass about Michael Jackson. Honestly, in a perfect world? He would have been convicted side-by-side with the kid’s mother. They’d have to share a cell.
Now that would be justice.
That said, I watched a little of the post-verdict blah-blah on CNN. They held and held and held on a tight shot of people celebrating. These were Jackson fans, or “supporters” as they’re called in CNN-speak, and they were exultant, oh yes they were. All I could this was: Does he actually still have fans? I mean, even if he’d never been accused of anything worse than failing to clean the chimp cages on a regular basis, are we to believe the guy’s work is worthy of fans and fandom? NPR just called him the “king of pop.” By my reckoning, that makes Aretha Franklin the Grand Priestess and Philosopher-Queen of Pop. That touches off a whole episode of tltle inflation. Please.
Miles Davis beat his wife. But he made great music. Ray Charles was a heroin addict. But he made great music. Sid Vicious stabbed Nancy. But he remade “My Way” in a way that wasn’t great, but was different and audacious enough to qualify as real creativity, even if it was heroin creativity. Michael Jackson sleeps with boys, and his music sucks. People, grow up.
Oy, a busy one behind me and another one ahead, made oddly unsettling by the great, pregnant clouds that waddled over the area all day, refusing to rain — on our house, at least. There were squalls and showers here and there, but mostly just oppressive humidity. Today, more of the same. Think I’ll work out early, then stay inside, dusting things.
Also, writing. I think I have a new gig, which won’t make me famous but will put me in a very nice place, byline-wise, on a regular basis. More as it unfolds. And last night was the inaugural meeting of a long-delayed impulse my local friend John and I had a while back — a writer’s group that meets regularly to exchange, critique and workshop one another’s work. The first meeting was small, but heartening. Only we need a new venue. Coffee houses seem like such a wonderful solution, until you confront their noise level. One of our members has a hearing loss in one ear, and do you have any idea how loud a commercial coffee grinder is, not to mention those industrial steamers? Good lord, but it’s like a factory in there. Next time: The library.
No bloggage today, because it’s all about the king of you-know-what. Maybe later. Until then, ta.