It’s amazing to me how removed we all are from death. Unless it happens immediately to us, we laugh. Like life is this big movie screen and nothing is real. I found out about Michael Jackson’s death on twitter at around 3:00 pm in the afternoon on June 25th, 2009.
For any tweeter, tweeker, twitter tweeple whatever we call ourselves these days, twitter users, you probably got the news the way I did. TMZ tweets, “We've just learned Michael Jackson has died. He was 50.” …the flood of response followed. From disbelief to sorrow. I sat in shock secretly hoping it was the best PR stunt of all time to sell albums or avert another child molestation accusation. And I watched how people responded. Most of them, with class and sadness. But more people than I even want to remember treated his death like a bad movie ending. Jokes and mean comments began to flood in minutes after the news broke. Things like, “Thank you for making my day” were written. I was appalled. Not only was I appalled but, I was appalled that I was appalled (did ya get that?)
MJ was troubled. He very likely ruined a lot of lives of children, right? He was a child molester, right? He was sick he deserved it to die… right? He was a freak, with bleached white skin an over sculpted nose, and silky straight black hair (unlike his killer afro from the Jackson 5 years.) Dead. Gone. What a relief… right?
But then again he’s Michael freakin’ Jackson. The butt of our jokes… the freak we all laugh at to validate our own saneness... the music we listen to when we need a lift… or need to get the dance floor going again… or want to celebrate “casual Friday” with one ear bud inconspicuously tucked in an ear while we secretly rock out in our boring, familiar cubicle.
Here’s a thought: Didn’t Michael sort of give his life to all of us in a weird sort of way?
Don’t get me wrong, Michael Jackson wasn’t Jesus. But think about it, he was kinda of a non-religious version of a pop-culture Jesus. He gave his life to pop culture and everyone in it. Michael Jackson existed to create and tell stories. To create miracles with music. To invent dance moves and choreography that had never been done before. His music existed for people to go to when they needed a lift.
We all celebrated him, we put him on donkey fanned him with palm frans called him the king… and then we killed him.
Only his beating and crucifixion happened over years. We killed him by plucking him of everything he had, good and bad. “Billie Jean” pluck. “Thriller” pluck. “the moonwalk” pluck. “The butt of my next joke” pluck. “The magazine cover story” pluck. “the creepy interview” pluck… normal relationships, unconditional love, acceptance of flaws, neuroses, perfectionism, peace and quiet, soccer games, Saturday BBQ’s, going to the mall, blending in, pumping your own gas, being a normal person.
Pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck, pluck.
Michael Jackson didn’t take anything from me.
He never made fun of my mullet in 7th grade. He never followed me on twitter and laughed my ridiculous attempts at daily clever antidotes. He never retold a joke that I told him to break the ice at a party. I never made him a commercial that helped him sell an album. Not once. Not one little thing.
He gave me a lot. He started the dance floor at my Chico house party that increased my popularity exponentially. He gave me a costume for a “rockstar” party that I went to once; I was a hit when my frail ego really needed to be a hit. He inspired a “best of” mixed tape I made that everyone wanted a copy of. I got the credit for this stuff, not him.
So as I ask myself why I am appalled that people are mocking him in his death. I guess I feel that we’ve all taken so much from him. Maybe this time we all owe it to him to give back. Just once. Something simple like one happy sincere thought, whether he hears it or not, before the shock fades and the scandals and new jokes emerge. In this moment of quiet before we are all used to a world without him, show a little respect, tip your hat, refrain from telling the MJ joke this time or something as simple as appreciating him for giving something to you, and getting nothing back.
Maybe it's something as simple as this: Thanks Mike. You rocked.
