My Main Man (in the Mirror): MJ Tribute Post
I was born in 1977, just one year old when Michael Jackson starred in The Wiz with Diana Ross. He was one of, if not the first celebrity I was ever conscious of, and no one ever seemed so ‘larger than life’. I’d see clips of people at his concerts crying hysterically and fainting, the likes of which I’d only ever seen the Beatles bring about.
I grew up in the shadow of his stardom. My world stood still when the new Thriller video came out in 1982. I was highly concerned when MJ’s hair caught fire during the filming of a Pepsi commercial in 1984. My best friend and I would watch her Moonwalker video on Friday afternoons incessantly, debating over whether or not MJ was gay. Back then I could never have imagined a world that Michael Jackson didn’t rule.
Years later, having lost my star struck inclinations to post pubescent self absorption, I’d hear about MJ involved in various types of controversies: that he purchased the Elephant Man‘s bones, that he owned a pet chimp named Bubbles who used his toilet and cleaned his bedroom, and of course that he was a seriously disturbed child molesting perv. In the mean time, MJ’s skin tone continued to fade. It only made sense that the more f*cked he became, the whiter he appeared.
I stopped listening to all of the media because I realized I just didn’t care. I was never interested in dating Michael Jackson, I just like his music and think he was a kick-ass dancer and amazing performer; that’s all I ever cared about. Aristotle said “No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness”, and the Master of the Moonwalk is no different. Whatever he did in the privacy of his own home was none of my business, well unless it was with my own children… otherwise, cha mon.
$@bs
