
Who gives a fuck?
Plenty of people have made this point during the insane MJ coverage. Insane is a good word for anyone that can temporaily shut down twitter and google. I'm normally the most anti-celebrity mourning person out there; the first to say this is just colonialism manipulating our little minds into ignoring real injustice in the world. In particular, the excessive attention paid to Princess Diana and JFK junior too me were examples of our celebrity-obsessed culture. We were mourning people who had everything, absolutely everything, who had come from the most obscene privilege, living lives as elites that most of the masses who mourned them would never come close to grasping. And in death, they would distract us from thinking critically and organizing around other important issues.
I seethed each time at the lopsidedness of everything.
But I do.
I couldn't believe how sad I was this time. What makes MJ different? Well, a lot obviously (talent, accomplishments, and upbringing just to name a few), but the essential question is, why does someone like me care about someone like him?
Wait, maybe I can intellectualize it?
Maybe I can tie MJ's passing to some form of social justice. Did MJ make Barack Obama possible? Was it important that he made MTV accept black music? Did he make people of color, African Americans love themselves in new ways, find places for themselves in America that people of so many different backgrounds have been struggling for? I don't really know. Those questions and discussions are above my pay grade. Though I'm happy to read any essays/articles on the topic(s)....
But wasn't he a (possible) child molester and do other messed up stuff?
Picasso was a womanizer. Legend says that Rembrandt was so miserly that his studio assistants painted gold coins on the ground to trick him into trying to pick them up. And he probably passed off their work as his own. These are just some of the examples off the top of my head of great artists who were far from great people. And I don't know if MJ was child molester. A saint or sinner? I don't care to really try to parcel it out. For me, it's not the point. I'm not sad because the world lost a "good" man-though to people close to him, I'm sure he was.
It's all just fucking irrational. Accept it.
Damn straight. It didn't seem to make sense for my mom, a Korean immigrant who toiled as a nurse for 30 years to care when someone of JFK Jr.'s privilege died. Let me have my celebrity sadness!
Someone I feel a connection to as illogical as it may be...
I'm sad because this was part of my childhood. I memorized the words to Beat It, I sang along not even understanding the damn words. My parents gave me the tape of Thriller I think for my birthday and played it constantly. I had no idea what any of the lyrics were about. All I knew was that Michael Jackson, and singing his songs as a little chubby, geeky Asian kid with glasses that were way too big, hair that was way to bowled, pants that were too damn tight, felt like about the most American thing I could be/do. Growing up in Park Slope, as one of the few (then) Asian kids navigating a mostly white gifted elementary program and a fairly diverse neighborhood, Michael was a cultural common denominator.
I guess selling 20 million-some records will do that.
Of course, as he descended into more and more weirdness and I started branching off into other music he became just another relic of my childhood and I stopped paying attention to him. More recently, as I got into dance, I gained a new appreciation for him as an artist and performer, not just the guy who sang all those songs I memorized as a kid. I watched a lot of him dancing. I had done enough dance classes and tried to (late in life) force my body to do enough (for me) unnatural things that I appreciated how effortlessly he moved, how captivating, just one guy could be on stage in front of thousands...
So does any of this make sense? I don't know, I don't care. We're all masters of our own contradictions. Rest in peace, Michael. Thank you.












