Careful What You Wish For

I swore I wasn't going to do it.

I swore I wasn't going to do it, just like I've sworn before. And yet I still always break, do a blog on something topical I have no business blogging about, say stupid things, embarrass myself, and, well, swear I'll never do it again.

But as my TV boyfriend Keith Olbermann said, "This circus ain't leavin' town anytime soon." So let's talk a little Michael Jackson.

And to begin, let's get two things out of the way right up front. First of all, I'm sick to death of hearing about him, so if you are too and skip this blog I won't blame you in the least. I'm sick that I can't escape him, that he's invaded hard news programs, and that everyone from his family to a man who once saw him eat an ice cream cone has come out of the woodwork to tell a story.

And second, I didn't like Michael Jackson. I saw him not as a genius, the greatest entertainer of all time, or a superb "musician," which I have to say it just chafes my britches when I hear someone who stands at a microphone and sings called a "musician." He had a decent voice, could dance his pants off (which apparently he did a few times, but I'm steering fairly clear of that), and I'm sure knew his way around a production board.

And third, although I said there were only two things we needed to get out of the way but this cannot be overlooked, the man was fuckin' nuts. People who like his music but not him agree, people who like him and his music agree, and 4 out of 5 doctors agree. He was nuts.

When I was growing up I couldn't stand the Jackson Five (or the Jackson 5ive, if you will). Absolutely hated them. Of course, being a kid, I wasn't basing this on the songs or the singing, I based it on the fact that their dress sense was hideous and that one played the guitar and one played the bass, like that "meant something," when to me all it meant was that Tito and Jermaine didn't know how to dance that well and so something was shoved into their hands. It looked wrong, and the instruments should have been left to a backing band and if Tito and Jermaine couldn't dance, they should have reduced it to the Jackson Three (or the Jackson 3hree, if you will).

I have no trouble at all admitting that as an adult I came to appreciate how good those old records were. "I Want You Back," "ABC" (which Jessee Jackson has repeatedly called "The ABCs of Love" on news shows, and why is Jessee Jackson, and Al Sharpton, for that matter, enmired in all this shit?), "I'll Be There," and my own personal favorite from that time, "The Love You Save." Of course, those were the Motown years, so they had that terrific catalog of songs to choose from and the Motown production people forming their sound. Doesn't make the records any less good, but that was the case.

After the teen idol years and the quintet's inevitable decline, Michael went solo and released an album called "Off The Wall." It had some great songs on it, and for me, this was as good as Michael ever got. And it was good. He was cute and charming and could sing and dance. Then that was it for me. Michael pretty much ceased to be except to piss me off, and after "Off The Wall" he jumped the shark.

"Thriller" was terribly overrated, the music and the videos. Everything after was even worse. And then of course, "everything after" includes not only the music and videos, but all the weird shit surrounding his private life, which got much worse.

And I've said this several times before and after his death, but where he was in his life when "Thriller" came out and all that happened after it, Michael Jackson could have ruled the world forever. He seemed like a nice kid with talent who was generous and admired by his peers.

But he just had to fuck it all up.

He decided he wanted to rule the world forever, and thus set about this whole self-styled King of Pop shit. He couldn't be The King, that was Elvis, so he added "of Pop" to the end and had at it. He became a recluse. He wore masks when he went out in public. He set out to control everything that was said or released about him. He lived at an amusement park with a chimp. He laid in a coffin-like chamber and bid on the Elephant Man's remains. He decided he was Peter Pan, the magical Never Grow Old, Never Die boy.

Well, he grew old, and he died. And as he was growing old, all that weird childlike shit was very unappealing.

But here's the thing. Why didn't he ever notice that?

Well, the answer to that is easy, of course, it's because he was fuckin' nuts, and I think the fact he didn't notice it is my clear argument as to his diminished mental and emotional capacity.

Over the weekend I caught that special from 2003, you know, the famous one where Jackson extolled the virtues of sharing your bed with children. He creeped me out so much during that show it's hard to put into words. It also contained him looking the director square in the eye and telling a couple of lies.

The first was that he hadn't had any plastic surgery. He actually said that! He said it over and over, that the massive change in his appearance was simply a result of his "growing and maturing." May none of us ever grow and mature in such a manner, please Lord. Finally, he relented after continued questioning and said, OK, he'd had two procedures done on his nose. Only two, and that was to help him breathe better, which is more than laughable if you look at his original ethnically fine nose with lots of room in it and his then current nose, which barely had nostrils, which I always wanted to shove two straws up just in hopes he could get a little air.

The second was that his kids, and that was a hoot and half - well, let's go here first. He said he was so desperate to have kids that he used to walk around his house carrying a doll, which, well, I don't believe I'd have told that, but that he met the mother of his first two offspring and she gave those kids to him as a gift, but I'm going off topic here, so let's get back to the point. He said that all three of his kids were formed with his "sperm cells," as he so lovingly put it. (His kids, by the by, are Prince Michael, Paris Michael, and Prince Michael II. Who in the hell did he think he was? Oh, the King of Pop. Sorry.) He said that the mother of the third was from an anonymous surrogate, and he specified he didn't care if the mother was black, white, Asian, anything. The director asked, "But the mother is obviously white." And Michael threw in quickly, "No, she's black." Then went on to argue about it.

Now, have you seen those three kids? I mean, without the elaborate masks he always forced them to wear? The first two are supposed to be half black and the third all black. If there is one drop of black blood in any of those three kids, I'll hit Queen Elizabeth with a brick and take my rightful place on her throne. The oldest one looks like he stepped right out of the Third Reich, for God's sake.

Personally, I think that as important to the African American community as he was, Michael Jackson hated being black and wanted his kids as white as possible. My opinion, but my blog. Which I swore I wouldn't write.

Anyway, that special also touched on the whole molestation thing, and here's where I will cut Michael a modicum of slack, but not much. I mean, let's face it, the man was fuckin' nuts, but the only people who knew what went on in any of those episodes were those present, and I wasn't, so what judgment can I level. I think if he did do anything sexual, and he may have, it was - I don't know if "unintended" is the word I'm looking for - maybe "ignorantly." You know, like walking around naked in front of kids was fine, like sharing your bed with them was. I guess I can't imagine him premeditatedly preying on a kid for sex because I can't see him having the brain to do so anymore.

And so, he ended up still famous but washed-up, drug addled, surrounded by hangers-on and yes-men, and in debt. And he was planning his big comeback. Which leaves me wondering today, if he wanted to make a comeback, why didn't he get his once-talented ass in the studio, write some songs, and release a killer album? Because he couldn't. He didn't have it anymore. Whatever talent he had was long gone, the creativity had vanished, and so his only means of getting back in the public eye was to go onstage again rehashing the songs and moves from 20 years ago. Or dying, which he did, and got way more publicity than his stage shows ever would have.

To me, Jackson's death was a shock, it was unexpected, but I can't really say it was sad. His life is what was sad. He could have had it all. And he chose to mess it up so bad there was no getting it back. I wish that in time my memories would be of those Jackson Five (or Jackson 5ive, if you will) songs and the good stuff from "Off the Wall."

But I know that won't happen. Michael Jackson himself saw to it that it won't.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* RIP, Karl Malden. You had a fabulous nose, and I liked your work. And because of the above, people probably won't even remember you left us.
* Grim Reaper, you think you could go on vacation for a little while?