RIP Michael Jackson

All the bullshit of the last fifteen years ultimately won’t matter. I’ll remember him for those summers in the early 1980s, to which his music furnished the soundtrack. Funny how I’d forgotten just how good those songs were—nothing could stand against MJ in his prime.

Meanwhile, in the middle of the Larry King retrospective last night, the power in the neighborhood of LA where I’m staying went out.  People were on the streets with flashlights trying to figure out how far the blackout extended.  It could have been the setting to one of Jackson’s videos, but fortunately no crazy thriller werewolves were spotted.  A quarter-century’s a long time, but it’s still strange how much a man can age across it.

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