The Sting of Death

Micheal Jackson

An adorable, gifted child, a handsome, talented young man, insecure man, bizarre individual, sad, sad, sad.

I watched the movie, The Wiz (I loved the Wiz!) almost as many times as I watched Gone with the Wind. I owned the album, Thriller. Who didn't? It was the eighties baby and we danced.

Yet, he was a strange man, surrounded by accusation of inappropriateness in both 1993 and 2003. The first case was dropped because the victim refused to testify, the second was settled out of court to the tune of millions.

I wasn't there and neither were you. I have no idea whether or not MJ was a sick little man, or simply a man who adored children. I have no idea and frankly, it really doesn't matter today, does it?

He's dead.

I am shocked at the reaction to his death, just as I was shocked at the reaction when John Lennon was murdered. Sure, I think it's sad that he died, but I didn't KNOW him. I won't MISS him. He wasn't all that to me. I do not feel death's sting with the passing of Micheal Jackson.

Go ahead, pick up your stones and hurtle them my way. The passing of MJ will not leave a hole in my heart. My eyes will not fill with tears at the remembrance of him, as they do when I recall memories of my most wonderful MIL. I won't lay flowers at his graveside or honestly give him a second thought after the media frothing stops.

I feel sorry for MJ because I think he was robbed of his childhood. I think fame and money ruined him. My mommy's heart wonders if he was lonely, because to me, he appeared lonely. The kind of lonely that has sunk so low into a man's soul that it's raw and bleeding.

As a Christian, I wonder about the condition of his soul. Hey, it's my blog and I can say that if I want to. I can ponder where he may now find himself and that my friends, is truly worth grieving. It's sad. It really, truly is.

Because I am a heartless wench, I may have offended a few people. I know you are SHOCKED and DISAPPOINTED in me. I know you may have many colorful words to share with me.

All I can say is, "Whoa! Dude, I meant no disrespect..."

I don't build alters to people. I've built one for my God and He's kinda jealous about sharing His children. Funny that.

And yet, as I sit here and write this, I know someone who is grieving far more than the millions upon millions world wide.

His name is Jesus Christ.

This will conclude today's sermon.

Amen.

The Death of the Boob Tube

In a few short days television will forever be changed. No longer will the analog signal float through the airwaves to entertain the masses. Unless, of course, you have satellite service, cable, or have already purchased your converter box. Have you made the switch to high definition television?

We have not.

To many people our skimpy television viewing is mystifying. We are an enigma. We do not subscribe to any outside service, nor do we intend to. Frankly, we’re not huge television fans. Sure, if it’s here, we’ll watch it. I’ll admit to being entrance by HGTV, The Food Network and The Sci-Fi channel. Thanks to Girl’s adopted grandma, we fell in love with American Idol this past season, and I admit that we’ll scan the channels searching for something to watch. For the most part, we are usually disappointed and thus we don’t watch a great deal of TV.

We adore Netflix.

When Beloved and I were first married we were televisionless. Both our families were shocked. They offered to give/buy/ loan us a TV, yet we were fine without one. We read books, we worked on projects, we talked, and we really didn’t miss the the boob tube. When our children came along, we restricted television viewing but we weren’t weird about it. It’s not that we think television is evil (okay, I kinda think it is), we simply felt that the children’s time would be better spent outside.

We do not regret that decision.

Of course there are shows we like, many of which are on the Public Broadcasting station and yes, sometimes I watch the news (much to Girl’s dismay). The one eyed monster often sits blankly staring at us, urging us, silently, to grab the remote and settle in for a few hours of mindless dribble. Who doesn’t like mindless dribble?

We grew up with television.

Happy Days, Rosanne, Gilligan’s Island, Emergency!, ER, Friends, Blazer Basketball (that’s for you Mr. Mike), MTV, VH1, HBO, Showtime, and on and on and on. The TV was a member of the family. We’d all gather round it, our dinners on TV trays, as we inhaled the fragrance of electricity and the scent of dying brain cells.

Good times people, good times.

Yet… Isn’t there something more? Remember board games, the art of conversation, and classic literature?

In a few short days our television will grow strangely quiet. We’ll be forced to find something else to do besides “veg” in front of the tube. Our Netflix will still be delivered to our mailbox and we’ll enjoy episodes of Jeeves and Wooster, SG-1, and various other commercial free entertainment. I’m sure we’ll all suffer from some attachment issues, but I think we’ll be okay.

After all, we still remember how to play Scrabble.

Idol Worship

Kris Allen...

I don't watch American Idol. I don't for several reasons, but there are teenagers living in my house. One of which was exposed to AI in Bend. It's not that I think it's a bad show. I just find it...annoying in so many ways.

Last night, American Idol was on the tube. What could I do but watch.



Kris Allen...

What can I say? The man can sing.

Wow.