I've never written a eulogy before. Never been asked to, and never been inspired enough. And i've sure as hell never once considered taking time off to express onto paper (or website) emotion for the loss of a man i've never met.
A man I can never say i've met, but a man I grew up with all the same. As a 6-year-old I owned tapes of all his music videos, knew the lyrics to all his scores, had managed to attain VIP tickets to his 'Dangerous' World Tour...and even forgave him when he cancelled.
Michael Jackson, The King of Pop; and even Wacko Jacko some called him, attaching a title to his many eccentricities. As with every star who's made it big, controversy hounded him like a boxer to his shadow.
But at a time like this, all his peculiarities seem insignificant. We forget that he was once tied with sexual allegations. We turn a blind eye to rumours revolving around his obsession with surgery. And we don't give a hoot anymore how deep in debt he was.
What we do remember, is what he was always meant to be remembered for. For his magnanimous contribution to the music industry, as a phenomenal performer with an irrepalceable sense of artistry and style.
We loved him for his infamous red blazer, that outrageous crotch-thrust, and of course...the moonwalk; the walk more popular than Armstrong's itself.
We remember the man who took entertainment to a whole other level, his music serving as a portal to bring out in the open, issues of race, war and love.
The reason his passing has come as quite the shock to most of us, is probably because like him, we thought Michael would live forever. It's hard to conceive that a legend is mortal after all.
But unlike other mere mortals, MJ leaves behind a massive fan-following, music that's bridged the gap of generations, and a legacy of dance; earning his place in The Hall of Fame...our Hall of Fame.
Maybe now he'll finally get the peace he deserves.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Sunny Side Up
Hurrah! It's Summer folks! Summer has landed!!
Don't look at me like that. Like i'm mad. Like the heat's finally got to me.
Pardon me if this happens to be my season of choice. And in this part of the world i'm not exactly handed a smorgasbord of seasons to choose from; the best of the 4(spring and autumn) are non-existent.
Yes, I do realize I live in the Middle East, where a 'low' of 45 degrees centigrade is an auspicious double-digit. Where it's probably cooler in that oven with the rotating, roasting chickens than it is outside smack in the middle of August.
But again..pardon me. Pardon me for preferring sun burn over frostbite (blue is not my colour). Pardon me for not loving days where I set off to work in pitch black, and head back home way after Monsieur Sunshine has called it a day. Pardon me if i'd rather not layer myself with clothing like a sugar-addict icing a cake.
Sweating is healthy. Freezing is just a reflex response.
In winter you're lazy.
You're too comfy under your duvet to get yourself out of bed each morning. Your teeth are too busy chattering to yourself to have conversation with anyone else.
Your lips crack until it hurts to smile. Your fingernnails turn an unclassified shade of blue, and you forget you have a nose at all until you realize that you are in fact still breathing.
You envy fat people for their deposits of warmth, and the concept of burning yourself with the lone flame of a cigaretter lighter is so appealing, that you actually consider living with a 3rd degree burn-scar for life if it means just a few seconds of heat.
You pretend you like someone just so you can hold their hand, and run around in an an un-called for hugging-spree not because you're overtly friendly, but purely for the sake of mustering whatever warmth you can scavenge.
You walk around the house in socks and a hoodie looking around for scraps of wood with which to build a fire in your living room, your demeanor and gait resembling one of the many corpses from MJ's 'Thriller' video.
It's no wonder Ebeneezer Scrooge was grumpy during Christmas time. It's no wonder Big Foot has an agenda. They're freezing.
But summer. Oh summer! With it's beautiful beaches, and the permission slip it hands you to start wearing open-toed sandals again. Those ugly dull-coloured fuzzies are replaced with a wardrobe of bright, thinner attire.
A little too much sun? Just slap on your shades and a blob of sunscreen. It's nothing a cold shower and big fat glass of chilled watermelon juice can't cure.
You don't have to fear for your digits from May through September. You can go for a drive with the AC cranked up. You can finish a whole tub of ice cream, quashing the guilt with the theory that you'll sweat off the calories.
You can grab a natural tan just by popping over to the community grocery store. You can hit the rink. You can hit the stores (summer sales)! You can hit your brother and blame it on heatstroke!!
Now this...this is the season to be jolly.
Don't look at me like that. Like i'm mad. Like the heat's finally got to me.
Pardon me if this happens to be my season of choice. And in this part of the world i'm not exactly handed a smorgasbord of seasons to choose from; the best of the 4(spring and autumn) are non-existent.
Yes, I do realize I live in the Middle East, where a 'low' of 45 degrees centigrade is an auspicious double-digit. Where it's probably cooler in that oven with the rotating, roasting chickens than it is outside smack in the middle of August.
But again..pardon me. Pardon me for preferring sun burn over frostbite (blue is not my colour). Pardon me for not loving days where I set off to work in pitch black, and head back home way after Monsieur Sunshine has called it a day. Pardon me if i'd rather not layer myself with clothing like a sugar-addict icing a cake.
Sweating is healthy. Freezing is just a reflex response.
In winter you're lazy.
You're too comfy under your duvet to get yourself out of bed each morning. Your teeth are too busy chattering to yourself to have conversation with anyone else.
Your lips crack until it hurts to smile. Your fingernnails turn an unclassified shade of blue, and you forget you have a nose at all until you realize that you are in fact still breathing.
You envy fat people for their deposits of warmth, and the concept of burning yourself with the lone flame of a cigaretter lighter is so appealing, that you actually consider living with a 3rd degree burn-scar for life if it means just a few seconds of heat.
You pretend you like someone just so you can hold their hand, and run around in an an un-called for hugging-spree not because you're overtly friendly, but purely for the sake of mustering whatever warmth you can scavenge.
You walk around the house in socks and a hoodie looking around for scraps of wood with which to build a fire in your living room, your demeanor and gait resembling one of the many corpses from MJ's 'Thriller' video.
It's no wonder Ebeneezer Scrooge was grumpy during Christmas time. It's no wonder Big Foot has an agenda. They're freezing.
But summer. Oh summer! With it's beautiful beaches, and the permission slip it hands you to start wearing open-toed sandals again. Those ugly dull-coloured fuzzies are replaced with a wardrobe of bright, thinner attire.
A little too much sun? Just slap on your shades and a blob of sunscreen. It's nothing a cold shower and big fat glass of chilled watermelon juice can't cure.
You don't have to fear for your digits from May through September. You can go for a drive with the AC cranked up. You can finish a whole tub of ice cream, quashing the guilt with the theory that you'll sweat off the calories.
You can grab a natural tan just by popping over to the community grocery store. You can hit the rink. You can hit the stores (summer sales)! You can hit your brother and blame it on heatstroke!!
Now this...this is the season to be jolly.
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