OMG!

Michael Jackson is dead and I'm for the briefest of moments 15 again. I'm at Band Camp somewhere in central Michigan in a room full of my high school classmates and someone suddenly bursts through the door of the room and shouts, "Elvis is dead!" The air ceases to move until someone cries.

Shack it off!

I'm 25 again. It's a winter morning, I'm drinking coffee alone at my kitchen table and planning to call my mom: it's her birthday. I'm home cause my county has called a snow day and now the sun is out when I hear on the radio that something has happened to the crew of the Challenger...I turn on my TV...soon I'm the one crying.

Shack it off....

I'm 48, just 2 year younger than him.

Michael Jackson is dead. DEAD. Like what the fuck? I'm barely absorbing the death of Farrah Fawcett, and now this? At least she had a reason. What was his? An all consuming hatred for himself and desire to be someone else until the bleaching off of his skin left his flesh and heart so exposed to life that all that was left to him was death?

Hamlet slide down and make room for Michael. Marilyn, can you get him a glass of cool water?