Meeting my Obligation

I'm told that as a citizen of the blogosphere, I must write about the death of Michael Jackson.

Doubtless this brands me as an old faht of the worst kind, but it's been 30 years since I gave Michael Jackson much attention at all. My inattention includes both the music of a performer on the down slope, and the performer's indiscretions. Consequently, his death is no more interesting to me me than his life for the past oh-so many years.

I'm not just an old faht regarding this artist, but regarding the obsessive-compulsive coverage that happens when any so-called celebrity does anything. Jackson really didn't have to die to get attention; he would have done nearly as well to break wind in a public place.

The gentleman a colleague calls Kim Jong Mentally-Il was probably upset that his rally was upstaged by Farah Fawcett's death. With the Jackson obsession coming so soon after, he never had a chance to regroup. He should just pack it in and trade in his missiles for caviar. Until he gets better hair, he will never be able to compete with fully credentialed celebrities.