MJ, the Memorial and the Aftermath

Michael Jackson, the Memorial and the Aftermath

Well, it’s over, I think. I hope. Sort of. The memorial for Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, the man who beat a pedophilia rap, the androgynous Michael, is finally concluded as most of his body should be laid to rest at Forest Lawn Cemetery.

As grotesque as it sounds, MJ’s brain will not yet be interred pending further examination by the L.A. coroner to determine the cause of death. Adding to the strangeness, there’s a report as of this writing that the whereabouts of the rest of his body is unknown.

You couldn’t make this stuff up if you tried.

I caught a bit of Tuesday’s festivities on the news since they were impossible to avoid. And it really did seem more a festival than a wake, except for the very touching, tearful remarks of his young daughter, Paris Michael Jackson.

The eleven year old was evidently heartbroken at her loss, yet braved the thousands at the Staples Center to express her sorrow. Some believe she was forced to speak at the end of the services, exploited as one more element of “a macabre circus:” http://bit.ly/142bsh.

That British observation went on to add that the glitzy superficiality was all “a reminder of why Michael Jackson became [and died] a deeply unhappy, lonely man living an utterly bizarre existence,” a comment few American media would dare make.

It also established a “world record . . . for the most people wearing sunglasses indoors.”

Nevertheless, coerced or not, anyone not moved by the child’s few words and sincere grief either has no soul or has no heart.

Neither Jackson’s son, nor his dad or mom, spoke although a host of others–family, friends, and sycophantic, parasitic hangers on–did step to the stage to voice their feelings in speeches and songs over the passing of the King.

Included were, of all people, Al Sharpton, Magic Johnson, and one of the few Whites granted stage time, Jacko’s former girl buddy, Brooke Shields.

It’s a fine line treaded at times such as these when to criticize any newly deceased is deemed beneath low and rotten. However, to heap praise on a failed human being and pretend he was not deeply flawed is patently hypocritical and false.

Obviously, not all concur on that failure or his flaws and it was a memorial, after all, an occasion to laud the dead although some of the praise seemed just a tad excessive.

One of the bereaved toasted Wacko Jacko as “the greatest entertainer of all time,” apparently forgetting Elvis, Sinatra, and the Beatles as well as what must have been awesome stars in ancient Babylonia and Sumeria.

However, that’s quibbling for Michael Jackson was definitely the greatest entertainer of the last generation even if some would argue for Bart Simpson.

All that aside, . . . (Read the rest at http://genelalor.com)