the king is dead, long live the king

I’m sure every person with a semi-regular blog in the world is posting about Michael Jackson’s death today. I’m no different. I grew up in the 80’s, I listened to the music, I had that poster, I wore my Thriller tape out, I did my poor version of the moonwalk in the scorching Texas summer sun.

Today I don’t care about the scandals, or the surgeries, or the weirdness and eccentricities. MJ meant a lot to me for a good long part of my life, and I still can’t help but dance or sing along when I hear the familiar beats. I wanna rock with you…all night.

It sucks losing your icons.

A rockstar friend of mine just met Michael a few weeks ago. It was amazing. It was transcendent. And, in today’s light, it was even a little more weird.

How many sparkle gloves will be worn on Halloween this year? How many will be in honor, and how many will be in jest?

No matter the personal life, this reporter still contends: too soon.

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