I woke up this morning to hear that Farrah Fawcett had passed away. Aussie news was all over it. Outside footy, I haven't seen the media here discuss a topic so thoroughly. Later on the bus, my hubbie sent me a text message saying that Michael Jackson had passed away. I replied, "what next, space aliens?"
When I was young, I was obsessed with Farrah Fawcett, as most boys were around my age. Charlie's Angels came on at 10pm, but my bedtime was 8pm, which proved to be a dilemma for me, but, I managed, as cleverness runs on my side of the family. My obsession had more to do with her husband, Lee Majors, who is from my home town of Middlesboro, KY. When I was a kid, my fantasy was to be a famous movie star, and I thought, if Lee Majors can make it, so can I! After all, he was the Six Million Dollar Man and my first crush. Farrah went on to do Burning Beds, which was amazing. Then, she did this weird painting thing a la Klein/Pollock, which took PoMo Kitch to a level that only Derrida could have understood. Regardless, I have fond memories of her.
My earliest memories of Michael Jackson are of the Jackson 5 TV show. ABC (easy as 1, 2, 3!) is etched into my brain forever. I never really thought he lived up to the craze that surrounded him. However, Rock With You is one of the best pop tunes ever conceived, and Billy Jean is one of the best songs to shake a leg to. I watched him morph from boy to man, then, from man to woman, and in between, from black to white.
Michael and Farrah were strange humans.
When the aliens land, they'll find our planet a little less interesting.
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