4th
I Love a Man in Uniform*
The past few weeks have been tough. One long meh. I have a long list of potential blog topics: Macrame is back - and it’s chic and expensive! How much more awful can the clothes on ‘The Fashion Show’ get? Who’s behind the return of distressed, acid-stained jeans (I mean, if you know, please let me know)? But they all left me, well, meh. Until recently, that is. Maybe it’s the antics of South Carolina’s Luv Gov giving us a new euphemism for extra-marital nookie. Maybe it’s the still-unfolding Sarah Palin implosion (oh please, oh please, oh please…). It feels like Christmas in July and my birthday on the 4th, all in one!
Of course no news has been bigger than the untimely demise of Michael Jackson. Poor Farrah had only 4 hours as the top headline before dropping like a rock to the bottom of the page. Ditto #iranelection and Neda. Poor Kim Jong-Il is so miffed that he keeps firing off rockets in a lame attempt to get the spotlight back on himself. You can just see him now, rolling around kicking and screaming on the floor of his marble palace screaming, “Look at me! Look at me!” Well, J-I, maybe you should take a page from MJ’s book. First you need to really look the part of a crazed tin-pot dictator before you’ll get the respect of one.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Jacko was a truly talented individual. Personally I prefer the Jackson 5 and Off The Wall MJ. He even had me for Billie Jean and Thriller, but really, what I liked most about that MJ was the dancing; the music was too pop-py for me. But when the be-sequined, quasi-military-suited MJ showed up - and stayed - he lost me for good. Every time I’d see a photo of him in one of his elaborate get-ups, I’d think, “Where is this coming from? What is this about?” When I saw the catalogue of Jackson items up for sale in the cancelled Spring 2009 auction, the extent of the - what would you call it, trend, delusion? - became clear. He clearly took his title of “King of Pop” literally, as though God had anointed him and given him a mission to rule (sound familiar Kim Jong-Il? Of course, it wasn’t “God” in your case…). And just as clear was the fact that Jackson’s country was a militarized one. He was at the head of a spangly, multi-hued army of pop fans battling against… Hate? Apathy? Heavy metal? Who knows.
The day of Jackson death, Cher added to the story of MJ’s love of all things shiny but telling of a teenage Michael’s fascination with her beaded Bob Mackie socks. Is that where it all started? Did it migrate from socks to glove to epauletted, crested military jackets? Like much of Jackson’s life, we’ll probably never know the why. But Kim Jong-Il, take note. Some of MJ’s stuff might come up for auction again. I think you’d look very impressive in black and gold number with the sash.
*For you kids out there, the title of this post comes from a 1982 song by the Gang of Four. Go look it up.
