I think it's safe to say that I don't get topical too much, particularly regarding celebrities. I'm just too old to keep up with that stuff. But it's been a weird week.
When I was 11, and Michael Jackson was still black, I wanted to be the girl in the Thriller video. That part at the end where he throws his arm over her shoulder, then turns around and flashes the evil yellow-eyed smile was the stuff of my pre-teen daydreams. Then things got weird...to say the least. So the big thing I've taken from the life of Michael Jackson is that it is not a parent's right to exploit the things that make his or her children unique and special. That's how you turn your kid's life into a circus. Today, I moonwalk out of respect.
Farrah Fawcett was kind of overshadowed yesterday by Michael, which is too bad because she was awesome. Coincidentally, a few days ago, I had this urge to feather my hair and be one of Charlie's Angels, so I found the old logo from the TV show and (illegally) made it my facebook profile picture. I'm going to leave it as such for a few more days now. The Burning Bed was one of those made-for-tv movies that I always remember, and occasionally, in a fit of extreme melodrama, compare my own life to, while the Captain rolls his eyes and laughs like a girl.
And finally, because these things seem to happen in threes, I have to state for the record that Ed McMahon, for all his TV blooper shows and geriatric bathtub commercials, was a legend. This doesn't mean I haven't made an occasional crack about him rising from the dead and terrorizing the local villagers by continuing to hand out oversized Publisher's Clearing House cheques, but we all handle grief in our own way. Mine generally involves zombifying the recently deceased. Sue me.