Now 50 is young, eh?

One of the few gratifying bits of fallout from the untimely demise of Michael Jackson is that many say he died far too young. And as he is just a tad older than yours truly, that makes me feel better about things.

Yes, I know: "Way down deep you're very superficial, Ann Podolske" (yes, I appropriated that line from "Julia"--it's a keeper, isn't it?)

As for my feelings about Michael Jackson? Such a waste. A very talented man, certainly, but an unbridled mess as well. Too much money and not enough therapy was his tragedy. While his family likely set the dysfunctional stage for this poor soul, someone somewhere along the line should have said, "Listen, Michael. You don't need your own theme park, you don't need a hyperbolic (was that it?) chamber, and you sure as hell don't need a chimp as a best friend forever. You need therapy, honey--lots and lots of therapy. Don't spend another dime on anything else until you've been on the couch for a decade--and send those little boys home!"

But no, no one had this talk with him. Or maybe they did, and he chose to buy tons of crap and plastic surgery and keep his inner little boy stoked instead of working on himself. Maybe that was the best he could do.

How sad is that?

As for the other cultural icon who left the planet this week, I must admit I was not a Farrah Fawcett (SP?) fan. I liked the Kate Jackson angel best, as was required by lesbian law (and the show was on even before I knew I was a lesbian--how clueless could a gal be?). Of course, I saw her poster numerous times (I can almost see it hanging up in the Blakes' basement rec room, circa 1976), and thought she was cute, but that's about it. She was a big thing, and then she wasn't. At least she doesn't have the cloud of suspicion hanging over her that Michael Jackson has, and that counts for something, doesn't it?

Well, that's enough muttering for one day--maybe for one week, eh? Happy trails to you all, A