It's been a rough week in the celebrity world. First, on Tuesday, Ed McMahon passed away. This wasn't much of a surprise. After all, he was 86, Johnny Carson, the person to whom he was most closely associated, died a couple of years ago, and he'd disappeared from the public eye a long time ago. I figure Dick Clark isn't too far behind.
Yeasterday, we lost two of my generation's icons. Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson. Just last month, NBC ran a documentary Farrah had put together about her long battle with cancer. I didn't see the actual show but I did see some pre-show interviews with Ryan O'Neil, her long time partner (I don't believe they ever married). Ryan had said that they set out to film a survivor's story but that it wasn't looking like it was going to end that way.
I never had the Farrah Fawcett poster. Frankly, she just didn't do it for me for some reason. But it weas that poster that made her famous (oh, and that Charlie's Angels thing). I can't say that I'm torn up about her passing.
I'm not torn up about Michael Jackson, either, but that one did surprise me. I remember my first thought was, "Finally, that poor, tortured soul is at rest." Jackson was, without a doubt, a superstar. He rode a gigantic wave in the 80's (Thriller is still the best selling album of all time) but in his race to outdo himself his life kept taking major turns toward the weird. I get the nose job he had some time in the late 70's or early 80's that appeared on his album "The Wall" but in his mind, in his struggle for aesthetic perfection, he ceased to be black (I kinda get that one too), his nose became razor thin, his jaw line was a characature... in essesne, he ceased to look like himself... completely.
My prediction is that we'll start getting information that Jackson's death was more than the result of an illness or some congenital heart defect. The rumors have already started that it was linked to anorexia, Anna Nicole Smith had nothing on Michael Jackson, and I bet we hear news similar to when Elvis died.
Unlike some, I probably won't remember where I was, exactly, when I heard he died. In my world the children won't scream, the lovers won't cry and the poets won't dream. I'm just not that affected by it. I do, however, understand the significance.