So it's the big Michael Jackson send-off today at the Staples Center. And yes, I have the TV on. The TV was confused for a minute because it was on a daytime station other than Noggin. And while flipping through the channels, I saw that the TV was REALLY confused, because it was showing Michael tributes on every channel. Um hello, does Dr. Phil know about this?
And now for my little tribute to Michael, because there hasn't been enough yet.
There's no doubt that he was a genius. I loved him from the start, from the very first time I watched a pirated Thriller video from my uncle on our brand new state of the art VCR that had a remote (albeit one attached by a very long cord). I watched it over and over. I watched the Making of Thriller, also pirated, over and over. I was hooked.
My sister owned the Bad cassette tape and we listened to that together all the time. I remember singing some mocking little ditty about his hair catching on fire. How did that go?
In college, my roommate and I used to stay up and play "DJ" with our Michael Jackson CDs. We'd dance and dance and dance.
After college, another roommate and I would listen to Blood on the Dance Floor every night before we went out. It was a tradition. We'd dance, laugh, and dance some more. That's what his music did. Made me happy and made me move.
The pinnacle of my love for MJ came in 1997. Would that be 12 years ago? Geez, I'm old. Anyway, at that time I was living in Cape Town, South Africa and we got word that MJ would be kicking of his HIStory tour there at Greenpoint Stadium. HELLO! I had to go. Here's the ticket that I saved (along with some confetti that Michael threw right at me, if memory serves)...
The ticket was 160 Rand, which I think back then was about $35. The only problem was that it was general admission, meaning that if you wanted a good place in the standing-room-only stadium, you had to wait in line for a loooonnnng time. Which I did. And it was one of the greatest concerts ever in the whole world, except for you Paul McCartney, who I'll never betray.
In honor of such an experience, I wrote a very long and rambling email to my friends and family back home. And guess what?! I saved that too! And here it is....
- The day was windy and moist my friends. The air drifted in from the ocean settling in beads on my slightly sunburned forehead. It was almost the noon hour and I sat on the hard, dirty cement, waiting for the man, the glove.. the KING. Some may say that waiting in a que (pardon the spelling, I hadn't lived in Britain yet) for eight hours is extreme, but I felt in my heart that I belonged there. Something was pulsating inside my chest... alas, it was my heart. It beat away the minutes until the hour of six arrived. A quick search and a hasty rip of the ticket and I was in. In Greenpoint Stadium AT LAST! Now my friends, you must hear in your minds ear the beating of Chariots of Fire, for that is what I felt as I ran like the wind across the green field and towards the blessed stage. My soul had been lit on fire with anticipation and nothing was going to keep me away from my Michael. The fact that I had the closet spot available in the stadium can only be attributed to my faith in God and my sharp pointy elbows. I was there, a bottle of liquid energy with a cork waiting to plummet into orbit. Where was my Michael, why was he teasing me like this? Another three hours drummed by and my spirit still held on strong. I stood my ground while my fellow Michael lovers poked, pushed, and smashed me into the fence separating me and the stage. Suddenly a voice came from above. "Thirty Minutes Until History!" I started to scream but stopped myself. I must save my voice so Michael can hear me. Being in such close proximity, I began to worry that the garlic lingering on my breath from lunch may travel up to the air Michael would breathe. Oh no, I must block that thought out of my mind. The thirty minutes passed and the lights dimmed. I began to tremble. First my toes, then my legs, and finally on up to my head. The video started and suddenly a loud firery exlosion revealed a space capsule on the stage. Silence. One minute. Two minutes. STOP TEASING ME! It was then that the capsule broke open to reveal the man, who is now no longer a myth, but a reality... a plastic reality. I screamed and jumped, spilling out the energy that had been building for hours. For I could see him perfectly, every motion, every move, every crotch grab. I was in heaven. The next two and a half hours were filled with sheer pleasure as Michael and I connected in a mystical way. He sang to me and I sang back. Billy Jean, Beat It, Heal the World, You are Not Alone, Dangerous, Scream, Earthsong, Stranger in Moscow, Black and White. Need I go on? Cute Michael said over and over "I love you... and I love you." He said nothing else for that was all he need to say. Michael, I LOVE YOU!
The narrative fails to mention that I was 2 rows away from MJ and also, that while in line for eight hours with my friends playing UNO, I was interviewed by Cape Town Radio. I was a little full of myself, to say the least.
Apparently, Michael had been out doing publicity before this concert and one of my little after school kids from the Belhar Youth Centre gave me this picture she took of him:
She knew I was a BIG fan and had gone to his concert. This was in the days before digital and I know for a fact this was her most prized possession and her only copy. Bless her heart for giving me this. I have it treasured away in my scrapbooks.
And that's the Michael Jackson in my life.
And.... let us ALL MOVE ON NOW.
Oh c'mon... you remember the ditty. "I pledge allegiance to the flag...." I'm not gonna finish it due to PC issues.
You can forever brag you saw him in concert and were only a few feet away from him (Kind of like my mom constantly bringing up the time she saw The Beatles in person when they came to Cleveland... I'm sure her story was exaggerated over time though) You can proudly boast that fact and few people can say the same.
I too am getting a little nostalgic; remembering fighting my sisters over the Michael Jackson puffy stickers, hiding under the kitchen table when Thriller came on, attempting to moon walk, etc.
Obla dee Obla da...
PS That picture is too cool! I have one of Bono (less than 5 feet from me!) stashed somewhere too. Maybe I'll get around to scrapbooking that one when he finally gets admitted into sainthood as well.
Posted by: Pam | July 07, 2009 at 04:43 PM