No. WAY.

Michael Jackson died?

At FIFTY?

What the hell....

You know, tonight I planned to write about my garden (big surprise). Then I found out that Farrah Fawcett died, and although I'm not a huge celebrity watcher, I do watch a bit, so I thought I would proably mention something about that. (Which I will still do: Premature death is always sad, but at least she had the blessing of having two people who loved her, with her at the end. We should all be so lucky.)

But I just turned on the TV and omigod. Michael Jackson.

It isn't his death exactly that makes me sad. What makes me sad is the horrible life he had, the horrible compulsions that haunted him, and now he has no opportunity to get well and/or redeem himself. I don't know if he was a spiritual person, but I hope he at least tried to get right with whatever Power he believed in, because I think he has a lot to answer for. I also think he never grew up, never really understood that ferris wheels and giraffes and compulsive shopping don't bring any real happiness.

On the other hand? Remember the seventies and eighties? Remember when he amazed us all, when he was the biggest star in the world? I mean, the man possessed mid blowing talent.

And now his life feels like a waste. I can't really explain what I'm trying to get at, because I don't even think I know what I'm getting at. But the whole thing feels sad.