Rosy, 1996//x

If you mean, because it was accidentally self-inflicted, then I agree with you to a very small extent. In my middle school, a popular kid in the 7th-grade class died from bumping his shoulder while crawling under a dining room table to get something. The resulting blood clot traveled to his heart and killed him in a few hours. That’s the kind of death that’s tragic for its unplanned randomness and its apparent preventability.

But if you mean, because of the apparent kinkiness involved, then I have to object pretty seriously. One, as open-minded people, we should be okay with the notion that other people get off on weird things. So long as nobody gets hurt (at least not without a safeword), there’s nothing inherently immoral about it. Now clearly, if autoerotic asphyxiation is your thing, you’re already courting a very dangerous end. But I imagine that’s part of the appeal.

Two, sure, David Carradine was probably found in a very embarrassing condition. But so are most people who die. The Nora Ephron movie trope of a wise old person in their golden years, dying in a hospital bed, surrounded by family smiling through tears, is a fate reserved for people with good health care. Most of humanity will be found already dead. Decay will have been at them. They may be found face down in a plate of mashed potatoes, or sitting on the toilet, or in bed alone with their hungry cats, or dead from a bungled robbery.

Sorry to go into grisly detail, but I think psyching oneself up for an “ideal death” is like psyching oneself up for a “perfect wedding.” It’s only going to end in tears and disappointment. And I think David Carradine’s death was unfortunate – as is the unplanned death of every human being who ever walked – but not “ugly.”

(But, seriously, that one line aside, this is a really good article)

With Farrah, I didn’t want to go into too much detail, but the cancer she died from was really, really nasty. Not that there’s a good kind of cancer, but she went out _hard_.

Also, there was the matter of people starting to think she was crazy and being in all the tabloids after her Letterman appearance.

But mostly, it was dying the same day as MJ, which is, at least for me, always going to put her life in a very specific perspective that is really weird and unsettling.

Like, no matter what you do in life, if you die the same day as MJ, you’ll be remembered for it.

And yet, he leaves a legacy of three classic albums and a catalog with the Jackson 5, that always felt untouched to me. No matter how weird MJ got, that opening bass riff in Wanna Be Starting Something, or the strings starting Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough, or the door creak in Thriller, always transported me.

That 12-year-old kid who burst onto Motown with his older brothers became probably the last universally loved pop star. I’m choosing to remember that.

The King of Pop is dead. Long live the King of Pop.

I saw a headline with “cancer” and “dies” earlier today and actually thought it was Patrick Swayze (until I clicked and realized the truth, of course), since he has started saying goodbye to people.

I say this with utmost sincerity and don’t intend to be funny: Michael Jackson was the first person, not even celebrity, I ever saw and thought genuinely, “This person has a mental illness.” I believed for ages that he really needed help, and felt sorry for him in many ways and for many things others did to him and thing he himself did. My enjoyment of his music took on a different tone after that- it was always backdropped with a little sadness and even a vague sense of loss.

As for Farrah, I find it highly unfortunate that her son was still in jail at the time of her death. Unless there is a scandal you know about that I don’t, her son is the only ignominious aspect of her life I can think of. Losing her “like this” isn’t new to me, at least. It’s a punch in theg gut, but different from the kind I got at hearing about Michael Jackson.

David Carradine’s death is still under investigation, but the bizarre things surfacing so far are making it hard to sink in as of yet.

Classless comment, nick.

Now I have to ask: What in God’s name is that thing standing next to Michael Jackson?