I’ve been joking a lot on Twitter about the passing of the King of Pop. Somewhere between the Jesus Juice and the Elephant Man, he’d lost a lot of credibility in his fading years. Earlier in both of our lives, though, things were different.
In middle school when he was at the peak of his popularity, I desperately wanted a red and black leather jacket like his. I mean, desperately. I had enough money saved up, and Sears carried one that I could afford. That right there should tell you everything about my level of style – I aspired to own a piece of clothing carried by the most unhip of 1980s retailers.
My parents, having slightly more taste than me, would not allow me to purchase the jacket. I was upset, mortified, angry, you name it. Today, my father sports a diamond earring inspired by Jimmy Buffet – but I digress.
Instead, I ended up buying a large boom box, with which I played songs like Thriller, Bad, and Billie Jean. Over time, my tastes changed to Huey Lewis and the News, but the King of Pop will always make me wanna get out on the dance floor and perform ill-advised moves that show off my complete lack of physical grace.
So today I’ll be listening to the Essential Michael Jackson collection I just picked up off Amazon MP3 for $17, dancing around the desk, and I won’t stop til I get enough.