Feeling that Michael Jackson's passing had consumed way more airtime than was strictly necessary, I had no intention of planting my ass on the couch for two and a half hours to watch a celebrity-driven memorial service. But I turned it on. And I watched the whole thing. I'm glad now that I did.
I thought the service was both genuine and moving. (And I include the little girl's short tribute to her father under both of those categories.)
I thought Maya Angelou's poem was wonderful. Ditto for the musical tributes, especially those by Jennifer Hudson and Jermaine Jackson. Poignant stuff.
Yeah. I was touched by everyone's remarks. I laughed and (almost) cried. So call me a pussy.
And wow... that man had talent. Probably the most surprising thing to me was that it took a memorial service of this calibre to convince me that Michael Jackson really was a supremely gifted artist. (In an earlier post, I mentioned that I was not much of a fan.) I think I missed out on something important over the years.
I just hope to hell the kids get to have a normal life -- whatever that means -- being the kids of an icon.
And now, back to Larry King.
3 years ago