One Smooth Criminal...

Connor,

Last week, on June 25th 2009, a man named Michael Jackson passed away, he was 50 years old. Since that day, the public reaction and media coverage of this event have been staggering. I think I need to explain to you who this guy was because he may have been the most interesting man alive... that is until he died. And how can we talk about popular culture and not mention the King of Pop?

When I heard the news I wasn't shocked, I wasn't upset, I wasn't sad or angry. It was like I just finished a long an interesting non-fiction novel with a tragic ending. But there was no other way for it to end.

So you may be asking yourself, "Who is Michael Jackson?" It's a tough question, one that right now doesn't have a clear answer. At least not to anyone that didn't know Michael personally, and I'm guessing it's tough even for those that did. All I can do is tell you what he was to me, which I've only given real thought toward in recent days and I promise not to romanticize his memory, something extremely popular at this time.

Before we get into that I want to preface it with a theory (surprise) that I've done no scientific research for, but the jury is still out on science so I'll go ahead with it anyway.

I believe the music that is popular (pop music) during a person's prenatal period to their first conscious memory of life (5ish?) is embedded into their DNA somehow, becoming a part of them whether they like it or not.

When we are young, like as young as you are now, we are unknowingly exposed to whatever music is topping the charts at that time. It's everywhere you go; the car radio, MTV, VH1, or whatever channel they actually play music videos on... and well, that's about it, you're a baby, you don't go many places. And knowing your mother like I do, you've probably already been exposed to Christmas music--I think she starts busting that out in late June.

The point is it's in you and there's nothing you can do about it.

I had the privilege of having music of the 1980's burned into my psyche. No matter how hard I resist I can't turn the station when A-Ha's "Take On Me" comes on the radio nor can I sit idly by when Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" takes over a party.

For the ladies of my generation it's a bit rougher; anytime Madonna's "Like A Prayer" is played they're forced to release a blood curdling scream followed by an instinctively formed tight circle on the dance floor, where they proceed to jump up and down and belt out the lyrics. There's nothing they can do; it's nature's law.

It's a commonly known fact that I love a good dance party. A slightly lesser known fact is that the best dance party is an 80's dance party. And you can't have an 80's dance party without a heavy dose of Michael.

The 80's were a special time where hair-spray and leg warmers replaced analytical or obscure thoughts. The deepest question asked during the entire decade was, "Where's the beef?" A time when guys wore short shorts and ladies wore shoulder pads; where the answer was no longer blowin' in the wind because people were too busy being rocked like a hurricane to even ask the question.

(It sounds like a non-stop party and I'm sure it was, but for every action there is a reaction. So after 10 years of no questions asked partying came the 90's, grunge, Kurt Cobain, and women wearing flanel--nothing's worse than depressed people in their 20's. I do not envy this era.)

No artist was more essential, more iconic during the 80's than Michael Jackson. Because he started making hits at age 11, by the 80's Michael's fan base spread over two generations and touched people from all over the world. In a time where pop-music was king, he was most definitely the King of Pop.

Michael's 1982 album Thriller is, to this day, the highest selling album of all-time. And with the way the music industry is run today, it won't be topped anytime soon... unless of course Hannah Montana really hits the studio--but other than her, no one can touch Mike.

My earliest memory of Michael was his 1988 movie "Moonwalker" which had me believe he had special powers and could dance his way out of almost any situation (which is kind of true)--and if that didn't work he could just wish on a shooting star and turn into a giant robot that saves the day. Also, Joe Pesci killed people with tarantulas--you know I really couldn't tell you what that movie was about, but it scared the hell out of me. I most likely saw it on VHS around 1990.

In 91' Michael sealed my allegiance by showing up on my favorite TV show, The Simpsons. They should teach you The Simpsons in school; at least the first ten seasons--there's no better way to learn satirical writing, there just isn't. (This will prolly be a whole 'nother post)

Mike's episode, entitled "Stark Raving Dad", involved Homer being committed to a mental institution for wearing a pink shirt to work. While inside, Homer meets a large, bald, white man, whom sounds a lot like and calls himself Michael Jackson. I won't go into great detail on why this is a genius premise, but just know that it is and that this would be the last time Michael seemed at all human to me--and of course this came while he was a cartoon.

In 1993 it started to fall apart--16 years ago, I was 9-years-old. I feel it is important to note how long ago this started and how young I was to understand my reaction and indifference to his death. That was the year he was first accused of doing something terrible--something he would be repeatedly accused of with overwhelming evidence toward his guilt over the next 11 years--the last of which was covered in great detail in the media only five years ago, but has somehow been completely forgotten in recent days. (When you're old enough, click on this. You won't even believe this guy was real.)

For the first couple years there was still some deniability to all of the terrible and bizarre accusations thrown at Michael. As we talked about in the Fanhood post, anything we are fans of gets the benefit of the doubt to the point where we will deny all logical thoughts to defend it's credibility. And no one has tested this resolve more than Michael Jackson.

I couldn't even begin to describe how crazy Michael Jackson went without this post being of novel length. Just know that he was craziest celebrity of all-time. We may have seen our share of Lohans and Britneys and Whinehouses, but no one could ever go near Micheal's level of crazy. He was the strangest person in American history. Before him maybe Howard Hughes or J. Edgar Hoover held the title, but Mike, like with his music, took crazy to whole new level.

Now the thing with crazy is--if you're as rich and famous you don't get called crazy, you get called "eccentric." And this is only true when you are for real crazy and are super, super rich. This is where the tale becomes tragic. Because of Micheal's success, he was able to keep himself in a bubble that allowed him to act outside the rules of regular society. He never atoned for the terrible things he did and he never got help with all the issues he had. No scientist or doctor has every been able to definitively diagnose Michael because he could afford to be crazy--or eccentric. He could also afford to die $400 million in debt--most countries don't have that kind of credit.

I find less tragedy in his death than the fact that it didn't happen while he was in a hospital being treated and studied by a team of doctors. It seems that he died before ever confronting or dealing with what he had become... Frankenstein. With encore lighters serving as modern day torches and autograph pens the pitchforks, Michael Jackson was our first real American Frankenstein monster. We may not have built him or given him Abbey Normal's brain, but we sure didn't help things by letting him hang out in trees and literally live above the law. Because he's in a tree, so he's above the law, cause, um, the law is at eye leve--alright so maybe not literally... anyway, you understand.

It's hard to say what the lesson is in all this. Maybe it's about the price of fame. The most popular responses from young children to the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" are "rich" or "famous." They don't care how or why, just that they become one of those two things. But with great ambition comes... um, you know what, I can't warn you of the fate of Michael Jackson because there will never be another person like him. He was just the weirdest guy ever. So I thought I'd tell ya how I remember him cause who knows how it'll be written in the history books.

Despite his craziness, he was an all-time great artist and I'll continue to dance my heart out to his music because he was once a positive influence on this world--before he lost his marbles that is. Plus, it's embedded in my DNA.


To quote the great Forest Gump, "That's all I got to say about that."

Your Favorite Uncle,

Kevin

Boys in the Fanhood...

Connor,

First off, it was nice to finally meet you this past holiday weekend. And even though everyone was begging for it, thanks for not pooing on me.

Not pooing on me is something I look for in a nephew and you pulled it off with flying colors.

Moving on to today’s subject—today I want to talk to you about Fanhood. Fanhood (which my dictionary tells me isn’t an actual word) is a big part of any young man’s life. Before you start asking yourself deep questions like, “Who am I?” and “Who DID frame Roger Rabbit?” you will most likely be defined by what you’re a fan of. (Some of us have yet to grow out of this phase) And what you’re a fan of, at least for the first 10 to 12 years, won’t really be up to you.

Your favorite sports teams, for example, are predetermined by where you grow up and whom your father likes. Your father, who should be reading this and nodding his head right now, has one major responsibility: to make sure you cheer for his favorite teams. The rest of fatherhood, and I say this from no experience, is just happenstance. You know, like that song Ned Flanders sings when he thinks he’s about to get hit by a meteorite. Que Sera Sera somethin’ somethin’, you remember.

Um anyway, making you a Phillies fan should be no problem given your location and the unwavering support of everyone you come in contact with over the next decade or so.

A little more challenging, but ultimately doable, will be your dad’s attempt to make you a Redskins fan. I will personally go against my natural instinct to interfere with this process, but your classmates, your grand pop (pop, gramps—don’t know if that’s been decided yet), and your slightly less awesome uncles may give you a hard time over the years.

Though I may disagree with your allegiance to such an abysmal organization (sorry, instinct, won’t happen again), I do think it’s an opportunity to teach you an important lesson in dissention. Learning at an early age to go against the grain and stand strong against the masses can only help cultivate your will to survive.

In other words, the beatings you’ll take at recess will prepare you for the beatings we all take in life.

Your Fanhood won’t stop there. You’ll be a fan of many things over the years: music, movies, cartoons, books (if they still exist), toys, food, et cetera, et cetera. Unlike your sports Fanhood, these interests
will evolve and change over time. With anything that grows over time, your Fanhood can grow out of control, which brings me to the real lesson...

There are certain rules you must follow to ensure that you always remain in control of your Fanhood—Not letting your Fanhood control you.

The 1st rule to controlling your Fanhood is to create a top 5 on facebook—not really. The first rule is to Be Informed—know what you like and why you like it.

Do a little research before you go around the playground professing your love for G.I. Joe. If you watch it closely you’ll realize nothing really happens on that show. They shoot thousands of lasers, but no one
ever gets hit. At the end of each episode they’re in the same situation they were in at the beginning. Cobra never gets caught. They don’t make any real progress. What kind of lesson does that teach? Why bother? Knowing may be half the battle, but the other half is defeating the enemy. At least take a captive, somethin’. Geeze.

On the other hand, if you hear a classmate talkin’ about how awesome G.I. Joe is and you drop that knowledge about no one ever getting hit with the lasers, it’ll blow his mind. Always know more.

The 2^nd rule of Fanhood is to Diversify Your Fanhood Portfolio. You like something. You decide it’s your favorite. Great. But you need to have a 2^nd favorite, and a 3^rd, and a 50^th. Having 50 favorites only makes that top spot more distinguished.

In other words, like a whole buncha stuff.

You might be the biggest Alf fan of all-time; as far as you’re concerned Alf is the greatest puppet/live actor mixed show ever made. You can’t go around talkin’ about Alf all the time, how often does Alf come up in conversation? Rarely, if ever. If you do talk about Alf all the time people will start to avoid you—oh no here comes the Alf guy again; he’s the worst—that’s what they’ll say. And one day you’ll overhear someone say that very thing and it’s gonna hurt so much you’ll run away to Las Vegas just hide from all the ridicule. I would hate to see that happen to you too—I mean to you for the first time—hypothetically.

Lets take the Star Trek super fans for a realistic example. Commonly known as “Trekkies"—apparently they refer to themselves as “Trekkers”—I suppose Trekkies is derogatory to them, I dunno—anyway, these people dress up like their favorite Star Trek character and argue over star dates or episode numbers while speaking an imaginary language… it’s a disturbing truth.

Trekkies’ affinity for a television show has taken over their lives to become their only defining characteristic. That, and not being able to get a date.

Now I’m not saying it’s wrong to be a fan of Star Trek. In fact, I saw the latest Star Trek film and I loved it—almost enough to watch one of the original episodes…almost. I’m saying it’s wrong to obsess over something so much that you isolate yourself from the rest of society. I’m also saying it’s wrong to wear Spock ears on a day that's not Halloween.

To give you a proper scope on how incredibly huge Star Trek is in the pantheon of popular culture, know this: I have never actually seen an episode or film of any Star Trek, yet I knew every character’s name and recognized every catch phrase. How is this possible? Am I psychic?

Unfortunately no, I am not psychic. I am, however, a student of popular culture--which means I watched entirely too much TV growing up and know things only a baby would find interesting--hence the blog.

I knew those things because Star Trek is the most quoted, referenced, and mocked show of all-time. Any show I did watch made at least one Star Trek joke in its duration—the Simpsons alone have probably gone to it a hundred times.

Because I’m a fan of “Cable Guy” (The movie, not the Larry) I know that in one episode Kirk had to fight Spock—“Besth frienz forthced to do battle”. And the music went like this: Detteh deh deh deh deh… burrrraahh, burrrahhh—that prolly only works if I’m reading it. Just click here. Or here for The Simpsons version. Or here for the sad real version from 1967. (Gotta love YouTube.)

The point is, Star Trek is huge and all over the pop-culture landscape. Something with such popularity and longevity is bound to draw obsessed fans… these are the people who ruin everything for everyone.

They’re the same people who think Elvis is still alive, wear shoulder pads to football games, say the words “Leave Britney Alone” (I won’t link to it), or shoot a Beatle in the back. They’re the worst. They, I guarantee you, did not diversify their Fanhood portfolio.

You know what that guy in the shoulder pads does after games? He cries. He cries because he has no friends. Even fellow Eagles fans won’t hang out with him because he takes things too far and ruins a good time for everyone. He also goes to the draft and boos #1 picks, which we’ll never hear the end of. (Sorry McNabb)

I’m surprised that wasn’t something Spock taught the Trekkies, seeing as how he’s so logical. If I had grown up on Star Trek and it was my favorite show, I would be upset with the Trekkies because they’re obsession would make other rational people less likely to become fans—which would make it harder for me to relate to other normal fans. I feel like all this fanaticism could have been avoided by one conversation between Spock and Kirk:

Kirk

You know Spock, I like you, I like what you’re all about.

Spock

Thanks, Kirk. That means a lot coming from you.

Kirk

I think I’m going to start acting like you, dressing like you, and wearing pointy ears just like you.

Spock

Well that seems like you’re taking it a little too far don’t ya think? I mean, you’re Captain Kirk, a good guy in your own right, don’t you think being yourself would be, well, logical?

Kirk

I guess you’re right, just because I respect you and enjoy what you do doesn’t mean I should change who I am. To do so would mean I have no self-respect and I would become what many humans would call, “A Tool”.

Spock

Indeed.

(Spock and Kirk slowly turn toward the camera and stare at the audience until it sinks in.)

The 3^rd and final rule for proper Fanhood is to always Use Your Fanhood to Bring You Closer to Others—not tear you apart.

In other words, use your Fanhood for good, not evil.

There are a million different ways to make a connection with someone, but the easiest way will always be liking the same junk.

Did you see the game last night? Wasn't it amazing?

What did you think of the Lost finale? I totally understood
it.

You like crunchy peanut butter? Let’s hang out.

That’s how Fanhood is meant to work. You saw it last fall when the Phillies won the World Series—well you heard it, you were still a zygote at that point. But that parade was Fanhood at it’s finest.

Let your Fanhood be like crunchy peanut butter… a reason to hang out.

Too many people use what they like to hate people who like something different. That sounds vague, I know. Let me give you an anecdotal explanation.

About a year ago I interviewed a hip-hop artist who I’m a big fan of—the highlight of my short journalism career thus far. He’s one of my favorite artists, not because he’s the sickest on the mic
or because the ladies love him—although, chicks do dig him—I like him because I can relate to his songs, he was introverted and analytical—a thinkin’ man’s rapper if you will. That style alone made it an uphill
battle for him as a hip-hop artist.

When the subject of Fanhood came up, he told me how he would get into arguments with his own fans because they would constantly go up to him and say, “I love what you do it’s so much better than what 50 Cent does or the Black Eyed Peas” or some other mainstream artist. This would upset him because—well,
I’ll let him tell you:

(I edited out all the bad words for ya.)

“People need a sense of identity, so they use music and film and art to give themselves that identity—and the problem is people forgot to bond with each other over what they love, so they started to do it over what they hate. So a bunch of people can go, “Hey you know what? I hate this commercial hip-hop that’s out here, so therefore, I’m gonna dig into the underground.” It’s like you know what, just use the fact that you love the underground for your identity don’t use the fact that you hate the mainstream for your identity. In fact, what’s the point of that?”-Slug

What indeed, Sir, what indeed.

You see Connor, your Fanhood is meant to bring you closer to people with common interests, not tear you from people with different ones. That’s the most important rule to remember.

And though you may be destined to be a Redskins fan and I a lifelong Eagles fan—we can still come together as fans of football or sports or the NFC East or our hatred for the Cowboys—wait that last one
kinda goes against what I’ve been trying to say… Ah, whatever—The Cowboys suck.

Well, I guess we’ve learned nothing, again. Someday I’ll get the hang of this.

Your Favorite Uncle,

Kevin