Greetings Mouthketeers:

Yesterday I was glued to the computer as if it was my flat screen at home—watching the Michael Jackson Memorial.

And then it hit me:  There were two Michael Jacksons. 

One was the performer who really changed the face of pop music in his day, and the other was the man living in the dark and sleeping with little boys.

Yesterday was the celebration of the pop side—the one persona Michael Jackson so brilliantly created.  Call yourself the King of Pop or the Man in the Mirror—who are we to stop you?  Even though you basically imitated Brown, Ella, Sinatra, Astaire to name a few, you actually did a great job at it.  If you look closely at your music videos, you recycled the same dance moves over and over again, but I do believe before you turned into a weirdo, Michael Jackson, you indeed did change the world through the universal language of music. 

And then, during the Memorial, they wheeled in Michael Jackson’s casket.

Out of the blue a fan of this blog emailed me her disgust that Jackson’s casket was wheeled into the Staples Center.  But I didn’t think it was disgusting. Other than stealing, killing and child molesting, I don’t think it’s our place to judge what other people do with their lives or their deaths, and how they choose to party, even if the party is going to be their last.

If a pregnant woman’s water breaks in a cab, she’d have the baby in the back seat.  If you and your fiancé are extreme sports fanatics, you might say your vows while jumping out of a plane.  If you have millions of fans, you should have your memorial in a center, and if you have a gazillion dollars, for God’s sake buy a honkin’ gold casket with three speeds and parade it around—up and down the isles if you want.  Go for it.  If I recall, years ago we all watched while some head of state of India was cremated on-camera, and to me, that was creepy.  After that scene, what’s wrong with a casket being paraded around on a gurney?  

I had the pleasure of meeting Brooke Shields twice, and the pleasure of representing Reverend Berneice King once—both of whom spoke at Michael’s Memorial Service.  They swore by Michael, and his genuine love for children and humanity.  And I believe he truly cared about youngsters; however, I don’t know what Brooke or Berneice do behind closed doors, and I don’t pretend to know what Michael did behind them either.   Now that Michael Jackson has passed, the judgment stops at the gates of heaven because there’s one spirit he will have to answer to, and realistically it is not his fans or his skeptics who tuned in to say goodbye.

Hey, what’s up with Joe Jackson chomping on some stanky piece of gum during his son’s memorial service?  Spit it out, Joe—you selfish, rude and disgusting man; and please do not stick it under the seat when you leave the building.   

Peace.

The Mouthinator.    

The Mouthinator entertainment