I can’t think where—Slate, perhaps—and Google can’t help me now, it’s all about death—but I came across some interesting observations about Michael Jackson‘s (gorgeous, gob-smack-stunning) attire.
One, his predilection for military garb (you ain’t never seen an army sequined like that) and its connection, homage almost, to the military-like precision with which those little boys were taught to perform, and what it must have been like, his father drilling it into them, Michael wanting to play. Read the rest of this entry »
This was the moment Michael Jackson became the hottest person in the world. This performance exploded. We had never seen anything like it—and will never see his likes again.
After all the work—since childhood—and all the shit, Mr. Jackson, it is my hope you rest, at last, in peace.
Okay, this FakeSteve guy is not only in many ways better than the real thing could possibly be . . . as well as so like himself as to give the true Jobso fan chills up and down the spine (I leave it to you to decide who “himself” is) … he is now, also, a friggin genius.
I can’t think where—Slate, perhaps—and Google can’t help me now, it’s all about death—but I came across some interesting observations about Michael Jackson‘s (gorgeous, gob-smack-stunning) attire.