You spend your entire life eschewing adult relationships for the comforts of chimpanzees, llamas, and aging Hollywood divas, and what happens? The monkeys and camelids go on Larry King to talk about what an amazing friend you were, but the divas diss you to high holy hell on your flight up to the Dance Floor in the Sky.
Shortly after Michael Jackson's shocking death came a candid observation from Liza Minnelli on CBS's The Early Show, in which the Grand Drag Marshall of the Paris Gay Pride Parade candidly observed, "All of us who knew him well really know what he was like. And I'm sure that now the accolades are going, and I'm sure when the autopsy comes, all hell's going to break loose. So, thank God we're celebrating him now." Yes -- thank God, old chum!
Now comes this blogged reminiscence from Jane Fonda, who questions if the singer was only using her for appearances as his aerobics-firmed, red carpet arm-cougar -- before sensitively suggesting a massive heart attack was probably the best way for Michael to go:
I knew him as well as one could know him during the time before he did "The Wiz" and up through "Thriller." I couldn't pretend to understand him. There were so many complicated signals. Did he want me to be his 'older women' friend. He gravitated to older women. For solace? Succor? A beard? Did he want me to teach him the ropes? I never could quite figure it out.
I remember one day he was visiting me at my ranch north of Santa Barbara...I pointed to a spot where I told him I wanted to be buried. Michael had a melt down right then and there when he heard this. He shrieked and bent over and said "no, no, no!" " What's the matter," I asked. "Don't ever talk about your dying," he answered. "Don't ever think about it." [...]
Ooooh, I thought to myself, Michael will have a hard time of it as he ages. He will spend all his energy trying to flee what is inevitable. And now it's happened. I like the fact that it was quick. Massive heart attacks that you don't recover from are quick. You don't know what hit you. That's probably the kindest death for Michael. It's hard to imagine him being happy as he aged. One more demon to try and evade.
Yes, just 15 short years of steady, heart-decimating legal persecution, staggering financial woes, a debilitating drug addiction and relentless media hounding must have felt like a blip on the radar before passing through the pearly gates of Afterland Ranch. What's next -- David Gest spilling the beans about how the two would feed each other burnt peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as they recovered from successive plastic surgeries?
Yeah, never mind.
ยท MICHAEL JACKSON [JaneFonda.com]