Happy Sunday to one and all!

I'm sure that, by now, you all have heard about the recent passings of two of the greatest pop culture icons of the 1970's, one was expected and the other strictly came out of the freaking blue.  Everyone knew that Farrah Faucett's date with the hereafter would come, her being so ill with cancer and all, but none of us were prepared for the news that came just a few hours later on Thursday, June 25.  I mean, if anyone would have told me that the undisputed King of Pop would buy it at the age of only 50, I never would have believed it.  None of us would have.  I literally would have said, "You lying!", which is exactly what I did say when I found out that Michael Jackson, the male '70's icon to Farrah's female 70's icon, literally dropped dead at his Hombly Hills home.  Since I'm technically not a Farrah Faucett fan (I'm not a prepubescent male, of course) and am not really a fan of Arron Spelling shows, I really can't say much about the former Charlie's Angel, except, of course, that "The Burning Bed" was really groundbreaking.  And since I'm more of a Beatles fan than a Jacksons fan, I really can't say that much about the late, great Prince of Pop, either.  But, lucky for all you Jackson fans, I have somebody here who can.  So, I am about to turn over this blog to someone who was a humongous Jackson fan in her youth, who has since grown out of her youthful folly, but now would like to say a few words about the passing of her former idol.  So, now, I present to you, my special guest blogger for this week, Joni, writing the ultimate fan letter to her fallen idol.

Dear Michael:

I never thought I would be writing this particular letter, and certainly not under circumstances such as this one, but this being what it is, here goes.  Being a child of the seventies (never mind how old I am), I grew up watching you and your music on television.  I went to your concert when I was in high school in the early eighties.  I even taped your entire cartoon series a few years later.  And, like so many young women from that era, I actually thought that I would become Mrs. Michael Jackson.

So, what happened?  The same thing that always happens. Life happened.  Reality happened.  And, yes, crap happened (in lieu of a much stronger euphemism).  In a word, basically, I grew up.  I went to college.  I embarked on a career.  And I went on with my own life, just like, I'm sure, most young fans have done.  You know, it's kinda crazy.  When you have your own family, and your own kids have their own brand of music and their own idols, you sit down and you listen to them, and sometimes, just for one fleeting moment, you go back to your own childhood, and you remember huddling around the stereo with your own friends, planning your futures and your dreams, some of which would really come true, others, sadly, would not.  But then, as I said before, you do go on with your life.

It's a funny thing about death.  When it happens, especially when it happens to someone you grew up with, and felt like you knew very well, It's like you go back home, to your old room, to your old trunk with all the toys and stuff you got for Christmas and Hanukkah and birthdays past, and your old albums, dusty and moldy they may be.  And you start remembering.  You remember your old school days, your clueless teachers, your equally clueless classmates, and the true friends who were always there.  And the music and musicians that made it all the more bearable.

And so, I would just like to say, Michael, thank you.  Thank your brothers, too.  And your sisters.  Although it's a tad bit too late for you to hear it now, I'm thanking you anyway.  But then again, I think that you already know, and appreciate.

So, as I close this letter out, here I say, Michael, hail, and farewell. 

Peace out,

Joni

Until next time, stay well, and keep well.

Sincerely,




Marley Sue