To be perfectly blunt, I want to punch all the Michael Jackson jokesters in the mouth right now. If you were a child of the eighties like me, you know what a profound effect Michael Jackson had on the world — musically, visually, culturally. Not America, but the world. Without Michael Jackson, there would be no Janet, no Britney, no Justin, ad infinitum. To put it in jazz terms, Michael Jackson was the Charlie Parker of the pop world. The amount of followers is too numerous to measure.

Most people in their early to mid twenties or younger probably remember the freak. They remember the pasty white, nearly opaque guy who seemed to have an unnatural predilection towards children. I remember that guy too, but that wasn’t the same guy I knew in the late seventies and eighties. I remember the afro, the penny loafers, the moonwalk, Off The Wall, Thriller. I remember the titan. And no matter what you say, you can’t take that away from me.

I’m truly saddened by Michael Jackson’s passing. I know about all of the allegations and assaults on his character. And maybe his actions did beckon such scrutiny. But as far as I know, these rumors were never validated. The saddest part is that Jackson never got the chance to revive his career. Fatty Arbuckle’s career was ruined due to allegations from shady sources, but he at least had a small window of time near the end of his life to enjoy a brief rekindling of fame. Jackson deserved one more shot.

So, tell your jokes, Mr. and Mrs. Ordinary. Then go back to your ordinary lives. For no matter how hard you try, you will never be able to extinguish the light of this extraordinary man.

My favorite MJ song. Can’t explain why. But it knocked me out the first time I heard it. Still does.

So, it turns out Sammy Sosa tested positive for performance enhancing drugs back in 2003. Honestly, I never imagined that Sammy would have resorted to cheating to inflate his stats or share the limelight with other magnificent MLB puritans like Mark Mcgwire or Barry Bonds. He just seemed like too good a guy to degrade the integrity of the game like that. It really breaks my heart to read that he –

Wait a minute? Who am I kidding? The only thing that would have surprised me would have been if Sammy’s name was NOT on “The List”. Come on, MLB. Let’s just rip that band-aid completely off. Show us the rest of the names. This dribs and drabs stuff is getting old. I’d like to know that the few players still held in high regard by me and others deserve to be lauded.

Just tell me that Griffey Jr. never cheated. That’s all I want to know. Because, at this point, the amount of fallen heroes from the game of hardball far outnumbers the genuine titans of the sport. The steroid era has tainted the game for a whole generation of fans. Bonds, McGwire, Sosa, Clemens? All frauds. And what have we learned from the indiscretions of these men? I’ll tell you what we’ve learned — that the price of cutting corners and deception is an unending stream of fortune and fame. Stick a needle in your ass and be blinded by the white heat of flashbulbs, drown in crisp green oceans of cash and have beautiful women throw themselves at your feet. Not bad really?

The only thing you have to live with is knowing that you took something as beautiful and pure as baseball, probably your first and only true love, and you defiled it for personal gain. I doubt any amount of fame and fortune can mend that wound.

Did the earth move for you, Sammy?

I don’t really believe in signs or anything that suggests that my fate is all a part of a grand plan. Grand plans require at least a modicum of control. If my life is just a part of some overall scheme, then I am not truly in control. So when things occur that seem oddly coincidental or somehow designed, it disturbs me.

Like the woman who died in a car crash in Austria last week. Common occurrence. Only, this particular woman was supposed to be on the Air France plane that crashed and killed 228 people. Did God scoop up 229 people only to see one trickle through his immense fingers, then make up for it a week later? Or were these two tragic incidents completely unrelated besides the obvious fact that she was supposed to be on that plane?

Having stated this concern about fate and whether mine is controlled or not, I have to say that the two events that occurred yesterday and today gave me pause while also making me thankful and strengthening my resolve to make changes in my life.

Friday night, I had an awful dream about my father. I woke up Saturday morning disturbed and mournful. The definition of a nightmare changes as you age. It is no longer the threat of monsters and bogeymen that crash down upon the tranquility of slumber. Instead, as we age, our dreams are haunted by the tangible possibility of harm befalling those we hold most dear. And this was the type of dream I had about my father. I lay in bed Saturday morning, pondering life and the inevitable thresholds we all must cross.

Saturday afternoon, after grabbing a spontaneous bite to eat and a few beers at one of my favorite restaurants, I drove out of the parking lot and had only gone a block before I saw a familiar figure strolling down the sidewalk. It was my father. Until that moment, I had forgotten that he worked in the same location as the restaurant, and to my mind’s ease, he happened to have gotten off late. What were the chances of me running into him — especially on the day after having such a horrible dream?

My father and I spoke for a few moments, and in that brief amount of time, the stain of that dream upon my memory had been washed away. Was that a sign, an odd coincidence? Was there some entity spiraling about the universe who wanted to allay my worries? At least for that one day?
—————
This afternoon, I went to my friends’ home to feed their cats while they are on vacation. One of the friends left a cd mix of some of her favorite music for me on the kitchen counter. She also printed out the song list and left it next to the cd.

I’ve been thinking very seriously lately about leaving Tennessee and moving to another city. Two particular cities top my wish list. I told the friend who left the cd about one of the cities but not about the other. Imagine the surprise I got from looking at the track listing on the printout and seeing that the first song was titled Moving to ——–. It was the city I had never even mentioned to her. Here I am, having doubts about whether moving is really something I should do, and bam — the first listed track was like an extra little shove. Fate? Destiny calling?

And here I am, unwilling to reveal the city for fear that I will “jinx” myself. Who’s really in control here??

If the course of my destiny is not determined by the mass collisions of free will but instead is tethered to strings pulled by some grand, unseen puppet master, then find me a nice, comfortable chair and I will sit there until the end of my days. Pleasant coincidences or not — if I can’t tug the strings, I don’t want to play.

Do me a favor? Review the book and not the price.

I went on Amazon today to check out the reviews for Richard Wolffe’s new book Renegade: The Making of a President. The first thing that caught my eye was the three star rating. That’s mediocre at best. I like Richard Wolffe. He seems like an intelligent, affable guy, and I was pretty certain this book would be above-average if not genuinely wonderful. So, three stars really threw me for a loop. Only three stars?

I clicked on the 1 star reviews to see why people didn’t like the book. There were ten 1 star reviews out of a total of twenty-two. Every single one of those 1 star reviews were complaints about the price of the book on Kindle rather than about the book itself.

Please, Kindle users, stop cheating the authors of these books as well as the potential readers. Richard Wolffe isn’t responsible for the price of the book on Kindle. If you want to complain, complain to Amazon. But you do a great disservice to writers and readers when you give a bogus review that is nothing more than griping, however legitimate, over the price.

I’ve decided to buy the book. Whether it sucks or it’s awesome, the decision is now left to me and not to those deceptive Kindlers.

The world’s smallest bodybuilder.

Twenty-one-year-old Dev hails from Punjab, India. On Friday, Dev told “Good Morning America” that the most he has ever lifted is 10 pounds — about half his weight. His hard work paid off three years ago, when the Guiness Book of World Records bestowed upon him the title of world’s smallest body builder.
(Geoff Caddick/PA Wire/AP Photo )

I’m sure normal-sized bodybuilders have pooped bigger than this guy, but whatever… To be honest, I think I’m more bothered by the blond hair than by the fact that he is doing reps with two vitamin tablets.