I don't really pay attention to the media hoopla surrounding and general flaying of Michael Jackson these days.
You see, I'm still enamored of the Michael Jackson of yesteryear. I would note that he was my first boyfriend, but that would invite my readers' dirty minds to conjure up clever quips, which would belittle the innocent reality.
I know, you know that I'm a sucker for nostalgia. But it's not just the memories of listening to Thriller on my best friend's Care Bear record player or dancing around her parents' room to the Bad CD. It's also viewing the full video of Thriller in middle school, utterly enchanted by it and remaining fascinated by it as I grew older.
Shortly after MJ attempted to resurrect his career with the Dangerous album, my affinity for his music also resurfaced. At this point, he had almost plunged completely into his reputation of being a freak. I ignored it, reveling in the guilty pleasure of good pop. Plus, the dancing! Music videos should have dancing; Michael didn't let me down there. I rediscovered Thriller, found the old MJ trading cards I had. He was a pop star I could love.
I have to separate this pop star from the current Michael Jackson. It's not difficult; his physiognomy is so altered. My roommate joked about the button I have of a gheri-curled, 80s era Michael, invoking his current freakdom. But I'm not celebrating that Michael Jackson.
Thus, I'm excited by the discovery, courtesy of Defamer, of Michael Jackson colorforms--straight from the 80s.
I'm not such a staunch fan, though; I can still chuckle at the unintended but very apt inneuedno.