I did watch the Jackson memorial service, a beautiful tribute to a person about whom I am ambivalent. As an entertainer, outstanding; as a humanitarian, apparently a Guinness Book of World Records setter; but as a role model for young people, I'm not so sure that he's the one I want my children/grandchildren to emulate. Lots of dysfunction swirling within one person's lifetime, the tip of which we saw in his cosmetic mutilation.
The memorial service was emotionally touching, with friends, family, notables eulogizing a man with whom they shared special experiences. I didn't know that Kobe Bryant and Magic Johnson had such close, personal relationships with Michael, but Magic spoke about him from the heart, as did so many others standing at the podium. Brooke Shields could hardly read her prepared comments, her anguish palpable as she recalled a youthful friendship that apparently suffered from the public's perception about the pairing. The children of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr did their parents proud with the strength of the words and the depth of a tribute that came directly from the writings/teachings of their father.
I'll admit that the tears flowed freely when Jermaine sang "Smile" in front of his brother's coffin. I have no idea how he made it through the song, but it sure would have been nice had the other brothers Jackson joined him. I didn't expect a Jackson Family reunion concert, but that performance could have used some sibling support on the stage as that has to be the toughest gig ever.
I hope that Rev. Sharpton is in the vicinity when Christ comes again because He'll be bringing Michael with him and Al will want the pat on the back he earned for today's stirring sermon. Sharpton pretty much enthroned Jackson with the Trinity, regardless of your religious preference, and he totally moved him to the front of the Civil Rights Movement, leading (spiritually speaking) Rev. King across that color blind abyss in heaven. After hearing about the incredible advances to breaking down the racial barriers in this country attributed to Michael Jackson, I felt sorry that King was such a slacker. However, the blending of eulogies and musical tributes kept a balance that allowed viewers to appreciate the talent no matter how they felt about the man behind the performance.
There were a few things that caught my sometimes wandering attention, such as the news reader who repeatedly referred to the "hurst" carrying Michael's remains to Staples Center. One of the musical tributes was a song with words I tried to catch a couple of times, but the best I can come up with is "krispy and creme me," strange lyrics indeed. Jennifer Hudson looks totally pregnant, showing about a third trimester baby bump hidden behind a dress that resembled a very large, frilly, white Sunday dinner tablecloth. Is it just my reaction or is Stevie Wonder one of the worst singers ever? I had to mute him before he finished his performance as it was excruciating. And, pardon my ignorance, but I thought John Mayer's claim to fame is that he dated Jennifer Aniston. Imagine my surprise to see him stand by himself on the stage and play a really old, crummy-looking electric guitar that seemed much too small for a man. I kept asking myself not only who is he, but why is he playing the guitar? Was he once in a music vid with Michael? The dots didn't connect for me.
Now that the memorial service has concluded, we can turn our attention to a new American pastime: where's Michael? No one seems to know where the body is buried, but if I had to make a guess, I'm going for he was buried at Forest Lawn this morning. A very expensive, ornate casket showed up for the public performance, but it is quite common for high-profile remains to be buried quietly while the ornate casket creates a distraction. Is he at the Encino family compound? Is he in storage somewhere waiting for a special dispensation that will allow a burial at Neverland?
Is it time for all of us to move on?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
Hell No!
This morning, I was completely aghast at a post from a blogger on the local on-line newspaper site regarding Sarah Palin's decision to remove herself from the media firing line. The blogger's opinion is that not only will Palin always be trailer trash, but her daughter is a slut (the blogger did not specify which daughter). There, but for the Grace of God, go all of us, victimized by someone with a personal axe to grind and absolutely no way to justify such vicious attacks on someone who is probably a total stranger to the blogger.
I've been the target of false accusations, including those made by a woman who swore that she saw me having sex at a club with a man not my husband the same day my family and I were out of town. The truth did not change her story, but it sure changed my life: I resigned from the organization and never looked back. I was the target of those who allowed their perception to become everyone else's reality, and no amount of truth can undo the damage caused by this kind of lie. I was the target of a student who fabricated a complex lie involving my ex-husband to deflect the consequences of her own actions onto me. My experience has been confined to a relatively small footprint, and I can only imagine how much more devastating it is to have this kind of attack on a national level, especially by people who have no remorse for their accusations and actions, including today's blogger.
The media has taught the public that their right to tell the story is more important than my right to have it kept private, and all too often their story originates in fiction, not fact. It used to be that the goal of journalism is to be the first with the facts, but now it's just be the first: if we get it wrong, sorry. Shit happens, right? As Palin pointed out in her speech last week, she's financially responsible for the costs of getting the truth separated from the fiction, both for herself and her office, and the costs are becoming prohibitive. Based on my experience, it's not just the dollars and the cents, but it's the erosion of the self that is a price too high to pay.
In the public domain of her life, Sarah Palin has done quite well, serving in local and state government, and offering her services at the federal level. I wonder what the blogger has done that can equal Palin's contributions to her fellow citizens -- other than being the first in line to throw stones, that is. I'm sure that Sarah Palin has much more to offer and will continue with public service as a vital component of her life, but as a private citizen, not as a public target. I am ashamed that so few public figures stepped up when Letterman made his crude comments about Sarah and her daughter, but it's always easier to accept that kind of reckless behavior when you aren't the target of it. Other public figures who have made similar irresponsible comments have lost their jobs as a result, but Letterman walked away with a no harm/no foul pass.
It's not about who Sarah Palin is and/or what she accomplishes with her life, it's what others say about her that ends up in the media and becomes the truth. Remember the office staffer who told the media that the Palins were passing their daughter's child off as their own child? The staffer told the media that there was no way Sarah Palin had been pregnant because she didn't gain any weight or look pregnant, proving that the staffer was right in her accusations. The story led the news for a couple of weeks because the public thrives on speculation, innuendo, and mean-spirited gossip. As in Letterman's case, the apology or retraction (if one is made) is never quite as effective as the original accusation, and far too many people, such as today's blogger, believe the accusation, rather than the evidence.
I admire Sarah Palin for doing what is best for herself, her marriage, and her family. Jon and Kate Gosselin could take lessons from the Palins and pull the plug on the media before it destroys not just the marriage, but the family. The viciousness of the media and the false sources that support it go far beyond what any public figure should have to accept. We all need to learn to Just Say Hell No!
I've been the target of false accusations, including those made by a woman who swore that she saw me having sex at a club with a man not my husband the same day my family and I were out of town. The truth did not change her story, but it sure changed my life: I resigned from the organization and never looked back. I was the target of those who allowed their perception to become everyone else's reality, and no amount of truth can undo the damage caused by this kind of lie. I was the target of a student who fabricated a complex lie involving my ex-husband to deflect the consequences of her own actions onto me. My experience has been confined to a relatively small footprint, and I can only imagine how much more devastating it is to have this kind of attack on a national level, especially by people who have no remorse for their accusations and actions, including today's blogger.
The media has taught the public that their right to tell the story is more important than my right to have it kept private, and all too often their story originates in fiction, not fact. It used to be that the goal of journalism is to be the first with the facts, but now it's just be the first: if we get it wrong, sorry. Shit happens, right? As Palin pointed out in her speech last week, she's financially responsible for the costs of getting the truth separated from the fiction, both for herself and her office, and the costs are becoming prohibitive. Based on my experience, it's not just the dollars and the cents, but it's the erosion of the self that is a price too high to pay.
In the public domain of her life, Sarah Palin has done quite well, serving in local and state government, and offering her services at the federal level. I wonder what the blogger has done that can equal Palin's contributions to her fellow citizens -- other than being the first in line to throw stones, that is. I'm sure that Sarah Palin has much more to offer and will continue with public service as a vital component of her life, but as a private citizen, not as a public target. I am ashamed that so few public figures stepped up when Letterman made his crude comments about Sarah and her daughter, but it's always easier to accept that kind of reckless behavior when you aren't the target of it. Other public figures who have made similar irresponsible comments have lost their jobs as a result, but Letterman walked away with a no harm/no foul pass.
It's not about who Sarah Palin is and/or what she accomplishes with her life, it's what others say about her that ends up in the media and becomes the truth. Remember the office staffer who told the media that the Palins were passing their daughter's child off as their own child? The staffer told the media that there was no way Sarah Palin had been pregnant because she didn't gain any weight or look pregnant, proving that the staffer was right in her accusations. The story led the news for a couple of weeks because the public thrives on speculation, innuendo, and mean-spirited gossip. As in Letterman's case, the apology or retraction (if one is made) is never quite as effective as the original accusation, and far too many people, such as today's blogger, believe the accusation, rather than the evidence.
I admire Sarah Palin for doing what is best for herself, her marriage, and her family. Jon and Kate Gosselin could take lessons from the Palins and pull the plug on the media before it destroys not just the marriage, but the family. The viciousness of the media and the false sources that support it go far beyond what any public figure should have to accept. We all need to learn to Just Say Hell No!
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Dancin' with the Truth
Our Michael, who art in limbo, Holyworld be thy name. You are redeemed, Our Michael, forgiven for all transgressions both real and imaginary. Your true fans await your final performance; your true fans have emptied the record stores of your albums, good, bad, and mediocre; your true fans have left the unemployment lines for LA and a chance to be a part of media history; and if there is any way at all to make a buck off your death, the sycophants are on it. You remember what it is to be the star at the center of the media maelstrom, so rest in peace, Our Michael, now that your final wish has been granted: everlasting vindication in your own personal Neverland.
Our Michael averred from the TV screen that he was not guilty of the charges brought against him by the families of young boys who were guests at Neverland, Jackson’s personal fantasy retreat hidden from the world in Los Olivos, CA, but the public didn’t really believe in his innocence. His stardom waned, his eccentricities became legend, and his fortune dwindled while the debt accrued. For the past decade, Jackson has been his own Lost Boy, a man who slowly eradicated his past in a futile effort to create a new Michael Jackson: white skinned, mainstream media, father of the year to his suspiciously lily white children, not an accused pedophile, but the King of Pop. He used drugs to anesthetize himself to the reality of who he is, who he always will be, and the one person in the world from whom he cannot hide: himself.
While most people's deaths are defined by their lives, Our Michael's life needs to be redefined by his death, the beginning of a new Our Michael legend that ensures a lucrative lifestyle for those who kept the fallen artist at a distance during his life, but embrace him in death, including his own father. Our Michael tried to be both black and white during his life, but his death affirms that although he cultivated and lived in a white world, the white Michael Jackson has been eradicated in the media coverage of the untimely death of a black superstar who was beloved throughout the world.
Michael Jackson’s family has not revealed the details about where/when/how his body will be laid to rest, but it is becoming apparent that it is all about mourning his demise in a public venue that maximizes the media coverage and the revenue stream that naturally follows. The free tickets for the memorial service at Staples Center are being awarded in a lottery to those who signed up on the internet: 1.5 million vying to be one of the lucky 8500 who actually get 2 tickets. How many of those lottery winners will be black is allegedly contingent on ownership of or access to a computer, as well as the luck of the draw. If you are white and cannot get through the door, that’s karma; however, if you’re black and have to stand on the sidewalk because you don't own a computer or buy coffee at Starbuck's, that’s another potential LA race riot. To be fair and save the tax revenue paying for the logistics and support services in multi-millions of dollars, tickets should have been sold to the true fans of any color who seem willing to pay whatever it costs just to be in the same state as Our Michael's remains.
The concert promoters are chomping at the bit to release a music video of Jackson’s rehearsals for the canceled concerts, knowing that they’ll make a huge profit off the singer’s death and pay down the projected losses that begin at $20 million just at Staples Center. Nothing sells like a dead superstar, and the more suspicious the circumstances, the more the death can be spun to the advantage of those who profit from it. Imagine having the tribute video ready to sell to the crowds outside the Staples Center on Tuesday ... at the gates to Neverland in Los Olivos ... at the Jackson family home ... at the gates to the now-empty rental mansion ... flooding internet vendors and mall stores the same day as the service.
Perhaps Jackson's death hasn't been milked for enough air time or financial gain yet as there is still money to be made when Neverland becomes another Graceland, a museum to conspicuous consumption, living well beyond one's means, and (potentially) the final resting place of the King of Pop, which can be enjoyed vicariously for a mere twenty-five bucks per guest, amusement park rides, parking, and food extra. This single death has done more to stimulate the SoCal economy than anything the state or federal politicians have done in the past 8 months, a moneymaker well beyond anyone's projections.
The media has been interviewing an endless stream of highly-paid experts in every conceivable topic associated with human beings residing on earth since the beginning of time to spin the new legend of Michael Jackson, icon. There is groundless speculation bookcased with eyewitness accounts based on individual perspective. A former nurse swears that Jackson asked for this drug and that drug, literally cashing in on her instant media-induced fame as she apologizes for the lifestyle that drove Our Michael to such desperate measures. A former manager recalls what it was like when Our Michael was a boy ... and his check is in the bank as he blames the father for Our Michael's darkest hours. The black cadre marches in a line: the political activist, the religious yardstick, the professional athlete, the well-known performer, sharing the theme of "I knew Our Michael when," as well as the spotlight on the black experience in America. Our Michael was so much more than just his music: son, brother, husband, father, icon.
What Jackson could not accomplish during his life is being actualized by his death: the transformation of a tarnished angel into a saint. All it takes is a bit of dancin' with the truth, a sleight of perception that the media does better than any Holyworld producer and which the public buys without question, regardless of the price of admission.
Our Michael averred from the TV screen that he was not guilty of the charges brought against him by the families of young boys who were guests at Neverland, Jackson’s personal fantasy retreat hidden from the world in Los Olivos, CA, but the public didn’t really believe in his innocence. His stardom waned, his eccentricities became legend, and his fortune dwindled while the debt accrued. For the past decade, Jackson has been his own Lost Boy, a man who slowly eradicated his past in a futile effort to create a new Michael Jackson: white skinned, mainstream media, father of the year to his suspiciously lily white children, not an accused pedophile, but the King of Pop. He used drugs to anesthetize himself to the reality of who he is, who he always will be, and the one person in the world from whom he cannot hide: himself.
While most people's deaths are defined by their lives, Our Michael's life needs to be redefined by his death, the beginning of a new Our Michael legend that ensures a lucrative lifestyle for those who kept the fallen artist at a distance during his life, but embrace him in death, including his own father. Our Michael tried to be both black and white during his life, but his death affirms that although he cultivated and lived in a white world, the white Michael Jackson has been eradicated in the media coverage of the untimely death of a black superstar who was beloved throughout the world.
Michael Jackson’s family has not revealed the details about where/when/how his body will be laid to rest, but it is becoming apparent that it is all about mourning his demise in a public venue that maximizes the media coverage and the revenue stream that naturally follows. The free tickets for the memorial service at Staples Center are being awarded in a lottery to those who signed up on the internet: 1.5 million vying to be one of the lucky 8500 who actually get 2 tickets. How many of those lottery winners will be black is allegedly contingent on ownership of or access to a computer, as well as the luck of the draw. If you are white and cannot get through the door, that’s karma; however, if you’re black and have to stand on the sidewalk because you don't own a computer or buy coffee at Starbuck's, that’s another potential LA race riot. To be fair and save the tax revenue paying for the logistics and support services in multi-millions of dollars, tickets should have been sold to the true fans of any color who seem willing to pay whatever it costs just to be in the same state as Our Michael's remains.
The concert promoters are chomping at the bit to release a music video of Jackson’s rehearsals for the canceled concerts, knowing that they’ll make a huge profit off the singer’s death and pay down the projected losses that begin at $20 million just at Staples Center. Nothing sells like a dead superstar, and the more suspicious the circumstances, the more the death can be spun to the advantage of those who profit from it. Imagine having the tribute video ready to sell to the crowds outside the Staples Center on Tuesday ... at the gates to Neverland in Los Olivos ... at the Jackson family home ... at the gates to the now-empty rental mansion ... flooding internet vendors and mall stores the same day as the service.
Perhaps Jackson's death hasn't been milked for enough air time or financial gain yet as there is still money to be made when Neverland becomes another Graceland, a museum to conspicuous consumption, living well beyond one's means, and (potentially) the final resting place of the King of Pop, which can be enjoyed vicariously for a mere twenty-five bucks per guest, amusement park rides, parking, and food extra. This single death has done more to stimulate the SoCal economy than anything the state or federal politicians have done in the past 8 months, a moneymaker well beyond anyone's projections.
The media has been interviewing an endless stream of highly-paid experts in every conceivable topic associated with human beings residing on earth since the beginning of time to spin the new legend of Michael Jackson, icon. There is groundless speculation bookcased with eyewitness accounts based on individual perspective. A former nurse swears that Jackson asked for this drug and that drug, literally cashing in on her instant media-induced fame as she apologizes for the lifestyle that drove Our Michael to such desperate measures. A former manager recalls what it was like when Our Michael was a boy ... and his check is in the bank as he blames the father for Our Michael's darkest hours. The black cadre marches in a line: the political activist, the religious yardstick, the professional athlete, the well-known performer, sharing the theme of "I knew Our Michael when," as well as the spotlight on the black experience in America. Our Michael was so much more than just his music: son, brother, husband, father, icon.
What Jackson could not accomplish during his life is being actualized by his death: the transformation of a tarnished angel into a saint. All it takes is a bit of dancin' with the truth, a sleight of perception that the media does better than any Holyworld producer and which the public buys without question, regardless of the price of admission.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Live With It
While I ate my lunch, I watched a TV reality show, Cake Boss, which shows how a family-owned bakery operates. The host, Buddy, is personable, hard-working, Italian volatile, and always both acknowledges and applaudes the dedication of his staff.
In the episode, a bride-to-be and her mother come into the bakery to order a wedding cake, the design and details of which are discussed, sketched, and approved. The baker makes the cake as ordered and puts it into the 'fridge for delivery on the big day. However, the day before the wedding, the bride shows up and demands to see her cake. Her comment: it's ugly. She wants to know if her mother paid extra for the world's most boring wedding cake.
Buddy is astounded as he's worked hard to make a beautiful cake that he knows the bride will love on her special day. When it becomes obvious that the obnoxious bride not only does not want the cake she's ordered but expects him to make her another cake, Buddy walks off to cool down before he continues the conversation. While his back is turned, the bride picks up tubes of brightly colored icing that she squirts all over the beautiful, all-white wedding cake.
I'm sure the look on my face was the same look on Buddy's face when he came back and saw what she had done to the cake. When Buddy directed the bride to leave (probably before he smacked her), she did, tossing off the parting comment that now, maybe, he gets it. The bottom line is that the bride-to-be approved the design and ordered the cake; her responsibility was to pay for the finished product whether she liked it or not because it is what she ordered. She could have asked Buddy how additional color could be added to the cake or how the design could be supplemented or given any other suggestions she had to alter the cake. However, once she defiled the cake, it was a done deal: you ordered the cake, you ruined the cake, you pay for the cake and use it or not -- your choice.
The employees of the bakery said "hell, no" after Buddy talked to the mother of the bride and assured her that he would make another cake and deliver it to the wedding venue the next day. As one astonished employee said, "I have to stay late and work my ass off because this spoiled brat ruined her cake?" Buddy says he wants to be the bigger man for the mother's sake, but in my world the more adults accommodate that kind of bad, inappropriate behavior, the more the behavior becomes acceptable. This bride absolutely expects Buddy to make her another cake, for which she will not pay, and is willing to do whatever it takes to assure that she gets her way.
This behavior has been reinforced in her past: if it didn't work, she wouldn't do it.
I'm sorry that Buddy baked and decorated another wedding cake for this ungrateful bride, but I can understand why he did so. If the bride had expressed even a token thanks, I'd say he did the right thing, but she refused to acknowledge Buddy or the cake in spite of her mother's pleas to do so. Buddy would have been better served by delivering her the cake she enhanced with her personal artistic flair and letting her live with the consequences of her actions.
Sometimes, doing the right thing is the wrong thing to do, and this is one of those times.
In the episode, a bride-to-be and her mother come into the bakery to order a wedding cake, the design and details of which are discussed, sketched, and approved. The baker makes the cake as ordered and puts it into the 'fridge for delivery on the big day. However, the day before the wedding, the bride shows up and demands to see her cake. Her comment: it's ugly. She wants to know if her mother paid extra for the world's most boring wedding cake.
Buddy is astounded as he's worked hard to make a beautiful cake that he knows the bride will love on her special day. When it becomes obvious that the obnoxious bride not only does not want the cake she's ordered but expects him to make her another cake, Buddy walks off to cool down before he continues the conversation. While his back is turned, the bride picks up tubes of brightly colored icing that she squirts all over the beautiful, all-white wedding cake.
I'm sure the look on my face was the same look on Buddy's face when he came back and saw what she had done to the cake. When Buddy directed the bride to leave (probably before he smacked her), she did, tossing off the parting comment that now, maybe, he gets it. The bottom line is that the bride-to-be approved the design and ordered the cake; her responsibility was to pay for the finished product whether she liked it or not because it is what she ordered. She could have asked Buddy how additional color could be added to the cake or how the design could be supplemented or given any other suggestions she had to alter the cake. However, once she defiled the cake, it was a done deal: you ordered the cake, you ruined the cake, you pay for the cake and use it or not -- your choice.
The employees of the bakery said "hell, no" after Buddy talked to the mother of the bride and assured her that he would make another cake and deliver it to the wedding venue the next day. As one astonished employee said, "I have to stay late and work my ass off because this spoiled brat ruined her cake?" Buddy says he wants to be the bigger man for the mother's sake, but in my world the more adults accommodate that kind of bad, inappropriate behavior, the more the behavior becomes acceptable. This bride absolutely expects Buddy to make her another cake, for which she will not pay, and is willing to do whatever it takes to assure that she gets her way.
This behavior has been reinforced in her past: if it didn't work, she wouldn't do it.
I'm sorry that Buddy baked and decorated another wedding cake for this ungrateful bride, but I can understand why he did so. If the bride had expressed even a token thanks, I'd say he did the right thing, but she refused to acknowledge Buddy or the cake in spite of her mother's pleas to do so. Buddy would have been better served by delivering her the cake she enhanced with her personal artistic flair and letting her live with the consequences of her actions.
Sometimes, doing the right thing is the wrong thing to do, and this is one of those times.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Beat It (Please)
The title of one of Michael Jackson's songs, Beat It, seems appropriate commentary regarding the extensive mindless drivel that has flooded the airways since last Thursday and beat us all into submission: all right, already, I'll turn off the TV and go outside and do something, anything to get away from the endless drone of ill-informed news readers forced to make a story where there are no details, no updates, no concrete information of any kind beyond what has already been endlessly aired!
Most especially irritating and ingratiating are the interviews with what I fondly refer to as the "Seven Degrees of Separation" interviewees, the people who once upon a time long ago had some sort of contact with MJ and have a treasure trove of trivia to share with today's audience, none of which has any importance, impact, and/or relevance to the last 40 years of his life, much less his recent death. For instance, the man who was a manager somewhere along the line but has not seen/contacted MJ in the last oh, say, 20 years. And his comments are relevant how?
Yeah, the on-camera talent is covering their beat, beating the bushes for new information, and beating a dead horse (sorry, no disrespect intended) to be the first on-air with something, anything that beats the competition. Often the soundtrack playing behind the coverage is Beat It, which is what they all should do: go home until there is news to report, something other than the earth-shattering gasp of disbelief when Michael Jackson's father showed up on the red carpet at last night's BET Awards. Talk about the day the Earth stood still while the on-air talent went into a filming frenzy.
Updating for those who do believe that death comes in threes, Gale Storm, 87, passed away a couple of days ago. I can still see her face, her black hair, and her oddly slanted eyes. When I recall her TV career, I think in terms of perky and quirky. Billy Mays, 50, also died in his sleep after a deplaning interview about things falling on his head during an unusually rough landing in a US Airways flight. A sudden, unexplained death involving one's head being pummeled with falling luggage from an overhead bin doesn't raise alarms, but the not altogether unexpected death of a drug addicted pop star does? Reality check, please. And the third death is that of Fred Travalena, 60-something, in Las Vegas, another impressionist with a huge casino lounge career who never made it as big as Danny Gans, who unexpectedly died in his sleep several months ago.
Is there a serial killer murdering sleeping male impressionists in Las Vegas? Stay tuned for breaking news updates as more information either becomes available or we create it in our newsroom.
Most especially irritating and ingratiating are the interviews with what I fondly refer to as the "Seven Degrees of Separation" interviewees, the people who once upon a time long ago had some sort of contact with MJ and have a treasure trove of trivia to share with today's audience, none of which has any importance, impact, and/or relevance to the last 40 years of his life, much less his recent death. For instance, the man who was a manager somewhere along the line but has not seen/contacted MJ in the last oh, say, 20 years. And his comments are relevant how?
Yeah, the on-camera talent is covering their beat, beating the bushes for new information, and beating a dead horse (sorry, no disrespect intended) to be the first on-air with something, anything that beats the competition. Often the soundtrack playing behind the coverage is Beat It, which is what they all should do: go home until there is news to report, something other than the earth-shattering gasp of disbelief when Michael Jackson's father showed up on the red carpet at last night's BET Awards. Talk about the day the Earth stood still while the on-air talent went into a filming frenzy.
Updating for those who do believe that death comes in threes, Gale Storm, 87, passed away a couple of days ago. I can still see her face, her black hair, and her oddly slanted eyes. When I recall her TV career, I think in terms of perky and quirky. Billy Mays, 50, also died in his sleep after a deplaning interview about things falling on his head during an unusually rough landing in a US Airways flight. A sudden, unexplained death involving one's head being pummeled with falling luggage from an overhead bin doesn't raise alarms, but the not altogether unexpected death of a drug addicted pop star does? Reality check, please. And the third death is that of Fred Travalena, 60-something, in Las Vegas, another impressionist with a huge casino lounge career who never made it as big as Danny Gans, who unexpectedly died in his sleep several months ago.
Is there a serial killer murdering sleeping male impressionists in Las Vegas? Stay tuned for breaking news updates as more information either becomes available or we create it in our newsroom.
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