O-M-G, Y'all!
I cannot beleive how lazy I have beome with my writing. Earlier today, while I was monkeying around on the MJ board, I noticed that it has been TWO MONTHS since I have posted a horror story! I can't beleive it and am a little ashamed of myself really, for not having posted anything in so long. I guess I was so busy undressing Michael Jackson, that I forgot about scaring the dookie out of him!
So now, I am switching my efforts to focus back on my horror. Hell it'll be Halloween soon. I gotta get up on it.
And trust me, I will!
Yes, I’m harping on that topic of Michael Jackson again. If you don’t want to read about Michael, kindly exit the blog. Thank you.
Now let’s get down to business.
Michael Jackson music videos, to me, were probably some of the best experiences I had as a child. I grew up as an only child, a latchkey child actually, as both of my parents worked. So I was often by myself a lot because, well, I didn’t really have any friends as a kid.
And Michael Jackson proved a really nice, comfortable outlet for me. I ate up his music videos like they were damn tic-tacs. I would go out and rent his videos--before I was able to buy and own--and would spend ALL DAY LONG with Michael Jackson.
Watching him. Cooing over him. Studying him. Scribbling little stories about him.
(Which is why I’m so prolific in my writing of him now.)
I remember, early on, there was a time where I was kind of addicted to Michael in a way. My mother hated it, because every time she peeked into my room, his music was playing or his booty was shaking on my television.
Over my fanhood, I’ve had periods where I would freak over a certain era. In the very beginning, I was crazy for “Bad” and literally could not start the day or go to school without seeing Michael sing “Come Together” at the end of Moonwalker. I liked “Come Together” so much.
God’s truth. I’d be like an alcoholic without booze if I didn’t see him. Angry, disgruntled, pissed.
The “Bad” phase melded into the “Thriller” phase when I was twelve. I finally got the chance to see the “Billie Jean”, “Beat It” “Thriller” and “Motown 25 Billie Jean” videos. And I literally went nuts. Like I had never seen anything like that, you know?
“Billie Jean” with the lighting up sidewalk and the leather suit. “Beat It” with Michael dancing with real street gangs and me worrying if he’s gonna pick a shank out his ass. (I mean Michael was man from the burbs, he was too soft for the “hood”.)
“Thriller”? Forget it! A mini-movie with Michael as the star? And the Vincent Price rap as the topper? I was fucking dying.
Pardon my language, but I was. I mean just the genius I saw emanating was killing me. The more I saw, the more I understood WHY Michael was as huge as he was.
“Motown 25” was a turning point for me. I had waited three years to see that damn performance. See the unveiling of the Moonwalk. I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, my hands to my chest, spellbound. Watching. Scarcely breathing I was so entranced.
That started a three-month long Thriller binge in my house.
For three months, it was 1983 in my house. I watched the videos continuously, watched The Making of Thriller to the point where I can quote it word for word. I had posters made that still hang on my walls. I played the album so much, two cassette tapes broke and had to be replaced. (Usually before I stopped crying.)
I mean I wrote little stories about meeting a Thriller era Michael and everything. I was just wild.
The way I came out of the hold Thriller had on me was one day I saw Michael on TV on some news show. And he looked the way he looked in recent years, thin, pale, long hair.
It came to me that no matter how I run after Thriller Michael, he doesn’t really exist anymore. Michael’s appearance changed and if you’re gonna stay with Michael, love the lighter Michael. If I saw him in person--which I did ONCE-- he wouldn’t like he did at Thriller. And it didn’t matter. Darker or Lighter, I DID love Michael Jackson.
So, practically overnight, I was back on the “recent” MJ train.
Thriller bled into my “Dangerous” passion.
Dangerous was my mom’s fault, damn it.
We went to a different video rental place one day and while I was looking at cartoons my mom came over and said she found another Michael Jackson tape,
While she was picking herself up off floor, I stampeded away, and found Dangerous: The Short Films.
Fantastic.
That’s all I can think to say of that collection.
Fantastic.
It was the first time I ever saw the “In the Closet” video. And I was fucking dying again. Seriously. Michael Jackson, with his hair slicked back, in a muscle shirt? Talking about wanting to give “it” to you?
My head near about blew off at the idea. I wanted to be in the Arizona desert with Michael dancing in the sand!
The thing that really got me was the Dangerous tour montage at the end. The fans going nuts and freaking over Michael.
I was so bad with that video collection…I mean all the time I was watching Michael, particularly “In the Closet”. My mother threatened to throw the damn TV outside if I didn’t stop spending money on Michael.
(Oh, I still spent the money, I just watched Michael to heart’s content while she was at work.)
And I was always constantly looking for more. Trying to find more. I’d hear about other videos like “Say, Say, Say” with Paul McCartney and hunt it down.
I was particularly pissed when I watched The Jacksons “Torture” video from 1984, and found out that “Michael” was his goddamned wax dummy and not him. (That was before I got into Marlon, so I pretty much overlooked him at the time.)
I was fifteen when the “You Rock My World” video, to promote the Invincible album premiered. I remember it came very closely after the 9/11 tragedy and I remember thinking it was ridiculous to put that album out so close after the country had been attacked--and the album did not do well, although the music was phenomenal.
I tried not to think of the tragedy though, and instead focused on Michael. And his performance with comedian Chris Tucker. Great video. Loved it. Watching Michael trying to fight. It was cute and I loved it. For ten minutes, I wasn’t worried if a plane was going to crash into my roof, or that insurgents would come rushing in my door and carry me away. For ten minutes, I was in that little club in Little Havana with Michael, dancing.
I’ll be honest, I said ALL of that to say this. Michael Jackson always provided kind of a fantasy land to play in with his videos. He entertained my fantasies and daydreams and enchanted me in ways no other person could. People need escapes from their daily lives. The monotony of it all. Michael was and is my escape.
I mean he IS what I watch the three hours, three times a week, I’m in dialysis. He makes me forget and I like that.
It’s nice and I’m indebted to him for that.
Till next time readers.
Before you work yourselves into a lather my dear readers, I regret to inform you that this post is NOT, I repeat NOT, about Michael Jackson’s crotch. Sorry.
I don’t know if I’ve covered the subject before and if I have, I apologize for repeating myself.
As I’ve stated time and time before, I was only nine years old when the Moonwalker Magic of Michael Jackson rubbed off onto me. Now at the time, in 1995, I very vaguely knew the name Michael Jackson but really in my youth, I was ignorant to how big of a superstar Michael was.
At only nine, I just knew I thought he was cute and that I liked the way he sang and danced. I mean I was really ignorant to everything about him.
His age was the first thing threw me. I assumed Michael, who was actually about thirty-seven at the time, was only in his twenties. I was twelve years old before I learned his true age--forty by then.
And then because I heard so much about “Billie Jean” and the “Thriller” album, I was a jackass and assumed that “Thriller” was Michael Jackson’s debut album and that he had broken onto the music scene in 1982.
Once again, it was a stretch of years before I found out about The Jackson Five and The Jacksons. Or that Michael EVEN had other brothers and sisters. In the late 90s, you just didn’t hear anything about the other five. I was aware of Janet Jackson, but until I actually saw the “Scream” video, I didn’t know she was Michael’s sister.
I know, gasp, shock and awe. Looking back on it, I feel really kind of ashamed at not knowing the most basic of details.
The thing that stuns people about me is that I pulled myself up by my bootstraps in my MJ knowledge. I didn’t have a mentor or fellow fan guiding me. I did it all by myself out of sheer determination.
Now back to the bigness of Michael Jackson.
I was a dummy to Michael’s magnitude for about my first three years as a so-called fan.
The year 1998 was my turning point. I was 12 years old that year and really, it seemed as though everything came together suddenly for me.
A lot of the best things with Michael for me have been accidents, from when I first saw him with Lisa-Marie in that 20/20 interview that got me drunk on him in the first place, to catching glimpses of him on TV at awards shows and things of the sort.
One of those good-natured mistakes happened at a local video store called “WC’s.” (it is now closed as no one rents movies anymore.) It was a normal Friday afternoon and my mom had cut me loose in the aisles saying I could rent one movie. I wandered over to the Music section of the store. I very vividly remember seeing Madonna’s “Erotica” and thinking it was ridiculous to spend five dollars on a five minute video to rent.
Moving down the line I saw Prince’s “Purple Rain” and picked it up, with the full intent of renting it. (God only know what would have happened there…) I turned the VHS case over to read what the film was about and accidentally dropped it to the floor.
Throwing Prince on the floor was probably the best thing that ever happened for me.
Because when I stooped down to pick his purple ass up off the floor, I found myself staring face to face with Michael Jackson.
There, on the bottom shelf--way to treat the freaking King of Pop--were two VHSes. The video cassettes that would effectively shape my adolescence.
“Moonwalker” and “Michael Jackson: The Legend Continues.”
I don’t think I could have been happier if Michael Jackson were actually sitting on that shelf with the little five dollar price tag attached to him. I ran like I was in the Olympics to my mother and while I begged and pleaded to rent both films, she insisted upon only one.
I selected “Moonwalker” because it was longer than “Legend” and was on pins and needles until I could get home with it.
That was when my education in the greatness of Michael Jackson began.
I sat in the den with my mother and popped the tape in, which opened up with the 1988 “Bad” rendition of the Pepsi commercial. (It was a while before I figured out that wasn’t the commercial when Michael’s head exploded.) It was fun, seeing the kids dancing along to him and seeing how handsome he looked in his black glitter coat.
Then…the film actually started. Michael singing his “help your fellow man” anthem, “Man in the Mirror.”
I was absolutely spellbound to see the panoramic shot of the stadium--I think it was in Australia--of tens of thousands of people.
Shoulder to shoulder. A sea of faces all there for Michael Jackson. Dressed like him. Cheering him on, crying for him. Fainting.
You’ve seen the footage my readers, the fans were losing their shit over Michael.
I had never seen anything like that in my young life and to see how Michael Jackson affected people started to plant that seed in my head that said “Wow, Michael is more serious than I thought.”
I was impressed, greatly impressed and proud over that frantic display of adulation.
(Years later as I did become a fan of Prince, I once asked why Prince’s fans didn’t react to him the way MJ fans did to Michael and no one ever could explain WHY.)
And while behavior like that would have scared some people, it only made me enthusiastic. To me being a part of a headless, thousands of body mass, clamoring for Michael’s attention looked like fun to me. I wanted to scream and dance and jump up and down and cry. Even faint if the mood hit me.
I wanted to do that. Be wild like that for Michael.
As the film progressed, I found myself being sucked more and more into Michael. Through the Jackson Five montage, where my mother told me the other Black guys singing with Michael were his brothers. Before then, I just thought they were a part of Michael’s “band”. Funny as it is to say.
And then, Michael Jackson seduced me. Laugh if you want, he did, damn it!
The part of “Dirty Diana” started to play and I had never known there was a music video for the song before then. For the very first time, Michael Jackson made me scream.
I was watching the video enjoying it, bopping along to it, mouthing the words and then BAM!
Michael ran and ripped his shirt open. And I screamed like I was being killed. Hands to face, eyes bulging, mouth open, screaming. It was fantastic!
I was enchanted the rest of the movie all the way down to “Come Together” at the end. Over time, I rented and watched “Moonwalker” hundreds of times before acquiring my own copy.
The following week, I brought “Legend” home with me. My MJ education was expanding. And “Legend” though outdated by then a full ten years, did help rapidly bring me up to speed on Michael Jackson. Telling of his humble beginnings in Indiana--dispelling the idea I’d had, where I thought Michael had been born and bred in California--all the way up to the Bad Tour.
The part of the “Legend” video aside from the opening showing fans going haywire, was the bit about “Thriller”.
Now I knew that “Thriller” was the largest selling album in history, but I didn’t really, truly know what that meant until Dick Clark, may he rest in peace, said “That album has sold almost forty million copies!”
That was in 1988, and was still steadily selling copies as of
‘98 when I got mine.
It was just a “hit by a two by four” moment when Dick said that. I was stunned. You just have to imagine a 12 year old me, a fat thing with glasses, just staring gape mouthed with drool oozing at the idea of 40 million copies of any record walking around.
How Michael took over the world. Literally took over the damn world. Won so many awards made and broke so many records, it was insane.
The more I heard the prouder I got. Out of all the people making noise into a microphone, I picked hands-down the best to like. (Which is why I’m a snob about other musicians now.)
A lot of people now would say I am the biggest fan of Michael Jackson they’ve ever come into contact with and that is a distinction I take great pride in. The hilarious thing is, I believe I have calmed down in my admiration of Michael.
When I was 12...I was the picture of obsession with Michael.
I mean if I wasn’t doing something for school, church or pageants, my world revolved around Michael Jackson.
Hunting articles, working to afford his albums, trying to catch him on TV, see him. Hopping on computers and seeing where he was, what he was doing. Was he doing a concert? Was he at Neverland? Was he still married to that fat woman Debbie?
Had he won another award. What did he wear?
That was me, all day.
I was hitting websites all over the globe, looking at his pictures, printing them out, sticking them on my walls. At one time I was a member of Michael Jackson clubs in New York, Egypt, Ireland and Australia. Kept trying to start my own club.
That’s really where my want to be the best MJ fan I could humanly be came from--through the Internet. I’m naturally, extremely competitive and could become jealous quite easily.
And when I started seeing these fans with all these posters and dolls and things in their rooms, I was like, “I have to get stuff like this. I have to do better than this. I have to represent for Michael.”
It was a competition for me. I wanted to be the best.
And yes, there have been times I’ve skipped meals and gone hungry to afford Michael Jackson memorabilia. It was that important to me to get things. Even now, if I don’t get something MJ once every couple of months, I start to get antsy and have to feed that monkey on my back. What tickled me once, was my friend Stacie, when we first started hanging out, she actually thought I had accumulated my entire collection in one day and I had to explain to her that no it took YEARS of work and dedication.
Aside from my collection, the thing I take the most pleasure in, is my knowledge of Michael Jackson Trivia.
I may not know my own blood type, but I know what size underwear Michael wears and what brand, damn it!
That was a matter of being bullied in middle school. Kids always gang up on the fat loner with glasses. And then add to it I liked the eccentric man in spangles, I was a prime target that gave bullies wet dreams.
And they’d say things to me, make up stories and try to upset. If only you knew how many times I heard “Hey Tiffeny, Michael Jackson just died!” in an effort to make me cry.
(I really hope all those little ignorant bastards are else dead themselves or in jail!)
I figured my mind and intellect was the only way to overcome them and I set out vigilantly looking for any and all sources I could use to my benefit.
Once again at 12, I found it.
“Michael Jackson: The Magic and Madness” became my MJ bible, that I read cover to cover, six times and absorbed like a schoolbook. I took notes. Forced myself to learn and recall facts. Everything I could.
I lived, breathed and die by this book!
Even though at 12, I was perhaps too young to have read some of that material. No kid should ever read about a groupie losing her virginity to a young Jermaine Jackson. It was just wrong. Especially since Michael and Marlon as children were in the next bed and could hear everything.
But I didn’t care. I stuck it out and absorbed everything. I made it my duty and my business. It mattered to me.
Eventually, I was so well versed in Michael, between that book and the Internet, I became the source my friends went to for anything Michael.
My mornings at school had my friends with me, just shooting questions at me:
“Where’s Michael?”
“In Indiana getting a key to the city.”
“How old is Michael?”
“Forty-three” (in 2001)
“Is his son named after Prince?”
“Hell no!”
That was a typical day for me.
And I never hid my love of Michael. I was always very public and up front about it. In school people I didn’t even know, knew me as “That Girl that Liked Michael Jackson.” It was just known by all.
(Which is why I can’t stand all the damn posers that popped up after Michael died claiming they loved him so much. No, where the fucking hell were you when he was alive? Huh? You should have been loving him them you little lying sons of bitches! Stacie says I’m a bona fide fan because I loved Michael and was proud of it while he was still living even when people thought he was so strange and pedophile and all that other BS. And you know, Stacie is right. I didn’t jump on the bandwagon after the fact. I was upfront with my affection to Michael. I‘m proud of that.)
It’s a source of pride to me to be a Michael Jackson fan. I basked in his greatness while he was on this earth for too brief a time, now I help to keep his legacy in motion. And as proud of Michael as I am, I pray he’s somewhere on a cloud, proud of me.
Yeah, I want Michael Jackson to be proud of me.
Long post…I’ll keep it shorter and sweeter next time.
Thank you for reading!
Michael Jackson always makes me feel better.
I don’t understand it; how he does it, but he always makes me feel better. And lately I have been feeling lower than an amoeba on a flea. Then around 11:30 last night, while I was watching Frasier--yeah, I watch Frasier, damn it--I decided on a whim to watch Michael.
And I have dozens of MJ DVDs at my disposal because I sometimes like to buy him rather than eat, and the payoff from my efforts lie all over my house.
So, I popped in the History tour from Auckland, New Zealand.
Better than a freaking B-12 shot in the ass! It perked me right up!
It’s amazing to me how after so many years of being an MJ fan--seventeen years--that I still can have moments where it seems I fall in love with Michael Jackson all over again. It truly is remarkable to me.
And during the concert, I found myself swooning over Michael and what he was saying and doing onstage. I even found myself with moist eyes several times.
I can’t really describe it. The feeling of love and adoration and respect I feel for Michael Jackson. It’s just something specific and special for Michael that I just don’t have for anyone else.
And when I was watching Michael, I found myself marveling at his beauty. How sexy he was. And wonder how someone can fix their mouth to say he’s ugly or unattractive.
I just feel a person has to be blind or mentally defective to not see what I see when I gaze upon Michael Jackson.
I write eroticas for Michael all the time and I am an EXPERT when it comes to describing Michael.
The pale, smooth, milky and luminescent skin that’s so perfect you just want to lick it. Rub a cookie over it or something. Sample the sweetness. The big, glimmering dark doe eyes that are the orbs that reveal the depths of Michael’s gentle soul. The slender ski jump nose that complements his angular and taut face. That pinky, ribbon of a mouth that leaks the most wonderful songs in the known universe.
That long, graceful, swanlike throat, that connects to that wondrous, lovely, body. That slinky, slender frame that can move with the greatest of ease, and tease whomever happens to take a glance at him.
I literally can go on all damn night, down to his toenails.
The beauty, the simple, sheer beauty.
I noticed once that Michael Jackson was born on a Friday in 1958. I believe God made him then, so he could take the entire weekend to admire his work. LOL.
This is why I adore and admire Michael so greatly. Am so swift to defend him, if need be.
I can’t think of anything else in this world that lifts my spirits when I feel bad. So bad I wanna jump in traffic during rush hour.
Michael makes me want to live. Want to look at him, enjoy him, love him.
That’s why I’m so dedicated to him. Buy his albums, and dolls and other memorabilia. Do I need them? Probably not. Do I want them? HELL YES.
Why I always write stories for him, help keep his legacy alive.
Because if I can bring just ONE person to Michael, help them become a fan, then I’d feel like … like I had accomplished something that was of significance.
I’ve had fans tell me the sweetest things about my stories, I even have one friend who reads my stories simply because I write them. My name being attached to it is reason enough and it makes me so proud because I’m helping people to think of Michael. Remember him. And I just want to cry tears of gratefulness. To put Michael on people’s minds…just is a lovely warm feeling, like a blanket wrapped around me.
I do it for him. I do it for Michael Jackson. It’s not about me, it’s about Michael. It’s about him. That’s what I tell myself when I write a story. It’s Michael and I have to represent him in a dignified way. I never want to portray him in a negative way.
I just love Michael so much. I kind of hate to say “love” because it doesn’t seem strong enough a word to me.
To completely demonstrate and encapsulate just exactly how I feel about Michael.
It’s a feeling I’ve had since I was nine years old and saw the premiere of the “You Are Not Alone” video and giggled at Michael being naked as a jaybird.
I remember being very young and knowing I liked Michael Jackson and not exactly knowing WHY.
When I was 11, I figured it out--Michael was sexy and that was why I liked him. (And my mother freaked out when she heard me call Michael sexy! And I got yelled at because I said “Michael makes me think of one word and that‘s “sexy“ and mother thought I said “sex“ and started hollering I didn‘t need to be watching him playing with himself on TV [the crotch-grab]! LMAO!)
Michael really does make me feel better and everyday I thank God for letting me find Michael and be a fan of his.
I really do think that God sent me Michael and let me find Michael all those many years ago with a reason.
I truly got into Michael by accident, and he’s the best accident I ever had.
I could type on and on until my fingers bled about Michael, but I’ll cut out now.
I’m just glad Michael perks me up. I wish I could hug him and thank him.
Hey Y’all.
It’s already August and as we all know, Fall is right around the corner. Already, aside from planning my annual celebration of Michael Jackson’s birthday at the end of the month, I have begun trying to plan my look for the fall and winter months.
I do realize that the only time I go out is to go to dialysis, the grocery store or to the hospital, but I do always try to look my best, even if I’m dog sick.
I am trying desperately to rebuild the life I’ve lost due to my illness. Before I was stuck at home, babysitting my ailing father and writing stories to kill time, I did have a life.
I used to go out and have a group of friends and be happy.
Now, I’m never happy and have only one friend left in town as the others have moved away and started lives of their own.
And before I lose the last one as she’s in the process of establishing her career and life, I want to try to make something of myself. Get something for myself.
With dialysis as an overbearing monkey on my back, a lot of things have been eliminated. I can’t go to school or work a steady job because there’s no telling how I’ll feel once dialysis is over. I so rarely see other people. Unless they’re hooked up to a machine or hacking their lungs up in an emergency room.
But I plan to change that. I do know how important appearances are and how looks are everything. I figure I have a decent face, even if the body attached to it is in shambles. And if I could use my face to my advantage, perhaps I could meet a nice boyfriend. I know that if I have a boyfriend, he’ll have friends, and I can be friends with his friends, and get back into the social scene. Going places. Doing things. Having a good time again. It’s been such a long time since I’ve had a good time. Laughed and meant it. Smiled and meant it.
I want to be joyous and actually feel it. I feel nothing now but an ever-present, resentful dread at dialysis. Hating myself every second of every day for ever saying Yes to it.
The worst decision of my natural life. If you ever have the decision to have to take dialysis, make sure you have something to live for--boyfriend, husband, kids, job--before you say Yes. I didn’t and signed what semblance of life I had away. It’d be simpler and far less traumatic to die. Believe me.
Cheaper too.
So back to my fall look. I know people say to dress for the kind of job you want. I’m going to dress for the kind of man I want. I wouldn’t’ put any thought into myself if it weren’t for the idea that Mr. Right could be right around the corner and I don’t want to scare him off.
Sure I could sleep later in the mornings and forgo the make up and hair and clothing. Then I’d wind up with Mr. Wrong.
Ideally, I’d like a man who looks like Michael Jackson and while I wait for Hell to freeze over in the meantime, I want someone respectable.
Nice, working, God-fearing. Someone I would be proud to be on the arm of. And I can’t just look like anything and expect to attract him.
So my look for fall is more on the dressy casual edge. Maybe even slightly businesslike. Slacks, skirts, slim fitting sweaters and blazers are what I want to wear. I don’t even really want to put on jeans, unless they’re patterned or something.
I want to stand out from the pack. Look pretty to someone special. Brighter colors, but nothing clown-like of course. I’m going to make sure everything I slip onto my body does my figure favors and compliment my skin tone.
And for make up, I’ve noticed lately, I’ve been heavy-handed with my eyeshadow. So I’m going to lighten up. Still using eye-catching colors, but not so much. I don’t believe in a “natural” look, but I will do something to enhance my features.
Everything I’m going to do is to enhance Tiffeny and make her look as good as possible.
Whether you want to believe it or not, I don’t directly see myself as pretty or attractive. All I see when I look at myself is all my dialysis scars because they leap out at me as little silent, ugly reminders.
I use the cues I get from other people. If someone compliments me, I figure I’ve done something right. If I hear nothing, I regroup and try to make a better effort the next time out.
And really, I have all the time in the world to commit to it. Dialysis gets me for 9 hours out the week and the rest I have to baby-sit my dad. (Really I do!)
When I’m not writing my stories for the MJ club--my erotica thread has about twenty alone--,I’m up to my ears in fashion magazines, blogs and websites.
Hell, I even get emails straight from Rachel Zoe on trends!
I’m doing the best I can to try to be pleasant. And I will do everything I can.
Except wear orange lipstick. The fool that said that was a hot look needs to be carried in a rural field and shot a few times. I don’t want to look live I’ve Frenched a hunk of citrus.
Well, wish me luck, because how some general plot for war, I’m waging a bigger battle--trying to find love in a loveless world.
Till next blog!
Now I don’t know what y’all have been doing the last few days, but I know I have been literally glued to the news stations listening at anything and everything having to do with this odd Jacksons drama that has been unfolding. I mean between the family fighting like junkyard dogs, Paris Tweeting and Mrs. Jackson going “missing” it has made for spellbinding television. And usually, I am one to jump face first into anything having to do with the Jacksons.
But I think I wanna hold onto my opinions for the present. I still want at some point to meet Marlon Jackson. And I’d like for him to greet me with a handshake, not a punch to the nose. So all I’ll say is all the problems the family seems to be experiencing, I hope they can find some common ground and at least call a truce damn it. They’re the Jacksons for crying out loud. They’re classy. They’re not the fucking Kardashians. (Though we ALL know about TJ and Kim, and if you don’t, BING it!)
Back to my point of this blog post in the first place. Though I am still pretty damn steamed like a lobster about The Jackson Four cancelling their concert in Houston, I have been taking some time to work on my eroticas. And depending on the era I use for Michael, I go look to videos and photos for inspiration. So I’m kicking around Youtube and looking at different videos from the Jacksons around 1980-1981 and on the side a video of the Jacksons on their current Unity tour (isn’t it funny as all HELL that the tour is called UNITY and they’re coming apart at the seams?)
Anyway, I remember I looked at the video of the concert and happened to catch Jermaine singing an MJ song, and he wasn’t doing it true justice, though I applaud his effort. It was late so I quit watching the video and went to bed.
The Jacksons followed me to bed!
I had a really funny just random dream about the Jacksons. The way it started was my friend Ebonie showed up and was in kind of a tizzy, yelling that the Jacksons were at the local auditorium and to come meet them before they left. That Marlon was there! Of course, I set a land speed record getting there with my friend.
Up on this stage, handing out pictures and signing them, were Jermaine, Marlon and Tito Jackson. (I don’t know where Jackie was)
I ran up onstage and snatched a photo and was holding it out for them to sign. I remember I wanted to get to Marlon first, but Jermaine prevented it. He had on his guitar for some reason and the damn neck of it was in the way.
I was pissed, and as Jermaine was scribbling on the picture, I told him I was mad they’d cancelled their show. Jermaine never looked at me, but did say he was sorry. That’s how I knew I was dreaming. I’ve never heard Jermaine Jackson apologize in my natural life.
I finally got around that damn guitar and hugged Marlon and Tito, happy to see them.
Yeah, I high-hatted Jermaine.
And that was kind of it, my friend and I in the parking lot admiring our autographs. It was weird.
Just something random I wanted to share. It stands out to me because I’m used to dreaming about MICHAEL, not his brothers at all, so it was kind of a new thing. But it was funny to me. I couldn’t get away from the Jacksons on TV and they’re in my dreams now! Wonder if anymore will appear tonight? Tito? Jackie? Randy? Ha-ha!
Hey Y’all!
Publicity Photo of Leslie
Now before you go wagging your fingers and shaking your heads at me, I am not, I repeat NOT talking about “that kind” of affair. Everything about me is decent and I am respectable woman.
As many of you know, if you’ve kept up with my postings, I am a great fan of classic films. (Stuff made prior to 1970)
I wanted to speak about one of the many, many classic film actors that I’ve grown to love and be a fan of.
I first heard of the actor Leslie Howard when I first saw the film “Gone with the Wind” in which Leslie played his most notable role, as that of the refined, and elegant Mr. Ashley Wilkes, the object of affection to Vivien Leigh’s Scarlett O’ Hara.
I had never seen Leslie before, but had heard talk of him here and there in reference to the film. A few years ago, when I first saw GWTW, I had been reading the book, and in my mind I guess you could say I had a certain image of what Ashley Wilkes looked like. A tall, thin, fair man of course.
I remember when the film came on, I was sitting on the floor of my den, and watched the scene that introduced Ashley, at the Wilkes’ barbecue right before the outbreak of the Civil War.
I heard Scarlett say “Oh Ashley!” and wave and here came Leslie as Ashley, down the steps.
I kind of hate to admit it now, but at the time, I didn’t like him. He didn’t seem to fit the role. Everyone else looked how I imagined them. Scarlett, Melanie, Mammy (Hattie McDaniels) even Prissy (Butterfly McQueen)
Sure he was gangly and blonde but Leslie just didn’t look right. It wasn’t until I got the movie on DVD, I found out what the problem was.
At the age of 46 years old, he was entirely too old to have played Ashley who was only 21 at the start of the film. He was made up like a corpse, with a hair piece and what was left of his real hair had been bleached to death. I knew he was playing a part, but it was overkill on the poor man. (Also Leslie had never wanted to play Ashley in the first place. He only took the part after he was promised he could produce a film called “Intermezzo” featuring a young Ingrid Bergman)
Anyway, since Leslie was under so much crap, I really was distracted by what else was a wonderful and enriching performance that still move people over 70 years later.
The way I get into different stars is with the help of the Turner Classic Movies channel, usually when they play a film with a star I like.
That happened with Leslie.
One of my favorite actresses is Bette Davis. And I had heard that TCM was showing her first film called “Of Human Bondage” a British film based on a book. And Leslie happened to play her love interest in it.
In Of Human Bondage with Bette Davis.
Watching the film, I saw a bit of a different man. Not all made up, except for a limp as he played a man with a clubbed foot, it was a tour de force, and the more and more I watched this particular film, the more and more I began to realize how talented and brilliant Leslie was.
I found myself starting to like him more and more even though he looked nothing like the usual matinee idols I swooned over who were all dark haired and swarthy looking.
And in walks this pale, frail, tow-headed man and I’m hooked and kooky about him. Something about him just spoke to me. The thing I like about my fanhood of Leslie is that it wasn’t like my admiration of say, Jimmy Stewart or Johnny Weissmuller, which started on looks and evolved to their bodies of work as actors.
With Leslie, I was put off first by his looks and it was sheer talent he had that won me over.
And I wanted to learn as much as I could about Leslie Howard.
And it was in the search that was particularly heartbreaking for me. (No, he wasn’t gay or anything like that)
Aside from the untimely death of silent star Rudolph Valentino, I don’t quite think any film star’s death was as tragic as Leslie’s.
You see, Leslie was a native Brit, and in the late 1930s and early 1940s, if you know your history, World War Two was raging on with Hitler and the Nazi forces taking over the United Kingdom.
Well Leslie, as a film star was using his influence and raising money for war bonds was on his way to England to help.
The way wikipedia told it was that the Luftwaffe, Hitler’s special air forces, shot Leslie’s plane down thinking that the British Prime Minister Winston Churchill was aboard the plane and Leslie Howard perished in the crash.
I don’t even think his body was recovered. He was only FIFTY YEARS OLD for crying out loud. That’s not old at all. And I remember I just felt hurt and upset that he had to die in such a needless and heinous way. I don’t care if it was decades before I was even born. A death is a death, and a life was lost and it was just tragic and needless.
It made me admire Leslie even more because he gave his life trying to help his country, just like all the other boys in England and America and everyone who were Allies in the war.
(I am particularly well versed in all things about WW2 because my father, who is 85 years old, served in the war when he was young.)
I just wanted to take some time out of my day and a little space on my blog to talk about a performer who was a lovely actor and who means a lot to me because I draw so much from the performances I have seen him in.
I just wanted to share that.
And if you want to check out some of Leslie’s movies, here’s a few of my favorites:
*Gone with the Wind (best place to start!)
*Of Human Bondage (Bette Davis’ film debut)
*Pygmalion (the film Audrey Hepburn’s My Fair Lady is based upon--without the infernal singing!)
*The Painted Forest (with Bette Davis and Humphrey Bogart)
*Romeo and Juliet (with Norma Shearer)
Leslie Howard 1893-1943
I may do more blog posts like these because there really IS more to me than just Michael Jackson!
I lived, breathed and die by this book! 