My Obligatory Michael Jackson Post

If one is going to refer to oneself a political and pop culture blogger, then it would be irresponsible to not write about the biggest pop culture story of our time, the death of Michael Jackson.

Sigh. I really couldn't care less about Michael Jackson. I love his songs but the unitards, crotch-grabbing, his Jackie-O whisper of a voice, his self-mutilation to the point of looking like a cross between an elf and an octogenarian female Wasp and, oh yeah, those child-molestation charges, made him less than palatable for me. So, why beat a dead horse (or circus freak)? Michael has crossed over to the beyond, he can finally rest from what seemed like a tortured life. Instead of talking about Michael and the lurid details of his life and untimely death, I'd much prefer to talk about his tacky family, attention-seeking monsters who in the days following his death have shown the scrappiness of street hustlers. Joe Jackson, this one's for you.

Everyone may want to shake Michael's doctor down for keeping the now deceased pop starlet on a steady diet of pills, but MJ was his own problem, that was a train headed toward collision. Period. But if fingers must be pointed, let's focus them on the Jackson family patriarch who thrust his kids into the limelight with fists and gall. The same man who is known to have beaten Michael as a child was able to muster up a red carpet ensemble to hock his wares on the red carpet at this past Sunday's BET Awards. Yesterday, in a black fedora standing next to Al Sharpton (speaking of fists and gall), Joe Jackson was the consummate pitch man, promoting his new record label and bemoaning his son's death. Wretched.

And then there's Janet. Miss Jackson. How nasty is she? Nasty enough to show up in her weave and faux tears at the BET Awards to thank the public for loving Michael, who wasn't an icon to her, but family. Womp womp. Can these people let the poor man's body get cold before they take to the airwaves to make a spectacle of themselves?

We're not even a week into this story and already I'm sick of the Jacksons. The only thing that will keep me sort of interested in this fiasco is the obligatory funeral, which will be the ultimate celebrity conclave. After that, I hope the entire Jackson brood skulks away into obscurity, leaving good music - and just the music - in their wake.