The miserably dwindling sands in the hourglass have left me with very little time to write this column. I have procrastinated and ignored the inevitable. When one thinks so little about a column beforehand that he has no subject by deadline, he must take what the Writing Piper gives him.
The miserably dwindling sands in the hourglass have left me with very little time to write this column.
I have procrastinated and ignored the inevitable. When one thinks so little about a column beforehand that he has no subject by deadline, he must take what the Writing Piper gives him.
The resulting column is payment to the Piper who wants to cover the world with mindless drivel and blank pages.
There are so many important things to write about, but the Piper is notorious for demanding as payment a column of his choosing. If I promised to write something fluffy, not stuffy, the Piper said he would let me finish this one on time.
The Piper insisted I write about Michael Jackson.
“But, please Mr. Piper, I don't know anything about Jacko.”
“Everyone knows something about Michael,” the Piper replied.
“People know what they saw on TV, or read in the entertainment rags,” I said. “They don't know enough to write anything intelligent.”
“They know what they heard in his music,” the Piper countered.
So I began writing, racing against time:
Michael Jackson was a child star, along with his brothers.
Their group, The Jackson 5, sang pop music that came out of Motown.
One of the most enduring efforts was a Christmas album. It was a blend of secular and holy Christmas songs recorded before Michael's voice changed. In some of the songs, the sheer, childlike exuberance in Michael Jackson's young voice is as electrifying as the joy and wonderment in a child’s eyes on Christmas morning.
Jackson became one of the most popular singers in America before puberty.
At age 13, he recorded a movie song about a rat named Ben that was creepy, but good.
He started a solo career and became the self-proclaimed “King of Pop.”
His album “Thriller” sold the most copies ever. During this time period Michael created a dance step called “the Moonwalk.”
Fred Astair, the great American dancer, called Jackson to personally express his appreciation of “the Moonwalk.”
Michael built a dream mansion and personal amusement park called “Neverland.”
He never recaptured the success of “Thriller.”
He married the daughter of Elvis Presley.
He was the father of three children.
He did a lot of other things that I won't mention.
If you want to know more, visit the Internet, or wait until the multi-volume unauthorized autobiography comes out.
In the end, Michael Jackson's fans stuck with him, but he died the kind of death we all dread, leaving this world behind while still paying the piper.