I haven't said much to anyone about MIchael Jackson's death.* I didn't really feel that I had much to say; and like my experiences with most deaths, I didn't feel particularly moved (I just felt obligated to feel/appear sad). I appreciated him and his music, but I didn't cry or anything when I watched the memorial service.** I got to thinking though, as I'm wont to do, and remembered that my brother and I used to adore MJ. We used to watch Moonwalker ALL THE TIME. We knew the dialogue by heart, and we often used to jam out to the opening sequence of songs and performances (both Michael's solo ones and those with the Jackson 5/Jacksons), just to rewind the tape and jam all over again. I don't know what my brother's favorite clip was, but my favorite was watching little Michael do "the robot" to "Dancing Machine". My favorite Jackson 5 song (though it was technically a song on Michael's solo album while he was still with the Jackson 5) when I was younger was "Got to Be There"--it wasn't included in Moonwalker, unfortunately. In the song, little Michael Jackson is singing about being there "in the morning, when she [his love interest] says hello to the world," and that he's got to be there so that she's knows that with him is love, and with him she's home. Home is where the heart is, which is fortunate, as I'll probably heading back to my own hometown quite soon--and hopefully finally getting Mr. Meowmington, V.
I quit law school and haven't yet found a job to replace that void. I spend most of my days applying for jobs, feeling sorry for myself, grooving to my life's soundtrack, or doing some combination of the aforementioned. I've seen better days, friend, but I suppose my life really could be a lot worse. What stinks: if I don't find something here that I can suffer, I'll be leaving NYC. However, if I do leave and never come back permanently, I'll always be able to say I spent a substantial amount of time here and shall have lots of stories to tell. That's comforting.
While on one hand it's pretty upsetting to make my departure this way, going back home is a good thing. I miss being home, and I miss certain people (yourself included, dear reader). I'm not sure if I've told you before, but I really enjoy you and have missed your company. Living in Manhattan is living in a constant state of stimulus-overload. I spend almost all my time either stimulating myself (and, therefore, unintentionally ignoring you) or shutting down and retreating to the constant party in my head (which clearly does not involve conversation with you). Once I leave the city, I'll get back to getting to know you.
In other news, despite not having communicated with you in quite some time and not having gotten the P. Diddy gig (my running ended when I and only 39 other people were still up for consideration by the producers) and in spite of my personal setbacks, I'm certain that I remain the most ballin' person you know.
*I promise this post isn't about Michael Jackson. There are enough of those floating around the internet, and I don't feel particularly compelled to jump on that bandwagon.
** You know that I don't really cry anyway.
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