I’m Not Feeling You Dying Michael Jackson
Not that I really think anything else about Michael Jackson really needs saying, but… the first gift I remember receiving was a copy of Thriller and the Fisher-Price record player that turned on when you closed the top. I was four. So, I was really pretty bummed about MJ. Like a lot. Which, besides the vaginal seafood, is kind of the big thing about living in another country.
Because when something big and sort of spiritually wounding happens, you can’t help but be re-reminded of how very far you are from most of the people who also got that Fisher-Price record player and a copy of Thriller when they were four. So instead of the communal grieving you crave, you end up trying to explain what it means to be from a place where a black/white, victim/predator sings you your lullabies to an Australian who doesn’t care.
Which, besides the vaginal seafood, is kind of the best thing about living in another country… getting to realize how lucky you are to be from a place where a black/white, maniac/genius, victim/predator sang us to sleep.
I had that record player! And a copy of “She’s So Unusual.” Indeed, I think it would be an emotional hurdle to be surrounded by people who never unwittingly danced around with their grandma to a song about masturbation.
We all had that record player, it’s why we’re all so awesome.