Derrick K. Baker: Michael Jackson and the Frailty of Life

I still can't believe that Michael Jackson is dead. When I watch news reports, enjoy his over-the-top videos that now are in heavy TV rotation or talk to people about the circus that was his life and the knock-you-off-your-feet tragedy that is his death, it absolutely still feels like a dream. Surreal. Mean. Unfair. When Michael's songs that still make me sing along and snap my fingers grace the radio when I'm in the car, I am crooning like a mad man to "Smooth Criminal" and "Another Part of Me" and "Butterfiles," the last of which is a flat-out jam for anybody who can dance even just a lick. How can the King of Pop be dead? Why isn't he walking around yet another mall somewhere with a throng of paparazzi capturing his every move and his three kids semi-camouflaged with those Mardi Gras-like masks covering their innocent faces. Was he weird? Of course he was. MJ was weird and eccentric as hell. Nutty as a fruitcake and even more off the wall than his album "Off The Wall." But ... (link)