Sunday, June 5, 2005

My Dreams For Michael Jackson

There was an editorial on this morning's CBS Sunday Morning news about our society's unnecessary fascination with the Wacko Jacko trial and how the luckiest people in America are the few who haven't heard a word about this celebrity circus. Now, these folks providing television commentary on the news events of the day, sitting alone in front of that black backdrop, obviously reading off a teleprompter something someone else wrote, are the pinnacle of dullsville. Either they're conservative and working to turn otherwise-decent Americans to the dark side, they're liberal weenies giving us a bad name, or — and this is the least of three evils — they're politically neutral and as disengaged as that disembodied voice who reads the legal fine print at the end of car ads. This guy fell into that third category.

His thesis was just rehashing the obvious: we would all have been better off if the Jackson trial never happened. I'll grant that. I mean, we would all have been better if Michael followed in Randy's footsteps and his biggest eccentricity was using the word "dog" at the wrong time. Or if he'd gracefully faded into obscurity like Jermaine or Latoya. Or if he got a normal job as, perhaps, a claims adjuster or in retail, where he wouldn't have the time to turn himself into a baby-dangling, chimp-kissing, no-longer-biodegradable tabloid headline. Basically, nothing good happens when Michael meets the more flamboyant elements of society.

The editorial continued that no matter who won the trial, everybody would lose. This is where I started thinking that this newsguy, even though his heart's in the right place, was a complete shit-for-brains. If Jackson won the trial, his reputation would be tarnished, this ass-clown said. Uh... what does that even mean when it comes to Michael Jackson? He's a pedophile, and his defense is that he didn't molest all the children he slept with. It's a good day for Michael when the late-night comedians joke about how he named his kid Blanket or about how his face is falling to pieces. And still, none of this seems to bother Jacko's posse of sycophants, ex-cons, and B-list celebrities who think they're A-list celebrities. I don't think Elizabeth Taylor spends her time fawning over too many other pederasts.

Which, in a nutshell, is the fucking problem with these freaks. The prosecutor, Thomas Sneddon, might have a weak case against Jackson, but the truth is that the case really isn't about Jacko or "his accuser" or the accuser's grifter parents. The case is about drawing a line in the sand on those exclusive-access Santa Monica beaches. I managed to catch the most insufferable of all human beings, Robin Leach, drawling out his schpiel about how the Hollywood types are so much more important than the rest of us: "...and there's nothing your concierge can't get for you if you're a celebrity. Dinner at the most exclusive restaurants, a chartered jet for the evening, your own private island for the weekend." If Sneddon wins, then we'll have at least one limit, one thing your concierge can't get you no matter how much you pay and no matter how important you think you are — no procuring nine-year-old boys from poor families because you're too impotent to have sex with a consenting adult.

That's why, even though my only interest in Jacko is in seeing him the victim of a Siegfried and Roy-style tiger mauling, I have a great indignant interest in the case. I don't think it's unfair to lump Jackson in with Ken Lay or Dennis Kozlowski, not to mention O.J. and Robert Blake and Martha Stewart and Nick Nolte and Puff Daddy (I call him "Sean") and the entire Brat Pack and Christian Slater as of this week and need I go on. I'll throw Jacko in the same category as Dubya and Osama: that is, people who think that because they're rich and (at least in their own minds) important that they don't have to follow the rules like the rest of us. "No is not in the vernacular of the ultra-famous," Robin Leach reminds us.

Here's a novel idea you're not likely hear from the mouth of Pat O'Brian: maybe it should be. This isn't about one pervert molesting kids, it's about democracy and egalitarianism and equal treatment under the law. Those folks out there supporting Michael are, I bet you, the same people bitching to their city councilman when a Megan's Law felon comes to live in their neighborhood.

I'm gonna do my part by not standing outside the Santa Monica courtroom with a
we love you Michael sign or buying any of Martha Stewart's crappy linens from KMart or watching The Apprentice or paying ten dollars to see Herbie: Fully Loaded. But I can't do this alone, people. For some reason, there's a whole subculture out there in middle America trying to get Hollywood to clean up its sex and violence, but I'm alone here eradicating just general douchebaggery. We can start by gagging Robin Leach.