Day 82 in the Las Vegas valley
I choose to remember these two icons as young and full of life, as I was when we first met. Both are now gone. And I have to wonder how much longer I have before I join them. Just a reminder that life ends for us all. It's up to us to make the best of it.
Michael Jackson was born the week before me on August 29, 1958 (I was born on September 5) and I remember him when we both turned 11 years old...he was singing his way to
superstardom and I was watching Farrah Fawcett on Charlie's Angels. I had the poster of Farrah (seen below) hanging on my bedroom wall. Mr. Jackson, of course, was all over the cover of Teen Magazine. As I'm writing this, I'm sitting in a Starbucks in Henderson, Nevada, and I hear a conversation:
"All of these people dying at the same age as me....it's making me nervous. I'm starting to think my time is getting closer," says Guy Number One.
Guy Number Two is walking out the door and responds by saying, "I know what you mean. Last year I started doing Yoga and working out and now I feel a lot better. None of us know when it's our time to go."
Ms. Fawcett died after a struggle with anal cancer (no cancer is a picnic, but anal cancer must be really horrible) at the age of 62. She remained beautiful until the end. Unfortunately Mr. Jackson lost his humanity somewhere along the way between the Jackson 5 concerts I remember as a
kid, his father's abuse, and an adoring public that wouldn't leave the guy alone.I just finished reading a book on the history of Las Vegas, and the role of Howard Hughes in developing the valley here. I thought how alike both the King of Pop and Howard Hughes were, both becoming victims of their own success.
And Farrah had those amazing...uh,...teeth.
