Chapter Fourteen: She doesn't even speak my language

So, the blogosphere has exploded, the Twittersystem has ruptured and the Facebookverse has gone supernova and will soon form a black hole from which nobody can escape.

I speak of course of the aftermath of the double-feature deaths of Jackson and Fawcett. A few years ago, John Ritter and Johnny Cash died on the same day, and I had mixed feelings about it because I never watched Ritter's show and Cash's movie hadn't come out yet, although I did like some of his music. We were also years away from mass-communicating on such an instantaneous level as we do now. We would beam our every thought into the minds of everyone we know and thousands of people we don't, if the technology were sufficiently cool. Nothing tests the speed limit of information like the death of a celebrity - or two.

On times like these, of course, your Facebook newsfeed overflows with commentary. The death of a well-known figure encourages this. The problem is, with everyone throwing one pebble in the pond, suddenly the whole thing gets full of rocks. (You like that metaphor? Just came up with it. I'm a writer.) So it begins to feel like it's the only thing going on that day, like people have lost their sense of priorities and can only focus on one thing, when the truth is the lifespan for this kind of thing - unless it becomes an overwrought epic like the Anna Nicole, or Chris Benoit - is brief. People read the news item, update their Facebook status, and move on, or perhaps, if they don't personally care, mire in dismay at how many other people do.

So there's a lot of "RIP Michael you gave us so much good music" and a lot of "He was just a singer, you didn't know him." I guess one isn't really more valid than the other. Considering the exam yesterday consisted of the question "What is the story?" I can't help but focus on the bizarre facts of Jackson's life - that his unrivaled success in one decade gave way to unprecedented tabloid scandals in the next. That's the arc of his life. A lot of people I've heard from are trying to focus only on the music, but the music simply isn't the only thing. Remember Living with Michael Jackson? But listen. The harsh reality of a superstar shouldn't wipe away the entertainment they provided (unless they were a one-hit wonder like Gary Glitter.)

It doesn't diminish Elvis' legacy that he was a bloated pill-popper. The Shirelles don't sound worse because Phil Spector is a murdering scumbag. You can still listen and enjoy Buddy Holly's recordings with the knowledge that he was a serial rapist. (Okay, that last one isn't true. For some reason I'm finding that word a lot more funny than it actually is lately, and I need to get it out of my system before I start writing my next play.)

Prior to my hearing this -- which incidentally was on the train home from class as the guy next to me got a text and announced it to his friend -- it had been an uneventful day. It was supposed to thunderstorm - and it did, but only while I was on the train, between Oakville and Port Credit stations. There was a cool breeze in the city, leaving me to feel somewhat underdressed in shorts. Oakville was more humid. I spent the day pretty deeply absorbed in my own issues, largely tuning out of my Poli Sci lecture, which can't be healthy since I have a test next week. I felt like there was a lot of cleavage around and it was hard to ignore, although maybe it requires a more loose definition. Boob curvature.

Anyway, I'm still looking for that moment of relaxation where I can settle my mind. All this media theory, the Facebook stuff, is wearisome. Like, I'm not even as surprised as I should be about his death ("I didn't even know he was sick!") It seems awfully sudden, but I've had a lot of death these past few months anyhow. I feel like before long something too-big-to-process is going to happen and really shake me up. That's a scary thought.

What I'm really disappointed about is how I can't read Roger Ebert's review of the new Woody Allen movie. What's up with that, huh?

I think I'm done for tonight. Time to go find the center of it all, then drink there.

Keep on rockin'
-Scott