Tag: Michael Jackson

Genius or Madness? Must There be Both?

I recently pondered that age-old question how far is the distance between genius and madness?

From where I’m sitting not so very far.

It seems those whom have been gifted with great talent are also cursed with torment and a cornucopia of demons.

I may be wrong, as it has been known to happen for sure. Yet when we look at some of the great artists, they seem to have carried a great deal of baggage on their trip through life.

I will focus on music and begin with Michael Jackson. Now of course there are those who may argue it was his upbringing and not his genius that caused his behavior and demons.

I imagine it was both. Yet watching him perform there is a certain tension one feels that he may explode from holding all that talent in and BOOM!

It’s as though if he sings one more chorus and does one more moonwalk he will literally explode.

His body seems unable to contain whats inside him.

No one who has seen him perform, either live or on screen can argue this is a man with an overabundance of talent. A gift that exceeds most by so far, it’s impossible to ignore.

It’s also quite obvious his demons are as great as his talent. His behavior cried out he was hiding pain. Yet, I imagine he was happy in his way.

Any man that possesses two battling spirits must be confused. The Michael that created and felt the excitement of performing and executing his art. Then there was the other Michael. Unsure of how to contain such a vast amount of talent. It must have been difficult to be him. I am not going to use this platform to judge him or his actions. I am far from convinced he was as kind or caring a person as he seemed.

In fact, I am sure he could be relentless and unscrupulous to a frightening degree. I’m just assuming a dark side to his character, but if I’m wrong, I apologize. Michael Jackson was not a man who felt or acted in small ways. It was all over the top and beyond.  

Did we enjoy his music? Yes. Did we enjoy watching him perform? Yes, as well. Do any of us really believe he had a handle on his demons? Of course not. Yet it didn’t seem to stop us from being amazed by his talent. We accepted his genius was simply too much for him to control. Watching him perform one ran the gamut of emotions from excitement to awe and ultimately confusion. Confused his extraordinary gifts also seemed to be his greatest curse.

If we’re talking about those who are blessed with enormous talent one must never forget Bob Fosse. Another prime example of a man with extraordinary abilities to transfix, excite and move us, yet unable to contain his demons.

Yes, there is a pattern emerging here and it’s a scary one.

I was a great fan of Fosse since the golden age of MGM musicals. They were catnip to me and I reveled in watching Howard Keel sing, and Ann Miller and Fosse dance. There were so many great talents displayed there, but even at a young age I couldn’t take my eyes off Fosse. Something about the way he leaped higher, moved more stealthily and had that IT factor was never lost on me. He seemed to fly higher through the air, smile wider, engage more; he was simply Fosse.

He went on to increase his gifts with the advent of directing in addition to choreography. Broadway became a perfect vehicle to display his genius. Fans appreciated every moment spent watching Damn Yankees, Sweet Charity or Pajama Game.

Cinema welcomed him to create an unforgettable adaptation of Cabaret and his public ignored the drugs, infidelity and self- destructive behavior he exhibited.

But that’s what we do with our idols. We accept somehow there’s a price to pay for such gifts that rise so far above us mere mortals, we’ve stopped questioning why.

As someone who actually watched up close and personal as Robin Williams performed onstage, I can tell you I believe that man’s brain did not work like other people’s.

Now of course we all know, and I freely admit that yes, comics are a bit, shall we say, off, to start with. But true comedy genius reaches another level. Robin achieved that level. Watching any great comic is a double sensory experience. Our eyes and ears are working together to bring us the message that will click in our brains and spark our funny bone.

Robin added another intensity to our sight. One could almost see his mind working as hilarity spewed from his mouth. Constantly and consistently nonstop.

It was as if you’d boarded a train going one hundred miles an hour and had no desire to jump off.

Robin was rare. I can tell you there are many brilliant and hilarious comedians, many I have been privileged to know and work with, but Robin was unique. His brain took off like a rocket ship and the stage was his launching pad.

There are many other great talents I could name, and many although incredibly talented owe much of their pain to drugs.

I imagine some used drugs or alcohol to soothe the pain of genius.

So many gifted people the likes of Van Gogh, Beethoven, Orwell, Frida Kahlo, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison, Hemingway and countless other musicians, writers, poets and artists created and suffered simultaneously. And no list of gifted performers would ever be complete without the incredible Sammy Davis Jr. He made it all look so damn easy. The man oozed talent.

Despite the tortured aspects of their personalities, they used their gifts. I cannot say whether their pain caused them to be greater or less.

If one is honest there seems to be a great many people besides artists battling demons. I only know when one looks at the geniuses we admire, they seem to have greatly suffered.

I for one am grateful they fought to excel and create as we are the benefactors of their talents. Especially now, the world is a more musical, beautiful and uplifting place because they did.

I’m Innocent I swear it; You’ll Thank Me Later

I’m writing this blog from my jail cell in Beverly Hills. I’m not complaining, the service is great and the food is from five-star restaurants. Even the police in BH understand that it’s all about fine dining. They also provide Ugg slippers and the silkiest Frette sheets in here.

I think everyone should get arrested in Beverly Hills. It’s better than most people live.

But as usual I digress. By now you’re all wondering what I did to deserve all this opulence.

Well, you see it was actually all very innocent, and I still don’t know why they’re making such a fuss.

Apparently, something about me being made an example or some such tripe. But I’m guiltless and justified, and I know that everyone on a jury will absolutely see things my way. I believe they’ll not only set me free, but award me a medal to boot!

It all started the other night at three in the morning. I was once again peacefully sleeping after my two-thirty a.m. bathroom run when it began.

I knew immediately when I heard the sound there was going to be trouble. I also knew from experience there was no denying I’d have to do something quickly before all hell broke loose.

I pulled the blankets aside and walked to the closet where I keep my weapon and then crept very slowly.

I had to be stealth because for some reason it likes to toy with its victims.

I waited. Chirp…a few minutes went by and again, chirp. Then it began coming faster. Now the chirps were louder and a minute apart.

Chirp, chirp. Defying me, goading me into a fight. Another few minutes of this torture and I would lose my mind and jump out a window.

The offender was smirking knowing it had the edge against this short person now looking up at its evil face.

Ha ha it thought. You can do nothing, nothing to stop me now.

I held the broom handle firmly and lifted it over my head.

“Chirp, chirp, chirp” it barked defiantly.

I aimed and with all my strength I banged it.

Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp it responded. Laughing that evil laugh it then started chirping faster and faster.

I lifted my weapon again and started to beat it until the battery flew out and it was silent. Michael Jackson must have written Beat It while he was killing a smoke alarm.  

I waited, nothing. All was quiet. Still attached to the ceiling bent and broken I

I picked up the battery and gave my nemesis the proverbial na na na na na.

Then after calming down with a few mediation breaths, I peacefully fell back asleep.

I knew I had to get someone to replace its vile battery, and I honestly planned to do it in the morning, but before I could even get my make up on, the bell rang.

“Who is it?”

“First Alarm. We’re here to see you about casualty 7360042.”

“Huh?”

“We need to see you immediately about 7360042.”

“Is this those television guys who play pranks on people?”

“No. Madam. We’re from First Alarm and we need to see you. Please open the door and let us in. We believe we have a victim in there.”

“A victim?”

“Yes, number 7360042.”

I dialed the Beverly Hills police and told them someone was trying to break into my place.

“Just a minute,” I called out. “I’m not dressed.”

“Well please hurry, we may still be able to save it.”

“Okey, dokey, sure,” I answered.

The police were still on the phone with me and asked if the robber had entered yet.

“No, they are still outside the door and I’m sure they are insane.”

“The officers are pulling up now, they’ll be in shortly. Just stay on the phone with me.”

I heard the door open and footsteps in the hall. There was talking and then I suddenly heard a knock at the door.

Beverly Hills police, please open the door.

It’s so nice that they said please.

So anyway, I opened the door and the policeman said, “I understand there is a victim in here, may we look around?”

“Huh?”

“Is there a dead body in here?”

“Of course not, look around,” I stammered.

The guy from First Alarm walked into the hall and pointed at the ceiling. “There, Officer, there it is, number 7360042.”

“Are you going to press charges?” the Officer asked.

“Absolutely, I want this murderer arrested. Do you understand this alarm could save your life? And this is how you reward its caring, comforting nature?” He asked me.

“Or it could drive me into a psycho ward,” I countered.

The policeman shrugged and placed the cuffs on me. By the way those bracelets hurt and they are definitely not from Cartier.

I went into a state of shock and didn’t recover until they put me in front of a camera for a mug shot. I begged to at least put on some lipstick after they refused my glam squad request.

They did let me fix up a bit because after all this is Beverly Hills and we’re civilized here.

So now I’m sitting in the cell watching my flat screen TV and waiting for my unbelievably expensive Beverly Hills lawyer to bail me out.

I see him enter and a policeman open the door.

“What the hell?” he asks smiling broadly.

“I’m so happy I amuse you, but I know these people are crazy. It’s a damn smoke alarm,” I whimpered.

“I think I can make it go away. There is a new law that protects you from nuisances, including annoying chirping in your home. I’ll use that and have you out soon. Although you look pretty cozy in here.”

Ten minutes later he was back and the policeman let me out of the cell.

I will definitely miss those Frette sheets.

I was shocked when I left the station and there was a crowd outside carrying signs.

CHIRP and DIE. Free the Victims of First Alarm. Someone had Beat It playing on their iphone. Kill the beast! Norma for Governor. Someone held a newspaper headline reading Newsom Claims Smoke Alarm Chirping Speeds Hair Growth.

People were snapping pictures and I was grateful I’d worn black and applied lipstick.

So now I’m at the Beverly Hills City Council meeting. Can you believe this? They are giving me the key to the City.

I guess most of them have had the same experience with that annoying thing and that’s why they passed the new law.

It’s called the anti-chirp amendment and I understand Congress is thinking of enacting it nationally. Lord knows those Bozos have nothing else to do.

So anyway, now I’m some kind of local hero. Geez, all I did was smack the life out of an evil smoke alarm designed to run out of battery power after midnight.

I guess it’s in its DNA.

But I feel vindicated because First Alarm now has a new product that has a ten-year battery. At least I won’t have to hear the damn chirping for another ten years. But don’t worry, I’ve got my broom ready just in case.

Driving in L.A.— Kobe’s Death

 

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Driving in L.A.: Kobe’s Death

As I was attempting to drive in Los Angeles this morning while cars refused to let me turn, blocked intersections, cut me off, or refused to acknowledge when I let them cut in front of me, and everyone sped through traffic like they were a brain surgeon with a patient lying waiting on an operating table, I was taken by the amount of coverage about the terrible and untimely death of Kobe Bryant and his daughter Gianna. As a writer I turn to my words to express my feelings in response to tragedy and I am grateful to share them with you.

It struck me that when a celebrity dies, especially young ones, there are two kinds of grief, public and personal. Most of us only experience personal grief when we pass away. Our demise is shared with family and friends who hopefully will mourn our death and passing from this world with sadness and a sense of loss.

Yet when a celebrity dies, his or her family and friends must share their pain with the entire world.

I wondered if that enormous outpouring of grief affects a family’s ability to deal with tragedy.

There are many who believe prayer sends out energy into the world. Healing thoughts and prayers actually make a difference to the mourners and enhance their strength through the difficult process of losing a loved one. Or in Kobe’s family two loved ones. Is their healing magnified by the energy from all the prayers, or is it perhaps the same for everyone whether they have millions of prayers coming toward them or even one.

What is the power of prayer and how does it increase exponentially by numbers?

I’m not a member of the clergy or a faith healer so I can only go by my own personal experience.

I do believe that in a celebrity death the process is helped by the community prayers and healing in the form of shared pain.

I shall use as an example the death of John F. Kennedy since that is the most public grief I have ever witnessed in my lifetime and personally affected me so greatly.

How did Americans and the world deal with Kennedy’s death?

We sobbed, we watched the television and cried even more as we witnessed his family’s grief. I don’t believe I will ever be affected by any public grieving as much as the sight of John F. Kennedy Junior saluting as his father’s coffin passed. If there is a definition in Webster’s for heart wrenching I’d say it was John John, an image of that week which every American will forever carry in their memories.

The grief I felt couldn’t be dissipated due to the countless times his death was replayed on TV screens, in photographs and countless conversations with everyone and anyone.

Even to this day I still tear up whenever November 23rd nears, remembering vividly that day, that moment when Walter Cronkite, removing his glasses unsuccessfully fought back tears while making the historical announcement. Anyone of my generation can tell you with pinpoint accuracy where they were when it happened and how they felt.

Of course a presidential assassination is quite different from other celebrity deaths.

Most of us do however recall hearing the bad news of a high-profile death.

When John Lennon was killed, John John, Princess Diana, Ronald Reagan was shot, Frank Sinatra succumbed to a heart attack or even when Elvis Presley or Michael Jackson succumbed to their addictions.

Does public grieving help heal or is it merely a shared pain with others and does nothing to minimize one’s own? Watching William and Harry following their mother’s casket at the funeral was a painful sight, yet it was her sons that have lived without their mother and obviously in light of recent events, still suffer the pain. I’d like to believe that the outpouring of prayer for them helped at that moment, at least a bit.

In most religions there are mourning periods to help the family process the loss before returning to their lives. I imagine therein lies the difference. While there is always some comfort in the communal sharing of pain and grief, when the mourning period is over it is only the family and closest friends that are left to deal with the gaping hole in their existence.

As his many fans and friends mourn Kobe’s death still it is his family that must live the day-to-day moments without him and his daughter.

It was Jackie Kennedy, her children and the Kennedy clan that were reminded moment to moment of his loss. Yes the American people mourned him, but we went on with our lives and daily routines, sadder, but still carrying out business as usual while his family could not.

I don’t pretend to be an expert at understanding grief, I only know that it is a great equalizer in the human condition; one of the emotions that transcends culture, religion or gender. A broken heart has no color, political bias or religious affiliation, and reacts to pain exactly the same in every human, unless of course they are seriously mentally flawed.

I try valiantly to avoid involving myself in politics for I am quite aware that today’s enemy is tomorrow’s best buddy and the winds of affiliation shift with the frequency of a Kardashian husband. Yet, if Kobe’s death brings one point home it is this…in times of pain and suffering it is our fellow human beings we turn to for comfort, and perhaps we must keep that reality in mind when living our everyday lives.

Not in a preachy way, but I am so aware living in a city like L.A. so misnamed as the city of angels, that we need to smile more at strangers, say thank you when someone lets us cut into traffic and speak nicely to people who pass through our lives each day. A kind word or compliment to a someone can go a long way to brightening a day.  I try to silently repeat to myself at least twice a day, I am grateful for all I have and especially for the people in my life.

If we live each moment as though it were to be the last this would be a more loving and giving world. These are thoughts shared over and over by almost everyone, yet seem too quickly forgotten,

I have always believed the grim reaper has the largest Rolodex in the universe and when it’s your time to leave he knows where to find you.

I hope for all of you that when he does, he will find you smiling and with a heart filled with love.

Rest in peace Kobe, Gianna and all of those who’ve left loved ones behind. Perhaps we can best honor the dead, by embracing and revering all the good in life.