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Ah, all the girls at my Junior High who tried to wear Farrah-dos.
I had the poster for a while, and I sure loved it, but perhaps its ubiquity meant I took it down sooner than others. Anyway, it's one of those images so prevalent, I don't even need to look at it to see it. It's etched fine on some part of my grey matter, and god bless Farrah for it.
I remember admiring her work in The Burning Bed, and I hear she is good in The Apostle, which I still haven't seen.
As for Jacko, well, I met him and he was nice. (I've told the tale elsewhere, and it's late.) Culturally, he signified the 80s at least as much as Farrah stood for the 70s. (I never had a poster of him, though.) I remember when Thriller premiered on MTV - it was a party with friends, complete with popcorn, Coke and, if I recall right, Tangy Taffy. Musically, I was into hipper stuff, but I admired the slickness, energy and broad appeal of what Michael was doing. Later on, I was often sad about the apparent self-loathing, the unfortunate cosmetic decisions, and of course, the alleged pedo-crimes. It's impossible not to have mixed feelings.
This week has been full of reunions with friends from 20 years ago, and news of icons dying. At this moment, I want to stop revisiting the past and keep my gaze forward. I've done a lot of melancholy misting up the last seven days, but with plenty of joyous laughs and smiles as well. I'm f**king exhausted!
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