The spiritual center of the universe here. I'm just reaching out across countless galaxies, through burning stars and endlessly dark black holes, to tell you to STFU about Michael Jackson. Oh, don't make that face and proceed to perform a stiff-lipped, defiant "Thriller" dance in my direction (which, yes, is everywhere). I'm not telling you to stop because I'm sick of hearing about MJ (although, yes, I am) -- it's for the safety of your eternal soul.
See, it's a matter of universal balance. The Chinese refer to it as yin and yang. The idea also factors heavily into the Hindu concept of karma. How else to explain it...Paula Abdul needs Simon Cowell. And, yes, Simon needs Paula. Randy is there to let people know that the show isn't racist.
Anyhow. This balance. Normally, when someone who is close to you like your grandmother dies, you mourn their death by discussing your memories of that person extensively. This process will take several days. Right now, people are treating the death of Michael Jackson like everyone's grandmother died at once, and everyone's grandmother had a monster-based dance move and bunch of top-40 hits they could blast in every single public and non-public venue for 72 hours straight. All of this mourning of someone you didn't really know is throwing off the balance of your soul (or, as I like to call it, your "Personality Black Box" that I fish from the depths of your body when you die to figure out WTF went wrong).
"Oh!" you might argue. "We're not crying. We're not upset. We're just remembering Michael." Here's a tip: when you remember, use your brain voice, not CBS, NBC, ABC, FOX, ESPN, every major newspaper, every pre- and post-show soundtrack, all of the internet, and every magazine except the Dowsers Quarterly journal. No one wants to hear about your Michael Jackson memories, unless you're the Culkin child and can set a few rumors straight. If you danced to "Billie Jean" on your first date with your wife, if you first-learned what crotch grabbing was at a young age from watching a televised concert, welcome to the cross-section of humanity known as "pretty much everyone."
Yeah, the guy wasn't old, and premature deaths are always sad. But nobody would argue that that man was in perfect mental or physical health. And, moreover, even though he was working on his comeback tour, I think we can all agree that Michael was not likely to ever make music better than his old stuff. A lot of you, if you look deep inside of your Personality Black Boxes, would probably realize that you didn't even like Michael Jackson as a person; you found him creepy, but you enjoyed his music. I'm not trying to be callous (although I can be: vengeful god, etc. etc.), but please, let's be reasonable: the coverage, both from the media and from your mouth-hole, is way overdone. Put away your MJ albums for a couple of weeks so when you listen to them again, you're not completely tired of the music.
Anyway, that's all I've got for you today. Oh, and I know I haven't communicated with you in a while, so feel free to print this page out and tape it in the back of whatever holy book you subscribe to.
SCotU (Spiritual Center of the Universe)
Follow Meg Favreau on Twitter: www.twitter.com/ihaveapuma