My partner in crime, Mock, celebrated her 40th birthday yesterday. And you know what that means? Well, besides creating a huge fuss over her (and rightfully so, as you only turn 40 once), it made me realize that holy CRAP, I'm on the slope to 40. Now granted, I'll be 38 in August, but I'm on the slope and gaining speed. It's official.
In addition to the Mock hoopla, Farrah Fawcett died yesterday, which totally sucks. I know she had her "I'm going to do abstract painting with my naked body" phase and appeared to be all druggified in her later years on Letterman and stuff, but I liked Farrah. I liked her because I LOVE Charlie's Angels, as I've always secretly wanted to BE a Charlie's Angel. In fact, I was walking on the treadmill the other night, watching the second Charlie's Angels movie (the Drew Barrymore/Cameron Diaz/Lucy Liu version), and I was asking myself: "Self....I wonder when they're going to come out with another Charlie's Angels movie. It's about time."
And my Self agreed with myself. It is time, indeed.
To top it all off, I get home after an exhausting day of work and birthday fuss to hear from Mr. Daisy that Michael Jackson had died. I was pretty shocked, as were a lot of people. Now, I'll freely admit that I think the dude was a complete vampire-like freak. I know it's not politically correct to say such a thing, as you're supposed to have respect and reverence for the dead. But he named his kid Blanket, and he was weird. You know you're thinking it, too...so don't even try to tell me I'm being snarky here.
I will give the guy credit where credit is due, and that credit for me lies with his music, of course, and the memories his music created for me. Thriller was one of my favorite albums of all time. I wore it out. And, my childhood and teenage years were just FILLED with Michael Jackson music. He personified the 80s. Hands down.
After hearing the news about his death, I called my sister and made the obvious next comment of, "well, you know this stuff happens in threes....so who's the third?"
To which she responded, "Duh...Ed McMahon."
And there's the triumverate. Three very 70s and 80s popular icons. On the day that my best pal turned 40. And the day that I realized that I'm really, REALLY not getting any younger.
With all that said, I look forward to my 40s. They say 40 is the new 30, and I even spewed that to Mock and meant it. I think my 40s will be the best decade yet...
Off to work now, listening to the radio playing softly in the background. Of course, programming has been set to Michael Jackson - all day long.
With that, I leave you my absolute favorite song of his of all time. On that downhill slope to 40, I'd like to at least pretend that I'm still a Pretty Young Thing.
I defy you not to shake it (you know you want to just a little bit):
