Here's the thing about working in cubicles -- or, more particularly, working in cubicles in an entertainment-based area of a company.
"Michael Jackson had a heart attack." It was announced, and repeated, and spread... But then, someone said, in a louder-than-conversation-level voice, "What?! He's dead! TMZ reported it," and the ripples went all around the floor from section to section, voices raised in increasing interest and alarm, people murmuring and then gasping and talking and speculating and what is the truth?
So a colleague and I, after figuring there wasn't much we could do news-wise, went uptown for a screening. By this time, it was pretty much confirmed that Michael Jackson was dead. We got off the subway and it was so surreal; nearly every person we passed on the street was on their cell phone, saying, "Michael Jackson died?" I'm not exaggerating. We heard it everywhere -- from the woman on her phone behind us, who may have been eavesdropping on our conversation ("Someone's saying Michael Jackson died!"), the woman as we crossed the street ("Did you hear Michael Jackson died?") and a guy in the theater as we were looking for seats ("I'm still waiting, but CNN hasn't confirmed it yet").
My colleague said he was heartbroken by the news of Michael Jackson's death, because he once idolized him. I said to him, to me, there are two Michael Jacksons. There's the guy who was the talented musical genius we all admired; and then there was the freakazoid psycho of the last few years, who named his kid Blanket. And if I'm being honest, that first guy died a long time ago. He's the one I want to remember, the kid who sang "The Love You Save" in the Jackson Five, the boy who stood on his toes and grabbed us and made us gasp, the guy who made walking on the moon seem like the most beautiful and impossible thing we've ever seen or attempted.
And now he's inexplicably dead, and it's hard to know how to react. Michael Jackson may have been a freak, but "Thriller" was the first album I ever bought (on cassette tape!), and I will never ever forget that. So cheers to you, Michael Jackson. Also Farrah Fawcett, who kinda got robbed. And Ed McMahon. And to all of you: Live your life off the wall. If you ever practiced the moonwalk at home in your bedroom, then ... make it mean something. Somehow.