Prairie restoration

I received this e-mail from a friend a week ago:

Dear Krista:

Please update your fucking blog.

TIA, Dave

Yet here I sit, STILL NOT BLOGGING. I feel like I have nothing to say. No wit. No stories. No anecdotes. No pictures of Rob Pattinson. Blogger FAIL.

Yesterday, in a conversation about prairie restoration (don’t ask), someone explained it in such a way that I immediately applied it to my life. He said prairie restoration is just an effect of laziness. Plant a bunch of grass and flowers, then leave it be. Let it grow wild and unkempt, don’t take care of it. The prairie restores itself. It grows out of control. A lazy man’s gardening.

That’s been my life since mid-April, when the campaign ended. No job, no home of my own, no stability. I certainly haven’t been taking the best care of myself. My life’s been growing wild and unkempt for over two months.

OMG, my life is a prairie restoration. As a direct result, I have nothing to say. What stories do you tell, when there are no stories to tell? I live in an attic. Nothing funny happens there. Haven’t seen my best friends in months. I sit at home while everyone else works.

You want to know what I do all day, if I’m not plugging in a few hours here and there at the triathlon store? I read. On the porch. Sometimes I giggle as the neighbor walks Peter the American Bulldog past the house. But, you guys, that is not blog fodder. Except the dog’s name is Peter. Which, in and of itself, is amazeballs. But alas…

Some of you may argue that sexalicious pictures of Rob Pattinson are not blog fodder either, but I beg to differ.

Next week I start working full time, and in a month I’ll have my own place, so I have hope for a full restoration of my prairie. (That’s what she said). And, by God, there’s bound to be something good to say by then.

For having let you down, dear seekers-of-entertainment, I apologize.

Live from Neverland Valley Ranch.

JUST KIDDING.

Totally not at Neverland. Thought about it. But, you know, gas prices and all. They’re having a public viewing of Michael Jackson’s body at Neverland on Friday.

Um. Shit. That is just disturbing. WHAT A CLUSTERFUCK. Not gonna lie, I’d totally go. But I’d never recover. I don’t want to see a DEAD Michael Jackson. Really? Really, people? I don’t even like to see dead animals on the side of the road.

Sick.

Also, I’ve slowly allowed myself to turn off the television and stop watching the coverage of his death. It gives me high blood pressure, swear to god. How am I supposed to believe he’s on a tropical island having beers with Tupac, Notorious B.I.G. and Elvis if I’m constantly watching his body reeled out of a helicopter and into the coroner’s van?

DO NOT WANT.

So, that’s that.

I haven’t blogged in some days, I see. Sorry? I’d be lying if I said I had anything interesting to say. I begin full-time employment on Monday.

Uh…

Awful.

It’s like sealing the coffin on dreams of a further journalism career. Oh, hi. Want to know the best way to utilize a journalism degree? WORK IN THE INSURANCE INDUSTRY. I’m audibly whimpering. Until I get a paycheck, of course.

God, I love money.

In other news, remember how it was 408 degrees outside last week? Well, it’s 65 today. I kind of love it, but I might be the only one. I’m curled up in sweatpants and a sweatshirt. IN JULY. My kind of July.

That’s all I’ve got, you guys. I don’t know when I got so boring. Apparently Michael Jackson took my creativity with him to the grave.

Damn you, Michael. Damn you.

For BethJ, and our childhood, as requested.

“Scream” was one of our favorite Michael Jackson videos of all time. I’ve been watching MTV for hours – they’re playing nothing but Michael Jackson videos – and I feel like I’m still 12, glued to the television, dreaming of the day I’d see him in concert. Because I was totally going to.

Sonofabitch.

It’s mindblowing to watch these videos and concert performances and see what a badass he was while performing. He could dance like nothing I’ve ever seen. And sing. Dang, he had a voice. Yet, off the stage, he was a quiet, fragile man.

I’m pretending it’s not real until there’s a funeral. In the meantime, I’ll pretend “died of cardiac arrest” means “kicked so much ass.”

Gotta go. “Black or White” is on. And I love this shit…

RIP: Michael Jackson, 1958-2009

This blog’s gone Michael Jackson for the time being. Because I said so. You’ve been warned.

Blast from the past.

I just found the following post from three years ago. Thought I’d copy and paste it into a new post. Felt appropriate, and this about sums it up:

“Because I’m bad. I’m bad. You know it.” – August 2006

As I sit here at my desk, I try maintaining composure with my iPod buds plugged into my ears. I think They frown upon the use of iPod’s, but I frown upon complete lack of concentration with the sounds of talking, typing and chaos all around me, so the iPod stays put.

Anyway, under most circumstances, I can keep my foot from tapping, keep my head from bobbing, keep my lungs from bursting forth with the sounds of Jason Mraz or My Chemical Romance or something equally inappropriate for the office.

But not today, because HOLY CRAP I rediscovered Michael Jackson.

I LOVE Michael Jackson. And not love in the way I love Jason Mraz or My Chemical Romance. Not love in the way Harley loves to be NAUGHTY. Not in the way fish love water, or the way Michael Jackson loves little boys. But love. A Michael Jackson love.

There may or may not have been a period of time around the age of 12 or 13 (or not) where my best friend of yore and I worshipped the very Earth Sir Michael walked upon. We bought CDs. We stalked MTV waiting for the mere mention of his name. Or video. We bought a biography of the man, which may or may not have been a mistake as we were subjected to tales of alleged child molestation charges that were brought against him. In detail. (Ew). We had code names. We had Michael Jackson video marathons. We were – CRAZY.

“OHMYGOD, did you just SEE MTV, oh my GOD! He was on it. You know, his PICTURE. It flashed on the screen at the end of the MTV News brief. You know? All those flashing pictures, all quick-like, and so fast you can barely tell who’s who? They showed MICHAEL!! Did you SEE IT?”

That was mostly how the phone calls went any time either of us had a Michael Sighting.

Ah, the good old days. We were faithful, all the way through his HIStory CD. Things got a little weird with the following Blood on the Dance Floor, but it was still Michael. I even got Invincible for Christmas the year it was released. Weirder, still. And I had no need to purchase his Number Ones because, well, I have every single CD of his. Ever.

Both Best Friend and I continued to pay attention to Michael as we grew up and he grew, well, peculiar. But we are no fairweather fans. No way. As his nose began to disintegrate, his face grew ever paler, and stories of bankruptcy, child molestation and dancing on limousines plagued our fallen hero, we were still like, “What? Michael Jackson is AWESOME! Did you ever hear ‘Remember The Time?’ God.” (No. Seriously. That’s a good song.)

We even sat in anticipation together on the phone last year when the verdict (ahem, NOT GUILTY on all accounts) was aired on national television regarding the child molestation charges. Oh, yes. We still stand by Michael. He’s bad. He knows it. But not as much as we know it.

So in honor of Best Friend of Yore and Michael Jackson, I am blasting him on my iPod. All afternoon. My head is bobbing. My foot is tapping. Memories are afloat. And no one can blame me if all of a sudden I yell “Heeee heeeee, whoooo!” at the top of my lungs. Uh, but I will refrain from grabbing my crotch.

You know I’m bad.

Tried a Top 10 and failed.

I was running through every Michael Jackson song in my head to come up with a list of my top ten favorites. Completely failed. Came up with 18, and that was tough. I could’ve had about 30. I forced myself to choose.

Just going through his song list makes my little beating heart hurt. Every single song is excellent. Snaps me back to my childhood, instantly. Back to that fascination and adoration.

My biggest lists come from the Dangerous and HIStory albums because those were released during the prime of my Michael Jackson craze. I used to watch the “Remember The Time” video like it was my job. God, I loved that video. And “Scream,” with Janet? Amazing. If YouTube existed then, I’d have been in trouble.

Right now “Thriller” is playing on MTV. I can’t stop watching. They’ve been playing his videos all night. That freaking musical genius died today.

Got To Be There

Got To Be There

Ben

Ben

Off The Wall

She’s Out Of My Life

Thriller

Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’

Billie Jean

Bad

Bad

Smooth Criminal

The Way You Make Me Feel

Dangerous

Dangerous

In The Closet

Remember The Time

Black Or White

HIStory

Scream

They Don’t Care About Us

Earth Song

You Are Not Alone

Little Susie

Blood On The Dance Floor

Blood On The Dance Floor

Invincible

You Rock My World

Unbreakable

I am not supposed to be writing a blog post about Michael Jackson’s death.

I am not supposed to be writing this because Michael Jackson was never, ever supposed to die. Ever.

At least according to 12-year-old me. When I was 12, I loved Michael Jackson. Absolute, ridiculous, out of control love. The telephone would ring in the morning, while I was getting ready for school, and it’d be my best friend Beth telling me to turn on VH1 because a Michael Jackson video was playing.

Together we’d watch the video and squeal.

In those days, it was his latest videos, from HIStory. But I had every Michael Jackson video on tape. I’d sit home and record Michael Jackson specials on TV. Watch them, over and over. “Smooth Criminal” was my favorite.

He was a god, to me. Micheal freaking Jackson. Ask my family. My childhood friends. I was obsessed. And you guys know I know how to obsess. This was the ultimate.

Michael was in his 30s then. For 12-year-olds, 30s was old. We used to discuss what would happen when Michael got “old.”

OMG, we thought, what will we do if he ever dies? Michael Jackson cannot die. We were children of his era. Well, part of his era. His era spanned longer than I can fathom. Thriller was released the year I was born. There is so much that I missed. We decided right then, Michael Jackson will never die.

Except I’m watching CNN right now. “Remembering Michael Jackson” is flashing across the screen. I just saw his shrouded body loaded into an ambulance. Anderson Cooper just showed a photo of Michael being carried into the ambulance, dead, for the most part.

Michael Jackson is dead.

WTF.

It makes my stomach a little sick.

Yes, I most certainly am not blind. I’ve watched his deterioration. A deterioration that began while I was still a child. I absorbed myself in every bit of news, every book, every trial. Since I was a kid, literally. I AM AWARE.

But I still own every album, every song, even remember his birthday, for Christ’s sake. The man, despite the reputation, is a musical genius. Brilliant. He shaped an era. He is the King of Pop.

And, I swear to God, this news blows my damn mind. I guess it shouldn’t come entirely as a shock. But it does. An absolute, goddamn shock. He was going to go on tour again. I’ve said, my entire life, that I will see Michael Jackson in concert before I die.

Instead, he died. You’ve got to be kidding me.

We’ll be reading about his death for weeks. I can imagine what will come out in the aftermath. Rumors, drugs, news, shocking stories. Was it suicide? Overdose? The man is bizarre, I get it. He’s sick, he’s been sick, in many, many ways. And I just said is bizarre. Was. He was, because he’s dead now.

Michael Jackson is dead.

It makes no difference to me what became of Michael Jackson, because I can listen to any one of his songs and forget all of it. I can listen to any one of his songs and remember being 12 years old.

Today I am 27. I was eating a Crunchy Chicken Ranch Wrap at McDonald’s when I read on Twitter that he’d been rushed to the hospital in cardiac arrest. I was in the backroom at work when I learned he’d died. Now I’ll remember that. I will always remember that.

Regardless of what the haters say, a goddamn legend died today. A significant part of my childhood went with him. Michael Jackson is dead. I just blogged about it. And nothing I write can actually do any justice to the impact this has on me, or on my 12-year-old self.

Unbelievable.

Open Letter

Dear Michael Jackson,

PLEASE DO NOT DIE. PLEASE.

Love,
8th Grade Krista, Who Worshipped You. And 27-year-old Krista, Too.

P.S. Seriously. Stop it!

BTW

Happy birthday to our favorite man, Jason Mraz.

Just chillin’

Oh, hi! I’m at the pool, just chilling in the sweltering heat.

It does not suck.