A Hard Day's Nightshirt

i'm home. i'm tired, confused, and generally useless. I feel like a professional sitter. No, not a babysitter - an ass sitter - One who sits on their ass all day. One who has been sitting on a plane, mostly on the tarmac or in an airport, for 7 + hours just trying to get to work. The commute to this job can be absurd! Which reminds me very little of the time I had to sleep under an 82' Camaro in midtown Atlanta to escape the hooded man who followed me home from work...but I digress in my ramblings on....where was I....oh yes!

The commute to this job can be absurd! My blood has not properly circulated through my entire body for 24 hours. So i've been sleepwalking, dragging my guitar from state to state, gate to gate, concourse to concourse, etc, etc, etc. I am useless. I am beaten down I am finally safe and still at home. I unpack, and head to the dresser to change into comfy loose clothes, going through the motions of the most basic duties that, thankfully, bring some semblance of normalcy to one’s life.

I open my dresser drawer, and there's Michael Jackson starring up at me from a little white T shirt that I bought when he died. I was genuinely shocked, saddened, and angry by his early demise. I was also completely obsessed. I havent been so CNN-addicted since 9/11. I watched every special and read every news report. I scanned the cable for Jackson family members. I craved more information, as if it might help me solve the mystery of his death. I was unreasonably grief-stricken, though he had been a significant part of the soundtrack of my life. Off the Wall was one of the first records i remember buying with my own money (long before I became an angry teen who swore off corporate rock), and to this day that record still takes me to a happy place where I get my back up off the wall and dance with a force 'til I get enough...and apparently i just can't get enough!

I had also been one of the screaming throngs on the field at Atlanta Fulton County Stadium to see the Jackson Victory Tour in 1984, although I was not one of the crying, hysterical girls. I was deeply stirred, not shaken. After all, this was Michael at the top of his game! The performance included the moonwalk, the sequined glove, and the toss of a black fedora into the crowd at the end of Billy Jean! It was spell binding and magical, and it was a concert I will never forget.

Of course, Atlanta Fulton Country Stadium was hallowed ground before the Jacksons arrived. The Beatles performed there in 1965, one of the 9 cities they choose to visit in the US that year (Unfortunately, I was not yet born, or I would've been there, too). A few years later, in 1974, Atlanta Brave Hank Aaron hit his 715th home run out of that park. As an Atlanta native, I can tell you where I was, who I was with, and remember exactly how it felt to witness that record-breaking moment, and I was a little kid. Suffice it to say, the King of pop’s appearance there was butter cream icing on that rich red velvet cake - Normally I would prefer chocolate, but red velvet is perfect for special occasions.

Can I get you some coffee? I think i'll have another cup...back to the story...ramblin', ramblin' ramblin'...

So when Michael Jackson died, I did the only thing there was to do to make any sense of this tragedy - i bought a t shirt. It seems to be the way we red-blooded "Americans" commemorate an event. When the going gets tough, we go buy cheaply-printed 50/50 poly T shirts made in Pakistan. And there were plenty for sale at the mall in Albany, GA, which is where I ended up that weekend. After walking the mall in search of just the right souvenir, I chose this little white one with a close up of Michael from the Thriller album. It seemed more of a celebration of his life than an announcement of his death. I think i've worn it once.

Long story short, i'm changing clothes. I open up the drawer, and there he is starring up at me. Only the shirt was kind of wadded up. You know how shirts get wadded up in your drawer after you went rummaging and rifling through them all, because you cant find anything to wear that suits your current mood that's so different from yesterdays mood (and the day before) AND you're running late, because you were hopelessly sucked into the cavernous black hole known as Facebook, even though you told yourself that you would just quickly check to see if you had any new messages?! An hour later you happen to glance at the clock and realize that you’re late for some meeting or work or something not nearly as important as responses to your witty post on Facebook!

So the Thriller shirt's wadded up. It's wadded up in such a way that his face looks wrinkled and aged. I imagine this is how he wouldve looked had he not had all the reconstructive surgeries and lived to be a sweet old man of about 80. He didnt look freakish or scary. He looked kind and content. I stood there and starred at him for a minute. I was fascinated. I didnt feel sorry for him. I wanted to introduce him to all my friends, like I did with my Pops. It was like visiting the grandparents who were easy and kind and always gave you change to buy candy. It was heart-warming and fuzzy. It suddenly had a quiet sense of closure...not clothesier.

After a few moments with sweet old Papa Michael, I put on my Rolling Stones Tour shirt and dragged my ass into bed, with the warm knowledge that I would never have to sleep under a Camaro again.

Did I mention that I have coffee?