The End

I saw the Victory tour in a stadium in Philadelphia that no longer exists.

When I was a teenager at the end of our dance recital all of the dancers from the different pieces of the program assembled on stage and we all did Thriller. We rocked it. My best friend and I were wearing felt poodle skirts and we still rocked it.

I own the Thriller album on nothing but vinyl. It never seemed right to replace it. After that album the full on trainwreck began, and it seemed like holding on to the good times.

We'll never know what went on between him and those kids. Not for sure. My gut feeling was always that parents were taking advantage of a fucked up man who was making very poor choices. My feelings for him have alternated between revulsion and pity for many many years. No matter what, though, he rocked. He was The Bomb. Pure and simple. No one can touch him.

Last night my boy wouldn't go to sleep and I spent hours with CNN on because I couldn't change the channel. Turns out that Billie Jean will calm a screaming baby fairly well.

On our local 6pm news they reported that he had collapsed. I said to Rich, "He's number 3." Katie Couric then opened the news with the announcement. I cried.

At least his psychic pain is over.