This week–month– saw the passing of 4 huge pop culture icons: David Carradine, Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett, and Michael Jackson.
David Carradine. I’ll be honest. I hated the shit out of Kung Fu. But I watched it occasionally, because I am a child of tv. I watched whatever was on. I knew who he was, I knew about his character. I really liked his show on the History Channel called Wild West Tech. That was cool. He was a cultural icon for my generation, even if I didn’t always watch his stuff.
I grew up watching Ed McMahon on the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson (Yes, kids, there was late night talk shows long before Conan, Leno et al.), with Dick Clark on TV’s Bloopers and Practical Jokes, and of course, Star Search. It almost pains me to think that there are people running around today who don’t know who he was or don’t recognize that he was being spoofed so many times. And really, you probably shouldn’t. I mean, he was around and working when my mom was a kid. So, I can forgive that.
Farrah. Oh my Farrah. She was hot. Smoking hot. A Charlie’s Angel for christ’s sake. She was IT. Before the Mila’s, the Angelina’s, she was IT. Absolutely gorgeous. Now, I didn’t watch hardly anything with her in it, but I still knew who she was. Cancer is a horrible way to die and I hope she’s finally at peace.
Now Michael. Fuck. When I was a kid, you were a Prince fan or a Michael fan. I will admit, I had a hankering for the purple prince of paisley park. But at the tender age of 8, I really shouldn’t have. I thought of Michael as a wuss compared to Prince, but I wasn’t about to not listen and rock out to Thriller. Thriller was the scariest goddamn thing I had ever seen. And back then, I made it a point to scare myself. To this day, I can’t be in a graveyard without quietly freaking out. I was convinced the dead were gonna rise as soon as the sun went down. The Thriller album came out in 1982. I was but a tender young lass of 7. I got the tape for my 8th birthday (I think). I almost wore that fucker out. Actually, I lost it before I got a chance to properly wear it out. I watched as he did the motherfucking moonwalk live on the 25th anniversary Motown celebration, I stayed up to watch the mini-movie video for Thriller (it came on after Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl. No shit.), I memorized Say, Say, Say and wondered who that white guy was singing with him (ahem. Paul McCartney), I watched the brand new Fox station to see the Black or White video where he went ape shit on some cars and turned into a panther (yeah, I was all “wtf” with the rest of the country). I can’t say that I was a huge fan in his later, more disturbing years, but he still had an influence on me and just about everyone in my generation whether they were fans or not. I want to remember him as he was before he turned into Uncle Creepy McBadTouch. All of his acheievements over the decades (DECADES!) cannot and will not be forgotten despite his scandals.
I feel old. These people were stars I grew up with. There wasn’t a kid who didn’t know who these people were. And now they’ve started kicking off.
So, here I sit with my mythical 40, sitting out on the curb. I pour some out for my homies: David (hey, Carradine died recently too, you know!), Ed, Farrah, and Michael.
Rest in peace.