Caterwauling

Yes, I was a fan of the wack-tacular Jacko in ’84, and although my musical taste has way evolved, I was hooked on ABC’s documentary about him tonight. Leslie e-mailed from Ireland a few days ago to tell me about how fucking bizarre it was, so of course I had to see it when it hit the States. Sheesh.

I don’t know about the child endangerment/molestation suspicions. I mean, yeah, I won’t sleep with anyone below the age of 26, but that’s a story for another blog entry. 😉 But although allowing kids into his bed for slumber parties is just fucked up in general, it really seems like he regresses in his mind, so that if he’s with 8-year-olds, he acts like an 8-year-old himself. But damn, he got defensive about it, so one can only wonder.

As far as his own kids, they’re so cute. And so white. Wow. Just like Daddy, I s’pose. I just don’t get nicknaming the youngest one “Blanket” — perhaps he should have given him a different name than he gave the first boy? I mean, who needs two sons named Prince Michael? And “Blanket” is just plain stupid — I’d at least call him “Linus,” if you want to go with a bedsheet kind of theme. 🙂

At any rate, if any kids should be sleeping with him, it should be his own, and even then, I’m not a big fan of children sleeping with their parents.

I’d like to see the eight months of footage made into a full-length movie. I was strangely fascinated and equally disturbed — even so much that I missed the first part of “E.R.” just to watch this trainwreck of a T.V. special.

During the show, I took down my Xmas tree. Hey, anytime before V-Day is a world record for me — I usually wait till Presidents’ Day. Note to self: if I ever want to ruin a French manicure again, go play with the Xmas tree. My nails look like shit now.

Maddie is too damned smart for words. When I was taking down the tree and trying to tame its wild branches so I could shove it into its box, tons of its fake needles were hitting the floor. Her little toybox was next to the tree (it’s a red wagon — too cute — full of catnip-treated toys), and she decided to come and bop her little neon football out of the wagon and right into the pile of tree droppings. Heh. She’s been chewing on that tree for two months — I knew she really wanted to get to those green needles somehow. Clever little kitty, that one. I’m proud of her, even though I wanted to kick her furry ass. 🙂

I have battery acid coursing through my veins.

I am so disturbed about how much I hate working for a living that I am starting to just hate myself in general. The job, while mildly annoying, isn’t bad — it’s just the same shit, different company. I am tired of being a slave to the profession — X plus Y will always equal Z unless I learn to change the variables. Mismanagement plus my great talent will always equal an unfulfilling working experience. And that unfortunately bleeds straight into my personal life — I don’t exercise, I eat terribly and I don’t have the energy to crawl out of my rut that happens to be in front of the television. I need to remove that X variable and replace mismanagement with working for myself; Y can equal persistence, hard work and talent; and then Z will equal the ability to pay bills and enjoy life. The benefit plan will include me taking care of my body for perhaps the first time in my life, which will definitely increase my happiness tenfold, possibly more.

I don’t think I’m going to blog again today. I am behind in my work and need to actually focus on it. (damn!) That, and I’m lying face-down in a river of unhappiness right now, and it’s just not worth recording it for posterity.