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Sad times

I broke my own person treadmill record yesterday, jogging four miles in 45:30.  That's pretty slow by most standards, but it's Speedy Gonzales for me.  I ran to Michael Jackson as my version of a tribute, so maybe that's why the feet flew so fast.  I defy anyone to listen to Jam and not move.  

What a day; Michael, Farrah and the incessant rain.

Farrah Faucet lived life on her own terms.  She was beautiful and smart.  When faced with a terminal disease, she fought the good fight.   Cheers to you, Farrah.

I remember where I was when Elvis died.  I had seen him in concert (with my parents, no less) just a month earlier.  I can also picture the exact moment when I heard the news about John Lennon.  My friend and soon-to-be-housemate Lori and I were moving a mattress on the top of my Volkswagon Beetle to our new digs.  We were holding onto the plastic handles through open windows in a futile attempt to keep the thing from catching air as we crept along.  The two of us gasped when we heard the news on the radio.  I hit the breaks.  We stared at each other in disbelief as the words came through the speakers, tears welling, spilling, tracking down our cheeks.  The news of Michael Jackson has not hit me so profoundly as did those moments.  Maybe I've grown a wee bit jaded in my old age.  Still, like all of my contemporaries, I grew up with Michael.  I was a fan when I was 11 and I'm a fan today, ever in awe of his talent, mildly intrigued by his quirkiness.  There's little more to say that has not been hashed and rehashed over the past  24 hours, so I'll keep my commentary simple: Cheers to you too, Michael Jackson.  

A hui hou.  Aloha!






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