One wonders what the GOP thinks of liberal Hollywood now.
The death of Michael Jackson has completely wiped the extra-marital affair of Republican South Carolina Mark Sanford off the front pages and the top of the cable newscasts.
The self-proclaimed “King of Pop” may be better remembered for his bizarre lifestyle and accusations of pedophilia than for his music.
There is no doubt, though, that he was quite an entertainer — in an acquired taste sort of way.
Jackson ruled the music scene in the 1980s, a period that isn’t as romanticized as the much as the 1960s and 1970s.
With Jackson’s death, that will certainly change — at least through this mourning period.
We’re certainly going to be bombarded with his greatest hits.
Celebrities will line up to sing his praises.
Larry King will devote an hour to him: “Hello, Fresno — what did Michael Jackson mean to you?”
President Obama will likely pay tribute — he is of Jackson’s generation and certainly must have been a fan when he was in his 20s.
Lost in the news shocking sudden death of the music legend was actress Farrah Fawcett, who died just hours earlier after losing her battle with cancer.
The “Charlie’s Angels” star was every red-blooded American boys’ fantasy in the 1970s — she that famous poster featuring her killer smile and her braless swimsuit.
Farrah’s final weeks and months were well-documented in a television documentary that was difficult to watch — painful would be the wrong word, considering what she was going through.
The beauty quenn was there, warts and all, in her most demanding role.
Farrah wasn’t even a good actress. More like eye candy and a personality. A product of her time. In any event, her 1970s athletic and sexual appeal will remain indelible to us men who don’t have to apologize for appreciating a true beauty.
Jackson’s death was like a punch to the stomach.
That usually happens when someone bigger than life suddenly dies — regardless of what you think of them.
Still, when the news first broke in the newsroom, people were acting like they were expecting a punchline.
Not so much because they couldn’t believe he was dead, but rather he had become a punchline.
People were actually making up jokes (example: Where is Michael Jackson going to be buried? Boys Town.)
Too cruel? Too gruesome. Too soon?
You be the judge.
Certainly newspaper people has always been accused — and portrayed — as cynical and unemotional. But you also have to wonder what Conan O’Brien and David Letterman and Jon Stewart are dealing with right now.
Figures like “Wacko Jacko” are so iconic it won’t be long before TV comics get back to ripping on “Sir Freakiness.”
And it won’t be long before cretins come out of the woodwork with tales of the expected about Jackson’s sexual ambiguity — stories they couldn’t tell about him when he was alive.
And it has already started — comparing Jackson to Elvis.
Iconic-wise certainly. But that’s where it ends.
Unless, of course, Vegas starts a new trend of featuring “Wacko Jacko” impersonators.
Instead of “Uh-huh-huh” it’ll be “hee-hee.”
All over the world there will be vigils for the self-proclaimed “King of Pop.”
Pimply tweens will be crying because their idol took their breath away.
Meanwhile in South Carolina, Gov. Mark Sanford is breathing a sigh of relief.
Hell, he’s probably so happy his weird vanishing act was just a one-day story, he’s doing the moondance.