I'm split on the whole Michael Jackson thing. The cynic in me rose to the surface first. The man was a total nutter, but in a sad way, not an endearing way. At first I thought, Dude, who gives a fuck? It kind of annoyed me that the real news was lost and the front pages were covered by Farah and Michael, overlapping fame stories, given Michael was a child star. It's an old knee-jerk reaction for me, here in this celebrity-obsessed nation.

But then it sinks in. Once upon a time this guy changed the world of music. I mean really changed it. The 80s, Thriller, dancing, fuck, even style. Music videos and live performances would never be the same again. He raised the bar on many levels and nobody in my lifetime really comes close. Yes, I include Madonna. She changed things too, but she never was much of a singer and didn't have the all-round talent MJ had. Decades later, Thriller remains the benchmark; the best selling album of all time.

I remember loving Thriller, despite his girly voice. It was better pop than I had ever heard before. I hear that music now and I remember those times; the boy I was, living in my head. I remember the movie house where I worked at the time, sitting in the dark, ignoring the movie and listening to the music. I remember lying on the grass in a park with my brother's boom box, listening to Top 40, taping the songs I liked. I remember my cherished poor-boy Walkman and the music going everywhere with me and my rechargeable batteries.

His music had an impact. As with most of you, it was a part of me... is a part of me. It's woven in with all my other fibers. Some of those fibers may be the parts of me still irrationally pissed at him for being frail and damaged by his hard life, for spoiling his own impossible mystique. Yes, there are a lot of important news stories, but this one does matter. It matters because a little piece of us just died. Maybe it's just the last piece, maybe the rest died amidst all his growing oddness, but for most, some would have remained, stirred up now, muddying the surface.

The eye-rolling cynic in me bows to the sad sentimentalist... for the moment, and both acknowledge the end of an era. He's finally at peace.