Apparently Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett died today. Both were pretty much iconic figures - I remember having Charlie's Angels dolls as a kid, and in the 80s when the Thriller music video was a sensational hit having a Michael Jackson style jacket. Farrah had cancer and died after a long struggle - she made a documentary about it that was supposedly very moving (I haven't seen it). Michael Jackson... well. What can you say about the freakish turn of his life that hasn't already been said? I still don't understand why everyone gets so emotional about the death of celebrities. Three radio stations on the way home were playing Michael Jackson songs, and earlier the Beatles break on another local station was dedicated in part to Farrah. What did Farrah have to do with the Beatles? Nothing, but she died today and they had a show so good enough. What a circus.

I have spent the past couple of days helping my brother, who needed to go to the hospital with bad shoulder and neck pain. They were worried he might be having a heart attack and ran all sorts of tests. Turns out he has bursitis, and he's doing okay today thanks to the magic healing powers of steroids and percoset. The hospital formerly known as Kessler (now Atlanti Care) is at least cleaner then Kessler was and has some new furnishings. They've taken away the depressing beg for money while you are forced to see repetitive stories of children dying horribly while you wait St. Jude commercial tv, which is definitely a bonus. The wait time however, is atrocious. It was bad enough at Kessler, but Atlanti Care suffered from a distinct lack of beds and staff. There was one doctor on duty, and maybe six beds in the emergency room that I could see? People were waiting for upwards of three hours just to get in. The doctor on call was very competent and nice when we did finally get in there though. But the sheer amount of suffering going on, with people moaning and children screaming, was horrific. I felt like I was at a field hospital, surrounded by the broken and bleeding and dying. It was really not a happy night.

With me I had Joe Jackson's book, a A Cure For Gravity. If you do not know who Joe Jackson is (hint: not Michael's father), remedy this fact immediately and have a listen to his newest album Rain. The book is his autobiography (the first twenty-five years or so anyhow) and a witty discourse on the nature of music and our relationship with it. Great book, great musician. Gave me something to think about when I definitely needed that.