“So I’m trying to do a tribute wall, maybe a lil’ Saddam Hussein, a lil’ Jermaine Jackson. You got anything for me?”

Last week I told myself that Michael Jackson’s memorial service would be the event to push me into the acceptance stage. Once I saw his golden casket and his brothers lined up in tribute I accepted that he is really gone. Here we are at the end of the line, and although theoretically the stages of grief can occur in any order and even cycle back and forth on top of themselves, acceptance is where we have to stay. It’s not an easy thing to do, but

I don’t remember seeing Bambi, but I was about four years old when I saw Frosty The Snowman. My father was upstairs doing whatever adults do and heard a piercing scream come from the den. He rushed downstairs expecting to find a child with a cracked skull or a nail in her foot, but I was just sitting there, screaming and crying in one healthy piece. “What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked. I poked my lip out and shouted: “FROSTY MELTED!!!!!!!!”

After screaming like a banshee for a few more minutes I started breathing normally again

In the traditional sense, bargaining means making a “deal” with a higher power – for example, I’ll be a better person, I’ll trade XYZ, just let me live or bring my loved one back. In this case I’m sure we all agree that we’d ante up a few bucks for the Resurrect Michael Jackson Fund. As far as still-living pop singer currency I’d be willing to put up, say, FIFTYLEVEN Chris Browns and a bucket of R. Kellys for just one Michael Jackson. Since the weight of Michael’s contributions is heavier than most of what we could possibly

I’m Angry at the Media.

I consider myself a McNugget-sized part of the media but the coverage of Michael Jackson’s death and its aftermath has done nothing more for journalism than demonstrate what low standards news outlets will set just to drive viewership. I’m still miffed at CNN for its faux-journalistic integrity on June 25, reporting that “other news outlets say Jackson has died,” but speaking of him in the past tense for hours beforehand while not bothering to have a single reporter at the actual hospital

The entire world was shocked by the premature death of Michael Jackson. Sure, we all knew that the man was under stress. The intense scrutiny at the hands of the media, which was essentially fueled by our own obsession with celebrity, took a visible toll on Michael; the recurring allegations of child abuse and financial debt of an unimaginable magnitude made him even more of a recluse; his varying health problems that were always hard to separate from his general weirdness undoubtedly contributed to his early passing. Still, it’s hard to believe that any combination of these factors could lead to death at age fifty. But we tend to forget that we’re average, and the average person (who, mind you, can only hold a tune in the shower) only worries about the neighborhood busy-body, overdue student loans, and pretty bad allergies every spring. By comparison Michael’s life should be as unimaginable as the science behind evolution or The Big Bang – it’s just too large and far-out a process for our personal experience to let us believe he’s really gone. This, my friends, is why I am choosing not to. That’s right, I’m too sad believing it, so I’ve decided that Michael Jackson isn’t really dead, and I have five supporting reasons.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Michael Jackson is to black pop culture what George Washington Carver and his peanuts are to classical black history. He is the only person with his own category here at “What Would Thembi Do?,” and it’s well-deserved because NO ONE has said as much about fame, blackness, music, money, colorism, charisma, self-hatred, sorrow, estrangement, talent, universiality, and straight up LOVE as this man has just by living.

My take on this week in black pop culture!

Is this really necessary, T-Pain? I get so irritated at myself for paying this kind of mess any mind because that’s just what this autotunin’ fool wants, but to spend $410k on an almost-humorously redundant chain without it actually being funny? It may be the struggling writer in me talking but that really fries my rice! I haven’t seen anything this ridiculous in a long minute. Hate.

By now you may have seen the news item about Marlon Jackson and his investment in a Nigerian slavery-themed amusement park. I had too much to say and I just didn’t have the heart to start delving into the Jacksons and their weirdness, so I’m glad for this week’s theme! I do love the Jacksons, I really, really do, I just don’t always have the patience for the madness that results from getting yelled at for leaving towels in the pool or whatever else it was that Joe Jackson cracked those kids’ hides for – the surgery, the unreasonable drama, the ill-advised hair.

Maybe it’s just me, but when I see an eggshell-colored man in a fedora, face mask, scarf, sari, and bedroom slippers, I just know that it’s Michael Jackson. So why does he think it’s a “disguise”?

I wouldn’t be at all surprised if most you were like “Hunh? Thembi, no one gets Jheri Curls anymore!” But, as evidenced by the recent query above, OH. BUT. THEY. DO. Much like we sit around in denial about…

Over the last year a few pieces of random interweb trash have popped out of the woodwork and, in impressively poor English, tried to tell me all about myself. I tend to ignore the few negative comments I get because…

By now I’m sure you guys know how I feel about Michael Jackson – much like the colored race itself I find him both majestic and tragic, grotesque yet distinguished. He is to black pop culture what George Washington…

Halloween is my absolute favorite holiday, which is extra-great for me this year because since the big day falls on a Wednesday there are more acceptable nights to party while wearing a funny hat. This year for one of my…

In my travels around the world I have learned that there are two surefire ways to connect with strangers:

1. Find an Irish pub, because every city has at least one and they probably speak English in there.
and
2. When…