January 11, 1999

I've decided I'm not embarrassed anymore. They laugh at me. A lot of people know. It gets brought up every now and again, and if someone in the room hasn't heard, I have to go through the "Oh my God, you didn't!" and the "Wow...you were obsessed!" scene and shake my head back and forth, little grin hanging sheepishly on my face. Well you know what? I'm done being sheepish. I will stand proudly by my actions! WHEN I WENT TO SEE THE JACKSON VICTORY TOUR, I SAVED SOME BLADES OF GRASS AS A SOUVENIR! There! Had your belly laugh yet? Given me a sidelong glance afterwards when you thought I wasn't looking? Well, good for you! I DON'T CARE! I freekin' loved the Jacksons! I loved Michael Jackson more than I loved to breathe air. And if I wanted to pluck a few blades of grass while I sat on my folding chair at Comiskey Park waiting for the man of my dreams to prance on stage, well, I had the right to do it. Damn my two sisters for noticing. In 1983 I had this yellow poster hanging in my room. MJ was on it, dressed in a pair of snappy white pants, white Oxford shirt, and a yellow vest. He looked hot. My cousins Jennifer and Michael were in my room with me, digging the poster. "Do you like him, Michael?" I asked my cousin. "Do you like Michael Jackson?" "No," Michael replied. "I don't like him. I don't like MICHAEL JACKSON." Michael is autistic, by the way. "Hey, Michael," Jen said, pointing at the poster. "What color is he?" Michael ignored her, staring off into space, lost on some unknown mission in his mind. "Mike!" Jen said louder. "Michael! What color is he? Is he black?" "No no no!" Michael yelled in a really high-pitched voice, outraged. "NO NO! NO! He's not BLACK! He's not BLACK! HE'S BROWN!" Wanna be notified when I update? Send mail and thou shalt receive!