The weight of Michael Jackson's death has really begun to hit me in these last few days. I know... late reaction, but so much was going on at the time it actually happened that my brain didn't exactly have the chance to process it all. I wondered why I didn't feel more connected to the passing of someone who I once considered an idol.

I'd heard the news from a television in one of the hospital lobbies and gone to tell my parents, "Michael Jackson died." I'd said rather flatly. There were no tears, no silent prayers; I just went about the day... my father was being released and there was a lot to do. I think that maybe I was blocking it out. I was and still am doing a lot of that these days (in general), so I wouldn't be surprised.
 

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Note: You are entitled to your own opinion pertaining to Michael Jackson's innocence/guilt, but I am simply pointing out the conclusion that I've come to (albeit months too late) and while a part of me nags that I don't have the right to feel sad (like many people who jumped on the bandwagon as soon as they heard he was gone), I genuinely am.

I needed to laugh, really needed it... maybe you do too.

Stand-Up Comedy:

Sinbad - NutriSystem Diet Plan
Sinbad - McDonald's Food and Customer Service
Sinbad - Americans Vs. Canadians and Parents Vs. Kids
Patton Oswalt - Marriage and Stella D'oro Breakfast Treats
Patton Oswalt - The Sad Truth About KFC Famous Bowls

I don't think I've ever mentioned it since I always say outright that I'm an only child, but I have a half-brother (on my father's side). He was born way before my parents even met (eight years older than me) and since this kid who I'll call "Tony" lived with his mother and aunt in a completely different borough, he wasn't really an issue in their relationship. I should point out though that my father wasn't some kind of dead-beat; he payed far more than what child support laws required during a time that wasn't making much money (let's not get into how I know that) and tried his best to visit with Tony on a regular basis... he just didn't want to marry Tony's mom (as they had never actually been a couple, but that's a whole other story).

Now, needless to say (though I'll state it anyway) Tony never lived with us (my parents and I) and while I imagined that he had the perfect life; siblings to play with (his mother would have two other children from a later relationship), no curfew and all the coolest stuff (we'd gone to visit him one Saturday when I was around five or six years old), he thought I had the perfect life with no siblings (to break said cool stuff) and two "happily" married parents who loved me (at this point his mother was no longer in the picture... that's also a whole other story that I won't get into). We were both wrong and looking back on it now, I think we both were (or at least, felt) deprived. Despite all the swag, Tony's family didn't really have a lot of money and though he thought *I* was rich, that was never the case.

Fast-forward fourteen or so years and we've hardly spoken. There was a time after September 11th where I'd come to the conclusion that life was too short to have estranged relatives, so I tried to reach out; inviting Tony to one of my birthday parties. He came and even brought a present, but it was soon clear that we just didn't click. Not as siblings. Not even as strangers (his relationship with my father had long since hit the rocks once Tony realized the circumstances surrounding his conception... but I digress).

I bring all this up because I recently ran into Tony on a city bus (we now only live about three and a half miles from each other) recently. And you know what?

We both pretended not to see one another.

I know, I haven't been posting regularly (not sure when I'll get back into the habit), but this is just something that was on my mind:

I don't know what it is about hospital personnel that makes them think patients shouldn't be modest. Personally, I hate taking my clothes off just to have some old lady stick a bunch of cold electrode patches (which she will later rip off rather brutishly) on my skin. But what really gets me is when they look annoyed because I asked for a little privacy to change into the doesn't-really-hide-anything hospital gown I've been given. Are there a lot of people coming into the office and dropping trow on sight or something? Not that I've had to pull down my pants as much as I've been asked (scratch that, told) to remove my bra. And if it's not the technician, it's the Med-student in training who always wants to see. I swear, just the other day the Doc was about to pull up my shirt when I said rather loudly, "Hey, if you're going to do this right now, can that guy step out?" Would you believe that the intern was disappointed? I mean, he looked just a bit older than me and way too excited to be in the room... show some professionalism please. And I'm not saying that I've got some kind of physical-irresistibility or anything, but I just did not like the vibe I was getting from Mr. "Creep."

Man, it's been almost a month to the friggin' day since I last posted. Not to mention (well obviously, I will mention it) this is my 100th entry since I've been with LJ. Been over a year, I think. Crazy, but things are finally starting to quiet down some, sort of, and I figured I'd tend to this sorely neglected to blog.

Good news:

- Dad's walking about (on cruches) and getting more sleep.
- His side of the family came to visit and gave me almost $200 in cash because they hadn't seen me in a year or so.
- I brought a movie poster for my room with some of the money.
- Since my mother's been taking care of my father this last month and a half, they've generally been getting along much better (kissing, hugging, joking, etc.).
- Even my own relationship with my father has gotten better.

* I don't know how to feel about all that, though.

Bad news:
- I'm currently hooked up to a heart monitor and since I went into "flutter" (very abnormal for someone my age) yesterday for the second time in a month (that I know of), I may need to have surgery. We'll have to wait and see though. I've got an appointment with a treadmill on Tuesday, something about a "Stress Test."

All and all though, I'm pretty optimistic. I guess I'm more worried about my parents worrying about me. If anything (else) I think I'm more worried about not being worried. You know? I mean, it's sort of a big thing, but I'm just not that scared. Ironically, *that* scares me.

But you know what the craziest thing is? I always felt as though I didn't/couldn't handle stress properly (hence my extremely active imagination that I utilized in *not* dealing with situations) and attributed this to a medical deficiency or to a defect that would eventually cause said deficiency. Who'd have thought that I was right? And on a more negative note, I use to dream of the day that there'd be proof of how badly my parents' twisted relationship, subsequent mind games and arguing had effecting me. I guess you really should "be careful what you wish for."

But I digress...

To end with something good, I bought a digital camera (in order to complete a Summer-class project) a few days before the accident and, as a result, can finally provide my readers (all three or four of you) with photos.

( Pulp Fiction poster )

( Heart monitor )

Granted these two are pretty pitiful, but really, I haven't been anywhere or done anything interesting this last month. Well, unless you count my admittance into the hospital, but I doubt you'd want photos of that. Not that I actually took any ;)

P.S. Thanks for all the love and well wishes you guys posted in the last entry's comments. Really made me feel good.

- Father in hospital
- Hit by car
- Broke leg
- Surgery needed
- Months of physical therapy ahead
- I passed out in class from stress/lack of food
- Hit ground hard
- No concussion
- EMS found weird heart beat
- Not really normal
- Not too big of deal though
- Was also in hospital
- Admitted day after father
- Doctors confident all will be fine
- On blood thinners now
- Released yesterday
- Father's surgery tomorrow
- Fingers crossed
- Praying as well
- May not be blogging for a bit

Just got my Spring semester grades back.

Film course #1: A
Film course #2: A
Film course #3: A
English course: A
Psychology course: B-

Okay, so Psych kind of got me, but a 3.7 GPA out of 4.0 is still pretty awesome.

So, this is part two of my previous entry which addresses contradictions in rap lyrics that pertain to women (more specifically the artist's view of them). Now, I used LL Cool J as an example because the evidence just seems so blatant where his music is concerned. I hadn't actually elected him as the target for my rant, but rather, careful observation of his lyrical content (yes, I'm analytical like that even in my free time) spurred me to write the piece. In other words, I hadn't been actively thinking about that issue previously. Therefore, as I stated in yesterday's post (via disclaimer), this is not a personal attack on LL or his career.

However, he will be the vehicle I use to get into something that has been on my mind for the better part of a year: Homophobia in Hip-Hop.

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So in conclusion (yes, I know it's a sophmoric way to end a paper/article/blog... sue me), I believe that man's struggle for power, along with his need for acceptance within a peer group, has led him to turn his back on tolerance with respect to the sexual preferences of others.

My wholly inappropriate and unprofessional response to this: wake up and smell the twenty-first century!

I know it's been a little while since I've posted anything (well, that throw away entry which I deleted, but never mind). A lot of not so great stuff has been going on with me, so... you know, that's my reason.

And this post has nothing to do with anything really, just something that's been nagging me for a bit.

Disclaimer: I'm not out to disrespect LL Cool J as I think he is a stellar musician (aesthetically), but this is something I noticed and felt the need to address.

LL Cool J (Ladies Love Cool James aka James Todd Smith III) is a man credited with helping mold Hip-Hop into what it is today. And if you'd like to read up on the history, it's here, but that's not what this post is about. Mainly, I'm just trying to figure out what message the rapper is really trying to put out there.

( Rest under cut )

Watch for part two of this entry which will discuss a similar topic.

This is going to be the last Jackman-related entry that I post for awhile because I've realize that there's so much in/on/around this blog that's dedicated to him and although I love the man like a cat loves yarn, my life is- or used to be- the main focus of everything I wrote.

I'm going to get back to that shortly, but first, this important message:

Hugh seems to be everywhere these days, he's got the YouTube account, the Twitter page, a Facebook and Myspace page (though a lot of these things are more for Wolverine than they are for Hugh), a multi-platform video game, a Got Milk? ad, he's already won a Tony, an Emmy, hosted the Oscars, been named Sexiest Man Alive, will probably be on TIME Magazine's 100 Most Influential People of 2009 list and is finally getting his star on The Walk of Fame. Now I'm really happy for him, I am, but also very nervous. It just seems like too much. And though he's definitely earned his way, I can't help but feel like this is it. You know, like he's peaked. And what will happen in a few months? A year? Will he casually move on to pursue other things, but remain revered among other actors and the general public like all the old greats. Will his movies be seen as classics? His career, an example? When he's old and gray will he still make appearances on talk shows reminiscing about things that are now just happening and doting over his grandchildren. Or will Hugh Jackman simply fade away as someone who most people liked, but won't be able to remember very clearly. Those options, even the second one, sound fine, but what about a third? Will so much attention and the pressure of being "Hollywood's Nicest Guy" finally get to him? Will Hugh say or do something that he shouldn't? Will the media create a scandal? Because I once read that the entertainment industry only builds a celebrity up for the end result of tearing them down. You know, "the bigger they are, the harder they fall" and all that.

Am I the only one who thinks that something's got to give?

And I hope against hope that I'm wrong, I really do, but I just feel like the rubber band is stretched so thin... sooner or later, it's got to snap back.