…because I feel old.

Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson on the same day. I had Farrah’s iconic poster on my dorm wall, as did everyone surveyed at a work baby-shower today, and I’m 50, Jackson’s age. I pretty much grew up with him. Right along side with him in our increasingly media-soaked universe.

And so I came home today and picked up my latest copy of SI, and had a very pleasant cry over the story of Mallory Holtman and Sara Tucholsky, whose names you might not recognize but whose story you might. It’s beautiful. All that is right in the species.

I watched it happen in my own Dad, the gradual softening from strict disciplinarian father to cuddly lovable grandfather, and I’m glad it is happening to me, too. I’m very soft and emotional these days. The simple things matter more. It is a fantastic thing. To love and be loved. To laugh. To do the right, simple thing.

Update: I liked the Jackson 5 stuff, obviously, being a contemporary, but I never thought he produced that level of genius until Thriller. Which was undeniably a musical seminal moment, which means culturally, too. A darned big deal. I suppose I would agree that Farrah’s poster was slightly less important in the Grand Scheme of Things, but that poster, too, had a big impact on the culture. I can’t explain exactly what it was at the time, for me, probably (likely?) teen hormones just MAY have had something to do with it.

I think the important thing to remember is that every Corporate Person I asked today in a large group had or was no further than 1 degree of separation from knowing someone who had the poster on their wall. The women said their men had one. 100%.

RIP, Farrah and Michael.

Update 2: Oh, and sorry, Farrah, for dying hours before Michael on the same day. You got ripped off in the Legacy Dept.

Update 3: I’m almost positive that my roommate is responsible for the poster, which is not insignificant in the financial times in which we lived.