"Weekly" Twitter Tweets

Weekly Twitter tweets from deonandan, since:2009-07-02



Just drove from Prescott to Ottawa with the needle on empty!
Jul 27, 2009 06:06 PM GMT

Nothing like driving on the 401 on a monday morning to convince you that people suck.
Jul 27, 2009 02:23 PM GMT

:Twitter haiku 162 - "Logic of hunger / If burrito ergo sum / Famished, I vanish"
Jul 27, 2009 02:56 AM GMT

:Twitter haiku 161 - "If Hewlett Packard / Were to enter steak business / Need some HP sauce?"
Jul 27, 2009 02:46 AM GMT

Toasted burritos or untoasted burritos?
Jul 27, 2009 01:26 AM GMT

Just had another burrito from burroburrito on college st. Mmmm.
Jul 26, 2009 10:07 PM GMT

At Cafe Diplomatico surrounded by what appear to be off-duty strippers. Oh mama.
Jul 26, 2009 06:30 PM GMT

I gots me a monster pick-up truck, otherwise known as "rain immunity"
Jul 26, 2009 04:27 PM GMT

Full of burritos and gin, now seeing Harry Potter.. And sitting in the front row!
Jul 26, 2009 02:43 AM GMT

Forgot to mention.... I'm having burrito and gin again.
Jul 26, 2009 12:22 AM GMT

So desperate for entertainment that I just paid to see "G Force".
Jul 25, 2009 10:50 PM GMT

holy crap, the slam poets at this event are unbelievably good!
Jul 25, 2009 01:22 AM GMT

:Twitter haiku 160 - "I'm a desi dude / Seen driving a pick-up truck / Wrong kind of in'jun"
Jul 24, 2009 09:36 PM GMT

Full of burrito and gin. Going to bed.
Jul 24, 2009 04:30 AM GMT

My late night burrito craving has been sated: burroburrito at 655 college st @ bathurst. Mmmmm.
Jul 24, 2009 02:59 AM GMT

Stopped in Brockville for a cappucino at Starbucks. It's all very exotic to the hicks.
Jul 23, 2009 07:24 PM GMT

:Twitter haiku 159 - "Social network war / With battles fought on Twitter / Must never re-tweet!"
Jul 23, 2009 04:58 AM GMT

:Twitter haiku 158 - "Judge bangs the gavel / when defendant's perfume fades / 'You're out of odour!'"
Jul 22, 2009 01:33 PM GMT

: them chickens jackin' my style
Jul 21, 2009 05:48 PM GMT

:Twitter haiku 157 - "I saw a cookie / In my doctor's waiting room / Guess it felt crummy"
Jul 21, 2009 03:32 PM GMT

Is a 1-bedroom condo in the Golden Triangle really worth 300K?
Jul 21, 2009 12:49 PM GMT

TV extravaganza continues. The Odyssey is done, now on to The Assignment...
Jul 21, 2009 05:53 AM GMT

the TV marathon continues.... next up: Armand Assante's "The Odyssey" (1997)
Jul 21, 2009 02:48 AM GMT

Valkyrie's done. Moving on to Entourage now. The two must have something in common, right?
Jul 21, 2009 01:48 AM GMT

back home now, just made some curry, poured myself a big glass of rum, and watching a pirated copy of Valkyrie. I have a great life.
Jul 20, 2009 11:33 PM GMT

about to drive back to Ottawa... so everyone stay clear of the 401 and out of my way!!
Jul 20, 2009 05:36 PM GMT

A warm couch, cup of tea, 2:30 am and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen on TV = paradise!
Jul 20, 2009 06:33 AM GMT

:Twitter haiku 156 - "If 'Pussycat Dolls' / And 'Girlicious' were to merge / Um... 'Pussylicious'?"
Jul 20, 2009 01:38 AM GMT

Toronto's "Festival of India" appears to be more like "Festival of Hare Krishna".
Jul 19, 2009 02:20 AM GMT

:Twitter haiku 155 - "Bollywood movie / About a heroic dog / A mango Lassie?"
Jul 18, 2009 03:34 PM GMT

:Twitter haiku 154 - "SMS sent just / To those with same mobile brands / Homotextuals?"
Friday 17th July 2009

:Twitter haiku 153 - "Essay on Cooper / First man twice into orbit / It is double spaced"
Tuesday 14th July 2009

Former hack writer Russell Davies has redeemed himself - "Torchwood: Children of Earth" rocks very hard indeed
Tuesday 14th July 2009

: law of 21st century living- all people associated with an airport (attendants, customs agents, info people etc) are 7/10ths prick.
Tuesday 14th July 2009

: just got the once over by Dylan McDermott (sp?) Goodlooking dude, but dressed like a complete douchebag
Monday 13th July 2009

:just got a (non-pervy) late night massage in NYC Chinatown. Man, those old Chinese ladies are strong!
Monday 13th July 2009

: walked for half an hour in lower Manhattan and didn't see a single Starbucks. How is that possible?
Monday 13th July 2009

:Twitter haiku 152 - "Writing a paper / About IVF, i.e. / 'A Womb With A View'"
Monday 13th July 2009

:Twitter haiku 151 - "Choked on my dinner / When raffle prize announced: brunch... / With Ali Velshi"
Sunday 12th July 2009

Amazing: Reza Aslan looks exactly the same in real life as he does on TV #sajacon
Saturday 11th July 2009

carbs me happy. Mmmm. #sajacon
Saturday 11th July 2009

:Twitter haiku 150 - "Coal and nuclear / Compete to produce current / A power struggle"
Saturday 11th July 2009

it's sad when the healthiest breakfast I can scratch together at a conference is a tub of cream cheese. Sad, but oh so delicious.
Saturday 11th July 2009

on N train. Slept in and am late for Angilee Shah's session at SAJA. Forgive me, Angilee!! #sajacon
Saturday 11th July 2009

:at reception in Bloomberg Tower imbibing the free wine. Only a matter of time before I say something really embarrassing. Any suggestions?
Friday 10th July 2009

Back at Starbucks, this time at 53rd and Lex in Manhattan, but doing the same thing: ogling hot girls and the occasional tranny
Friday 10th July 2009

Manhattan in July + Doc Martens + herniated disc = poor choices. Solution? Burrito!
Friday 10th July 2009

Nap wasn't working out. So instead I'm watching "Dude, Where's My Car?"
Friday 10th July 2009

ahh back in New York city. What to do? What to do? I know! Nap time!
Friday 10th July 2009

Why didn't someone tell me not to eat all this poutine? Ohhhhhhhhhhh....
Thursday 9th July 2009

Who knew that the Elgin Street Diner does 24 hour take-out poutine? I KNEW! HAHAHAHAHA! Yummmm....
Thursday 9th July 2009

contemplating breaking my carb embargo and getting late night poutine. Comments, anyone?
Thursday 9th July 2009

at a Starbucks downtown, watching the girls go by... and the occasional tranny
Thursday 9th July 2009

:Twitter haiku 148 - "An architect on / The indoor rock climbing wall: / 'It was built to scale.'"
Thursday 9th July 2009

:Twitter haiku 147 - "Chalk outline artist / Found dead in his studio / Details are sketchy"
Wednesday 8th July 2009

:Twitter haiku 146 - "The sitch in Iran / Were elections fraudulent? / Bit of a farsi"
Friday 3rd July 2009

Recent Facebook Profile Pics

'Cause why the hell not?






If any of you are in Toronto, don't forget to come out to the SpeakOut Slam Poetry contest tonight! I'll be a judge!

The Moon and Me

Forty years ago, my father took a walk to Central Park. He was a day away from his 37th birthday, and had just moved his young family from an impoverished Indian rice-farming village in rural Guyana to the bitter proletariat soup of 1960s New York city, in search of America's fabled economic and political salvation. With my mother left at home, a few blocks away in our scary little run-down apartment, to tend to me and my siblings, my father was no doubt weighted down with responsibility. It was an undeniably courageous act for he and my mother to have abandoned everything and everyone they knew in a desperate gamble to create a better future for their children. Theirs was, of course, a story told a thousand times over in that particular city.

My father's destination was Central Park because that's where the city had set up a big television screen. Hundreds, or maybe thousands of people had convened to watch blurry, otherworldly scenes that were broadcast in black-and-white, in between bouts of loud static. In a display of a completely different kind of courage and emigration, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin were taking their first steps onto the surface of the Moon; and the world --for the first time united through a feat of science-- held its collective breath in awe.

This feat was witnessed by the entire waking Earth. A dream held by generations of human beings, going back millennia to the dawn of civilization itself, had finally come true. A man had touched the face of another world. Much was made of the fact that that man was American. Indeed, the moon race itself was propelled by a political race between the USA and the Soviet Union; and the Apollo moon programme was funded by unbelievable largesse from the American taxpayers. Of all the flags of the Earth, there is no denying that the Stars and Stripes deserved to be the first national symbol to rest on the lunar surface.

But it's important to keep in mind that the triumph of Apollo was a transnational achievement owned by all of humanity. The name itself, Apollo, was of Greek origin, inspired by the poetry, tales and dreams of the greatest of early Western civilizations. The theories and mathematics that formed the foundation of rocket technology were Russian, Indian, German and --depending on far back one wishes to take it-- Babylonian. The rocket technology itself was the product of German engineering, admittedly the remnants of Nazi warfaring brilliance, its evil turned to peaceful, exploratory purposes. Half of the engineering staff of the Apollo programme was Canadian, refugees from Canada's terminated Avro Arrow fighter plane programme. And tracking stations scattered in countries across the world, most notably Australia, were critical in making sure the three loneliest human beings in the universe were not lost against the infinite canvass of black space.

More importantly, the moment that Armstrong's feet touched the lunar sand, his achievement became owned by all of us, regardless of race, citizenship, age or gender, forever more. It is therefore doubly frustrating that today, four decades after this most transcendent of human technological victories, a substantial proportion of people still insist that it never happened. It seems that a kernel of self-destruction will always linger in the human spirit, insisting on turning away even the most awesome of inspirations to embrace that most insidious poison of modern society: cynicism.

It must have been an important moment for my father. Like so many others in the park that day, he was a poor immigrant from a poor country, beset with worries and overwhelmed by the challenges of navigating America's wildest city with no guide, resources, roadmap or safety net. The steps he had taken alone from the apartment, to stare up at the glowing screen, were no less significant than Armstrong's dangerous steps from the lunar lander, to stare up at the glowing Earth. Both men had found themselves in an alien land with backbreaking responsibilities. Both had a plan for success, with a high probability of catastophic failure. And both were, in their own particular ways, profoundly alone in their travails.

But both also shared a particular strength: they had each eschewed cynicism and had chosen optimism. They would both work to maximize their chances of success, mantaining the discipline and sacrifice necessary to attain their goals. They had both recognized that the price of failure was far too dear to pay.

America did not provide my father with the economic salvation and opportunities he sought. So he took us to Canada shortly after that historic day. In his view, all the glories of America, the space programme among them, were mostly the domain of White people. He had oft warned me that my path might prove to be harder than my more lightly shaded friends, that some doors might always be closed to me, as they had been to him, due to nothing more than skin colour. Thus is the legacy of growing up, as he did, in a colonial nation beset with the ravages of a race-based class system.

I do not think he could have ever imagined that 23 years hence, I, his youngest son would submit an application to the nascent Canadian Space Agency to become an astronaut. It was the first time that Canadian civilians could apply, and I was determined to be a part of that historic occasion. My applicaton was denied, due in part to the impressive calibre of my competition, and in part to my youth and lack of relevant experience; it was not an unexpected result. But I remember sealing the envelope before mailing it to Ottawa, overcome for a moment by a feeling of awkward profundity and historic contemplation.

It had taken a mere four years in between the launch of the first artificial satellite, Sputnik, in 1957, and the successful orbiting of the first man in space, Yuri Gagarin in 1961. Only eight years later, Armstrong walked on the Moon. A couple of decades later, a civilian in a non-spacefaring nation --a non-white, naturalized citizen, no less-- was able to apply to the space programme and be given a fair shot.

In the same time span, my father had successfully made a home for his family in Canada, raising five children to successful, professional adulthood in an era well before the feel-good buzzwords of multiculturalism and global citizenship. He and my mother rest in placid retirement today in downtown Toronto, contentedly contemplating their eventual afterlives, as is the Hindu tradition, considering a completely different type of cosmic migration.

We had come far indeed.

In 2005, NASA announced that it has plans to return to the Moon by 2020. In 2006, Russia announced plans to mine the Moon by 2020. Some sources in China have indicated that that nation also wishes to have a lunar presence by 2020. And even India plans to have a human in space by 2014, and citizens on the lunar surface by --you guessed it-- 2020.

Space travel and lunar exploration as a metaphor for emigration and diaspora is not yet exhausted. As a symbol of national dominance and the supremacy of certain Western powers, it has evolved into something new. What will not change is that, for those who cast aside the easy cynicism of our times, the tendency for some humans to brave unseen dangers to open new worlds will continue to serve as an inspiration for those who seek the betterment of themselves and their families.


Showing off my Yuri Gagarin T-shirt, 2008



The response to my 1992 application to the Canadian Space Agency


Walter and Sursati Deonandan, New York City, 1969


Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong, 1969

Pluggity Plug Plug

Today, it's all about me!

There's a new article up at Skiffy.ca. This time it's a review of the really tremendously good Torchwood: Children of Earth miniseries.

My latest column is up at The MicroSoft website.

My most recent radio interviews are now archived on the reviews page (finally updated after 5 years of idleness).

And if you're in Toronto this coming Friday, July 24th, come on down to Ryerson University where I will be judging the first ever SpeakOut Slam Poetry contest! I'm sure it will be a lot of fun, so don't sit at home watching TV, come out and jeer --I mean support-- your local slam poets.

In Other News...

Sean M. sends us The 10 Most Awesome In Search Of episodes. He also points us to the, um, Indian He-Man:



How can we top that? Well, how about news from The Other Ray that someone is claiming to have been impregnated from ...wait for it... sperm from a swimming pool. Yeah.

Ray also sends us the following chart showing just which human broadcasts aliens are presently listening to. We're all screwed; you know that, right?

Brock Lesnar Is A Tool

My droogies, what can I say? I've been a bad blogger of late. But hey, I don't get paid for this, so I'm not going to lose any sleep over it.

As you may recall, I've been dealing with a herniated disc for over a year now. It has impinged my ability to do pretty much everything. Every time I get close to getting cured, something unexpected pops up to re-inflame the mofo. Most recently, I've been dealing with what appears to be a new, slight herniation on the other side of my body. So now that the right side is mostly healed, the left side has been impairing my movement.

Well, after some weeks of intense work and rehab, I was finally in a more-or-less good place again, backwise. I even managed to go running yesterday! To celebrate, I joined a friend for coffee in an outdoor cafe in Ottawa. Well, of course, a fight breaks out on the sidewalk in front of the cafe. About 40 idiotic teenagers are involved. Their fight spills over into the cafe. Tables are overturned, mugs are broken and people flee. Some try, but don't quite escape.

Count me in with the latter. I ended up getting my right knee bashed against the sharp edge of a brick wall while trying (unsuccessfully) to scale the wall as the horde pressed into my table. Bloodied and swollen, I once more hobble around town.

Conclusion: the gods really don't want me to walk. Ever again.

The really frustrating part of this tale, though, is that the idiot teenagers couldn't even fight well. The main combatants were doing the old girlie-man slapping. Hell, the only person who got hurt was me! If I'm going to pay with my knee, and if these idiots are going to resort to physical violence, then I at least want to be entertained with some skilled fighting! But nooooooo....

Which brings us to my topic for today: mixed martial arts, or MMA.

I've written about MMA many times. I'm a big fan, particularly of the type offered by the UFC, the company that pretty much invented MMA. I've argued many times that MMA is a civilized sport, that it exhaults in the purity of the human spirit and strives to make a man confront his true self. The battle is, in many ways, irrelevant to the character-building journey that minimal-rule fighting represents.

I have further argued that even though MMA can be bloody, and appears brutal to the untrained eye, it is actually safer that other combat sports, especially boxing. This is true for a lot of reasons, none of which I will go over today. Suffice it to say that boxing shortens or ends competitors' lives; MMA does not. As an out of shape asthmatic 40-something man with a marshmallow physique, I would personally feel a lot safer stepping into the fabled octagon than I would competing in a boxing match or even a professional ice hockey match, given the latter's penchant for anger-driven violence and access to sticks and blades.

And I have stated that given the intensity of high level training required to compete in MMA at the top levels, and given its innate philosophical characteristics, it actually attracts an intelligent, sensitive kind of competitor. Yes, there will always be thugs in the sport, like any other sport. But increasingly, at least in the UFC, the top competitors are genuine martial artists, in the true sense of that overused word.

UFC Middleweight champion Anderson Silva, UFC Welterweight champion George St-Pierre and UFC Light Heavyweight champion Lyoto Machida are all consummate, traditional martial artists who acquit themselves admirably and demonstrate elegance, charm, intelligence, respect and even gentleness in the octagon. They don't talk trash, can explain with eloquence their personal (and somewhat spiritual) paths that took them to fight at the top levels, and magically seem to avoid bloodshed while pulling off otherworldly victories.

Then came the most recent UFC pay-per-view, UFC 100. UFC Heavyweight champion Brock Lesnar successfully defended his title against Frank Mir. Brock is a freakishly gargantuan man with minimal martial arts skills, but a solid background as a wrestler and even a former WWF champion. He wins his MMA matches mostly by lying on top of his opponents and battering them while they are immobile under his mountain of stinky flesh. Whatever: it works for him, and is therefore not a technique to be minimalized.

The problem, though, was in Brock's comportment before and after the fight. Brock has stated that he does not respect any man he fights. After winning by TKO, Lesnar turned to the beaten Mir --in a moment when most fighters embrace and congratulate each other-- and said, "That's what you get for running your mouth." Then he gave the audience both middle fingers, declared he would be drinking Coors Light beer that night, instead of Bud Light (Bud Light was a sponsor of the event) and that he was going to "get on top of his wife" that night.

Real classy, Brock. Real classy.

For those of us who've struggled to defend this nascent sport against accusations of thuggery, Brock's behaviour was a real let down. He pretty much confirmed all the worst stereotypes the mainstream has of MMA, its competitors and even its fans.

On another note, there's another great fighter named Diego Sanchez, who is also a follower of the self-affirmation teachings of Tony Robbins. As a result, he enters each fight chanting "Yes!" repeatedly and, quite frankly, weirding everyone out in the process. Here's a GIF of such an entrance:



(If the GIF is not animating for you, try clicking on its original source.)

We Don't Need No Euduction

Grrr. Why did it take me 15 minutes to check my email on the "high speed internet" this morning? I want my gratification instantly, damn it!

Back when I was in grade 7, I attended Earl Grey Sr. Public School in Toronto, land of bullies, miscreants, an ill-placed doughnut factory next door, and an odd assortment of bizarre students and teachers. This was back in 1979, ancient history for some of the people reading this, I know.

The place was so unkempt and anti-intellectual that I cherish a particular memory. This was back in the days when Pink Floyd ruled the airwaves, and Another Brick In The Wall was every pre-teen's anthem. I was tickled pink (pun intended) to find one day spray-painted across the wall of one of the teaching portables:

"We don't need no euduction" [sic]

I wish I'd taken a photo.

There were two teachers in particular that I will discuss today. They were both named "Jewell". She was a delicate Australian music teacher and her husband was a gruff, old-fashioned two-fisted beast of a man who taught Gym, Science, English and History --because in Ontario, all those subjects are pretty much interchangeable. Back in my day, the school was so unruly and dominated by bullies and thugs that the more idiotic students would terrorize classmates and teachers alike, spitting in teachers' coffee and throwing desks at the black board. Really.

The delicate music teacher, bless her heart, tried to ply us with relevance, teaching us the intricacies of the music of the day (Kiss, David Bowie, Led Zepelin, etc.) For her efforts, she was oft rewarded with, you guessed it, boogers in her coffee and desks aimed at her head. That's when she would call down to one of the portables, from whence her manly husband would charge into the music room, howling thunderous terror to any and all in his path.

One day, Mrs Jewell foolishly tried to teach us a medieval English folk song from the 13trh century. It was called "Summer Is A-Comin' In", and you can hear a 1928 recording of it here. The lyrics, as you can read here, include the line, "Groweth seed and Bloweth mead."

That's right. She let a bunch of 12 year old thugs sing the line, "Bloweth mead". Not one of her brightest moments.

But I was reminded of one of her shining moments last night during a long drive from Ottawa to Toronto, during which I was listening to a Neil Young marathon. Mrs. Jewell was the one who introduced us to the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young song, Ohio, which was about the Kent State shootings of 1970. The song has never left my head since hearing it that first time in her class in 1979. And with the benefit of hindsight, I can see how groundbreaking, courageous and valuable Mrs. Jewell's educational approach was: the Kent State shootings were only 9 years old when we learned of them --not in history class, but in music class-- and the power of contemporary art to reflect the relevant happenings of the day was demonstrated to us in a very real, poignant fashion.

I have described Mr Jewell as a gruff fellow. That's not fair. I really enjoyed his teaching style. In a school of thugs, it was nice to look forward to a class that was guaranteed to be in control, as his were. He publicly encouraged my love for science fiction, which is no small thing. He also made the mistake of once announcing to the class that everyone should be more well-behaved like me, embarrassing me to no end. Thus, it was my duty to act up in that particular class, earning me an exile into the hallway. Dude, I was on your side; no need to brand me as uncool!

I hear rumours that Mr Jewell has since passed on. I don't know if that is true. I have no idea whatever happened to Mrs Jewell, or indeed if in this age of transient marriages if she even remained Mrs Jewell. It is sad, though, that it has taken be almost 3 decades to full appreciate the very subtle value of her courageous music classes.

Weekly Twitter Tweets

Weekly Twitter tweets from deonandan, since:2009-06-24



:Twitter haiku 145 - "It's Domin'yun Day / Changed due to confusion with / A supermarket"
Jul 1, 2009 01:51 PM GMT

:All glory to the hypnotoad!
Jul 1, 2009 03:39 AM GMT

:Twitter haiku 144 - "Seeing a psychic / To find a potential spouse: / Love at second sight?"
Jun 30, 2009 01:23 PM GMT

:Didn't pull the trigger fast enough. Both properties are conditionally sold.
Jun 29, 2009 09:07 PM GMT

:Twitter haiku 143 - "Computer program / For parsing Greek alphabet /Needs beta testing"
Jun 29, 2009 12:27 PM GMT

:Do I buy the tiny but affordable condo, smack downtown; or the magnificent expensive one, a tad further out? Which am I: cheap or spoiled?
Jun 29, 2009 01:27 AM GMT

:sadness = me tweeting my suburban escapades on a nice sunny day + you reading them instead of going out!
Jun 27, 2009 10:29 PM GMT

:at the Walmart on Erin Mills Pkwy for no obvious reason. My pointless one man tour of Toronto's suburbs continues. More banality to come.
Jun 27, 2009 09:26 PM GMT

:just ate a street hotdog, first one in 5 years. Ugh! What was I thinking?!
Jun 27, 2009 08:04 PM GMT

:at Toronto's Harbourfront. There are geeks here having "lightsabre" fights. It's a freakin' nerdgasm.
Jun 27, 2009 07:21 PM GMT

:Twitter haiku 142 - "Celebrity deaths / Difficult to manage; quite / An undertaking"
Jun 26, 2009 11:57 AM GMT

:Twitter haiku 141 - "Once upon a time / There were three little girls who... / Oh just never mind :( "
Jun 26, 2009 01:58 AM GMT

:Twitter haiku 140 - "Your body shivers / No mere mortal can resist / Evil of Thriller"
Jun 26, 2009 01:50 AM GMT

:I'm officially switching from 2nd Cup to Starbucks. I know they're (gasp!) evil Americans, but they've better products, service and prices
Jun 25, 2009 01:05 PM GMT

:God, I hate the fucking suited dickwads who fly on the Porter Air early morning shuttles.
Jun 25, 2009 10:53 AM GMT

:who are these bloody people who need 15 min to check in at the airport?
Jun 25, 2009 10:09 AM GMT

:Twitter haiku 139 - "He who pans for gold / Does it for value that is / Just sedimental"
Jun 25, 2009 03:26 AM GMT

Celebrity Deathwatch

Wow, it's been a while since my last blog update! Been so very very busy. Sigh. Lot of stuff to cover.

First, it's gotta suck if you're Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon or Karl Malden. Not only are you dead, but you died pretty much the same time as Michael Jackson, so no one is going to take note. Not even this blog.

I was looking through my blog archives for any mention of Michael Jackson. On Dec 31, 2007, I rode a camel in Egypt named Michael Jackson. On Jan 6, 2006, one of those computerized photo matching services told me I look similar to MJ. On Sep 7, 2006, I mentioned how Adam Ant once gave MJ fashion advice. On Feb 1, 2007, I showed you the Indian version of the video for "Thriller". And on July 25 of 2008 I mentioned that I had watched the Michael Jackson biopic.

What I didn't mention, and what I'd expressed to friends at the time, was that I had been utterly convinced of Michael Jackson's innocence with respect to all the various paedophilia charges against him. He simply struck me as an odd, naive fellow with more money than sense, and with a weird fascination with his own lost childhood. I doubt if he's had more than two sexual thoughts per year in his adult life, and probably never acted on any of them.

A funny thing happened after his death was announced. First, much like the unrest in Iran, MJ's death finally brought some relevance to Twitter. Second was the mindblowing outpouring of grief, both live and online. MJ reflections dominated the Twitterverse, Facebook and pretty much every blog I frequent. I know people who were moved to depression and tears.

It's weird. Michael Jackson was only a few years older than me; I consider him to be of my generation. I grew up with his music since the 1970s. But his death, while tragic, really didn't move me much. However, the people I know who have been the most affected are those under 30 years of age, who reached social awareness well past Jackson's glory days. I'm not sure what this means, but it must surely mean something.

One Facebook comment really pissed me off, though. I don't have the exact quote in front of me, but it was something to the effect that, "Why is the world obsessing over a dead paedophile? Have all the wars, rapes and injustices in the world been solved? Why is this news?"

This comment was objectionable on so many levels. First, Michael Jackson was never found guilty of any of the charges against him, so it's unfair, incorrect and possibly slanderous to refer to him as a paedophile. Second, since when is "news" only "wars, rapes and injustices"? News is anything that is new and that people seem to care about.

What the commenter really, and obtusely, doesn't get is that Jackson's death (and life) were transformative events for a great many people in the world. Spontaneous expressions of genuine, public emotion, unspurred by media, are rare in our modern times. We should embrace them and indeed revel in them.

The Other Ray sends us the following video of the history of Moonwalk:




While we're at it, here's the best Moonwalk I've ever seen:



And Brother Bhash sends us some well-timed Michael Jackson death jokes, 'cause it ain't the Internet age unless someone crosses the line:

Jockeys at tomorrows horse meetings will wear "black" armbands out of respect for Jacko, who rode more 3 year old than anyone in living history.

When Farrah Fawcett arrived at heaven, God granted her one wish. She wished for all the children to be safe. So God killed Michael Jackson.

Out of respect, McDonalds has released the McJackson burger, 50 year old meat between 10 year old buns.

Q: Why did Michael Jackson die on the same day as Farrah Fawcett?
A: He didn’t want her to be the only white woman grabbing all the headlines.

Toxicology report is out. It seems Michael Jackson died from an allergic reaction after eating some 12 year old nuts.

Michael Jackson died of a heart attack? What did he do, walk into a room full of pre-schoolers?

That's all for today.