Portraits of a Young Man as an Artist: 40 is the new 30... and 50 is the new dead

I don't really follow any real celebrity personalities. I really just don't care about who their dating, or 'wearing', or if they like to play bongos in the buff-- (who doesn't really). However, the recent deaths of Michael Jackson and... believe it or not Billy Mays actually made me a little sad. Not tears or depression-- nothing that would cause me to travel to the Walk of Fame on a commemorative pilgrimage. Without disrespect, I compare it to washing your pants and realizing there was a twenty dollar bill in the pocket-- an "ah crap, I just ruined a twenty" moment. Not a huge deal, but you start thinking about what you could have done with that twenty and you're a little sad. That was me.

In honor of Michael Jackson's life (not death) I wore a sparkly glove from June 25 until the end of the month and listened to nothing but Michael Jackson (or Jackson 5) on my iPod. I think it was very difficult not to have an opinion on Michael Jackson-- mine was that he really was Peter Pan, a boy that never grow up. The death of an icon is an event. People can tell you where they were when they heard that other musical legends Elvis Presley and John Lennon had died. Jackson revolutionized the music (and dance) world and I for one will miss him.

The King is dead.

Now this one surprised me. Billy Mays. I watch the Discovery Channel show Pitchmen devotedly, not because I was a fan of any of the characters, but more so for the inventions and tools coming to market-- the journey grabbed my attention and I was hooked. It was only in a recent memorial tribute to Billy Mays where he was described as "a big burly, bear-of-a-man with a kind and soft heart" that I realize why his passing moreso than that of any other famous personality affected me. My father who shared those same qualities also passed at the age of 50 from severe heart failure.