Noriko Mourns Michael Jackson…?

Last night I came home tired after practicing aikido. I grabbed my dinner and flopped in front of the TV. Instantly the Michael Jackson thing came on – his memorial service in Staples Center, Los Angeles. I groaned with displeasure. “How long is this media frenzy going to continue?” I asked. If the media were an individual, we would call it “obsessive-compulsive” and put it on medication. Instead, we call it “democratic free press!” I was starting to roll.

“Don’t complain!” Noriko cut me short with a withering look. “I like. It vedy entuhtaining. If you complain, I go watch in my cave!” With that, Noriko exited for the cable TV set up in her cave, with our three little poodles following. How nice – I was free in my exhaustion to watch my OWN idiotic programming instead of worshipping Michael Jackson!

To some extent I forgot about Noriko’s “grieving process” for Michael as I lounged in the living room, but once in awhile a nice audio clue would wave in. “He was the greatest entertainer of ALL TIME!” bellowed a voice from the cave. “He was a wondeful human being!” cried another. Such grand statements punctuated my evening, the ghost of Michael Jackson invading my space, until, mercifully, I fell asleep….

And I remained happily oblivious of the memorial frenzy until, fading into consciousness, I heard from the cave, the off-tune singing: “We are duh wohld; we are duh children….” Noriko was singing along to Michael’s old tear-jerker. Christ! It was 10:30, and I had been out for awhile; it felt as if I had been on that drug Jackson purportedly used to “go under.” As I came to, I realized that Noriko was STILL tuned into the orgy.

“Jesus, Norichan – how long are you going to watch that junk!” I yelled from the livingroom to the cave. In an instant Noriko emerged, now in her PJs. “It wonderful. I cry!” she pronounced as she came in and threw herself on the futon. The dogs immediately piled on. “Michael duh greatest entuhtainuh of all time!” Noriko declared, not knowing I had already heard the tired quote from the TV. “I relived my youth dis evening. Michael vedy entuhtaining!”

“Ugh! I can’t wait for the orgy to end. This must be the climax, right? This memorial thing?”

“Probably,” Noriko conceded. “Dis probably climax, and it was good. Tonight I mourned vedy happily.”

“Well, I am glad you enjoyed your ‘mourning”, honey, but I am more glad to hear that this drama is over.”

“Oh, no, ” Noriko replied. “It not ovuh yet. Yes, tonight duh climax. But we still waiting for toxicology report. Dat mean dehr more. Fan all ovuh duh world can anticipate more!”

I sighed with resignation, the irony of my situation fully revealing itself: I was an active critic of the media madness of the Jackson coverage, but my wife was now fully enrolled in the program.

“Maybe so, ” I said as I got up from the futon, but I have had enough of this storyline, so you just moon-walk your little butt to the bedroom – enough about Michael Jackson!” I said as commandingly as possible.

“I just started!” Noriko replied laughing as she ran to the bedroom, dogs at her heels.

Mercifully, I clicked off the television….