Michael, Farrah and (not) Jeff

The King of Pop is dead. Long live . . . who?

Pop music lives on, but without an obvious successor to the Pop crown. That Timberlake fella’s just a bit too normal and balanced.

Jackson will be remembered for a few good albums, but mostly for the chimpanzee, the oxygen tent, “Wacko Jacko”, the bizarre behaviour, the accusations, aspersions and gossip.

It’s hard to feel anything but pity for this man who remained a boy in so many ways. And it’s very hard to shake the sense that he’d been dying before our eyes for the last two decades.

In a perfect world Jackson’s life would be a stark warning about the dangers of growing up in the celebrity spotlight.

Unfortunately, his lasting impression will probably be a vague whiff of salacious scandal and a dodgy telemovie starring Jaden Smith as Young Michael and Marilyn Manson as the adult.

Media coverage of Jackson is beyond comprehensive right now, far overshadowing the other tragic celebrity death of the moment, Farrah Fawcett.

Farrah’s battle with cancer (detailed in not one, but two recent documentaries) has been big news for years now, but she’s hardly getting a look in.

One is reminded of Jimmy Stewart’s death in 1997 which rendered the death of legendary actor Robert Mitchum all but forgotten.

We haven’t forgotten you, Farrah.

Then, just to throw a bit of bizarrity into the day someone somewhere took the idea that “things happen in threes” as an instruction, and announced that Jeff Goldblum had plummeted to his death from a cliff while filming in New Zealand.

This got as far as being officially announced on Australia’s Today show before being revealed as a hoax and denied by a bemused and very-much-alive Jeff Goldblum.

Richard Wilkins, you’re an idiot.

What a day. It won’t quite live in infamy, but we won’t see its like again for a while. Hopefully.