Now, aside from that humorous aside in last night’s post about Michael Jackson, I think we I can be mature and write something of a little more ‘serious’ tone on the topic. So, c’mon, guys. Srs bizness here.

A friend IM’ed me with the news, and as soon as I heard this I went to Last.fm. And holy shit, was that shoutbox out of control. Over 1000 shouts were left in 4 hours, and when I checked this morning the stream of tributes and paedophile jokes was still coming strong. Now, there was the diverse mix of people that resulted from the death of the self-dubbed ‘King of Pop’—there were metalheads and other ‘passerbys’, leaving a simple ‘RIP.’ There were the sycophants—“MICHAEL I LOVED YOUUUUUUU”—and those who left some (admittedly) well-crafted troll jokes that were quickly dubbed ‘too soon’, ‘cruel’ et cetera by the sycophants and the moralists. All in all, the shoutbox was interesting to watch. And, hey, according to Shepherd Smith, MJ’s death slowed down the WHOLE INTERWEBS.

Now, I didn’t feel ‘bad’ or ‘reverent’ when I heard this news. Sorry, but I never feel bad when celebrities die. I never knew them personally. I’m sure they were nice people, but I can’t say, so I’m not going to cry a river over some celubtante/dame/pop-princess/teen idol kicking the bucket. Really, even when Björk dies, I won’t be in tears. She makes music, that I enjoy. Sure, her music helped me through some tough times. However, she didn’t drive me to the hospital to see sick relatives. She didn’t give me a loan for my first house or whatever.

And I think that’s what we have to remember when a celebrity dies, especially someone as huge as Michael Jackson. The majority of us won’t have been affected by that person—in life or death—directly. When it comes to writers, for example, I never take the close reading approach—you can’t analyze Virginia Woolf or DH Lawrence without looking at their lives. Yet when a celebrity dies, you’re in a way forced to separate the artist and their work. Yesterday, no one on the news was saying, “That pedo. Glad he’s dead,” even though that was the horse they’d been beating for years. Instead, everyone was intent on calling to mind Jackson’s accomplishments—his number ones, his videos, his white glove.

Let the mourners mourn and everyone else get on with their lives. We don’t ‘have’ Michael Jackson anymore, but we do have his work. Eventually—I assume soon, actually—someone will want to analyze Jackson through a more critical lens, and they’ll have to scrutinize the man and his work. But for now, all we can do is enjoy Jackson’s music on its own term—terms of ferociousness, daring, and not-so-subtle-sensuality.

So let’s remember the King of Pop for what he was—the King of Pop. A closer, probably unnecessary, look will be taken at his life somewhere down the road. As for right now, all we need to worry about is whether our tape decks have enough battery to play Thriller a few more times.

Now, I would’ve liked to post an MJ mp3, but my collection is pretty slim. So instead I’ll post a mix of Björk’s “Alarm Call”, which was originally titled “Jacko” in honor of The Gloved One.

Download "Alarm Call" (Mark Bell Radio Mix) (via Fileden)

Whew. I don’t know about you, but this year has sapped me of all desire to “reflect.” So, instead of the usual year-end bullcrap such as “hai guys dis is my bezt of list for 2008 plz read and fave,” I’ve tallied up some the fantastic changes coming to Squid Can in 2009. And, hey, it’s better than 2007’s puny New Year’s post.

Expect book, movie, and television reviews to be up within the first week of January. Selections most likely to appear will be Vox by Nicholson Baker, The Drinky Crow Show, and a few movies I watched on Lifetime while snowed in (feel free to respond with an ‘lol wut’ to that one). And who knows...maybe some of my short fiction will find its way onto Squid Can in 2009! Or, perhaps, even more of my audio ‘experiments.’

In the music department---well, Christmas provided me with a generous sum of money for buying some new tunes. I’ve recently acquired the latest by M83, Wolf Parade, Metallica, Dido, Nine Inch Nails, Carrie Underwood, Bon Iver, and Vampire Weekend. Squid Can: Bringing you the music of 2008 in 2009! Then again, judging by the albums I’ve recently reviewed, release date doesn’t seem to be much of a factor, does it? And for all you free-muse hounds----jump on the free Mp3’s quick, as all Squid-hosted tracks from 2008 will expire during the first week of January.

Come back to Squid Can tomorrow for some ‘2008 in Review’ stuff---because I was too lazy to finish it and post it today. But this isn’t your usual review filler---this is scathing criticism in classic Squid fashion. Lawl at that, since this site once proudly published an article celebrating YouTube poop. You can search the archives for that, since I’d rather not link to that brew of my old fail.

Some final news bits for 2008: Bumpworthy (the Mecca of [adult swim] bumps) has added a tagging system to its site, King of the Hill comes to [adult swim] tomorrow at 10pm, more photos are on the way, and, finally, check out the “about the author” page for a new photo.

Happy New Year, folks!

--Alex Joseph

P.S. As I was racing against the deadline to post this before 12, I was watching the countdown and listening to music. Just as counter dropped below ten seconds, the opening notes of Goldfrapp's "Clowns" came on. Folksy prophecy? We'll have to see (lol wut).

I meant to post this a few days ago, but I was unable to. However, since I now have a huge amount of free time on my hands, you can now expect a squidavalanche of posts in the upcoming weeks. Note that some of these sites may be past the date for Christmas shopping. This list may be practically useless due to the shipping times, but I still wanted to post this since a bit of work went into it. Enjoy.

Your Element-wearing, reefer-smoking, teen nephew will be pleasantly surprised when he receives some classic [adult swim] on DVD from his "kewl" aunt or uncle. Recommended are the bizarre, minimal, and magnificent [adult swim] originals, such as The Brak Show, Space Ghost Coast To Coast, Sealab 2021, or Harvey Birdman. Or, give 'em to a professor or teacher and watch said academic tie her body up in knots trying to analyze the postmodern meta-fun contained within. And for veteran sufferers of swim-o-phila, buy season one of Moral Orel on DVD to relieve some of the pain from the show’s cancellation.  read more »

By Alex Joseph

Imagine living without any lights, sometime in the middle ages. You can see the world by daytime, but by night your entire life is obscured under the fields of stars that dot the sky. Moonlight is your sole source of illumination. The idea seems a tad arcane, doesn't it?

Now, imagine you live by candlelight. As the sun sets, you strike a match and use it to light the few candles you have. You and your family can read, but only through careful examination of each page.

Fast forward into the early nineteenth century and even the previous example seems quaint. By now you have street lamps that guide you home with their vignette-like opalescence and light bulbs that flash-fill your dining room and make your finest China gleam. This scenario is still old-fashioned, at least by contemporary standards.

Now, in the new millennium, even as an onslaught of pro-green philosophy surges into the minds of Americans, we continue one of our most damaging habits. Perhaps a result of our constant quest for the bigger and the better, we are flooding our cities, streets, and towns with light.

The epidemic is not particularly hard to spot. Car dealerships seem to have an unending source of luminescence in their lots. Metropolises have become shining fortresses; buildings aflame with neon and halogen. We have begun to accept artificial light as a substitute for the real thing. We have begun to accept a perfectly lifeless model of daytime. We have drowned ourselves in light.

There are, as one might expect, consequences to such environmental indulgence. The harmful health effects of light pollution have been well documented. A link between breast cancer and excessive light has been noted in several cases. Women who work night shifts have higher rates of acquiring the disease. A study by Richard Stevens, an epidemiologist at the University of Connecticut Health Center, compared satellite images of Israel at night with images showing areas were breast cancer was more common. It was shown that breast cancer rates jolted a startling 73 percent in the most illuminated areas.

The zoological sphere is also affected by the fluorescent jungle. Sharon Wise and Bryant W. Buchanan of Utica College have found that nocturnal frogs can “freeze” for several hours after exposure to sudden, bright light. A classical example is of superfluous light's effects on birds. Birds are enamored by glowing beacons and are liable to crash into such structures, causing copious amounts of avian death and disrupting migration patterns.

Then there is the issue of astronomical obscuration, that is not as biologically pressing but certainly an aesthetic difficulty. In some urban areas, light pollution has grown to the point where stars are not visible. A dark sky, a secluded area, is necessary for bewilderment before the stars. With the surplus of lighting that nows exists in cities, many are robbed of this simple pleasure.

It is therein that lies the most hateful crime of light pollution. In place of Orion and the Zodiac is the cold silence of a bright bulb, in the most mundane of urban locales. In place of the shadowy liquid that fills the sky is a hive of radiant offices and corporations, tightly-packed and homogeneous. In place of an ideal night sky for stargazing are our own lights: porch lights, deck lights, house lights, headlights, lights at the front door. Are we planning to welcome the Messiah through such ludicrous amounts of lighting?

Or are we just afraid of the dark?