The Man in My Mirror

I wrote this article on June 25th, 2009. It's a historic, first-hand account of the moment that fundamentally changed how I perceive human nature, fame, media, power, and America itself.

This past weekend, a friend asked me to see the Michael movie with him. I have tickets, where do we meet? This is a friend I usually go to the theater with; we don’t ask each other what we want to see, one of us buys the tickets and tells the other where to show up. When I told him I couldn’t go, he casually asked — busy today, what day can you go? No, I can’t see this movie. Ever.

I spent about 45 minutes on the phone explaining to one of my closest friends why I can’t see a Michael Jackson biopic, and probably never will, and he just wasn’t getting it. Miranda, you’ve been obsessed with Michael for 4 decades, what the fuck, let’s go see a fucking movie.

I figured out during that phone call that I’ll never be able to explain why my body physically can’t walk into that theater and watch that movie unless I give you the full picture. And that picture begins on June 25, 2009 — the day Michael Jackson died. I was there, ten minutes from his house. When the news broke, I went to his home. I…