The King

The wall-to-wall coverage of Michael Jackson's death makes me think of Elvis Presley, my generation's King. Like Michael, Elvis didn't always handle his fame that well, and finally became a parody of himself at the end -- fat, bloated, over-the-top hair-do and costumes, slinging a hundred or more scarves around his neck, one at a time, during a concert so he could give them to women in the audience. Yuck! But his voice was still good, and I still miss that.