the tale of two icons

Two pop culture icons in one day: Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson. Gone.

It's hard for me to gauge exactly how much of an impact they had on me, personally; I'd guess slight, at best. Although both definitely figured in my peripheral vision.

Of Michael Jackson, I have not much more to say other than I found the 1980s Black version cool, he of the Thriller and Billie Jean music videos that aired on CBC's Video Hits in my formative high school years. Someone could have made a documentary: "Rosenort Collegiate: The Day Moonwalking gave Intramural Sports the Boot." Mockumentary, more like. That was the vintage Jackson. I didn't much care for Phantom of the Opera/Vampire Michael Jackson, who dangled babies over balconies, grabbed his crotch every other dance move, and was fond of pajama parties with young boys. Yep, the King of Pop turned into a mighty creepy spectre in his later years.

Farrah Fawcett, on the other hand. Is there anyone my age in North America who does not know who Farrah Fawcett is, she of the red swimsuit poster fame, the feathered blonde mane, the teeth? A classmate of mine once told me Farrah Fawcett had double the amount of teeth the average human being had--that would be twice 32, in case you're wondering (thank you, WikiAnswers). Google searches haven't confirmed or denied that rumor, although an archived People article from '92 confides that "Appearances notwithstanding, Donny Osmond had no more than the usual number of teeth." No word on the count in Farrah's mouth. Mind you, I did learn from sources that she sported an "affected smile" and breast implants. Well, who doesn't, right?

Like the author of this letter, I totally remember that when we girls played Charlie's Angels, everybody wanted to be Jill first. Kris next. Then Kelly. Last dibs: Sabrina. The Jills and Krises and Kellys consoled the Sabrinas of the world with the words, "You know, Sabrina's the brainiest one." Can you say "honorable mention"? We all knew that Charlie's Angels was not about brains. It was not about brawn. It was not about bikinis--well, OK, it was about bikinis. (It was the era of "jiggle TV," after all. Or one of the eras. Think Baywatch.) More importantly, however, it was about hair. Kate Jackson just didn't have it. And by it I mean the hair. (Side note: Sandra Bullock kind of reminds me of Kate Jackson.)

Two additional thoughts on FF. First, my parents' friends' daughter had a book in her personal library, via those highly revered Scholastic orders, which alleged that Lindsay Wagner had sparked Lee Majors's interest until Farrah Fawcett caught his eye. Again, I can't find online material to substantiate that. I suspect the author took great liberties, perhaps blurring the fictional Six Million Dollar Man/Bionic Woman romantic narrative with the real-life Fawcett/Majors tale. Or maybe the book never said that at all. Or I misread it. I was a guest, after all, so I was expected to play, not read my hosts' books. The agony of childhood responsibilities. (By the way, Lindsay Wagner recently celebrated her 60th birthday.)

Second, before it was known as Valley Pharmacy or Morris Super Variety, the Morris Drug Store sold O-Pee-Chee trading cards with bubblegum. They had a series devoted to Charlie's Angels. You can still find collections on ebay; I must've had about five #122 cards at one point. Now this is truly scary: an original, unopened pack. (I don't know what's more horrifying, the price of US$179.99 or the idea that someone might purchase it, open it, and chew the gum after all these years.)

Anyway, here's an article that I thought put FF's career into perspective. And here's a link to the pilot episode's opening backstory and credits.

Two icons of Generation X, my generation, gone.