I found myself getting more than a little choked up last week over the death of Michael Jackson
. Whatever the man may have been- and some of those things are certainly awful- he was the biggest thing in the world when I was growing up. I had a red leather jacket covered in zippers when I was five. I practiced for hours learning to moonwalk. In short, I was like pretty much every other kid who grew up in the '80s. I wanted to be Michael Jackson.
But then, just a few days later, I was surprised to find myself just as sad about the death of Billy Mays. I have no idea why, but I always enjoyed seeing Mays selling me some ridiculous product. He seemed so happy to be there, to have the job of selling gardening attachments for cordless drills and putty that was a real-life miracle. He wasn't creepy, like the Sham-Wow guy, or obnoxious like Ron Popeil. Somehow, even though Billy Mays was always trying to sell me something stupid, I still liked him. And I think that deserves at least a moment of recognition.