s soon as I heard about it, I knew I had to go. I reserved a ticket right away—I think mine was number 296 out of 300 so I just made it.
I got to Japan and I was totally jetlagged, so everything already had this surreal feeling to it. I headed over to Studio Coast, the venue where the event was happening. There were all these paparazzi outside and everyone was gathered around a Michael Jackson impersonator, watching him do the Moonwalk. Everyone was holding gifts and flowers and things for him to sign. I was empty-handed.
Most of the people there were Japanese, but somehow I ended up in line with a bunch of English-speaking folks. I met a really cool girl who worked for the Moroccan embassy who ended up becoming my line-buddy. Standing in front of us was a normal-seeming Scottish couple who told me, “Some people spend $10,000 for a safari—this is our safari.” I also met Carlo, a computer technician/Michael Jackson impersonator from Colorado who hit on me. He was like, “What are you doing later? Wanna go by Michael’s hotel and hang around outside?” And I met the head of the Australian Michael Jackson fan club, who brought a massive, four-inch-thick binder of fan letters she had collected from fans in Australia to give to Michael Jackson. I wonder if he’ll read any of them. I feel like he might. I mean, what else does he have to do?
Before we were let in, a parade of about 50 children in wheelchairs were hoisted up the stairs into the venue. People around me were actually getting pissed off, like, “Why do
they get to go in first? They probably didn’t even have to pay!”
So finally we get let inside, and it’s really lame! There is a buffet of crap food, like deli sandwiches and shit. I mean, for three grand you’d think there’d be some decent food. I ate, like, a cracker. I was starving and I think that contributed to my mental breakdown later.
There was nothing to do for two hours. Everyone was just milling around, waiting for something to happen. Finally Michael showed up and made his way through the crowd with about five bodyguards forming a shield around him. People FLIPPED out: crying, screaming, taking pictures like crazy. Suddenly Michael stopped walking and crouched down into, like, a crash position and covered his head because I guess the camera flashes were too much for him. The bodyguards started yelling, “No flashes! No flashes!”
He went upstairs into this VIP box and everyone just stood there staring up. Once in a while he would come to the window and wave and people would freak out. Then I got hit on by another Michael Jackson impersonator! He was like a hip-hop dude whose name was “E. Casanova.” I kept wondering what it was about me that was so attractive to Michael Jackson impersonators!
