Indeed. Several hundred children of much higher value just died in numerous third world nations because of reasons far more significant than these two washed up douchebags. One who couldn't keep her nose up off the lines of coke and the other, a pedophile, who couldn't even admit to himself that he was a black man. Wow. What losses!
We have to learn to separate our feelings about the art from our feelings about the artists. They all have their flaws.
When Cat Stevens signed the fatwa against Salman Rushdie, I picked up his albums and was on my way to the trash can. Then I decided that I was not going to allow Joseph Islam (or whatever cutesy way he spells it) to deprive me of all that wonderful music.
Peter Sellers was a complete jerk but he made some of the most wonderful movies. Many artists are plagued by demons and are not easy people to get along with.
I don't have any problem with people using recreational drugs so long as they contribute to civilization, and Farrah certainly did. She didn't even die of an O.D., so I'm not quite sure what your gripe is.
As for Michael's alleged pedophilia, he was a little boy who never grew up and little boys do a lot of bizarre sexual things when they begin to approach puberty. They still don't like girls so whatever experimentation they do is often with other little boys. I admit that was a serious flaw, especially since many of those little boys' parents were happy to sign them up for a lengthy course of therapy in a few years in exchange for a big check. But that hardly puts Michael Jackson in a league with people like Osama bin Laden or George Bush when rating celebrities on the Evil Scale. He was the product of a "good Christian family."
Over 20,000 children die every day of preventable causes so a woman known best for having great nipples and a child molester counts for not much!
But it's natural for us to mourn the people who enriched millions of lives with their art. I wouldn't expect more than a few people who know me to cry when I die, but I expect half the human race to cry when it's Mick Jagger or Yo-Yo Ma. Well maybe a few less for Ma.
It's called "celebrity" and it's nothing to be ashamed of.
I got a kick out of the Jackson obituary in today's Washington Post:
In the early 2000s his fortunes and recording contracts waned, and an album, 2001's "Invincible," essentially tanked, selling only 10 million copies worldwide.
As a musician I would dearly love to "tank" that way.