So, I'm in L.A. for the weekend, and I just got back from touring the single most amazing place I have ever been: the Michael Jackson auction collection at the Beverly Hilton. AND MY LIFE WILL NEVER BE THE SAME.
Michael Jackson—in case you hadn't heard—accidentally got super destitute because he spent all of his money on flying carpets and gold-plated robot butlers, so he decided to auction off all his shit to raise a bunch of millions of dollars. (Or something. Please do not quote me on the details.) Except then he changed his mind and asked for the stuff back, so now there's NOT going to be an auction (boooo!), but that's not really important. What's important is that I still got to go and LOOK AT ALL THE STUFF.
Touring the Michael Jackson auction collection is exactly like touring the inside of MJ's baroque, gold-plated crazybrain. Turns out, the inside of MJ's baroque, gold-plated crazybrain is the most fun and wondrous place you've ever been. It's also suuuper depressing!
It's the kind of place where it's impossible to decide what to take a picture of. IMPOSSIBLE! Everything is fucked up AND totally fucked. The weirdest revelation of the day was MJ's apparent obsession with lifesize wax figures of elderly white people in folksy poses and varying bonnets. The Creepiest Piece of Furniture Award goes to "child-size chaise lounge" (for child-size reclining nude?). But the overall Best Shit Ever is CLEARLY the vast collection of MJ-themed art, for which words do not suffice. (Far too many pictures after the jump!)
Follow me, follow me...
A Child's Garden of Alleged Bad Touching
A lot of the stuff is weirdly homemade/bush-league, like this Zoo sign.
This woman was LITERALLY WEEPING in the sculpture garden, and in this photograph is tenderly pressing her cheek to the golden gates of Neverland.
Something about this dirty mat made me sad.
California Raisin collection.
This was not right.
DEAR GOD WHY WAS THE AUCTION CANCELED!?
DEAR GOD WHY WAS THE AUCTION CANCELED!? PART TWO
DEAR GOD WHY WAS THE AUCTION CANCELED!? PART TWO (detail)
As far as I can tell, this one involves Peter Pan and MJ watching in horror/furtive pleasure as the Three Stooges, Kermit the Frog, the ghost of Walt Disney, and Shirley Temple all conspire to rape Charlie Chaplin.
Edward's actual Scissorhands.
Original paintings by Michael Jackson (top) and Macaulay Culkin (bottom). I WOULD NOT JOKE ABOUT THIS.
See this chef guy? There were ten more like him in different outfits just lounging on the furniture all over the place. And some of them were ladies. Did MJ always dream of having whimsical white grandparents?
Can you read this? It's a letter from Ronald Reagan expressing his condolences about that time Michael Jackson caught on fire.
Gew! Gew gew gewww!
"I'm a multidimensional creature..."
Goodbye! (FOR NOW...)