Dropping Dead: it must be June.

Once again, the summer curse prevails--almost as if people chose this time to die.

My sister is self-teaching the dance step to "Beat it" through the all weekend long video run of Michael Jackson on VH1 classic. Less than four days ago, the king of pop was pronounced dead on CNN, and now there is nothing more worth watching on TV than his past. Closely watching in fascination of what this man was, I couldn't help but be reminded of the date of his death: June 25th, 2009.
June 25th. June 25th.
June. June. June.
All too familiar.

In the years that had gone by, I can name a few (even four more from this year to be precise) of the ones who made this month worth checking the calendars for. Grandpa nine years ago, grandma eight years ago, step grandpa seven years ago, my friend James in 2007, and the alignment of celebrities for this year including the king of pop: kill Bill, the Star Search guy, one of the beloved Charlie's angels, and most recently, the Oxiclean dude who "kaboom"ed his way to fame. All had dropped dead in the face of the earth in the month of June. What is it about this month that makes people have to celebrate summer differently? Is there such trend to what has happened? If so, it doesn't matter. I have yet to really make any sense of the cursed summers that had gone in the past.

Maybe I wasn't supposed to.
If it had been written in someone's fate, it's unavoidable.

Rest in peace.