5:30 p.m. It hits me: I really have to go watch Michael Jackson sign stuff at the Grammy's Art of Music Gallery. I don't begrudge Jackson his self-proclaimed "King of Pop" status; he's made some great music over the years. Thriller was one of the first records I listened to regularly as a kid. But these days, he's just creepy, and this publicity stunt to promote his long-delayed new single "What More Can I Give?" seems desperate and sad. The star-studded song was meant as a 9/11 tribute, but was held back by the record label. One rumored reason was that its producer has ties to gay porn.
6:18 p.m. I'm quickly walking through the Desert Passage in the Aladdin, worried I'm going to be late. I walk right past a large crowd, all waiting to catch a glimpse of the King of the Pop. I wonder if one of them would like to trade places with me.
6:20 p.m. Press credentials in hand, I enter the gallery. Despite the warning that doors would be shut at 6:30 p.m. to prepare for the Gloved One's arrival at 7, the attendees are easily outnumbered by the press. There are fewer than 20 people milling about, eating finger foods. Outside, a gallery employee is hawking Michael T-shirts. It's not nearly as glamorous as you'd think a Michael Jackson event would be.
6:45 p.m. I run into Las Vegas Sun gossip columnist Tim McDarrah and a writer from People magazine. McDarrah talks about chasing Bennifer around the Palms. I feel glad I'm not a gossip columnist. A chirpy woman who works at the gallery comes up to tell us about the event. Each of the attendees (there are supposed to be 40, although not nearly that many end up coming) has paid $5,000 to show up and meet MJ, take a picture with him and receive one of three uber-collectible Jacko items. A portion of the proceeds go to benefit the Lili Claire Foundation. We're not told which portion. The chirpy woman asks what publications we write for. She tells the People correspondent that People is her favorite magazine. "You always tell the truth!" she says. The People correspondent is clearly suppressing a laugh.
7:01 p.m. Surprisingly, Jacko has not arrived yet.
7:36 p.m. Something is happening outside. Maybe Michael is here. It's clearly someone important. It's … comedian Eddie Griffin. He's got a camera crew with him. I fight the urge to approach him and ask if he's famous.
7:53 p.m. Someone comes out of the back room and gives a very authoritative nod. I try not to get my hopes up.
7:58 p.m. The back door opens. Cameras and bodyguards emerge. Entertainment Tonight host Mary Hart comes out, leading a little elfin being in a red shirt, black pants and some sort of glittery sash. It's Michael! Like all celebrities, he's shorter in person. I move out of his way, afraid he might hug me.
8:00 p.m. Michael goes out to the hundreds-strong crowd, hugging some and signing some autographs. None of them had to pay $5,000.
8:04 p.m. Jacko signs autographs and poses for pictures with the loaded VIPs. No one cries or faints or anything. One guy brings up a surgical mask and gloves to get signed. Everyone else has CDs, records and T-shirts. MJ looks exactly how you'd expect him to from watching him on TV—skin unnaturally pale, nose like something from a Play-Doh set. It's all very anticlimactic.
8:11 p.m. Michael keeps touching his nose, as if he's checking to see if it's still there. I'm standing maybe 5 feet from him, but I can't hear a word he says. Half the time, his handlers communicate in simple gestures, as if Jacko were a small child or mentally challenged.
8:14 p.m. Perhaps smelling the TV cameras, Dennis Rodman arrives. No one seems to truly know why, nor care.
8:18 p.m. Michael signs a woman's T-shirt while she's still wearing it. After writing his name, he starts doodling over her cleavage, then flashes a naughty smile. I wonder what he's trying to prove.
8:21 p.m. Jackson is moving. Before the press can descend on him, he's out the door. The ordeal is over.