It's okay to admit it: you've played "Billy Jean" in the past 24 hours, haven't you?

Strawbby.

I'm not going to even attempt to assemble this post into something even pretending to be a coherent and fluid narrative.

I'll start with some commentary on the Jackson coverage...

After about 32 minutes of tv watching over the past few days, I now know the following irrefutable facts about Michael Jackson:

- Michael is legally credited with inventing every dance move since 1879.
- Michael AND HIS MONKEY (!) both scored a perfect 1600 on their SATs.
- Technically, every memory you have of the '80's earns MJ $1.29 in royalties. And a free bottle of pepsi.
- Every musician alive would be playing "Little Brown Jug" on a recorder right now if Michael had not existed to create music as we know it.
- The "moonwalk" was so named because Michael came up with it while inventing NASA.
- Joy has ceased to be. Bury your heads in the sand, America, and wait for the next person to come along and validate your existence with sequined, uni-gloved, crotch grabbing showmanship.

...such is the comically bloated weight of importance placed on his body of work. I certainly do not intend to make light of the man's death, but the extent of idolizing by every outlet of the news media is astounding. I'm cynical. I skew moderately afield from the mainstream as far as music goes; maybe that has a part to play in my contempt for the attention given to The Smooth Criminal.

"How," you're no doubt asking, "has this got anything to do with raising twins?"

Oh. Oh, plenty. Because we, as parents, are tasked with the heady task of teaching our kids about pop culture as we know it. What are we to say when the subject of "who's bad?" comes up? Do I explain the Jackson phenomenon through my own slanted prism, or do I tell the girls what the media would have us think: that Michael was all things to all people? I think I'm making parenting too hard. If they ask, maybe we'll just sit down and have a Pixies Appreciation Night or some such festivity.

Okay, I'm losing readers, I can feel it. On to the next point.

Today, we were doing "Sooooooo big!" in the high chairs, and Jenny mixed it up a bit and said, "Who's so big? Who's soooo big?" and Lily called out for all to hear, "Daddy!" Smart ass.

Next...

Lily loves strangers. I had suspected this much earlier, but it struck me as being quite true today. We headed to the Harriet bandshell for a pick-a-nick lunch, and before long a jazzy-type band started up some tunes. As such, some folks were in attendance. When we'd finished lunch and left Lily to her own devices (such fiendish devices that are in her employ), she went from person to person, stranger to stranger, and stood in front of them, and stared. And stared and stared. For even the friendliest of stranger, this starts to get decidedly awkward. They wave, say hi, try to engage her in conversation ("Shame about Michael, huh little girl?..."), then the excitement kinda peters out, yet Lily continues to stare. It's hard to pull her away, though, because she's always smiling and kinda flirty with it, so it's fun. Otherwise, she's the consummate overextended houseguest.

It was the perfect day to be outside. We decided early on that it would have been a crime to be indoors...it was warm but not hot, dry but not too dry, windy to keep the bugs away, and spotty cumulus glided by all day to blot us with some timely shade. First rate day, no doubt.

Acht, I know there's other stuff I wanted to mention, but it's getting on and my brain is packing up for the night. I used up all my material on the Michael Jackson bit. What a waste.

Day one hundred and thirty three.

During a brief respite while meeting with her constituency.

It makes you hungry, no? Give in. Go get yourself some teddy grahams.

Abby was babbling something here, and while I look interested, it's a facade; I had no clue what she was talking about.