Idaho and Michael Jackson

Ok, I need to tell you about my fourth of July, but with all this MJ hoopla going on I have to mention one little thing that's been bothering me...It is always sad when someone dies, but isn't this the guy we were all afraid of with his penchant for young boys and his ever melting face? Why is he suddenly beyond reproach? Ok, I've never met the guy, and I do like one or two of his songs, but he really hasn't had an impact on my life. (except in fifth grade when we named our class hamster after him because he had one white paw...or that one Simpsons episode where the 300 pound white guy in the mental institution thinks he's Michael Jackson and then writes that birthday song for Lisa because my cousin Lisa wandered around singing it for weeks "Lisa it's your birthday, Happy birthday Lisa" over and over and over until we were ready to commit her.) That's all I'm saying. Isn't suddenly being a Michael fan like suddenly liking whatever sports team just won some big title?

Ok, so Idaho. Yep, it's still there. I've only been to Idaho a handful of times in my life. Once for a color guard competition in Pocatello, and I've been to Lava Hot Springs once or twice, so I really don't have much of a reference base. It was awesome to see my Uncle Tebbs (all of my uncles have bizarre names, it's just one of those things). I love my Uncle Tebbs because he is my dad's older brother, and he is the one person who can reduce him to tears from laughing so hard in less than a minute. Also, my dad seems to revert to being a little boy when they are together and it makes me giggle to watch.

Aside from that awesome bonus, I mostly spent my weekend being irritated. Since it was all my siblings (at least the ones who care, Wendy) that were there with their families it was kind of intense with all the tiptoe-ing around my schizophrenic brother and bipolar sister and emotionally fragile brother in law....and Russ. It was downright exhausting, come to think of it. And perhaps it was because I was in a hormonal/murderous mood, but the fireworks that were touted to be the best this side of the Mississippi were just...meh.

I already acknowledge that I need to give it a fairer shot...maybe next time I'll go by myself and actually get a chance to pay attention instead of trying to keep my nieces from jumping into the Snake River every time I turned around. Or maybe when I am not pregnant so that I don't have to be cursing the fact that the bathroom was a 15 minute walk.