Believe in Blue

I started doing laundry this morning with one mission -- my lucky Colts sweatshirt must be clean for the big game on Sunday. We're all a little Colts crazy right now. Even the dogs have outfits to cheer on our team.

Go Colts.

Thrilling

Anyone with half a brain is now supposed to be completely appalled and sick of the overwhelming attention to the sudden death of Michael Jackson, aka Wacko Jacko. If you're a baby boomer or older, you've lost a few music icons ... Elvis, John Lennon, and more.

Yes, we (as a society, as a star-obsessed culture) have forgotten that the Supreme Court has a full docket ahead of them in October. The transformation of health care is going to kill us or make us stronger. Our new president has a task more overwhelming than most people care to calculate. We're still at war. The planet is possibly freezing or boiling at any given point and 99.9 percent of us who would really like to find a reasonably good fit for a reasonably good job still have not found it.

Is the untimely death of Michael Jackson worth the diversion?

Oh, probably not.

If you had asked me two weeks ago if I was a fan of his, I probably would've shrugged and said, "He's ok. I like some of his music." I would've probably added that his fascination with remaking his face gives me the creeps and the endless accusations and out-of-court settlements give me pause.

But a funny thing happened while I watched glimpses of the endless coverage of the past couple of weeks -- I was shocked at how much his music has been a part of my life. From buying a 45 record of "ABC" by The Jackson Five to associating certain songs with high school and college. The first music video I was ever interested in watching was "Thriller." I watched it again (the long version) the other day.

Of course I watched the funeral. I was touched once again by his music and by his legacy. Turns out, I'm a much bigger fan than I thought.