I'm up to my armpits in paint here--two bedrooms down, none to go (and pictures to come, of course)--and at 8:06 p.m., I finally sit down for a break. I'm tired. I smell like paint. And the hairs on my arms are sticking together thanks to said paint. I need a laugh, which of course comes from a predictable place: a photo. And not just any photo, but one found on the internet. A photo that shows Michael Jackson dancing in the sky.