Miracles are happening in my house. Much like the turning of water into wine, all the clean clothes in this house are turning into dirty ones. And like the widow's jar of oil that never emptied, my laundry basket seems to have the same blessing. Never empty. And if the neverending hamper phenomenon isn't enough, it seems my bedroom mirror has been replaced with Dorian Gray's portrait. I'm just sayin'.
So as I was putting away some of the miraculously clean laundry this morning, I passed by Kevin's room just as his iPod alarm went off. I stuck my nose into his room and said good morning. "Uurramm" he responded. "Sleep well?" I inquired. "Uurramm" he repeated. I then reminded him that if he used his tongue and actually moved his lips, there are a myriad of other sounds humans are capable of making. He raised his head slightly off his pillow, moved his lips AND his tongue to say, "PBTPBTPBTPBTPBTPBTPBT!!!!!" and proceeded to make raspberry noises at me. And since I had been out of bed for two hours, raspberries sounded like a pretty good breakfast choice to me. So I left him to roust himself out of bed, returned to the Shrine of Downy to sort 71 left socks from 68 right socks, then went to the kitchen to have a bowl of raspberries and put on some chicken to cook. Yeah, cook. I told you miracles were occurring.
See, I was at Reigh Anne's last Sunday, and she had one of those refrigerator chalkboards where you write out your week's menu. You know, something like the board on the left: <----- If I had one on my fridge, it would look something like the second one.
Now, in all fairness, we don't eat dinner together. I don't think we have used the kitchen table for anything but sorting mail for nearly 3 months. Greg works nights a lot, and when he's not working, farm chores keep him outside until after dark, so cooking is not one of those goals to which I aspire often.So as I was savoring my bowl of raspberries (God's nearly perfect food, second only to the Sunset Roll at Tokyo Sushi), I became mesmerized by the dramatic fare Kevin was watching as he devoured his bowl of Captain Crunch (ironically, another of God's nearly perfect foods). It's a Stephen Baldwin film, but I didn't recognize it. How can this be? "What channel is this?" I asked, and since Kevin had a mouthful of Crunchberries and decent manners, he punched the display button on the remote to show the SyFy logo. Continuing to be intrigued by the acting quality of this film, which I would later learn from imdb.com has only a 3.1/10 rating, I asked the name of this flick. "Shark in Venice", was the reply. "Shark in Venice?" and as I watched a sweaty Mediterranean bad guy hold a shockingly helpless girl hostage in some delapidated warehouse, I wondered if this feature presentation had been misnamed. Just then, as the 4th of the Baldwin boys shouted something witty like, "Hey you, let her go!" a giant Great White jumped out of a nearby Venetian Canal and chomped the villain in half, leaving the Damsel-in-Distress unharmed. Whew. SciFi, where have you been all my life? I mean, I've always been a fan of Mystery Science Theater, but apparently there is an entire genre of B-movies I have missed out on.
I have been composing this blog post now for 2 hours and 20 minutes, not because I'm slow, but because I have become so distracted by the 10 a.m. showing of "SuperGator", which garnered a 3.3/10 rating on Imdb.com. Shocking, really, because it is WAY worse than "Shark in Venice" and doesn't even star a Baldwin babe. So apparently, this giant prehistoric gator is attacking only the annoying and ugly tourists in Hawaii. Miraculously the thong-clad busty girls all manage to narrowly escape, but only after running. A lot. It's like a bad episode of Baywatch. . . or maybe a good episode. Yes, I know this is a completely stupid waste of a good Saturday morning, but it's like a train wreck - I can't seem to look away. It's almost over anyway, and then I'll do something productive.
I promise.
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