Stupid Virgin and Flower Power

We spent last night in the darkness. We did it is because Virgin Mobile sent me a text on behalf of the WWF asking us to fight climate change and turn out our lights for one hour at 8:00 pm. Normally, I ignore these pleas and leave them to the hippies, but in some twisted way I kind of admire Sir Richard and did it just because h(is multinational billion dollar corporation automated texting service)e personally asked me to. So just before 8:00, I pried Ali away from her blog and shut down the computer and climbed into bed for a nap. At 8:04 Ali asked me why we were doing this - as if asking when I first mentioned it was not a soo much better time to ask.

So far so good - except that we all fell asleep. That wasn't the plan. Only Foxy was supposed to sleep. And so when we woke up it was waaay after 9:00 and too late to give Foxy a bath. We fell back asleep. I woke up again at 1:30 and now I was pissed. Not sure why. Turned on the telly (not the lights) and discovered that basic cable offers free softcore porn at 1:30 in the morning. Not too impressed. I took out my contacts and went back to bed. I also turned off the television.

This morning I fished the text message out of my cell phone to show Ali why we did that thing last night, and as I read the text to her I realized that it wasn't last night (Friday) that we were supposed to do it, but tonight. I felt really stupid because nobody in my house can read a calendar. It was consolation to me to know that in fact we had done more than we were expected to, leaving the lights out for a grand total of 11.75 hours. I think that's good enough for the WWF. I'm comfortable with it.

Everyone who is helping out the WWF tonight, or has already done it - I'm rooting for you. But the next time I get one of those texts, I'll be counting on the hippies.

Sex and a Movie, Without the Sex

So I’ve been a bit lazy in not getting this advance screening onto the intraweb, but I’ve got more important things to do. I have a baby you know. This week, I snatched a free pass to go see Run Fat Boy Run starring Simon Pegg as Dennis, and Thandie Newton as his ex-girlfriend Libby. Other main cast members include Hank Azaria as Wit, Dylan Moran as Gordon, Matthew Fenton as Jake, Harish Patel as Mr. (ready for it) Ghoshdashtidar. India de Beaufort as Maya, the landlord’s daughter plays a supporting role. Incidentally, Moran was also in Shaun of the Dead along with Peter Serafinowicz who was apparently in Run Fatboy Run somewhere. And who doesn’t remember Harish Patel’s performance as Roopchand in Mr. India? I’ll have to admit that I’ve seen that film (twice) and I don’t remember him.

I read some external reviews about this film before I dragged Randy out to see it with me, so I didn’t have high hopes. Firstly, Nick Frost, Simon Pegg’s oft cast co-star is nowhere in this movie. Shame. The movie didn’t need him, but it would have been nice to see his silly face pop up once in a while. The movie is David Schwimmer’s directorial debut in feature film, and the movie was okay. Just okay. The promo flyer called it the perfect date movie or something. I had a great metaphor for the okayness of this movie, but I forgot it. I hope Schwimmer gets it right next time. He’s a talented guy, he needs to show it.

My only real complaint about this film is that India de Beaufort did not play a bigger part. I am thankful however that Hank Azaria’s bigger part was kept off screen and the audience was instead treated to locker room shots of his backside.

Randy actually came to the theatre with enough time to spare. They always say that the show has been oversold to guarantee a full screening. Note: even selling surplus tickets still left this screening half empty. I have been back on coffee for a few weeks now, and as expected after consuming forty ounces that day, I was feeling a little stomach achy. Randy bought me some water and off we went to find our seats. I didn’t win any gift packs this time which is too bad too because one of the items was a soundtrack to the movie, which one reviewer said was pretty good. It was nice, but not as good as the soundtrack they use in Scott Baio is 45… and single and the sequel. Come on, I mean any soundtrack that uses Bronski Beat is an automatic winner. Oh, by the way I spent the whole movie thinking that Dylan Moran is Jarvis Cocker. It turns out, he’s not and Jarvis Cocker has not become an actor.

Randy scurried off to the toilets, while I had to endure previews of the new Sex and the City film. As far as I could tell, we’ve all already seen it – on the television. There was another preview, but I’ve slept since Wednesday so it’s hard to remember these things. This particular item of information was wiped out by a dream about the new (again) McRib sandwich, and trying to collect money from my friend Jeff Ooi. I’ve never actually met the real Jeff Ooi, but in the dream, Jeff Ooi was the name of an intern at the advertising agency who at the time was an aspiring actor who got all frantic one day because he hadn’t practiced his lines for an audition. I helped him run his lines. Apparently, he got the part because now he’s a big star. Back in present day dreamland, he’s like a big director or something, holding his own casting calls, and I see him handing out scripts to a queue of actresses. The little prick has MY script. I join the queue, only to be told that “today’s reading is for female roles only” by the very informative starlet in front of me. “Oh, I’m not here for the audition. I’m here to collect”. In my dreams, logic may not always present and in this scenario I had it that Jeff owed me money, and royalties on the script, even though it hadn’t even begun principal photography. The rest of the dream devolved into me playing smashy smashy with random objects in the immediate surroundings. The McRib thing is a totally different part of the dream, but I found it interesting that going back to McD’s after so many years’ absence, and all of a sudden I’m dreaming about their menu. I highly suspect that McD’s uses a mind control substance in their food. Or maybe this comes just from reading Kenny Sia's blog.

Anyway, the movie starts and we are greeted by really bad hair and such. Believe me, the one day you do not want to look like you were Lucky Pierre on Lucky Pierre Night at the gay bath house the night before, is the day of your wedding. Not only does Dennis have bad hair, he’s got a bad muzzle. I think that’s what it’s called. He and Gordon have not shaved on the day of the wedding. Lads, if there is only one day in your life that you choose to shave, make it the day of your wedding – if you choose to wed – because there will be pictures and stuff and it would make your wife, or your husband so happy. And in the next scene, we are treated to Dennis and Gordon five years later with the same stubble. See, Dennis ran from his own wedding and left Libby at the altar, pregnant. Probably not as pregnant as Ali, but you would never know it. Ali was so slim during her pregnancy, and Libby already looked pregnanter in the movie but you know, the camera does add ten pounds.

Dennis is now a single father with weekend visitation and we see him going to Libby’s to collect his son Jake and take him to Lord of the Rings. Libby warns Jake to get ready and as Jake yells back immediately “Ready!”, we see him standing in the salon fixated on the television wearing only a pair of rubber ears, slippers and his white pants – the English kind, not the American kind. Right away, I’m reminded of my brother Bobby, who was a big Star Wars fan. Jake even looks like Bobby at that age, except Bobby had all his teeth. When Dennis arrives at Libby’s flat, he meets Libby’s new boyfriend, Wit. He’s smarmy, but everyone gives him the benefit of the doubt.

Dennis has it in his head that he can get Libby back, and that it’s all a waiting game. Gordon tells him it’s not, and Libby confirms it by telling Dennis that he never committed to anything. Somehow, and I’m not sure quite how, Dennis figures if he can finish a marathon he will have finished something in his life and it should mean that Libby will take him back. I would have hoped that finishing or committing to something more permanent than a three hour race would be more what Libby meant. But really it’s all about the marathon because Wit is a marathoner and Dennis just wants to stick it to him.

So most of the movie features Dennis training. He doesn’t get very far with it on his own. Dennis’ friends and competitor all try to dissuade him in one way or another, and he eventually decides to pack it in. That is, until Gordon places a bet on Dennis. Now Dennis trains with his friend and coach Gordon, and his landlord and assistant coach Mr. Ghoshdashtidar. They had a chance to build on a lovely backstory with Mr. G but they didn’t. Too bad. Maya places a side bet with Dennis by telling him that he can finish the race and forget the back rent, or he can give up and have no place to live.

Dennis goes to Wit’s birthday party and sees his rival propose to Libby. She accepts and Dennis is gutted. Dennis decides again to pack it in and Maya packs him out. And lo, the role of Maya ends. The next morning, Dennis arrives late at the marathon, and among the sea of thousands of people, he is discovered by Wit. Wit decides to pull out all the stops, as if what he said to Dennis at the party was not enough. He sees that Dennis is unwaivering and actually keeping up with the others. Wit loses his nerve and takes out Dennis – much like a lumbering, fat classmate did to me in the upper fifth during the spring mile about 200 metres after the start. I continued, oblivious to the fact that my left elbow looked like hamburger and I was losing a lot of blood. This should have been easy for me. I got about a quarter down the course and couldn’t figure out why I was feeling weak and pukey. One of the course marshals told me my elbow was bleeding bad and pulled me off the run. Stupid fat fucker shouldn’t have been so far up the field anyway.

Just as it looks like Dennis is out of the race for good, he continues on a braced ankle and manages to have a television crew follow him to the end. Libby, watching the race on television gets confused about who is going to the hospital and goes because she thinks it’s Dennis. It’s not Dennis, it’s Wit. At the hospital, Wit loses it on Jake. I don’t necessarily feel it was inappropriate given the circumstances, but if somebody treated Foxy that way I would have done a lot worse than what Libby did. Back at home, she wakes up to the fact that Wit is a douchebag, and calls off the engagement. Dennis is still hobbling, inching toward the end of the race, and has a little dream sequence which wipes away any credibility the storyline may have had left. Libby and Jake go to the finish line to greet Dennis and help him overcome the Wall. He triumphs, even if he does finish last. He has finished the race. Gordon has cashed in on his bet, and Dennis has proven to himself that he can finish something. The movie ends with a forward jump to a few weeks later, obviously because Dennis can actually walk by this time, when Dennis asks Libby out for dinner. We see Gordon living on a yacht in France chatting up tourists. Dennis and Jake and Mr. G. play footy in the park. The graphics on the end credits were so annoying I didn’t even stay to read them all. David Walliams is a daft vegetarian in a cake shop.

Ali mentioned to me a few days ago that she has never seen Run Lola Run, so as a treat I went out on Tuesday and rented a copy. What soured it was that I also shlepped to three different locations looking for Nestlé Rolo Sundae dessert. All three locations were out, and one of the major grocery chains hinted that the product might be discontinued. Meh. I just wanted to get it for Ali. I was more mad at myself that I spent an hour looking for ice cream. Fool. Coincidentally, I was a fatboy running to the video store today just to get the DVD back in time.

I tried watching Zoolander last night, but fell asleep right before the walkoff scene. I had made quick work of 1.32L of Stella, and I believe that had something to do with my falling asleep. The movie actually looked pretty good up until the walkoff challenge, except that Will Ferrell was in it. I notice it's Vince Vaughn's birthday today. He was in the movie too.

Things have been pretty relaxed around the office. We've been closed to the public for a week of renovations that has somehow stretched into two weeks, and the boss is back in Japan visiting family - but not the happy kind of visit. I've finally managed to get four months of sales reconciled, and the only thing that made it suck was that there was no one left in the office to see it. It was 5:10. I was happy, nay relieved that it was finally done. It'll be smooth sailing from here on. Famous last words, right?

Foxy is growing quite quickly. She is trying to crawl, but can't quite get her legs out from under her. She's bumped her head a few times on the coffee table. Last week, during an impromptu fire drill at midnight, we met with some of our neighbours who offered to give us some bumper cushions they had fashioned for their coffee table. See how I used two of the three words in the English language that end in -shion in the same sentence? Anyway, the bumpers didn't suit our coffee table and Foxy liked them better to eat. At the weekend we went to the dollar store and bought some corner protectors, only you get what you pay for. The adhesive wasn't really adhesivey, it was silicone and only kept the bumpers from moving on their own. Worse, our coffee table has crowned edges and the bumpers were made for flat edges so they didn't sit flush. By the time Foxy came anywhere close to the coffee table again, the first thing she did was take one of the bumpers and stick it in her mouth. Two dollars down the toilet. She can stand as long as she can lean on stuff, and she recently began talking like Mini-Me in the Austin Powers series.

The Flatscreen

Gratuitous baby photo. Where were we? Oh yes... preparing for Randy's bachelor party. At first I bailed, but I sometimes engage in the kind of behaviour that I myself despise - being wishywashy. There was some back and forth between Randy and me, and some back and forth between Ali and me but eventually I committed to being chauffeur for the night. The other guys were coming from Long Island, and none of them brought a vehicle. Not exactly true, but the one guy who did bring a car also brought his wife and she they decided that she would keep the car at the hen party while the guys used my car for the other party.

The day started off with a trip to the airport. Ali assumed that since the flight number was the same as the one for her arrival back in October, the landing time for this flight would also be the same. It doesn't help to ask - sometimes you have to check things out for yourself. So, the night before I checked. The plane wasn't landing at noon as assumed, it was landing oh, about 4 hours earlier. So much for a snooze on Saturday. We picked up Ali's parents and everything was good, good, good. They brought an extra suitcase which tipped the balance. I couldn't get it all in the car and my poor father in law had to sit cross-legged on the seat as the extra suitcase occupied the footwell. Stupidly (my idea), we stopped for bagels and coffee on the way home. Great, now extra stuff to carry. We couldn't go directly to the hotel because the check in time wasn't until 3:00 on the afternoon. Eventually, we got everything and everyone into the flat, and then all hell broke loose. It's normal for my wife's family - and every other Japanese family I've ever met. Everyone else was doing everything all at once. Opening gifts, watching DVDs, pouring drinks, hanging conversations. I had to get rid of them. I packed them all back into the car and went for a drive. There was some confusion and disappointment, but I wasn't going to worry about it. I dropped everyone at the hotel and off I went to Randy's.

Randy's brother couldn't make it. He stayed back in Concord to look after his mother-in-law who had fallen and twisted her ankle. Strangely, his wife was at the hen party, and not back at home looking after her ailing mother. Don't get me wrong, I was very pleased to finally meet her, and might I say Randy's brother has excellent taste. Too bad all (almost all) the hens were sloppy drunk by the time I actually met any of them.

First stop, the liquor store. Randy's buddies stocked up on Red Stripe and Jack Daniels and off we went to the first event. I had totally forgotten Randy's rules of thumb, and arrived still wearing my suit from all the airport goodness of collecting my inlaws. It was cold, damp and luckily a last minute change nixed the paintball idea. Instead, we attempted to play disc golf. It was my first bachelor party so I didn't really have a benchmark, and I did none of the planning so I couldn't complain. Frankly, I was just happy to get away from my inlaws. We got free parking - Kamsa ha nida - and we surprised a model doing a guerilla photo shoot. I appreciated it, not sure the other guys did. Randy was a little uncomfortable, drinking open liquor on the course and kind of wishing he hadn't decided to play disc golf. It would have been fine, except for the conditions and the fact that we encountered the world's least mellow foursome of disc golfers. Buzz kill.

We loaded back in the car and went to a Cuban French restaurant for dinner. Get it? Randy's getting married in Cuba Montréal and his bachelor party has a Cuban Frenchy theme. It ended up acquiring a distinctly Belgian flavour later on, but that's a different story. I ordered pasta, and someone ordered a pitcher of mojitos which I wasn't prepared for, and totally against the rules as far as I'm concerned. Shared drinks, for example a pitcher or a keg, behoove the designated driver to partake. If not, said person is deemed uppity, chippy, aloof and a general all round prick. How dare he or she not accept a wee drink when offered? Individual drinks, on the other hand are a no go. The designated driver is expected to have a reasonable amount of common sense and not order drinks for oneself when they are driving. So I was duped. I had one mojito as a gesture but was careful to load up on food and wait an overly extended period of time before moving on to the next chapter in the night. Also because I had to be sober in case Ali needed a ride home from the hotel.

And that was more drinking. Apparently the guys weren't primed enough for the next stage, and Randy had set aside a certain time for that so we ambled a few blocks down to a Belgian restaurant, which I touched on here, but only talked about the ending of that adventure and not the beginning. Anyway, it all started here, only one table away from where we sat at Randy's stag. One of the lads has a tapeworm or something, because before the end of the night he would eat four mains, and he had a very discerning palate. We all had a round, I was careful to only have one and stupidly I had one of the very same beers that Randy's best, best friend had stashed in the boot of my car. Only at the restaurant it was chilled and not free. With that round, the three of us noshed on some lovely Belgian chips and the one with the tapeworm had a plate of calamari. He complained about it, but I guess he deserved it for ordering food in a bar. Now we were ready, and the time had arrived for bowling. Don't laugh. We went bowling. Again, Randy was not happy because well, the bowling alley didn't live up to what was advertised. We didn't stay long, but I would like to mention that this is the first time I bowled in like 20 years, and the first time I bowled a whole game one-handed. Yup, I bowled two-handed when I was in the kiddies league but the proof is in the pudding. I am Most Improved Bowler - 1981 for my chapter. That's right. And that night at Randy's stag I did pretty good, but my back didn't. The next few weeks for me would be a wonderful, half-medicated journey.

So now Randy's pissed (off) because the bowling turned out to be not as much fun as he had hoped, so what could we do? That's right - back to the Belgian restaurant for more drinking. To be honest, I'd never seen Randy drink this much before but that was nothing compared to some of the things I did/saw later that night. We all went back to our original table and the lads ordered more drinks and chips and Mr. Tapeworm ordered two more mains. Our waitress had changed, and I will say that she alone would bring me back to this restaurant. We asked her to drink with us, but she said it was against company policy - a policy that had apparently changed since I was there last. She told us where she was from and I used my fantastic memory and my travels around the world to sort of wow her a little bit. It worked. Oh right, it was Randy's party, not mine. As the lads downed more and more, last call approached. We were sitting on the patio and it was a little chilly. The gas heaters weren't doing it for me any more, so when a parking spot opened up in front of the patio, I ran a few blocks to move the car closer. By the time I got back, the spot had been taken as I half expected, but there was still enough room to park in front of the other car. In fact, that space had been there all night. It just looks like you're not supposed to park there. As we were leaving, Randy asked the waitress if anyone with a particular name worked at the restaurant. Apparently Randy and the other guys were at a Starbucks somewhere earlier that day and the barista casually mentioned that he was friends with the manager. The waitress went and brought out the manager. I'm not sure what the objective was, but the guys were toasted and I guess they wanted to let some manager - there are several for this restaurant - know that some random barista wanted to say hello.

I took the lads home, and that's when things got scary. The hen party was a total loss. The ladies went to their pole-dancing class, but when they arrived at a club - they discovered that they weren't on the VIP list, wouldn't pay the cover and had all their "personal use" liquor confiscated. Somebody had lied to them. They made a stink and the manager brought back their liquor and they left. So we were surprised to see them when we got back to Randy's place. Ekaterina was so drunk, and I've never even seen her drink so it was a little unsettling. All but one of the other chicks were completely lit, and since Kat didn't get to do all her hen party stuff at the club, the three lads not getting married the next week were drafted in as substitutes. It's a moment I'm not proud of, and will never speak of again after I post it on my blog. What could happen? Like, one person reads this blog, so here it goes: We played Suck for a Buck. Kat had a bunch of life savers sewn to her shirt and she was really in my face so I couldn't get out of it. Randy wasn't looking so I deftly took one off her breast. Lime. Only the camera didn't get the shot. So we had a do-over. Only this time Randy was looking and I could tell he wasn't pleased so I took a safe one off her tummy. Pineapple. The camera shot didn't turn out so well anyway so it was worth nothing. I kept my dollar. The hen party stayed in the kitchen and salon while the guys crammed into the den to play Wii games. By the time we were done, my eyes were burning and Tapeworm dude had fallen asleep. It was time to go. So it wasn't a typical stag, but I had fun anyway.

Over the next week, we visited more with Ali's parents, and by the final night of their trip I could hardly walk. I developed a rash for some reason. At first I ignored it because I'd had this before, and it wasn't itchy or bumpy so I thought it would go away. I didn't even know it was a rash. I thought it was just an abrasion or something. Anyway, a few days went by and it didn't go away. I checked it on the weekend and it had spread all the way down my arms onto my hands. I figured it was time to see the doctor. Monday morning I went to the clinic and showed the doc what I was concerned about. He told me to take off my shirt. He showed me more areas that had the same rash. He told me to take off my pants. He showed me more. The thing is he told me where the rash would be before I took off my clothes. He took a throat culture, and sent me for a blood test. If there were any problems he would call me. He figured I had a weakened immune system due to stress and fatigue. It's like he knows everything about me, and we've never met! He told me to get some rest for the next little while. By the end of the week, the rash was gone, but I would soon develop a nagging cold that wouldn't go away completely. I've still got it now and it's been like three weeks. It is ebbing slowly though, and I think it will go away quickly now that exams are over. Randy and Kat were in Cuba Montréal for two weeks, and I was to look after the cat for the second week. I stressed a little about that because it took a severe chunk out of my study time.

While I was up to my elbows in ground horse meat, Randy and Kat were having a lovely time taking scooter tours and drinking state-subsidized rum. Oh yeah, they got married too. I picked them up at the airport and when we got back to their place they showed me their wedding photos. Randy was looking pretty good. The bootcamp really paid off for him. Kat looked resplendent in her wedding gown - not really hard for her. I was a bit jealous because they were able to get outdoor snaps. At my wedding there were no outdoor shots. They gave me a bottle of rum and took Ali, Foxy and me out for lunch. I wish I had been able to be at the wedding.

Later that day, when I should have been studying, we went to OP's for tea. We arrived and the first thing I noticed was Sissy's SUV. Hmmm, this would be interesting. I haven't spoken to my sister since Boxing Day because of a little nastiness the night before at Bob's place. Whatever, it's fine now. I accept the fact that my sister cannot say sorry. Anyway, we had a nice time at OP's except that we had already eaten and didn't have room for any tea cakes. The stress from not studying was starting to build up. I was lucky because my exam wouldn't be until the end of the week. I was resolved to studying a little bit each evening until Friday. That didn't happen. I was still fighting this nasty cold which was making a last ditch effort in the back of my throat. A steady regimen of tea with honey which (fuck me!) has antibiotic properties slowly put paid to that. I've been watching a lot of Gordon Ramsay lately... I must have been bagged by the cold because when I got home after work for the first few days I'd be too tired to study. I pulled out the bung after a few days and powered through five units in one evening. I managed the other five on the day of the exam. My professor always advised that we not study on the day of the exam. I realized that maybe, just maybe if I stopped listening to him - I might actually pass the exam this time round. I had it all planned - an evening exam which meant no dinner and a weekend coming up. I grabbed one of the McDonald's coupons we received in the mail, and went looking for the 2-for-1 coupon I got when I went to see In Bruges. I couldn't find it. If I could have, this would have been a post about movies. As usual, the coupon was not where it should have been. Ali moved it. By this time the exam was less than an hour away. The McD's coupon wasn't valid for another week so I raced across town on an empty stomach.

I got to the exam with less than ten minutes to spare. The only seats left were front row centre. DAMN! Double DAMN! At least I still had the Australian Grand Prix to look forward to. No cell phones were allowed in the exam for obvious reasons, but it was my only timekeeper. It's probably a good thing I didn't use it because I probably would have panicked. That's my problem with exams. I skimmed the exam questions. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The questions could not have been simpler. I smiled. I went back to the beginning and began the exam. As I read more closely, I noticed that the questions were twisted a bit so that the easy answer was not the one the examiners were looking for. No problem, I just had to use my brain a bit. I got to the end of the exam and noticed there was one more page. WTF?! These exams NEVER have more than 7 questions, and this one had nine. I noticed that a few of the questions were throwaways that the examiners had put in to give a few easy marks - but now my hands were hurting from all the BLOCK LETTER writing and some students had already finished. I'm pretty sure the first guy gave up and walked out. I had also skipped over three questions - not two as originally thought - to mull over things a bit. The terminology for this course has always been a bit of a problem for me, but I made an executive decision and answered two of the questions the way I thought they should be answered. It turns out that I was on the right track. I hope the markers agree. The final question was easy, as soon as I came up with a way to explain it so that the marker would understand what I meant. Now watch. I'll wait six weeks for my marks - the scientifically calculated period of time necessary for students to forget their exam performance - and I will discover that I failed. The first time I wrote this exam I thought it was a walk in the park. I was wrong. I totally missed the thrust of the exam. I didn't get the same feeling this time, but I'm pretty sure I'll pass.

If not, I'm packing it in and moving to Japan to be a bicycle courier. Ali's already itching to go back. Constant harping from her parents seems to help. While they were here, amid the confusion of the first day, Ali's father mumbled something about the adequacy of, or lack thereof, my television. Ahem. That cathode ray tube was state-of-the-art-bought-directly-from-the-Sony-store when I got it fifteen years ago. It wasn't the biggest television available, but I try not to be too ostentatious about the things I own, clothes excepted. I'm a peacock. Anyway, thanks Dad-san for the 7.1 megapixel Canon camera as a gift just for showing up but I'll keep the Sony CRT and not think twice about it. By the way, if digital cameras are the kind of gift you give just for visiting, come by anytime. And thanks again for the bottle of Johnny Walker Green Label, the same thing I gave you when I visited Tokyo but I happened to notice that the bottle you gave me seems a little smaller. I'm just saying.

The weekend after they left, there was loud knock at the door on Saturday morning. It was Genya, and he had a little something for us. I opened the door, and he didn't even wait for me to ask him in. He barged past me with a smile from ear to ear, stopping only to kick off his loafers. He was carrying a flatscreen and was looking for a place to put it down. At this point. Ali and Foxy came out the bedroom, and squealing ensured shortly after. I was still half asleep but managed to muster, "Don't tell me, it fell of a truck".

"Eh? How could you guess?", Genya said half-jokingly but only half.

"What brings you by this Saturday morning at half eight? Would you like some coffee? I could sure use some".

"Furato sukureen. From the boss. Coffee sounds good. Do you have any okashi?", as he reached for a box cutter in his back pocket.

"Really? Are you sure I can't whip up some pancakes or some bacon and eggs or something for you?"

"No no, thank you very much. I'm not so hungry", Gen answered totally missing the sarcasm of my question.

Twenty minutes later, the television was connected and Ali was already watching some Music Station DVDs - part of more than forty hours of programming her parents recorded at Christmas and brought over. I was standing, scratching my head looking at the packing mess trying to keep the baby away from it and asking myself what just happened. I couldn't figure it out so I asked Ali. I had to ask her a couple of times because her attention was clearly devoted to the flatscreen.

Eventually, she blurted out, "You told my dad you wanted a flatscreen, so he got one for us".

"Umm, no I didn't. I so totally didn't. He said I should get one. I said that I liked my Sony television just fine. This is like The Noodle Conversation your dad and I had in Tokyo". The Noodle Conversation was a landmark in my relationship with my father-in-law, and it demonstrated clearly to me that even though someone can talk English, they might still not speak it - completely misunderstanding their interlocuteur.

"It's a Sony flatscreen. You should enjoy". Yes, exactly.

"My point is that I never asked for this. We don't need this. If I wanted a flat screen, I would have bought one myself", but she stopped listening long before. Defeated once again, I took my old CRT and moved it into the bedroom temporarily.

It took some prodding, but I watched the Australian Grand Prix on the flatscreen, and I am now totally unopposed to the new telly. It was fun. Kimi sucks as usual and Lewis rocks. Too bad for Sebastian B.