Of French Fries and Salmon and Mixed Media

Sometimes, Charles has to go out of town to attend some sort of principal-related event, like a conference. Yesterday, he left to go to the state awards banquet, where one of his teachers was being given a Big Award. So, off he went, to the glamorous burg of Decatur, where I believe they are staying at a Best Western Deluxe, and will dine on rubber chicken and hear many speeches. I am green with envy but am making the best of the situation by doing what I usually do when he is gone overnight. I cook a big piece of salmon. Charles hates salmon (everyone has a flaw), even hates the smell of it cooking, no matter how fresh it is. I also let Colin choose dinner: Hot dog in a Wonderbread bun, with french fries. Sara turned her nose up at everything except the fries (she is a fiend) and the carrots I gave her as an appetizer. I then put them to bed and curled up in The Big Chair with a glass of pinot noir and a movie. Dessert? None, just too full from the salmon and fries. The movie? The Stepford Wives, the remake. I've heard the original is great, this one is not.

So my question to you, my darlings, is what do you do when your amour is out the door?

On another subject, I must let you know that I am not much of a TV person. I find the usual schlock that is advertised mind-numbingly dull and I would truly rather clean the house. That said, there is some very good stuff out there, shows like Buffy the Vampire Slayer (watch a season or two before you roll your eyes), Huff, and others. The other problem is that I get oh-so-annoyed with commercials, to the point that I essentially only watch something rented or that I've recorded, so I can zip through the ads. That said, there is a radio station we listen to on our Saturday trek in to Madison, just so we can catch this one commercial. It is from an extermination company called "Will Kill". Yesterday, the spot was about getting rid of things that messed up your lawn and contained the lines, "You don't want someone to just get rid of them. You want someone to come over with a big can of Smack-Down and completely eradicate the Evil Little Devils. You don't want them dead, you want them graveyard dead!" We drive impaired by the tears of mirth streaming down our cheeks. It's almost worth having them come out and cause Armageddon on your land, unless, of course, your water comes from your well. That and the fact that you probably don't want to eat the Smack-Down with your garden fresh vegetables.

The other thing is a show we stumbled across last week when I joined a brain-dead Charles in The Big Chair, where he was channel surfing, waiting for me to join him in a Buffy. We happened on a show called Showdog Moms and Dads, on Bravo, the wonderful channel that brought us the delightful Queer Eye. It follows about 5 people and their poor purebred dogs as they pursue their dreams of having a champion pooch. Trust me, this show will make you feel so utterly normal, so very amazingly well-adjusted that you won't even flinch as you holler at the screen and your normally non-violent and erudite guy mutters for the 47th time, "That guy needs someone to take him out. I could take him." TV worth watching. We have 4 episodes recorded. I know what I'm doing tonight.