How can you not love a movie that has the following exchange?
[man and woman walk by]
Harry: Ooh, look at the buns on that one...
Lloyd: Yeah, he must work out.
As fond as I am of that moronic movie, it does have one very HUGE falsehood: remember that part where Jim Carey asks the hood riding in the dog-van with them if he wants to hear the most annoying sound in the world, then proceeds to make the most God awful noise come out of his mouth?
It's a lie. It may be annoying, grating, and an assault on the ears, but it's not the most annoying.
Baby Trot has it beat by a landslide: braying like some deranged myna bird in heat that gargled with sand paper and rusty nails, he lets loose with this scream of agony whenever he is hungry, tired, needs a diaper change, wants a toy, or just for the heck of it.
I mention this because tonight he was in prime time form: I'm sure he's still aggravated over being sick the past 5 days, and since he can't speak yet, this is his way of letting me know he's not a happy camper. However, after having a rather crappy week at work, the actual sound makes me a tad bit jumpy.
Of course, it's in concert most of the time with Ciera talking IN A REALLY LOUD VOICE about the latest episode of Hanna Montana, Rakes re-enacting the climatic final scene of "Bibleman", and Angie telling me exactly what all three of them did that day: so by itself, it may not be that bad.
I love the boy to death, but when he lets loose with that other worldly sound, I'm looking for a chalkboard to run my nails down it, just to drive out the noise.
They just showed Chicago, and it looks like the 4th of July in the background with all the lightning: the game has been postponed, and somewhere Ernie Banks is smiling. They'll play 2 tomorrow, weather permitting, with Beckett getting the nod in game 1.
I wonder what kind of reasonable excuse I can come up with to make it home for the game?
Screw that, I'm self employed.
Friday is officially HERE!
Do We Mean What We Sing?
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