Becoming Our Parents

If you have children. you probably understand just how difficult it is finding time for yourself. I don't say that as a complaint-I love spending time with Danny. By around nine in the evening, I'm dead on my feet-and Mr. Eat The Blog is as well.

For something like two months now, we've been trying to find time to watch a movie-a DVD. You wouldn't think this would be difficult, but the weekends are consumed with chores, and Danny's activities. Weeknights we pretty much have dinner and fall asleep about the same time Danny does. Try to block-in three hours of time to watch a movie without interruption. Most of the time, interruptions aren't a big deal, but Mr. Eat The Blog really wanted to see this film and give it some attention (this will become more amusing later in the story).

So yesterday, we finally send Danny off for a nap, and excitedly load up the disk. Honestly, I was only marginally interested in seeing Inland Empire because really, I'm not as enthusiastic a fan of Lynch's work as Mr. Eat The Blog is. That might have something to do with his renting Eraserhead the week after Danny was born. Really, he did that. I should have divorced him right then citing emotional abuse, but instead I sat in the living room trying to feed my sick baby while watching that fucking movie. I can (sort of) laugh about it now. Oh, you're laughing too (or at least Raymond and Jenn are) but that's OK.

We load up the disk and of course, there's this incomprehensible menu to select from. This didn't strike me as at all odd because well, consider the source, right?

"I don't understand why there isn't just a hit play feature to play the main movie." Mr. Eat The Blog complained.
"Eh, what do you expect?" I responded.

So we watched the segments, and got through a few when I couldn't stand much more.

"This isn't a movie, this is a pastiche. Can't he just make a fucking movie? It's like he's mocking his own work in some sort of Post-Post-Modern technique."

"I know", agreed Mr. Eat The Blog "and I thought it was supposed to have rabbits or something. I didn't see any rabbits, did you?"

"No. I did see twenty-five self-indulgent fucking minutes of David Lynch teaching you how to boil Quinoia. I didn't see any rabbits."

It was really, as I heard my voice complaining about the self-indulgent aspect that it dawned on me.

"Oh shit. I'll bet there's another disk. Go look."

That was about the time Danny woke from his nap, so maybe next weekend, if we don't get sidelined by technology, or trying to plug in the television, or put new batteries in the remote, we can watch the damn movie that's been sitting by the DVD player for two months.