Only five kids at lunch. Steven and Christopher were sitting at opposite ends of the table, with Christopher in front of the mini-blinds. They were taking turns trying to finger-flick ("place kick") mini carrot sticks across the table into each other's mouths. They teed up the carrot sticks on the pop tops of their DP cans. Whenever Steven missed, his carrots were impaled on the slats of the mini-blinds. Sometimes these carrots became too dusty to rekick. When Christopher missed, his carrots went flying around the kitchen, dinging off cannisters and rolling under the fridge. The weirdest part was that I was able to figure out what they were doing from my room just listening to the sounds. The girls considered this competition further proof that males are hopelessly and permanently immature, and put pitted black olives on their fingertips. After the girls left, I became an enthusiastically parental spectator, and warned the guys they would be the subject of today's blog. Poor Alex seemed stunned by the concept of old ladies with blogs.
The Dallas Museum of Art has a new sculpture that consists of a baby grand piano on a "cloud" of potatoes with accompanying still photos from some avant garde film. Surely Steven's film friends could make a documentary of the making of the "Carrot Bowl" cult classic. Then I could sell the museum the mini-blinds with impaled dusty carrots.
And may all your twistedness be bright.
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