86 99 whatever

For those not fortunate enough to have visited the N. Park kibbutz I'll try my best to give you a broad description of the apartments. The Eleven live over in #2 with two kids and two rats; take your pick on which may be which. The Corkat lives across the hall in numero uno with three birds and a cheeky child. Close your eyes for a few moments and just imagine how the floor plans for two apartments across the hall from each other might align...think...shhh....think of something peaceful. Got it? Right, they are exactly the opposite of each other and that's apparently baffling enough for this boy. Now, add in the little nugget that we are constantly back and forth betwixt the abodes; we know them well - they are simply backwards, you know, backwards. Good, now you have the back story.

I'm not sure exactly what chores I have while my beloved is off wandering the Hamptons with the rich and famous. Since I don't care to think about it too much I've decided to just do what I think is required - primarily the watering of plants and whatnot. I came home this afternoon and decided the massive sunflowers and assorted herbs and plants outside needed some H2O. I look here, I look there, I look everywhere, but I can't find the hose we bought last week. (We are sort of sneaking the hose onto our kitchen faucet and watering everything much quicker than before.) I decide to call another special agent to see if she knows where the hose might have gotten to; for the purpose of this story we'll call this special agent, Kt. Here's how it starts, and please review the first paragraph for tips and clues...

Me: "Hey. Do you know where the hose went?"
Kt: "Yes."
[me thinking to myself, "are you going to tell me?]
Me:"Good [sigh], Where is it?"[a divinely phrased interrogative]
Kt: "Do you know where our TV is?"

Now I'm completely lost. Have we slipped into code? Is Alberto listening, illegally? I ponder my responses, and think for just a moment that the answer to this masterly game of chess is something like "the rooster is in the cockpit", for which I'll be given access to the hose I so desire. No no, I think, that's not it. What the hell kind of question is that? Of course I know where your TV is, I think, "I could find your TV in my sleep. The apartments are exactly the same, I've been in there, I know which hidey-hole you keep your TV in." At this point I decide I've got some type of writer's license and decide to condense my response, just in case,

Me: "Yes."
Kt: "It's under the TV."

Phew! Disaster averted.

I'll give you a few words about Black Snake Moan, which I watched on DVD on the huge TV last night. Christina Ricci is basically a tramped-up version of every Reese Witherspoon role; Ricci has always been a much better, and sexier, actress. Samuel L. Jackson is the best cusser in the business - he can rip off a profanity like no other actor. The rest of the movie was fair-to-middling so I'll give it 2 ½ (of 5 stars). How in-depth is that?

Hugs to all.

T