Ain't family great?

Last night, my bride showed me an email my father-in-law had forwarded. A lot of our US mail is delivered to their home, and while it's mostly spam, this one looked a little different. 'What's this - hey, that looks like a credit collection notice. What the hell?' It was indeed, for $76.83. I repeat - what the hell? I haven't lived in the states for well over a year now, who the hell can I owe money to? So I call the company. Me: Hiya. Says here I owe you money. Operator Yes sir. $76.83. Me: Unfortunately, I have no idea who you or your company are. Can you help me out here? Operator No problem sir. This bill is for the cable company from when you lived at 483 Lamkin Road, Harlem Georgia. Me: Huh. Imagine that. The only problem I can see is that I've never lived in Harlem, GA. Operator: You didn't live there from February through October, 2000? Me: Now that you mention it, nope. I moved to San Francisco in 1998. In fact, I have my 2000 tax returns which proves it. Operator: Do you know anybody who's lived in Harlem? Me: Hmm. Hmm. Now picture the light bulb above my head. Picture it going on. Picture my hand slapping my forehead a la Moe Howard. Me: Can you tell me who lived at that address? Operator: No problem sir, I can run a public records search. Me: Tell me if there's a 'Padgett' listed. Operator: I have several listed... 'Padgett, Robin A... ' Me: Stop. That's the one. That's my sister. Ain't this swell? Somehow, I've been listed as the owner of my beloved sister's cable bill. Funny - I don't remember signing up for this. It's like a little present she got for me. That keeps on giving, 5 years later. Me: So knowing that I can prove I was across the continent at the time, what are my options here? Operator: Well, you can dispute the charges. Me: Ok, I dispute them. Now what? Operator: You'll have to file an 'identity theft' report with the police. Me: Awesome. Let's do that. Oh hell - except the nearest police station is about 2,000 miles away, since I now live in a different country. Operator: (laughing) Well, sir, that is a pickle. I can offer you a settlement - you pay $50, and we'll call it even. Nothing will go on your credit report. Me: I pay $50, and then I can take the law into my own hands with my sister? No problem. Let's do that. Operator: (by this point, she was my best friend) That works for us, sir. I had to call my parents in Tennessee to get the latest phone number for my sister. Her numbers tend to be disconnected or rotate on a fairly regular basis, and it must have been two years since I've troubled myself to keep up. My sister, of course, was shocked and astonished that this could have happened. Yes, she listed me as a reference on the account, she immediately assured me, but that was all! Number A) I don't recall telling her she could list me as a reference, pretty much for this exact reason. Number B) Since when does a 'reference' become responsible for your bill? And Number Next) I can barely remember who I worked for 5 years ago, let alone the details of setting up a cable account. The quickness of the explanation was truly remarkable. Even halfway through my rant, I lost steam. No doubt she was still going to sleep the untroubled sleep of the innocent that night. The bill's paid, and my fifty bucks are gone. Yelling at her at this point is kinda like yelling at the leopard to get rid of those damned spots, won't you? I'll run a credit report and make sure there aren't any other surprises waiting for me. We went on to talk about the rest of the family, and she promised to send me pictures of my brother in highschool so that I can share them with the internet (since mine are all in storage and he demanded I prove how goofy he looked.) She laughed and said that's what the internet is for, embarassing family, eh? You know what? I guess she's right.
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It's called 'art', mister

Oddly enough, on the same week I was having a conversation about how much I hate modern art, and am not a huge fan of impressionism, the Fruit of My Loins decides to emulate Picasso.

She's reached that age that the child development experts tell us she's developing the motor acuity and visual acumen to the point that she can draw actual things. Things that resemble something besides random scribbles or dots. Things like 'Daddy'. That's right. That beautiful work of art you see is me. See, that's my hat on top, and my eyes are plainly obvious. Those little circles next to my hat? Those are my ears. I know because I asked. Why am I frowning? 'Because you need to go the store and buy Diet Coke.' Damn, my daughter knows me really well.
Me: And who's that one?
Critter: That's Auntie
Me: Really? What's that line up there at the top?
Critter: That's her hair.

Notice that she's got bigger ears than me, but no hat. She's also quite short, which is very true to life. I'm telling you this kid's a genius.
Me: Who's that with Auntie?
Critter: Mommy!
Me: The similarity is astonishing. I don't know why I didn't see it immediately. But why is Mommy turned around like that?
Critter: Auntie's lying down. She's tired.
Me: A bad hair day will do that to you.
Me: Can you draw a picture of yourself?
Critter: OK - there.
Me: Oh, that's very pretty. But why is your mouth sliding off your face like that?
Critter: I drew my inspiration from Salvador Dali, I call it La Persistence de la Critter. It symbolizes my disappointment with the cognitive develpment aids you and Mommy have provided. Any fool could see that. Now get me some more juice in this here sippy-cup, if you please.

No more 'Sesame Street goes to the Met' for that kid.
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Movie Review

I think I've mentioned before, it's a rare treat for us to see a movie in an actual theater. With all the movie goodness out of late, though, we had to steal away to take in a summer flick. My bride had been itching to see War of the Worlds for weeks now - every time the trailer came on the tv, she had the same comment: 'that's a different role for him.' 'What, action movie, dodging explosions, trying to save the world?' 'You know what I mean.' While the movie starts off as only vaguely interesting, it quickly degrades into the sci-fi equivalent of the Blair Witch Project. Apparently, what she meant by different was 'makes me want to scrape the memory of that movie off my brain with a dull spoon.' I've rarely seen an action movie in which so little actually happens - Not to spoil the movie for you, but humanity survives, and it's no thanks to Tom Cruise. Halfway through the movie, I found myself rooting for the alien invaders, in the vain hope that if they killed off Cruise the movie might return to interesting. The heroes of the movie are freaking protozoa (my 9th grade biology teacher would be proud that I recognized them). Seriously. Protozoa. I don't care if the plot is a remake of an H.G. Wells classic. If your hero is a single celled organism, your movie's in trouble. To do a better job of keeping up with movies, we signed up for the UK Netflix equivalent - Screen Select. DVDs shipped right to our mail box, no late fees. I love living in the future. The only problem with this kind of service is that I tend to update my rental queue with a dozen of whatever's struck my fancy at the moment. Which leads to us getting every movie Danny Kaye ever made in one continuous stream. This time, my bride has her own login. And it's her responsibility to watch my selections and make sure we don't end up with a Chris Rock screen fest.
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