A Perfectly Good Waste of James Carville

Guess who's back. Uh huh. You must be psychic. My arch nemesis, Genius. The war of wills is once again in effect. Critical boiling point was narrowly averted this morning as missiles were launched from couch and recliner.

"James Carville said..."

"I can't believe you were in the same room as James Carville! Breathing the same air! Molecules that were in James Carville might now be in you!"

"Yeah, well. I had a really good seat, too. On the second row."

"Did you take a picture? Get an autograph?"

"No. We weren't allowed."

"I can't believe you didn't even get a picture of James Carville!"

"He was actually the best speaker we heard all week. And before he talked, they showed a bunch of clips of him, and most of them were people impersonating him on Saturday Night Live. Did you know he called himself 'Old Snake-Head'?"

"So I've heard."

We chitchatted a bit about his Boys State adventure, then slid back into our regular routine. The one which involves Genius trying to manipulate me into doing things for him that he is perfectly capable of doing for himself. Most of it involving food.

"There's nothing to eat in this house."

"There's LOTS of food in this house."

"I'm going to make a sandwich."

"We're having big sandwiches for supper. There's all kinds of chicken in the freezer."

"I don't want chicken. I saw some french toast sticks. But that's not really lunch food."

"Make some french toast sticks."

"I need some bacon with them, but there's not any."

"There's bacon."

"Will you make some for me?"

"No. You can do it yourself."

"I don't know how to cook bacon!"

"Simple. Use the big skillet, on the big burner, on medium. Lay it in the pan. The fat will turn transparent, then start to lose the oil, then it's time to turn. Don't put the heat higher. It will spatter all over."

"That's too HARD!"

Genius went to rummage around the kitchen some more. Went to his room. Came back and plopped on the couch again. "I have to write a letter to send to one of my Boys State guys. We're all writing him, but he doesn't know. One of the guys got the address from his dad's Facebook."


"Hope he doesn't read his dad's Facebook."

"Eewww! Who would do THAT?"

"Apparently, not you. Are you telling me because you want me to mail it for you?"

"Yes. You're going to town anyway for a soda."

"Aren't you the one who refused to pick up a package at the post office for me yesterday?"

"I didn't go anywhere NEAR the post office!"

"The highway is within one mile of the post office! And that one day, you went to your friend's house right by the post office, and then brought your letters back home for me to mail the next day."

"Hey! It was dark. So I didn't mail them. Oh, well. You need to bring me lunch because I've got a live blog starting in a half hour."

"So you want me to cater to you so you can watch your webinar?"

"It's NOT a WEBINAR! Why do you always call it that?"

"I have a mental block with some things. That's one. Another one is that cult that thought God was picking them up on the back side of the comet so they killed themselves by drinking Kool-Aid or something so they would be ready. They all wore Nike shoes. But it wasn't Jim Jones."

"I KNOW who drank the Kool-Aid, and it wasn't them. But I can't think of their name, either. The comet was the Hale-Bopp. I'm looking it up."


"It was some kind of simple name. Two words. But I can never think of it. I can picture those bodies laying in their beds, waiting. Dead. But the news only showed the Nike shoes."

"Heaven's Gate! That's it. Heaven's Gate."

"Yeah. That's the one. What's your webinar about?"

"It's NOT a WEBINAR!"

"You are giving me a pain in my angel wing attachment area."

"I can't take this anymore! Help me!" Genius put a couch pillow over his face. Leaving his shirtless stomach and shorts-clad legs visible while he writhed in agony.

"You know you're laughing. Just because you put a pillow over your head doesn't mean I can't see the area-where-your-abs-should-be convulsing."

"Yeah, right. Maybe I'm having a seizure. You don't care!"

"Yes, I do. Cease that seizing!"

"Don't! I can't take this! And stop rubbing your knees! That sound is driving me crazy!"

"This?"

Genius fled to his room. A half-hour later, I caught him making a sandwich. "I was going to offer to bring you food from town. But now I see you're making a sandwich. Which we will be having for supper, too."

"Go ahead and bring me something. This is only one sandwich." He grabbed a bag of Blazin' Hot Munchies and headed to his room.

It's days like this that make me wonder how he will survive once he finally escapes my apron strings. Can you believe it? Sitting right in front of James Carville and not even sneaking a phone picture? I have obviously failed in my child-rearing endeavor.