One more post for today...
So, at some point in time I decided it would be fun to sign my parents up for Netflix. They flat out refuse to get two DVDs at a time, so every other week I have to hear my mom gripe about how my dad chose some kind of shoot 'em up mafia movie, and then I have to hear my dad complain because he was forced to watch, well, this last weekend's movie of choice was Dolphin Tale.
And occasionally, unsatisfied with having just one movie, they'll ask me to pick them something up at the Redbox kiosk instead of paying the $2 or whatever it is to get two movies from Netflix, one for each of them, every freaking week.
Anyway, as I mentioned, my mother's choice of cinematic masterpiece for this weekend was Dolphin Tale. She told me this when I took her to the doctor last Monday, and I asked her if she really thought my dad would watch it. She said, "Oh yeah, he wanted to see if you could get him that movie at the Redbox kiosk that y'all were talking about."
"What movie would that be?" I asked.
"Oh, I can't remember the name of it."
I racked my brain. "Was it the one where Billy Bob Thornton sells manure?"
"No..."
"Is it the one with Brad Pitt? The baseball one?"
"No..."
"The Ides of March? George Clooney? Politics?"
"I don't think so."
I couldn't think of any other movies I've discussed with my dad recently, so that conversation ended. Fast forward to Thursday of last week. We went somewhere else together and as she was getting out of the car, she says, "Oh, by the way, I remembered the name of the movie your father wants."
"Oh yeah, what is it?"
"Atlas Scruggs," she replied.
With a straight face.
Let's just say my mom is more into Anne Rivers Siddons than Ayn Rand.
Who knows, though. Maybe Earl had a cousin named Atlas who was also a fab banjo player?
So, at some point in time I decided it would be fun to sign my parents up for Netflix. They flat out refuse to get two DVDs at a time, so every other week I have to hear my mom gripe about how my dad chose some kind of shoot 'em up mafia movie, and then I have to hear my dad complain because he was forced to watch, well, this last weekend's movie of choice was Dolphin Tale.
And occasionally, unsatisfied with having just one movie, they'll ask me to pick them something up at the Redbox kiosk instead of paying the $2 or whatever it is to get two movies from Netflix, one for each of them, every freaking week.
Anyway, as I mentioned, my mother's choice of cinematic masterpiece for this weekend was Dolphin Tale. She told me this when I took her to the doctor last Monday, and I asked her if she really thought my dad would watch it. She said, "Oh yeah, he wanted to see if you could get him that movie at the Redbox kiosk that y'all were talking about."
"What movie would that be?" I asked.
"Oh, I can't remember the name of it."
I racked my brain. "Was it the one where Billy Bob Thornton sells manure?"
"No..."
"Is it the one with Brad Pitt? The baseball one?"
"No..."
"The Ides of March? George Clooney? Politics?"
"I don't think so."
I couldn't think of any other movies I've discussed with my dad recently, so that conversation ended. Fast forward to Thursday of last week. We went somewhere else together and as she was getting out of the car, she says, "Oh, by the way, I remembered the name of the movie your father wants."
"Oh yeah, what is it?"
"Atlas Scruggs," she replied.
With a straight face.
Let's just say my mom is more into Anne Rivers Siddons than Ayn Rand.
Who knows, though. Maybe Earl had a cousin named Atlas who was also a fab banjo player?
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