Daily Blague

Ms NOLA and M le Neveu returned from points north for dinner last night. We had a lovely meal at Maz Mezcal, but the nephew was so tired after driving in fog that he gladly accepted my offer of keys to return to the flat for a snooze while the rest of us talked. (Is he my father's grand nephew or what?) Giving him the keys was a brave gesture on my part, as Kathleen, Ms NOLA and I agreed that we would probably spend the rest of the night palpating the pavement of East 86th Street for dropped articles - but, no: the apartment door was open upon our return, and M le Neveu was stretched out on the living room sofa. The keys were symbolically draped upon the cashew canister.

The thing was, music was playing in the living room. It hadn't, I'll almost wager my life, been playing there when we left. The music that was playing when we left was playing in the blue room, as it still, gently, was. When I asked M le Neveu which particular buttons he had pushed, I was only curious. He, reasonably, was slightly defensive. "I only pushed that one," he protested, pointing to one of the two dozen remotes in the remote corral. At the same time, he was kind enough to say that the music (Radio RJ) was very pleasant. It was clear that he had wanted to turn on the television.

So that's what we did. We watched the tail end of Reno 911, and then The Daily Show and The Colbert Report. Kathleen was out of the room during the Daily Show segment in which Saddam Hussein was seen in a courtroom calling for a witness by the name of Amanda Huggankis. When Ms H was not forthcoming, the other personages in the trial went through a call-without-response for "Miss Amanda Huggankis." As in, "Oh why can't I find Amanda Huggankis?" It was so brilliantly puerile, so totally my own private sixth grade, that I am still weeping just typing. Telling Kathleen about what she missed was excruciating - for her as well, probably, if in a different way. "This is why we don't let RJ watch TV every day," Ms NOLA explained to Kathleen. I only wish.