Saturday, February 25, 2012

Hollywood comes to the ACT

There are standard movie tropes we all know and love. Indeed you could argue that without use of tropes a movie becomes somewhat harder to follow; hello Eraserhead.

One trope is the person who is fleeing knocking stuff over as they run so as to trip up any pursuers. You know, bins, a water cooler, other people, grabbing a person in a wheelchair and sending them as an unwilling missile to back from whence the runner came and so forth.

I'm broadly in charge of bath time. Broadly in that I fill it, usually get theWife to put theBoy in, and then I sit down on the old blue backless chair and monitor theBoy as he bathes. It's rare that I get to read a magazine because theBoy usually demands 'Humpty and Stumpty' if I am on deck.

As noted before challenging a child to a race to do something or get somewhere is an oft-used parental trick; 'Oh, you beat me, how sad.' For theBoy I often "... race ..." him to the bath, either going for the normal door or the sliding door entrance.

I was headed the sliding door way and for some reason I was in front of him. So as I passed my laundry hamper, a tall mesh-grid cylindrical affair, I knocked from its top the normal-shaped white clothes basket so it fell behind me. theBoy stumbled over it, allowing me to beat him to the sliding door and reef it open. Of course I still had to let him win, and be ready to grab him if he slipped, and indeed he did recover from his stumble and was the first person to touch the bath water (the agreed-upon condition of the person being declared the winner). Next time I might try filling the basket with some of his large rubber balls to enhance the knock-off experience.

Another movie trope is the delivering of a kewl line as you tag-out your opponent. 'Hasta la vista, baby', 'It's just been revoked!', and 'I want my father back, you son of a bitch!' all being classic moments of cinema lore.  

theBoy had been freed from the bath and was still both wet and nude. As he headed for the sliding door I asked him if he wanted a  towel.

He hustled back to me.

'I'll use this towel,' he said gleefully. He grabbed me around my PJ pants covered legs and wiped himself dry upon them, even spinning around at one point like the buffer on an automatic shoe polisher (1) to ensure his back was dry as well. Laughing with merriment he fled once more.

Yes, I have to hand it to him. That was a kewl line he dropped before defeating me...

(1) There are some older places in Canberra that still have them! I used one once ... although I used it on my black sneakers so it didn't go that great.

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