On the way home from Baby Loves Disco tonight it was requested of me by my lovely wife that I stop at the market to get some baked beans and some barbecue sauce to make some chicken breasts that tasted like barbecue sauce.
I was inclined to acquiesce to her request.
My grill is out for the count, so I did a quick broil job on the chicken. I made a rub, rubbed my meat, and then broiled the chicken for ten minutes. Then I mopped it with some sauce: Stubb’s Barbecue Sauce. I let the chicken go for another couple of minutes, turned it over and mopped the other side and broiled it for another couple of minutes to finish it off.
The chicken breasts that tasted like barbecue sauce were a hit. Erin loved it. Emily almost made me swear never to make anything else ever again. And I thought they turned out to be pretty tasty.
As we were eating we flipped over to Back to the Future because Emily has requested that we institute a new “no shows that are too severe” rule in the house as Erin has grown older and seems to understand more of what is going on. CSI was right out.
We intercepted the BttF broadcast just as the “Enchantment Under the Sea Dance” was starting. We watched the incestuous make-out session between Marty and his mom. We watched the attempted date-rape of Marty’s mom by Biff. We watched the gang-violence assault on Marty by Biff’s cronies. And we watched those same cronies call one of the Marvin Berry band a “spook” and then refer to them all as “reefer addicts.” And we watched George slug Biff so hard that the 200 lbs bully was spun right around and knocked unconscious.
Our other option was The Wedding Singer, but we had tuned in just as one of the kids was calling Sandler’s ex-fiancee a bitch.
I’m not wagging an ironic finger at Emily. It only occurs to me, now, just how mature the scenes in BttF are. Well, I’m not wagging an ironic finger at her yet.
Back to the past: As dinner was cooking I was flipping through the channel guide and I saw the details of a show or mini-series or something called “Legend of the Seeker“, and when I saw that it was a television adaptation of Terry Goodkind’s fantasy novels I exclaimed, quite uncontrollably and disgustedly, “Oh shit!” Because Goodkind has menaced geeky fantasy readers with badly argued Libertarian political philosophy for years. Heinlein at least did it well, and passionately. Goodkind abuses his readers. He also wrote himself into a horrible corner and had to turn his hero into a god in the last twenty pages of a series that ran in the thousands of pages. And yes, I own all of the books. I am large.
Anyway, I exclaimed, quite loudly, “Oh, shit!” And Emily, understandably, said “Watch your language!” and indicated Erin, who looked just as disgusted as I was about Goodkind’s show.
Back to the future: we settled on Back to the Future, and started in on our chicken breasts that tasted like barbecue sauce. And Emily exclaimed, quite uncontrollably and disgustedly, “Oh fuck!” because she had just spilled some of Stubb’s barbecue sauce onto her shirt.
I turned to Erin and asked “Did you catch that?” Wag, wag, wag.
Future to the future: As George wound up for his gigantic punch to Biff’s head a thought occurred to me. And like so many of the thoughts that occur to me, I believed in my heart that Emily needed to know this right now.
“You know, this story isn’t a fantasy about a kid traveling back to the 50’s and changing his future by changing what happens in his parents’ high school. This story is a fantasy about an adult changing what happens to him in high school, and his future. This is George McFly’s story. Marty is just a tool of time travel. He is like a human DeLorean.”
And Emily exclaimed, quite uncontrollably and disgustedly, “Did you use the Philosophical Barbecue Sauce? Because mine hasn’t kicked in yet.”
So it goes.