We were watching Anthony Bourdain’s show, “No Reservations” last night.
Sometimes when the baby can’t sleep, I put her in the pouch and watch some food show and even though Evil Chef Mom wants to undress Bourdain with her teeth and slap his naked bum with her spatula, the guy makes my kid nod off in about 2 seconds.
Bourdain has a special place in my heart.
This was the case with last night’s episode in Laos, which I found fascinating and even very emotional as Anthony was served a lovely, simple meal by a family that was nearly obliterated when the father had both an arm and leg blown off by old US bombs lying around in the dirt near his farm.
Seeing this does make me wonder, of course – Does the Travel Channel reimburse the subsistence farmers when they entertain mega-celebrity chefs when they pop into their impoverished country with camera crews and hairdressers? I certainly hope Tony dropped off a few kip on his way out the door.
But I digress. This isn't really about Tony.
Anyway, Bourdain was all humbled to be eating with this family and I was all moved and even David and Lucy, who were getting ready for bed, came into the library to watch, which is when "the thing" happened…
It’s the thing that Lucy learned while watching Charlie Brown Christmas for the freakin’ 30th time this summer, because we TIVO’ed it at Christmas and now even in 90 degree weather, with sweat trickling down my neck and not a Santa figurine in sight, my daughter will ask for Christmas to be here, wonder when we will make snowmen, break out into a rousing version of Jingle Bells while sliding topless in her bathing suit bottoms down a water slide and will ask to watch this Charlie Brown Christmas program as if Santa were on his way here with sleigh freakin’ bells a –ringin’.
She likes it because of Lucy. Because she fancies the idea that she and the obstinate, smooth-like-sandpaper, screamy, canon-ball-in-a-dress who pulls the football out from under Charlie Brown...
And demands to be made the Christmas Queen in the Christmas play and tells Shroeder that Beethoven sucks because he was never on a bubble gum card...
...are like kindred spirits, bound together for all eternity by their same name.
And so this is why, when cartoon Lucy is accosted by Snoopy who lays a sickingly, lusciously wet dog kiss on her face, cartoon Lucy starts screaming, “Dog kisses! I’ve been kissed by a dog!...That’s DISGUSTING!” But she says “That’s disgusting” with so much gusto and oomph and derision that cartoon spittle must have come flying out of her mouth and landed all over the Great Pumpkin.
Ooops. Wrong Show.
Not these either...
I couldn't resist. Tell me you didn't just now spit Coke out of your nose?
So, Lucy has made the phrase “That’s disgusting!”, with particular emphasis on the “GUS” part of the word, a standard phrase around here and she says it with the same gusto as cartoon Lucy, all spittle and vulgarity and passion. And then, after she sort of spins out into rolls on the floor, she holds her belly and gasps for breath as she laughs and chokes and belches out more of the “That’s DisGUSting's!” in between hiccups and hysteria.
It’s actually quite entertaining. Unless of curse, she says it while eating dinner at someone’s house, which she did once, and so we had to explain that maybe some people didn’t get the joke, so the "Lucy-isms" had to stay here at the house.
But last night, Bourdain and McDonalds put the old phrase back into action and I thought I’d share it with you since there has been a whole McDonald's conversation in the comments of my last post. This is how it went:
Bourdain is regaling us with how un-industrialized Laos is and mentions that there are no Burger King or Pizza Hut or McDonalds. To which Lucy cries out, “That’s disGUSting!...No McDonalds? That’s disGUSting!” and then, falls into herself laughing hysterically at her own lame joke, which then sort of ruins the whole emotional dramatic thing that Bourdain has going for us and we all just start laughing and saying "That's disGUSting!" over and over until we just can't take ourselves anymore.
I know. We're pathetic.
Lucy was still cracking up at herself when she climbed into bed.
I have no idea why I told you this story since it has no end. And no real point. I just felt like it. And I like to talk about Bourdain and work him into my stuff. And now I feel all kinds of vindicated since I found that picture of someone who paints their butt cheeks to look like pumpkins.
It's all been worth it.
You can have a great weekend now...