Of Space ships and TVs
So this weekend, we finally bit the bullet and went out and acquired a new TV. After some vigorous discussion about the size of our existing TV (has it been said before that guys always think things are bigger than they really are?), which turned out to be a 20" rather than the 27" that I was sure it was, we decided to stay the course.

First, we thought "We'll pick up a cheap used one somewhere, and save some money."
Just a F.Y.I., nobody sells small TV's to second hand/pawnshops. The sizes ranged from 27" to about 45 feet. They were all huge. It did, however, afford me a chance to wander through some of Hamilton's more colourful pawn shops on a Saturday afternoon.

Not quite as much fun as army surplus stores, but pretty close.

So in the end, I went back to Wal Mart to get the lowest price possible on a TV, and had...you may want to sit down for this... a really good customer service experience.

You can breathe now.

I know I have been...oh, a little critical...of Wal Mart in the past, but I went in there expecting a total grind from the showroom to the till, and instead bumped into the VERY pregnant Assistant Manager doing some price checking. She found me the TV I wanted (last one in stock) got me the cheapest DVD player in the store, and even strongarmed two young hooligans working in the warehouse to come and take it out to the car for me.

I wished I'd caught her name, she needs a raise or something. Failing that, it taught me a valuable lesson about getting good service in a Wal Mart. If you need something done, go around and only ask for help from people who have a big bundle of keys on a lanyard, and are not wearing a stupid apron. That oughta do it!

So we took it home, and Isaac wanted to
a) Watch a DVD immediately. It was like an Alcoholic who's been dry for 60 days pouring a glass of gin, and
b) Turn the box into a space ship.

Now, his last spaceship had disappeared one night under highly suspicious circumstances, owing to the fact that it was a) Very large, and b) garbage night on the night it vanished. We made up some dodgy story about daddy having tripped over it and wrecked it...scary part is, when he saw the new TV box, he then recited the "whole cloth" story about the previous space ship's demise, word for word. Oops.

There's a great line in a Louden Wainright III song called "Being a Dad" that goes:
Being a dad, takes more than a tad
of good luck and divine intervention.
You need airtight alibis, foolproof disguises,
Desperation is the Father of invention.

What can I say?

Needless to say, Isaac has a new, and I might add, greatly improved, rocket ship. On Sunday we went alternately to planets inhabited only by
a) Rabbits,
b) Chickens,
c) Lions, and
d) Dragons...
at which point the puppet collection was exhausted, and we ended up visiting Luigi, on whatever planet he lives on.

One more thing. Isaac is on a bit of a "law and order" kick right now. Not the show, or the Conservative platform, more like "Being a police officer, and catching the bad guys" is one of his favorite games. It should be noted that he recieved a pair of handcuffs for christmas or birthday, I'm not sure from whom.

The challenge is, that the bad guys in our house are usually puppets; and puppets don't have wrists. So in order to "collar" them (literally), they get one handcuff around the neck. Then they are taken to whatever appropriate jail (Chicken Jail, or Dragon Jail, etc), where the handcuff is released from a great height, and they are dropped to the floor.

Oh well. At least it's not a Taser.