Speaking of Cultured...

...we're, like, so NOT...

Mr. IQ subjected High Intensity to several days of extensive deprogramming, and she now sings that she's a joker, a smoker and a midnight poker. He assures me that this is very welcome change. I'm not so sure.

We, too, have recently changed the way we speak around here, inspired by something that played on CBC radio the other day. I've forgotten exactly who was speaking, or what, for that matter, the subject was, but at one point a very distinguished voice said what sounded like, "I swear on the balls of my father..."

"WHAT???" I asked incredulously, "Did that guy really just swear on the balls of his father??"

"Bones," said Mr. IQ patiently, "He swore on the BONES of his father."

"Oh," I said, a little disappointed. All not in vain though, now every third sentence around here begins with, "Look, I swear on the balls of my father..." One time Mr. IQ mixed it up and swore on the balls of MY father. "You just stay away from my dad's balls," I said, darkly. We both agreed that would probably be for the best.

Another phrase that has entered our vernacular as of late came about after reading an article on Prince William's suspected bride-to-be. The writer of the piece speculated that her "v-plates" were probably still intact. V-PLATES???!! Although the condition of no-one's "v-plates" are in question in this family, (well, I thought I'd write it before you could) we still manage to squeeze the phrase into a ridiculous number of conversations we have. So what with all the ball/v-plate references, we really seem to have hit cultural rock-bottom at this place. Luckily, my parents are around to at least bring some substance into the kids' lives. They came back from Cuba today, and brought High Intensity a T-shirt, beret and necklace, all plastered with a picture of Che Guevara. She wore them stoically while over at their house, but once we got home, she denounced Che as "too hairy" and stripped herself clean of all three.

Vive la revolution!