Right now, my Dad is in the other room watching National Treasure. It's not a terrible movie. It isolates what sucks about Jerry Bruckheimer apart from Michael Bay. Michael Bay is all bad, and Jerry Bruckheimer picks the music.

My parents have generally improved the quality of life in the house, even if the place is more cramped. We have shelves in all sorts of areas I never thought to put them. I actually think my parents dislike this arrangement more than I do, or at least my Dad does. I have been taught through torture in grades 7-10 to get used to anything. It's not actually that bad to be able to talk to my parents whenever I want. I do like them and enjoy their company. It's also not that bad to have clean dishes, cooked food, and conversation with adults that doesn't involve a discussion of male anatomy and the many places it may choose to reside. However, I do need my quota of such conversation. If I don't get it, I'll probably slip up in front of Mom. It is not acceptable to discuss the applications of gay sex to everyday frustrations in front of your mother. I'm off to think of an outlet.