It means, “are you angry?”
When I first moved here my apartment came equipped with a creaky old TV that got three channels well, two badly, and several not at all. I could watch shows in Slovene, Italian, German, and very occasionally in English. I wasn’t spending too much time in front of the TV because I was new here and exploring the place quite a bit. After a year and a half I moved out of that original apartment to the one I am in now. I was attracted in part to the new place because it’s a good deal smaller than the old two-bedroom place I was rattling around in alone. It was interesting timing. I thought the new place would be perfect for one guy living alone, and of course as soon as I signed the lease I met Magda. And less than two years later there are three of us in the place. Breeding like rabbits! It works out okay, but it can be a little tight. Spring’s arrival makes the world feel a little larger. We have two little terraces and with the doors open onto the Weed Garden it feels more spacious, and soon we will be able to sit outside and effectively double our living space if we can stand the weeds.
When I moved I also bought a new television, and the new apartment had cable. After such a long time of effectively watching no TV, the full cable package made me feel like a New Guinea highlander. Now it’s an embarrassment of riches in terms of viewing choices, which is a good thing considering how much Adam has reduced our out-of-the-house options. I was just reading a long email from my brother about all the winter sports they and the kids have been up to this year and it made me painfully envious. It’s going to be a long wait before Adam is on skis.
However, he is already showing signs of a budding obsession with the idiot box. One of his less charming traits, which Magda and I have obviously trained into him by accident, is that when he is in one of his moods, by which I mean ‘awake’, he will not settle down if the person assigned to hold him is seated. For me this means that when I come home from work at about 17.00 and Magda hands him off to me I can expect to have to walk around the tiny flat with the boy held to my chest, dribbly mouth gaping over left shoulder, and we can watch O, Ta Sedemdeset (”That ’70’s Show”) and then “Ready, Steady, Cook!” on BBC Prime®. One of us at a time can watch it, because the boy fusses if you are not stimulating him visually. Show him the mirror, the monkey, whatever, but if you are in the living room it is generally not a good idea to turn him away from the TV. Imagine what all this means for Magda between 05.00 and 17.00.
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Of all the traits I do not wish to inculcate into this little burgeoning life, a slack-jawed sedentary passivity is high on the list. How ironic it is that when we most wish to be skiing in the Alps what we are doing instead is giving Adam a headstart in the wrong direction. Or maybe I’m overreacting. There are also plenty of times when he appears to be transfixed by the TV but in fact is staring, riveted, at a blank piece of wall slightly to its right, or at the blow-up of the sepia-toned Madonna and Self-Absorbed Child on the shelves above. Shit, I hope we’re not making him a narcissist…
