no more pasta before bedtime

Yesterday I read a Slate Magazine article on the woeful demise of a timeless television classic, 7th Heaven. I am being facetious of course, because a mere glimpse of a 7th Heaven 10-second spot ad, let alone a detailed description of the cast and show premise, nearly nauseates me with its cheesy fumes of creepy Christian family perfection. And really, I think it’s the whole religious tilt that pushes me over the edge—it warps my entire perception of the family. There are many wholesome shows and movies that feature a big family with a stay-at-home mom, quirky sibling interaction and toothy all’s-well-that-ends-well finishing smiles. But unlike its wholesome counterparts, 7th Heaven emits an undeniably creepy vibe. It’s hard to put your finger on, but it’s definitely there. In the father’s overly concerned gaze, the mother’s sad clown smirk, the sunny shots of the house and the slow-motion depictions of slack-jawed gasps and beaming happiness—all infused with a chilling WWJD undertone that lurks just beneath the smooth veneer of good ol’ fashioned family values. It’s like that feeling you get when Dr. Phil talks about sex or when Bill O’Reilly steps over your grave. Eeeiiish.

There's no way the finale was as exciting as it could have been. Screw the triple twin pregancy surprise, nothing says 'drama' as well as worm-like alien life forms tearing out of each family member’s chest cavity during a touching church scene where the pastoral father weds one of his children to some unsuspecting yet impeccably coiffed victim. Then he rips off his own face to reveal the crazy demon grimace that has become Tom Cruise’s sole expression. RA-wrrr!!!

Or, it could be something like my dream last night: The Camden clan (father, mother and their 7 kids) are sitting around a large round table (think King Arthur) in a dark, country-decorated living room and shuffling through piles of manila file folders, looking for the perfect kid to adopt into their ever-expanding family. Four of their previously adopted kids—a mixed race girl, a teenage Yao Ming look-alike, and a pair of pre-teen Hilary Swank clones—sit around the table with them, weighing the pros and cons of each candidate’s case. Finally the adoption agency arrives, hobbling up the front path in the pouring rain followed by a line of four crawling toddlers. The Camdens inspect the children while the adoption broker lists the attributes of each baby, like a used car dealer trying to unload a lemon. Mixed Race Girl secretly calls the birth parents on the phone, needling them about their family psychological history. When the agent discovers what she is up to he gets angry but the whole family erupts in raucous oh-dear-isn’t-she-cute laughter. Meanwhile, the Swank twins won’t stop spitting chatter through their extensive mouth gear long enough to hear Young Yao Ming Look-Alike’s concerns about adopting the Asian baby (What if the baby doesn’t grow up to be a basketball superstar like him—won’t that scar him emotionally? All he’ll be left with is violin! Maybe we should just go with the Romanian kid.). Feeling the deal slipping away, the broker quickly pulls out the latest in adoption technology—Pasta Babies. These bundles of pasta may seem like regular spaghetti but once you add boiling water and simmer for 10 minutes—BHAM! Instant baby!! The Camdens are all enthralled. Maybe a pasta baby is the best way to go. Everyone smiles. And then I wake up screaming.

Thank God—it was all a dream.