The Nephew is screaming "Aaaaaooooeeeee", which translates to "I want something and you don't even seem to make an attempt at getting me that, despite the fact that it means that you need to drop whatever you are doing and vanish in a puff of smoke to get it done. You are in no way like that genie from that story". Usually, the "something" is either a broomstick, or a bulb or a water bottle - things easily accessible or even remote controlled. But then, his parents went out of their way to buy a new train toy and since then "something" has become "train". No, not tiny little toy trains which run around in circles while you pretend to be interested. We are talking big, noisy Caltrains at the station thats too close for a drive and too far for a walk.
The scream started at a less-than-ideal hour. Dad is busy designing packet-switches and isn't home yet. Mom is very busy reading this big huge book on Java. Aunt is busy splitting prawns wide open for dinner. By the process of elimination, that leaves Uncle who is extremely busy reclining and watching the Celtics-Lakers game.
Nephew realizes the futility of being left with lazy bum uncle. Nephew knows uncle won't move an inch if the game is good. Nephew notches up the volume a bit to pass on the message.
Uncle is watching Kobe and Gasol and KG and Pierce make a game out of it. Uncle is also wickedly thinking of ways to handle the situation at hand without Mom and Aunt realizing that. Of course, Aunt cannot know that Uncle is trying to work around baby sitting duty, lest he will know what it means to be a dead prawn. Rock, Uncle, A Hard Place - in that order.
And then, a bulb glows brightly overhead. Take this, nephew. And that. And even some more. The crying disappears like it was the box-office for Indy IV after the first weekend and is replaced by "ishishish" which translates to "you are definitely not the best uncle around, but for now, you will do". Uncle can live with that. Uncle reclines back to watch the game and just around that time, very symbolically, truth runs over Uncle like one of them trains.
Generation Y(ou Tube) is no myth. Not anymore. It has arrived well and truly, and it lives 10 feet away. It is now currently giggling away to glory looking at all those sleek looking trains. Uncle slowly retreats into uncle-hood with violin background music and contemplates on taking a pension policy.
Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...
