I’m channelsurfing just now as The Bean walks through the room. I land upon VH1Classic which happens to be showing Led Zeppelin Live for only the forty-seventh time this month and The Bean is stopped dead in her tracks.
“Whoa,” she says, listening to Jimmy Page’s wailing slide. “That sounds GOOD.”
I am surprised by this. I listen for a moment and have to admit that, despite my reservations about the sloppiness of live Zeppelin, and the accompanying preening, it kinda does.
“Say, ‘Is that the mighty Zep, Dad?'” I coach.
She grins. “Is that the mighty Zep, Dad?” she dutifully repeats.
“As a matter of fact, it is!” I reply. “Good ears!”
She beams. I think she has an appreciation for Robert Plant’s hair few can understand, seeing as how it’s almost exactly hers, only longer and not actually pretty.
I go back to check on The Boy and when I return I find that Senator Smoosh is still in her chair but has reached further than I’d have thought possible to grab the bowl of cereal I’d been feeding her and is now feeding herself, or so the cereal all over her chin and cheeks would indicate. She’s not actually feeding herself at this very moment, however; she’s banging her spoon on the bottom of the bowl in something remarkably approaching Bonzo’s own bizarre sense of time and as she does—I kid you not—she is nodding her head in the unmistakable manner of a headbanger. She looks up at me and smiles, continuing to headbang.
“Oooh, yeah!” Robert croons, and I have to agree.
Another two saved from the abomination that is the showtune.