la famiglia italiana

This summer is honing me into a champion channel-surfer. Honestly, I am very impressed by the combination of the nimble agility of my remote-button-pressing fingers with the lethargy of the rest of my body. As I sit, a puddle of slumpy posture and comatose laziness, my fingertips dart across the tiny stadium that is the surface of the button board of our small black remote control for the downstairs TV (I mostly watch TV downstairs because that one has one extra channel). It's amazing, the activity level of my fingers compared to the rest of me. Even my brain is resting and my heart is probably beating slower, and my eyes, blleeeeghhhhhh-ly half-opened, don't even  have to be looking down at the remote. The fingers have memorized every plushy button, every crook and nanny, every small indentation of this magical little box that controls the bigger magical box.

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Okay seriously, why do I never write about what I'm really blogging to write about in the first paragraph? What is wrong with me? I wanted to write about Italian families and Korean families. Hing.