So, Paul Giamatti is up to his old shenanigans. He'd gone to bed at midnight and wakes up at 5:03 am, nearly a full hour before his alarm is supposed to go off. So, he gets up, puts on a ratty robe, and wanders out into the living room. He sits down on his recliner and pops the foot cushion out. He picks up the remote and clicks the TV on, flipping futilely through a couple of hundred channels. Finally, he manages to fall back asleep. It's 5:52 am. The TV murmurs an infomercial for slimming belly fat as his mouth drops open and he begins to snore. When he wakes up, the alarm in his bedroom is chirping and his daughter pointedly goes in and slams the button to turn it off. She looks like her mother as she stands in the living room staring him down. He thinks how that isn't necessarily a good thing.
This second time, he wakes up with lyrics going through his head. He wonders how he knows all of the words.
"I'm
on
the
top of the world, lookin'
down on cre-ation
and the only explanation I can find
is the love that I've found ever since you've been around.
Your love's put me at the top of the world."
He sings this as he loads the dishwasher. He wouldn't even bother, but there are no more spoons. It's too late when he realizes he won't have any hot water left for his shower. He starts the lyrics again, pausing in between the words.
"I'm
on
the
top of the world ..."
"That's just sick," his teenaged daughter says and storms out of the kitchen.
"You think this," and Paul points to his head, "is all about you?" He doesn't say it until after she's out of the room.
The earworm soundtrack starts at the beginning again.
He looks in on his son in his bedroom, tells him the bus comes in five minutes. The boy is still in his underwear and is dancing as if the song 'Maniac' is playing in his head. He notices by the way a mirror is leaned up against a book case that the boy has his same silhouette and he's only four foot three. Only momentarily switched, his 'top of the world' soundtrack resumes.
"I'm going to hang that mirror on Saturday," he says. His boy ignores him.
"Or smash it."
"Smash it, Dad." The boy spins around, his arms in the air. Both songs are playing in his head for a minute.
"Cheetos," he mumbles. The cheerful soundtrack's volume grows louder, coming back around to repeat itself again.
Thank you for listening, jules
This second time, he wakes up with lyrics going through his head. He wonders how he knows all of the words.
"I'm
on
the
top of the world, lookin'
down on cre-ation
and the only explanation I can find
is the love that I've found ever since you've been around.
Your love's put me at the top of the world."
He sings this as he loads the dishwasher. He wouldn't even bother, but there are no more spoons. It's too late when he realizes he won't have any hot water left for his shower. He starts the lyrics again, pausing in between the words.
"I'm
on
the
top of the world ..."
"That's just sick," his teenaged daughter says and storms out of the kitchen.
"You think this," and Paul points to his head, "is all about you?" He doesn't say it until after she's out of the room.
The earworm soundtrack starts at the beginning again.
He looks in on his son in his bedroom, tells him the bus comes in five minutes. The boy is still in his underwear and is dancing as if the song 'Maniac' is playing in his head. He notices by the way a mirror is leaned up against a book case that the boy has his same silhouette and he's only four foot three. Only momentarily switched, his 'top of the world' soundtrack resumes.
"I'm going to hang that mirror on Saturday," he says. His boy ignores him.
"Or smash it."
"Smash it, Dad." The boy spins around, his arms in the air. Both songs are playing in his head for a minute.
"Cheetos," he mumbles. The cheerful soundtrack's volume grows louder, coming back around to repeat itself again.
Thank you for listening, jules
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