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hauling up there) that she had been watching some bullshit program about horses on, but once she saw that we were out on an expedition she wanted to come along, even though it was getting late. But it seemed like a good idea to me because God knows it’s hard getting kids interested in anything adults like to do. And also I figured that if Mark had any unstable or (ick) violent plans in mind — which I doubt because he’s usually a sweetheart — that he wouldn’t try any of it in front of his 8-year-old daughter who he’s normally kind of self-conscious around. And I wasn’t sure if we would be able to use the volume of the signal received to triangulate the source like we planned, because TVs have auto-gain-controls in them, and even if it did work I figured it would just lead us towards the First Chinese Mennonite and what would that tell us? But you know, when you’re stoned you do dumb things. So we hooked everything up, and wound the extension cords around and around Emma and showed her how to twirl around clockwise to take the line in and counterclockwise to let it out. Then we powered up the set, and it was a bit awkward because it seemed, from that position and collection of hard-to-isolate reception variables, the porno channel came through louder and clearer than ever, while The Simpsons were plowed under the snow, and Joe wasn’t on the phone at that moment.
    It was sort of a sketchy situation at that point. We’re all sitting on the front porch, and we’re watching these two women on the TV sort of taking each other’s clothes off, the volume is turned up, little Lisa Simpson is unwittingly entangled in an adult consensual lesbian sex event, and there’s Mark’s daughter standing next to us by the TV, tied up in orange and yellow extension cords. I mean people don’t really bug or interlope upon their neighbors much in the neighborhood where we live, we all respect each other’s privacy most of the time, but Mark & I became kind of intensely paranoid that someone might see us on the porch and get a wrong idea. Emma, for her part, appeared to find the porno kind of boring, and I gather from what Mark tells me that she knows all about sex already and thinks it’s incredibly, incredibly gross. But still ... we were about to chicken out and move everything back inside when suddenly we heard the string of little beeps that meant that Joe was placing a call.
    So we were off. Joe began talking now to Barb, and he was really laying on the sugar, perhaps because in our last episode we learned that Barb’s lawyer (Laura) had sent some communique to Joe’s lawyer (Mel) that had him and Joe a little bit concerned, and I guess Joe was supposed to sweet-talk her into just not doing anything, in a legal sort of way, while the two of them (Joe and Mel) got some sort of litigation ready that was supposed to, in Joe’s terms, “Staple her to the Seeling,” financially speaking. So there was Joe, showing his vulnerable side on the phone with Barb ... meanwhile there were Mark & I, standing out in the middle of the cul-de-sac with Emma giggling and spinning around in circles on the porch, letting out more of this long ratty string of tied-together extension cords. We walked twenty paces in the direction of the church, and the signal started to break up more. “Colder,” Mark said, which surprised me and contradicted my original theory about where the signal was originating from. And we walked twenty paces in another direction, off 90 degrees from our first path, Mark holding the TV against his chest with both hands (“portable” TVs from that era weigh about 40 pounds) and me watching it, walking backwards facing him, outside in the dark, with the volume turned all the way up and these occasional moans and swells of porn-soundtrack interspersed with Joe, The Simpsons, and blurry fuzz. Colder. We moved out into the intersection, Emma still twirling around, and Mark says “Shit! Colder!” Then we head back