As the sun shone through the pouring rain on our idyllic suburban street, a small blonde person danced in my peripheral vision. Light pulsed in the room as she opened and closed the blinds. A baby shouted angrily while her lullaby threatened sonic death, sickly pitch-shifting, hovering between any known key as the batteries died. In the middle of the room, a lady droned on and on about something as she ate eggs and grapes. Somehow, dinner with the family had become a Twin Peaks dream sequence.