SUPER: BLAKE FAMILY - RIVERSIDE, CALIFORNIA

EXT. HOUSE/YARD - DAY

A timer goes off.  Lawn sprinklers start.  Their GENTLE
PULSE...

FRED BLAKE, SR. checks his quartz watch and frowns.  
The sprinklers are two minutes early.  He's been picking 
up twigs and other organic pieces of matter from his 
perfect garden in front of his perfect suburban house.  
He looks at the gentle stream of water wetting his pant's 
leg...   

He stands, carefully dusts himself off and examines the 
timer by the side of the sliding door like it has 
personally offended him.  He enters an immaculate living 
room...

INT. LIVING ROOM

To find his wife, WINOLA, sitting in the darkened room, 
not moving.  It bothers Fred Sr. seeing people not doing 
anything, particularly his wife.

                       FRED SR.
              Sprinklers are a tad early, dear.
              Two minutes to be exact.  In a week
              that's fourteen minutes.  In a month
              almost an hour.  And in a year I
              could be watering on Wednesday when 
              I should be watering on Saturday.  
              What do you think of that, Winola?

She doesn't respond.  Her eyes are closed.

                       FRED SR.
              What are you doing?

                       WINOLA
              Meditating, dear.

                       FRED SR.
              What for?

                       WINOLA
              Dr. Bob though it might be a good
              idea.


Fred Sr. stares at his thumb.  He doesn't like the 
idea of Dr. Bob telling her anything -- Dr. Bob is a 
puppet...

The puppet stares at Fred Sr. from behind a pillow tucked 
on the couch.  He's wearing a face mask and tiny latex 
gloves.

                       FRED SR.
             Have you seen Fred Jr.?

                       WINOLA
             He's in the kitchen, dear.

                       FRED SR.
             Do you think he's been acting 
             sullen, lately?

                       WINOLA
             Perhaps you should have a nice
             talk with him.

Fred Sr. SIGHS.  He would like Winola to open her eyes and 
talk to him, but she doesn't.  He leaves.

INT. KITCHEN

Fred Sr. finds Fred Jr. making a cheese sandwich...
 
                       FRED SR.
             Hey, big fella.  That's some
             sandwich you're making there.

                       FRED JR.
             Yes, dad.

                       FRED SR.
             Better get a plate for it.

Fred Jr. does just that...

                       FRED SR.
                    (continuing)
              Freddie, are you in any kind of 
              trouble?

                       FRED JR.
              No.

                       FRED SR.
              A woman maybe?

Fred Jr. nearly drops his sandwich...

                       FRED JR.
              Why would you think that?

                       FRED SR.
              I'm just asking.

Fred Jr. thinks for a moment -- then chickens out...

                        FRED JR.
              Just wondering what I'm going to
              do after college.

                        FRED SR.
              Good.  You should be thinking
              about that.  The decisions you 
              make now will effect you the 
              rest of your life.

Fred Jr. feels like his death sentence has just been read 
to him.
                        FRED JR.
              Yes, sir.

                        FRED SR.
              You're a Blake.  Your grandparents
              had nothing.  They struggled all 
              their lives.

                        FRED JR.
              They were doctors!

                        FRED SR.
              Struggling doctors.

                        FRED JR.
              Yes, sir.

Fred Sr. returns to the living room...

INT.  LIVING ROOM

Winola is deep in a trance, softly MOANING to herself.  
Fred Sr. decides not to carry on a conversation with her. 
Slips a piece of chocolate into his mouth to settles his 
nerves.