The Blog I Never Use

Do you have those all- too- frequent moments when you realize that you are doing something that has every chance of resulting in bodily injury or social disaster? The opportunities for social disaster, though quite promising, are nevertheless becoming less common as I age and the people in my social sphere learn to pretend that their laxity in enforcing the standards of society in is actually maturity, graciousness, insanity, or some other virtue.

Perhaps the opportunities for physical disaster, or “comedy” (as the ancients named it), have not actually become more or less numerous as time sweeps us toward our telos, or perhaps our proximity to that comedy which finds its purpose in our demise, and our awareness of the propinquity between ourselves and the reaper, simply twists our perceptions until children all become too fragile to use pointy scissors, and adults can all be trusted with alcohol, rusty hammers, fireworks, and flammable liquids in the privacy of their own garages.

Tonight I had one of those moments; not exactly a hammer swinging at an m-60 sitting in a pool of WD-40 sitting in a pie plate in my lap in an attempt to light a sparkler held in my teeth, this time, but good ideas were not had by all.

I must thank Alisha for the lovely Viennese Goulash recipe (if I had not capitalized “Goulash,” would it just mean that it was a recipe that came from Vienna for goulash rather than for a specific type of goulash that has gained the title: Viennese?). I had cooked the meat in Hungarian Paprika (Sweet Hungarian Paprika being in short supply here in Idaho) and I had just finished boiling the Spätzle (ʃpɛtslə) and had discovered that I had already used my favorite colander (the smaller metal one, which is easier to control with one hand) and that I had used a pan with two handles on the sides rather than one long handle (that also allows single-handed use) to boil the Spätzle. Upon this discovery, I found the larger colander and discovered that it came rather close to fitting over the mouth of the pan.

I know that you have probably begun to reason along the same lines which I found myself following: it’s fate. They are about the same size; one goes over the other in the process of their normal operation; my hands fit perfectly over the two sets of handles as I hold the colander over the pan, ergo, it is good, right, and perhaps admirable for me to clamp the two together, walk to the sink, and flip them as fast as I can . . . and here comes the moment to which I referred, where I realized that possible disaster had snuck up on me . . . it didn’t turn out as well as you might think, or maybe it was better. The entire front of my body from the waist down was suddenly and almost inexplicably covered with boiling water. I’m quite all right, just embarrassed and a little red over my right quadriceps.

In closing let me suggest to those of you who are considering trying this at home: skip the middleman and just use your pockets to strain the pasta, it works better and allows you to use a pair of pants which you are not currently wearing.

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// posted by Unknown @ 9:46 PM