Life is never dull around here. This morning is a good example, not only of how a simple morning activity can turn into an international incident, but also how it never fails that I'll be the one to prove the truth behind a popular saying.
I got up this morning craving a country breakfast. So, I got the biscuits in the oven, the grits in the pot, eggs all scrambled and the ham cooking away in the pan. Country ham... yum! It's salty and tough to some but heaven on a plate to me on a cool mid-winter's morning. Frying away, I hear this annoying beeping. I investigate:
Alarm clock: nope.
Doorbell: nope.
Washer/Dryer: nope/nope.
Cell phones: nope. nope. nope. nope. (Yeah, we got a few.)
About this time, I hear the phone ring. I'm multitasking, so I put it on speaker.
Me: Hello?
Caller: Yes, hello, this is the home security monitoring service. We have an alarm reporting from your location. Is everything okay?
Me: As far as I know, yes, we are fine. [I walk over and check the alarm keypad] Yep, there's a code appearing [I read off the number] what is that?
Caller: It's the fire alarm.
Entire family, all at once: ROTFLMAO
Caller: Sir? Sir? Is everything okay? Did you find out what set off the fire alarm?
Me: We are fine. Shall I cook up more ham and eggs for the Fire Chief?
Caller: ROTFLMAO
Thus, I have gone down in family lore and legend as living proof of Jeff Foxworthy's axiom, "You know you're a redneck if the fire alarm doubles as an oven timer."
Showing posts with label KABOOM. Show all posts
Showing posts with label KABOOM. Show all posts
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Writer's Block
I have a paper due Sunday. My second one for the Organizational Behaviour class I'm taking this semester. The first one was a complete success - got a 100 on it. I have never, ever scored that high on a paper before. I was flabbergasted. Unfortunately I feel like I set way too high a standard because all week I've been struggling with ideas for this paper.
Writer's block is a raw, howling, untamed bitch sometimes. I'll get started on an idea, then it grinds to a stultified impasse as I run headlong into one dead end after another. All week, I've been tossing topics, notes and ideas into the trashcan, which is now resembling some sort of forlorn Think Tank of Misfit Ideas.
Until this morning.
Inspiration is like a bolt from the blue: it hits you at the most unlikely moments, and when it happens to me, I am always awestruck at the human mind's capacity to solve problems without overtly thinking about them and come with the most unlikely of solutions at the most unexpected moments. In this case, it hit me in the shower this morning. (No, I did not drop the soap!)
I stepped out of the shower and told Mrs. Gnu, "Hey, I finally found a topic for my paper!"
Mrs. Gnu: (annoyed at the growing puddle on the carpet under my feet) "Where'd you find it?"
Me: (returning the sarcasm with interest) "In the shower, right where I left it. Oh, and last night I found Jesus. He was behind the couch all this time."
Never tangle with an inspired smartass...
Writer's block is a raw, howling, untamed bitch sometimes. I'll get started on an idea, then it grinds to a stultified impasse as I run headlong into one dead end after another. All week, I've been tossing topics, notes and ideas into the trashcan, which is now resembling some sort of forlorn Think Tank of Misfit Ideas.
Until this morning.
Inspiration is like a bolt from the blue: it hits you at the most unlikely moments, and when it happens to me, I am always awestruck at the human mind's capacity to solve problems without overtly thinking about them and come with the most unlikely of solutions at the most unexpected moments. In this case, it hit me in the shower this morning. (No, I did not drop the soap!)
I stepped out of the shower and told Mrs. Gnu, "Hey, I finally found a topic for my paper!"
Mrs. Gnu: (annoyed at the growing puddle on the carpet under my feet) "Where'd you find it?"
Me: (returning the sarcasm with interest) "In the shower, right where I left it. Oh, and last night I found Jesus. He was behind the couch all this time."
Never tangle with an inspired smartass...
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The Thin Squiggly Line Between Genius and Idiot
Tonight I performed another successful culinary experiment: Swedish Meatballs over Egg Noodles. Of course, the meatballs I concocted had more in common with Sioux cuisine than Stockholm: I made them with locally raised Bison.
Rave reviews from the family got me to thinking back to previous experiments. I figured it was time to share one which turned out quite well in the end, but in the process I tried one small experiment that probably doesn't cast the best light on me, but it's too damn funny not to share...
Last November, we had a celebration dinner. The Skating Gnu had just returned from the Capital City from a 6-2 trouncing of their hockey team, and I'd just gotten an A on my first Grad School paper. So, we stopped by an awesome Asian Supermarket on our way home and picked up a few things for a Vietnamese feast.
The evening's menu:
Appetizer:
Spring Rolls with Chinese sweet sausage, fried shrimp, fresh basil and Yamica root, served with Thai sweet/sour dip.
Main:
Tilapia fillets, pan seared in butter with fresh ginger, garlic and lemongrass, and sides of wild brown rice and stir-fried snow peas.
Dessert:
Lime sorbet.
Wine:
2002 Fieldstone Russian River Valley Gewürztraminer
(Orange-Pineapple juice for the Skating Gnu)
The recipe I had for spring rolls called for ground peanuts. Now, understand, we engineers are a lazy bunch: we devise better ways of doing tasks so we don't have to expend so much effort. That's why we have supermarkets, SUV's and microwaves instead of chasing Buffalo down on foot, skewering them with sticks and roasting them over a fire.
So, ground peanuts, eh? I figure I can either do it the hard way by beating the ever-loving crap out of a Ziploc bag full of Planter's dry roasted, or...
I spy with my good eye, the coffee grinder in the corner of the countertop. I've used it to grind coffee, of course, also used it to grind up some dry herbs and even peppermint candies for some Christmas Peppermint Hot Chocolate. So, I load the grinder up and push the button...
... and that, dear readers, is how you make Peanut Butter. Good grief, it took me forever to get that crap out of there.
On the plus side, my morning cup o' joy now has a distinctive nutty finish to it.
Rave reviews from the family got me to thinking back to previous experiments. I figured it was time to share one which turned out quite well in the end, but in the process I tried one small experiment that probably doesn't cast the best light on me, but it's too damn funny not to share...
Last November, we had a celebration dinner. The Skating Gnu had just returned from the Capital City from a 6-2 trouncing of their hockey team, and I'd just gotten an A on my first Grad School paper. So, we stopped by an awesome Asian Supermarket on our way home and picked up a few things for a Vietnamese feast.
The evening's menu:
Appetizer:
Spring Rolls with Chinese sweet sausage, fried shrimp, fresh basil and Yamica root, served with Thai sweet/sour dip.
Main:
Tilapia fillets, pan seared in butter with fresh ginger, garlic and lemongrass, and sides of wild brown rice and stir-fried snow peas.
Dessert:
Lime sorbet.
Wine:
2002 Fieldstone Russian River Valley Gewürztraminer
(Orange-Pineapple juice for the Skating Gnu)
The recipe I had for spring rolls called for ground peanuts. Now, understand, we engineers are a lazy bunch: we devise better ways of doing tasks so we don't have to expend so much effort. That's why we have supermarkets, SUV's and microwaves instead of chasing Buffalo down on foot, skewering them with sticks and roasting them over a fire.
So, ground peanuts, eh? I figure I can either do it the hard way by beating the ever-loving crap out of a Ziploc bag full of Planter's dry roasted, or...
I spy with my good eye, the coffee grinder in the corner of the countertop. I've used it to grind coffee, of course, also used it to grind up some dry herbs and even peppermint candies for some Christmas Peppermint Hot Chocolate. So, I load the grinder up and push the button...
... and that, dear readers, is how you make Peanut Butter. Good grief, it took me forever to get that crap out of there.
On the plus side, my morning cup o' joy now has a distinctive nutty finish to it.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Larriken's Kitchen Nighmares
I like to experiment in the kitchen. It's a creative outlet for me. I can usually whip up something good, if just a bit on the... umm... interesting side. I usually make a mess too, filling the sink to overflowing with pots, pans and other instruments of mad science. Back in college, I gained notoriety with my Venison Stew with Cinnamon. Hey, don't look at me like that, it was good and everyone enjoyed it, even if they do still tease me about it. As with all experimentation, failure is an option. The good part is most of my failures are still edible, with only one or two notable exceptions over the years (think burnt - I mean really carbonized!)
Still, I have a reputation for leaving a "creative blast radius" in the kitchen, to the point where, if my family sees me staring at the spice rack with a pensive look on my face, they grab the phone and the Domino's Pizza magnet off the fridge and wait for the detonation.
Today, I was hungry. So, staring at the contents of the fridge, I thought I'd make short work of the various and sundry leftovers accumulating in there. In walks my daughter.
Surveying the scene, she asked, "Whatcha doing, Daddy?"
I replied, "Experimenting. Wanna help?"
Without skipping a beat, she deftly replied, "Sure, I'll get the bandages," and walked out of the kitchen.
Smartass. She's definitely her mother's daughter.
Still, I have a reputation for leaving a "creative blast radius" in the kitchen, to the point where, if my family sees me staring at the spice rack with a pensive look on my face, they grab the phone and the Domino's Pizza magnet off the fridge and wait for the detonation.
Today, I was hungry. So, staring at the contents of the fridge, I thought I'd make short work of the various and sundry leftovers accumulating in there. In walks my daughter.
Surveying the scene, she asked, "Whatcha doing, Daddy?"
I replied, "Experimenting. Wanna help?"
Without skipping a beat, she deftly replied, "Sure, I'll get the bandages," and walked out of the kitchen.
Smartass. She's definitely her mother's daughter.
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