• When man and machine can’t get along

    Every morning I make oatmeal for myself at work. Every morning I mix the appropriate amount of water and oats and nuke it for 60 seconds. Unlike most mornings, THIS morning the nuker was angry. REALLY angry.

    The ‘ole nuker didn’t run for more than the accustomed 60 seconds, that I would have noticed. I always run it on full power, so it couldn’t have been running too strong. I can’t figure it out. Maybe I should explain, my oatmeal exploded.

    Oatmeal isn’t normally known for its combustibility. The FBI doesn’t check up on people buying large quantities of Quaker products, though you would have to wonder what anyone would do with a truckload of oatmeal. In fact, oatmeal is probably good for you because it is so bland. So why did I find my boring cup of whole grains coating the inside of the nuker like a Peptol-Bismol commercial?

    I come from curious stock, so naturally I had to get down to the bottom of this phenomenon; dubbed “exploding oats.” I tried cooking it too long, with too much water, with too little water, too long with too much water, too long with too little water, but nothing replicated my earlier results.

    What I have done is replicate the conditions for the allure of an “intelligent design” like explanation (re: creationism v. evolution). I am therefore confident in concluding that the microwave was angry. When in doubt, take the easy way out.

  • What to say?

    There’s a saying in fantasy lawyer land (as seen on T.V.): don’t ask the question if you don’t already know the answer. The same can be said for real life parenting. This evening I asked my intrepid daughter if she wanted to play an Xbox game with me. She replied, “I’d rather play the ‘Fairly Odd Parents’ with mom than ‘Star Wars’ with you.”

    That hurts on so many levels I don’t know where to begin.

  • Best way to start the first day

    It’s been my thing to take Beth to school on the first day of school. It’s been an obsession really. I figure if I’m going to make my kid go to school, the least I can do is take them on the first day, to ease some of the pain. Only today I may have been more pain than relief. Sure, we went out for breakfast at Starbucks. Sure, we went for a walk around the still closed mall. (You may think it droll, but there’s something about getting into a place that’s still closed that’s a little thrilling. In most other circumstances, that something is called burglary. But in this case, it’s not really closed, just all of the stores are. The mall entrances are open for the old folks to exercise. Introducing an antsy eight year old to the senior sanctum of a closed mall is a bit like sport too… boy am I mean.) However, when we finally got to school we had a lot to accomplish in a short time, and all that coffee was wreaking havoc on my normally steady nerves.

    We were in the cafeteria, doing a bit of rushing to get her lunch account paid up, when my aspiring third grader admonished me: “be patient dad!”

    Just who is the parent here?