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NO NUKES! NO NUKES!
The Perils of Microwave Meltdown (not a seventies style anti-nuclear power plant treatise, although one may be in the works for old times' sake), How to Avoid a Future Disaster, and the Drawbacks of Nuclear Dependency
By Nan Jacobs ©/2001
Yesterday my microwave oven blew up.
Pop, ::flash!:: fizzzzzzzzz, ffft. After the requisite shriek, foot-high leap, and wetting of self, the panic set in:
HOW ARE WE GOING TO REHEAT (I don't remember how!)? HOW ARE WE GOING TO COOK (what, there are other methods?)? Well, there's always McDonald's, but THIS IS GOING TO TAKE AWAY FROM WRITING TIME! Fast food is one thing, but wrapid writing? Don't think so. Not only do cooking/reheating (are they not one and the same?) or running for take-out food devour precious minutes (arg!), but also I had to Go Shopping for a New Nuclear Power Facility (double, triple, quadruple ARG! + UGH!).
Well, we should all go shopping now and then to see what's developed in the last ten techno minutes (it's useful to your writing to keep up with technology.). My old microwave (mid eighties vintage, a powerhouse in its day of a FULL 700 watts) might as well have enormous fangs, be the size of a house (which, actually, it almost is) and roar. Geez, you had to lead it by the hand, step-by-step, through the cooking process.
Nowadays, microwaves do everything for you. Popcorn? Push one button. Bake a potato? One button. And more, so much more (which, I might add, is usually what the heroine in a romance novel wants from the reluctant hero)---but I have yet to explore the potential of our new personal power plant. And I bought the cheapest one! Imagine what some of those other suckers will do! Maybe draw your bath water for you… Read your thoughts… Talk back… Yeesh! With my luck, I'd get the HAL of microwave ovens. "You want me to re-heat =that=, Nan? It's been in your refrigerator for at least two weeks, Nan. Look at that mold, Nan. No I do not perform disinfecting procedures, Nan. And I hate Brussels sprouts, Nan. Cook them on the stove, Nan. Goood-bye, Naaan. Daiseee, daiseeeeeeeeee…." Pop, ::flash!:: fizzzzzzzzz, ffft. (Shriek, leap, wet self).
In the event of another meltdown, which given the throwaway quality of appliances these days is a reasonable expectation, I've taken precautionary measures. I called one of those TV-advertised 800 numbers. We don't have cable, but this was on ABC, where for 15 minutes a friendly lady cooked a whole lot of delicious-looking, easy-looking recipes, which a nice man then tasted, pronounced, "mmm" and made his eyes disappear beneath his forehead somewhere (in delight I naively assume) so there must be some merit to this… (right? RIGHT? Please tell me I'm right? A TV station that has Regis popping up everywhere wouldn't lead you astray… right? RIGHT?)---um, yes, so I called that number and ordered us a super-dee-duper time saver cooking thingie: a no-waiting-for-water-to-boil-to-cook-pasta (that's what sold *me*), one-pot-cooks-all (knows all, sees all, cooks, heats, and warms all), TURBO COOKER.
I can't wait for it to arrive. It won't go "Pop, ::flash!:: fizzzzzzzzz, ffft" even if it does meltdown.
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