Mar 12, 2006

I Hope You Like Audioblogging

Because I may be doing a lot of it this next week, having, I think, pretty much ruined the use of my fingertips for the next fortnight or so.

There are times in everyone's life when we do something Dumb. We've all been there. Tried to get in a car in the parking lot that is identical in every way to our own except that it belongs to someone else. Done something profoundly ignorant while trying to impress that beautiful someone. Stepped on that jellyfish on the beach even after someone has pointed it out to you.

Then there are times in everyone's life (yes, I'm still going to drag you along on this one) when we do something Profoundly Dumb. And don't get that "Who, me?" look on your face, because you know you've done it. I won't even cite any examples, partly because at this point the stunts we pull are pretty unique in most cases, and partly because it's getting hard to type. You'll see why in just a few minutes. See if you can spot

Irrelephant's Truly Major Fantastical
Profoundly Dumb Boner

We're going to have barbecue tonight for supper. Notice I imply that we ARE going to have barbecue tonight. If it harelips every cat in the county. I started not ten minutes ago by filling the lower pan of my smoker with a hefty dose of natural wood charcoal. None of that briquette stuff for me, no sir. Natural wood charcoal tastes better. I place the grill on top of the smoker body, and liberally dose the hardwood with lighter fluid.

Now yes, I hear you screaming that you're not supposed to use lighter fluid with natural wood charcoal, and instead just light it with fire and let it burn, but sometimes expediency is more important than proper ritual.

Knowing full well the explosive qualities of lighter fluid, I quickly toss a burning kitchen match into the pit, with my face well back. It poofs into flame and beings burning merrily.

I notice that the wind is up a bit, and I have the pit just a little too close to the garage, so I push it away from the eaves with my foot.

I managed to push the pit a good two feet (Hah! A pun!) away from the eaves before the topheavy pit's peg leg hangs in the driveway and tips over. Knowing that there was a lot of loose fire rolling around in there I let it fall instead of diving for it which was my first tendency.

After it had stopped rolling I gauged the wind direction, crept up behind it, grabbed the wooden handle of the pit with my tongs and pulled the can upright. See, I can be smart sometimes. That's what makes the rest so bad; the fact that I was being so smart the majority of the time.

The pan, naturally, had emptied all over the driveway in three major burning piles, plus the charcoal pan which was still covered in burning fluid. I moved the can out of the way and, in a fit of brilliance, simply turned the burning pan upside down over a major pile of burning charcoal, thereby depriving the fire of oxygen and making a safe and secure place for the fire to burn out, as well as extinguishing the bowl itself. 'Bravo on having a cool head and thinking things through,' I thought to myself.

I found the second, unused bowl in the garage and covered the second major conflagaration with it, thereby keeping two of the three major fires under control and due to be extinguished.

The third I struggled with for a few moments, trying to figure out what to use to extinguish it, as I only had two of the metal pans and nothing else non-flammable that size. I didn't want to use the hose, because I knew I could re-use the charcoal once it was out. I toyed with the idea of using an old plastic cat litter pan, but discarded that as being too flamable and likely to ignite before it put the fire out. So, in a towering fit of stupidity, I figured that the first fire I had covered would be out by now, so I reached down and started to pick up the first pan I had used.

Anyone see the flaw in my plan?

I realised mere nanoseconds before I touched the curved melamine-covered metal pan that it would still be scorching hot if not still on fire under there. My hindbrain screamed like a little girl and pulled the Emergency Full Stop cord, my muscles ground together like rocks in a bag in a desperate attempt to stop the endangered hands, but it was all too late. I touched the surface of the pan barehanded, all my neurons started shouting "FIRE!" at once, rather like a bunch of neurons shouting "FIRE!" in a crowded theater, and I ran for the house wondering if I had left any skin behind on the sizzling metal surface.

Soaking my fingers in ice water to minimize the no-doubt incipient blisters on eight of my ten most favourite fingers, I carefully scanned back over the high and low points of my barbecuemanship. I scored pretty high points overall for not panicking, for not exposing myself to open flame when righting the can, and I even awarded myself five bonus points for using my brains for something more than a hatrack when I covered the burning piles of charcoal with the pans.

When I pushed the can over in the first place and when I touched the pan barehanded, well, that's where I lost pretty big, thereby earning me that big old smoking "D" for Dumb.

And so now I'm going to watch blisters form on my still-tingling fingertips while I finish barbecuing some delicious burgers. With kitchen-mits on. And an asbestos apron.

I hope I don't have to be fed them by someone else.



I am so sorry about the accident to your hands. We were just about to stop by your cave yesterday around 3:30 or 4:00 & it looked so peacefull that the old mare said that you & family might be asleep so we drove on. I wish you heaps of luck with the pads & again say I'm sorry.


Vulgar Wizard said...


renegade said...

that d also stands for d'oh!