My New Year’s resolution, if you can call it that, is to not fix what ain’t broke, and fix what is.
And so I’ve been doing some subtle replacement of things like…my old bedspread which I’ve had for ages. The new satiny, sexy one, of course, now graces the new mattress which sits high (and I do mean high) atop my bed. Having made the mistake of thinking that the expensive and expansive purchase of a Tempur-pedic mattress set would enhance my sleeping experience, I finally ended up with a really nice traditional box spring set which harkens back to my graduate school days. I say this because that mattress set, too, was oversized height-wise. It gave me the nice, through rather silly and false, feeling of “flying” into bed each night. I am not exactly a tall person, and enjoy the feeling of loftiness as a result.
Aside: Whateva you do, don’t buy a Tempur-pedic. They are over priced, over marketed, and here it comes, very uncomfortable if you mind a depressing squish in the middle of the bed. I don’t care if the astronauts like them. After all, most of us aren’t going to have an outer space experience, and the accompanying weightlessness, when we hit the sack.
Back on topic: I also replaced my sheets with a really exotic set of 750-thread count Egyptian cotton. Now I will be the first to admit, I thought this thread count hysteria was just that. But, since the first night of slipping ever so sweetly onto the cotton, I know from whence people are speaking. Each one of those lovely little threads is part of a somnambulistic welcome mat and just feels so soft, silky, and inviting at the end of a hard day of writing…or hauling in firewood.
Aside: Cali and Izzi, my fuzzy little treasures, adore them too. With one of my faithful gato girls on my left and the other on my right, I am literally strapped in for the night. Good thing I’m doing less tossing and turning these days (nights).
Back on topic: When one is a vegetarian, one learns the exquisite uses of the mighty blender as regards the making of fruit smoothies and other culinary delights. After quite a bit of use, my blades of my Cuisinart were hopelessly dull.
Aside: This is a quality not unlike the characteristics of a portion of the population up here where I live.
Back on topic: You know times are tough when you can’t even buzz your way through a frozen strawberry. So I am newly resolved to acquire something that will, for a change, buzz and smash and slather and decimate. Like everything with a pulse (this is a blender joke, to be sure!!), I had seen the ads on TV for the latest “must have” kitchen gadget: The Ninja Kitchen Prep.
Aside: I am pretty much a reverse barometer when it comes to as-seen-on-TV stuff. If it’s advertised, I will generally go out of my way to not purchase the item. Most of the stuff is crap despite miracles claimed and universes saved.
Back on topic: OK, I am more than passingly familiar with the harrowing qualities of the Japanese Katana, the mighty sword of the Samurai and others who are deft at wielding superheated steel. And since the blades of the Ninja were compared to the Katana, I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or just do a dramatic eyeball roll. The ad was high drama at its best, invoking centuries of heroism into the simple act of making guacamole...
But I decide, for better or worser, that I will invite this terrible Ninja into my kitchen. I go to my local Bed, Bath and Beyond and manage – much to my joy and horror – to pick up the last one in the store. While I’m in the checkout line, I’m wondering if I am about to join the ranks of those who just got their brains – and wallets – sucked dry. I guess the Ninja was this Christmas’ hottest selling, value-added kitchen accoutrement.
So I get home and pull the Ninja, which is a beautiful shade of royal blue and not black like the Ninjas of old, out of the box. I hadn’t eaten all day, and I figured I’d wash the bugger up and subject everything to the frozen strawberry test. As I’m taking the thing apart, I quickly start to examine the Katana-curved blades in the pitcher. The Ninja has four (count ‘em, four) gracefully curved blades, and this is the reason they’re compared to the Katana.
Aside: Or so I thought.
Back on topic: Then comes the Laurel and Hardy moment that must inevitably follow. As I am pulling the blades out to give ‘em a dippy-dunk in the hot water, I think to myself, “I wonder if they’re sharp.” And literally as the thought hits my gray matter, I manage to slice one of my fingers open on the sucker.
Aside: Did you know that you can bleed for quite a long time if you cut your finger? There isn’t much there for protection, and any cut on your finger is going to hurt like holy hell. Also, even after wrapping wobs of tissue around your finger after you pop an ice cube inside to staunch the blood, you will – as the saying goes – bleed like a stuck pig.
Back on topic: In the midst of this Ninja drama, I am trying to remember if you put a cut appendage above or below your heart to slow the bleeding. Finally, finally, after a half hour, my blood is finally showing signs of clotting. I have been spared the fate of the Samurai but have certainly lost face.
Aside: I am apparently vitamin K deficient, and I also bruise like no one’s business. And while -- as I was informed many years ago when I cut my finger on a ceramic tile and called the doctor’s office after more than an hour of corpuscular egress-- no one has ever died of a cut finger, that’s cold comfort when you feel like the vampires are circling above.
Back on topic: Despite the trauma and the drama, I love the Ninja. And I wholeheartedly give it five thumbs up because I haven’t cut myself since.
Aside: Funny Ninja-like noises are not require for operation. Trust me, it won't stop the bleeding...
