Down for the count

Hi campers. I hope you all had relaxing and recuperative weekends. I had an involuntarily low key weekend. The train that I take into the city was replaced by shuttle buses today and yesterday so they could do “track work.” Now I am a lot of things, but I’m no train expert, so I have no idea what they were doing, but I can tell you what they weren’t doing; carting my happy ass to and from Queens on a bus with 300 other late, pissed off people. I stayed as far away from there as possible. It worked out well as I didn’t get any ushering shifts this weekend anyway, so I had a homespun weekend of errands and chillin out. I managed to get two episodes of The Nine in on Friday evening before… my dvr froze.

This time, however, I was actually a little excited that it froze, because as it turns out, I already had an appointment scheduled for Time Warner to come look at the problem. I could barely contain my excitement as the four hours between 10 and 2 approached, and when the buzzer’s siren-like wail wrapped around my ear drums I jumped off the couch and sprinted to the door. In just a few short moments, Mr or Mrs cable guy was going to get to see first hand what I had been experiencing for the last six months. I buzzed the lock, and when I heard the tell tale sound of clomping feet outside, opened the door. (I tend to wait until the last minute to open the door so that the curry tsunami is held off as long as possible.)

Much to my surprise, this week’s cable guy was the same as last week’s cable guy! When he saw me he had that look we all know and love, the “oh SHIT how do I know this person” look. “Back again are ya?” I asked him, and he laughed, relieved to be out of that awkward social scenario. I chuckled a bit when he shook his head and asked, “Are you still having problems?” I mean at this point the whole thing is pretty absurd, and there’s no point getting mad at him, so I just sighed and said “Yes, it seems to be a trend with all things technical lately,” and then told him about how I had written all about it on my blog. He said something about not seeing a fireplace in my apartment, so I let the whole blog thing go.

He puttered around for a few minutes, said hi to the dust bunnies behind the tv stand and then climbed my ladder to look at the connection from the outside cable to the inside cable. “Well the signal’s boomin here.” Despite my ten years in New York City, I still haven’t picked up a lot of the local vernacular, so I can only assume that “boomin” is a good thing. Then he checked the signals on the cable box and the modem, and made his diagnosis. “Boomin.” Money well spent on that PhD I’m sure. After puttering around for about ten more minutes he said, “Well, all your signals are good. I still can’t get into the main box for the building, so there’s not much else I can do. Try your cable now and let’s make sure it’s working.” I was all too happy to oblige. I clicked the tv on, hit the power button for the cable and everything worked fine.

He sighed and said, “Well, looks good to me.” “Not so fast, Boomer,” I thought. “Wait,” I said, “let me try the dvr.” I chose a show at random, this time The Colbert Report, selected it and hit play. The little progress bar at the bottom of the tv showed up, the show LOOKED like it was about to start, and then…nothing. Success! I had finally repeated the problem for someone else! It was not all in my mind! Boomer looked non-plussed. I’m a bit of a mind reader in my spare time (yes I am, damnit) and I could see exactly what he was thinking; “This’ll fix itself soon.” A full forty seconds ticked by ever so slowly, as absolutely nothing happened.

In Freshman English at FSU, I was told to go out and do something I had never done before and then write a paper about it. I went and got really drunk at a frat party and slept with a sorority girl. Before you judge, I had never done it before (slept with a sorority girl that is), and anyway, you’re supposed to experiment in college. The following week, the professor handed me my paper with an A on top, and said, “Hunh.” There were probably a lot of things he wanted to say to me, but in the end, he was stymied, just as I’m sure Boomer was when he peered into the bowels of my tv and said “Hunh.” After a few seconds he said, “It ain’t supposed to do that.”

When the cacophonous applause from the audience finally died down, I handed Boomer his Most Obvious Statement of The Year Award. (George Bush came in a close second with “War is hard.”) But much to my chagrin, Boomie was still perplexed. He rattled around for a bit, shook a few things, and then replaced the cable box. I had to think, as I watched him forlornly pack his cable guy tools, that he really did want to solve this problem, he just couldn’t. He muttered something about calling them again if this doesn’t fix it, and sheepishly made his exit. I will of course keep you in the know about all the Time Warner developments, so stay near by.

All that writing (and reading on your part) and still the weekly installment hasn’t even started. Not to worry tired readers, this one is pretty short. But it’s a knock out. (You’ll get that in a second.)

As some of you may know, I’ve been on a bit of a health kick for the past, oh, four years. At the ripe age of 28 I gave myself a double hernia carrying a room air conditioner up a flight of stairs. Let me tell you, you don’t know pain until you’ve ridden a subway with staples where your pubes used to be tearing at your skin upon every lurch and rock of the train. Childbirth? Please. After walking like a constipated old man for two weeks, the staples were removed and I made a solemn vow that I would never put myself through that again. I joined a gym, hired a personal trainer, quit smoking and started eating things that weren’t frozen in a box. I have a few stories about my personal trainer, Craig, but for now just rest safe in the knowledge that a large portion of my credit card debt is due in no small part to his steel blue eyes. Anyway, it’s four years later and I am happy to report that I am still fairly disciplined when it comes to my body. I haven’t even touched a cigarette; they actually repulse me now.

But my routine has been shattered lately, due to an unfortunate incident with George Foreman. As I’m sure you all know by now, in addition to naming all of his children (even his daughter) George, Mr. Foreman also endorsed a line of grills that cook just about anything you can imagine in a way that allows all the fat to drip right off the food into a handy plastic “fat collector.” (There’s a Kirstie Alley joke here somewhere.) For those of you who have never experienced the Foreman Grill, it really is a great little gadget for a bachelor like myself. You can cook as much or as little as you like, and it’s relatively easy to clean up. When I moved to Astoria I upgraded to a newer Foreman grill that has removable grill plates, so now it’s even easier to clean. Apparently, those removable grills are problematic.

About two months ago I pulled out the Foreman to do my cooking for the month. After you stop laughing, believe me when I tell you that it’s much easier to eat properly when you cook everything in advance. 28 turkey burgers, 8 hamburgers and lots of veggies later and I’m good to go for the whole four weeks. It’s such a relief to not have to open the refrigerator and stare in it blank-faced for five minutes trying to decide what to make. That sad evening, I was especially excited because I was trying something new; asparagus. I usually stay away from the stinky-pee veggie, but I figured what the heck, what could go wrong? Oh Shawn, when will you learn.

I’ve been doing this routine for about three years, so I am not exaggerating when I say I’m a turkey-burger grilling machine. I knead out all 28 patties first, fill the sink with soapy water so that I can wash my hands easily, heat up the grill and throw four on at a time. I usually put on some upbeat tunes and go to town. On Asparagus night, I was on burgers 13 – 17 when I noticed something a little out of the ordinary. One would expect a little smoke when you’re grilling four burgers at a time, but this smoke was thicker than normal. I popped open the window, put the smoke out of my mind and continued shakin my booty to “Hung Up.” Time does go by so slowly Madonna, it really does.

At first I thought the popping I heard was coming from my cd, and I was about to be extremely angry, but when I hit pause, the noise persisted. I snuck a quick look at the speaker wires to make sure all was well, which it was, then turned back into the kitchen just in time to see a big, gloppy piece of fat fall from the side of the Foreman to the counter. “Hm, that sucks,” I thought, “but better the counter than my love handles.” I grabbed a paper towel to sop up the unusual spill, leaned in to wipe it up and saw, quick as a flash, three sparks fly out the back of the Foreman.

"Self," I thought, “this is not going to end well.” My first thought was to unplug the Foreman. I leaned around the right side of the grill to where the cord was draped over the counter just as a few sparks shot out that side as well. In addition to being darned cute, I am really good in emergencies. Something about the way my mind works allows me to completely divorce my emotions from what is happening at the moment and focus solely on doing what needs to be done in that second. I’d be a great e.r. doctor, save for the whole “grossed out by organs” thing. I knew that if I let this continue, I’d be calling 911 in about a minute or so (if I could get a signal on my cell phone). I pushed the grill to the back of the counter where the gleaming white, fireproof tile was, and gave the plug a big tug to free it from the extension cord. Thankfully that went off without a hitch. The fat collector, however, had a mind of its own and chose to go in the exact opposite direction of the grill and tipped over, spilling its vile collection of turkey fatness all over the counter, and down into the cabinets. The grill meanwhile was none too pleased to have its removable plates jarred out of whack and was spitting out venomous pellets of hot, liquid turkey fat.

Did I mention I was in my underwear? (That part of my system has since been revised). Showers of grease were now darting out both sides of the Foreman and my forearms, stomach and chest were absorbing the brunt of their fury. If ever presented with this scenario, I defy you to think anything but “FUCK!” Like Spock saving Captain Kirk, I grabbed Sparky Foreman and dunked it into the sink of soapy water, half cooked turkey burgers and all. A quick glance at my body confirmed that I was not on fire, and not seriously injured, but I was a bit freaked out, and more than a little upset at the mess. Grease, water, and greasy water were everywhere, not to mention little balled up pieces of half cooked ground turkey. Tasty!

The customer service representative at Toast Master, Lucy, said the following, and this is a direct quote. “It did what? Sparked out the side? That’s shocking.” I mean, come on Lucy. She told me they would send me a box for to ship the now useless grill back to them, so that they could “fully investigate the problem,” which I’m sure is code for “cover our asses from a lawsuit.” I wasn’t really injured, and other than the mess there was no real damage, so I’m not even bothering to pursue any sort of legal recourse, but I’ve been without a Foreman ever since, and my eating habits have gone downhill. I started off well, cooking my turkey burgers in a skillet, but really, I can’t cook, why pretend? They end up burned, or in pieces, or half cooked and usually just plain gross. I would order in, but there is one remotely healthy place near here, and how much grilled chicken and pita can a person eat? I’ve come to rely on steamed chicken and broccoli from the local Chinese place, Sun Wok. (Actually, it’s spelled Sun Lok, they just pronounce it Sun Wok.) And trust me, when the Chinese food delivery guy becomes familiar enough with you to tell you that he likes your apartment, he’s been there enough.

Supposedly a new Foreman grill has been shipped, and I did get a little note from UPS on my door Friday, so we’ll see. Cross your fingers. I’m not holding my breath. I am, however, in the market for an apron.

Until next time guys. Be well, and leave your comments!