We Humbly Suggest Another Use For Your Ali

April 14, 2009

You know those days when you feel like posting something, but your muse is on vacay in Tahiti and you can’t find anything interesting to talk about?

Yeah, I was having one until a minute ago.

I starting thinking about an entry on the way home. I had some things I could say about my class–too private; about running after the class–too done; about the guy who looked like he was about to hit on me–didn’t pan out; about sociology as manifested in different genres of American musicology–not my blog, just thinking about it for a friend (hey, J. . . remind me to talk to you about sociological trends manifesting across genres); about the rain and the cold and seeing my breath in the subway–believe me, too depressing.

I walk in, check Facebook, and start pasta for dinner. Erika left me sixteen–YES, SIXTEEN!–comments on new pictures. As I drain the noodles and mix in sauce, I’m busy running bits of potential blog posts, thinking ahead to answering snark with snark, and wondering if I can gank some of her comments and turn *them* into an idea.

Mixing, mixing, mixing–which is hard on the pot with no handle, so I have a paper towel in my hand that I’m using to hold it still. Suddenly, I realize that something looks different just as I simultaneously recognize that my fingers hurt. A lot.

I have, in fact, set myself on fire.

(I’ll pause for the facepalm. It’s merited.)

So I did what any logical barbequed Ali would do–ignored the sink and threw the paper towel on the floor. The wood floor. I then proceeded to pour water *from the sink* onto the towel.

Nothing got hurt–except for my pride, some slighty crispy fingers, and the napkin itself–but I did have something to write about!



  1. I’m really glad you weren’t hurt. Because if you had been, I’d feel a lot worse about laughing right now.
    Once when I was about 8 I wondered what would happen if I held a length of toilet paper (’bout 4 feet long) over a tea candle.
    In case you’re wondering the same, it’s about the result you’d expect (plus an enraged parent or two).

  2. Oddly enough, I have no problem finding that visual at all.
    For a while, we had the annual Burning Of The Tissue Paper at my youngest brother’s birthday. Totally accidentally, he would somehow manage to set at least one piece of tissue paper (always the tissue, never the wrapping… go fig) on fire.

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