From The Frying Pan....
WEIGHTS 1, FAR 0
So I was at the gym yesterday, doing crunches on the bench with a lat bar attached to one of the cross cables - and, because it was rather chilly yesterday (it was raining!), I was wearing track bottoms for once. Everything was going fine until I got to my last, 50kg, set. I pulled down the lat bar, knelt down on the bench, and... all of a sudden I lurched forward. In alarm, I managed to lock my feet under the bench, and thus narrowly avoided the embarrassment of sliding off the bench and dangling in midair. Phew.
Lesson learnt: If you're going to be pulling your weight (or almost) on a bench, don't wear track pants. >.<
FROM THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE
Since my mother's been banished from the kitchen by her bionic foot for two months, I've been doing the cooking on Saturdays, which is probably one or two Saturdays too many of my cooking, where my parents are concerned. (Thank goodness said cooking is always supplemented by leftovers - my uncle brings over vegetarian food five days a week). Given that my unsurpassed genius always results in culinary adventures that wind up on the funny side of disastrous (I was, after all, responsible for the Amazing Exploding Microwaved Egg and the Scalded Eyebrows), I thought I'd maybe share my Recipes for the Week.
Today's menu: Far's Utterly Bizarre Casserole Thingy
Ingredients
1 packet ramen
4 eggs
Spam
Seasoning
Cheese
Butter to grease baking dish
Method
1. Bung ramen into a bowl, with hot water. Bung bowl into the microwave, and cook for two minutes.
2. Throw eggs into a baking dish. Discover that one is starting to look funny. Swear, and replace. Beat eggs into submission.
3. Drain ramen, then toss into dish with beaten eggs. Disentangle ramen.
4. Add enough salt to bring onset of hypertension, and pepper. Add some more to be sure.
5. Try to open can of spam. Break implement halfway through. Swear. Use up half of profane vocabulary. Find new can opener.
6. Slice up spam. Throw bits of spam into dish, minus the blood.
7. Cover top generously with cheese, to hide the monstrosity beneath.
8. Bung into oven. Set to some arbitrarily high number.
9. Keep checking oven.
10 Welcome guests who suddenly show up at door.
11. Run back to kitchen every five minutes to check.
12. Decide it's going to take a long enough time. Stay to chat with guests. Run back to kitchen when guests point out that something smells funny. Use up other half of profane vocabulary.
13. Take out dish. Top should have the consistency, contours and colour of alien volcanic landscape. Serves three (who have suddenly misplaced their appetites).
14. Realise belatedly that you forgot the butter, and there's now a thick layer of gunk at the bottom of the baking dish, that'll never come out. Use up remainder of profane vocabulary that you didn't manage to abuse earlier.
Okay, so I made up the last part of number 13. My parents actually ate quite a lot of it, and claimed it tasted pretty good. Of course, I should point out that it took my *mother* ten years to break it to me gently that the hot chocolate I kept bringing her back when I was a kid and she was sick in bed for a week had the overall consistency and appeal of drain water, so I don't know how much of what she just said today can be believed...
So I was at the gym yesterday, doing crunches on the bench with a lat bar attached to one of the cross cables - and, because it was rather chilly yesterday (it was raining!), I was wearing track bottoms for once. Everything was going fine until I got to my last, 50kg, set. I pulled down the lat bar, knelt down on the bench, and... all of a sudden I lurched forward. In alarm, I managed to lock my feet under the bench, and thus narrowly avoided the embarrassment of sliding off the bench and dangling in midair. Phew.
Lesson learnt: If you're going to be pulling your weight (or almost) on a bench, don't wear track pants. >.<
FROM THE FRYING PAN INTO THE FIRE
Since my mother's been banished from the kitchen by her bionic foot for two months, I've been doing the cooking on Saturdays, which is probably one or two Saturdays too many of my cooking, where my parents are concerned. (Thank goodness said cooking is always supplemented by leftovers - my uncle brings over vegetarian food five days a week). Given that my unsurpassed genius always results in culinary adventures that wind up on the funny side of disastrous (I was, after all, responsible for the Amazing Exploding Microwaved Egg and the Scalded Eyebrows), I thought I'd maybe share my Recipes for the Week.
Today's menu: Far's Utterly Bizarre Casserole Thingy
Ingredients
1 packet ramen
4 eggs
Spam
Seasoning
Cheese
Butter to grease baking dish
Method
1. Bung ramen into a bowl, with hot water. Bung bowl into the microwave, and cook for two minutes.
2. Throw eggs into a baking dish. Discover that one is starting to look funny. Swear, and replace. Beat eggs into submission.
3. Drain ramen, then toss into dish with beaten eggs. Disentangle ramen.
4. Add enough salt to bring onset of hypertension, and pepper. Add some more to be sure.
5. Try to open can of spam. Break implement halfway through. Swear. Use up half of profane vocabulary. Find new can opener.
6. Slice up spam. Throw bits of spam into dish, minus the blood.
7. Cover top generously with cheese, to hide the monstrosity beneath.
8. Bung into oven. Set to some arbitrarily high number.
9. Keep checking oven.
10 Welcome guests who suddenly show up at door.
11. Run back to kitchen every five minutes to check.
12. Decide it's going to take a long enough time. Stay to chat with guests. Run back to kitchen when guests point out that something smells funny. Use up other half of profane vocabulary.
13. Take out dish. Top should have the consistency, contours and colour of alien volcanic landscape. Serves three (who have suddenly misplaced their appetites).
14. Realise belatedly that you forgot the butter, and there's now a thick layer of gunk at the bottom of the baking dish, that'll never come out. Use up remainder of profane vocabulary that you didn't manage to abuse earlier.
Okay, so I made up the last part of number 13. My parents actually ate quite a lot of it, and claimed it tasted pretty good. Of course, I should point out that it took my *mother* ten years to break it to me gently that the hot chocolate I kept bringing her back when I was a kid and she was sick in bed for a week had the overall consistency and appeal of drain water, so I don't know how much of what she just said today can be believed...