Thanks for the question on Dr. Who. I wish the editors would've just
moved diagonal-ga's chronology of the show to the comment section
instead of removing it entirely. Having covered the show in depth,
I'll give you something completely different. Your question "Who's on
first" reminded me that I hadn't told you my "Rainman" story yet. I
hope you'll accept it as a "who" substitute.
Last Sunday after reading an especially hand-wringing post in the
forum, I recalled the scene in the diner where Charlie Babbitt grabbed
Raymond's neck trying to control him. Raymond immediately whipped out
his "Book of Slights" and wrote "Charlie Babbitt pulled and grabbed
and hurt my neck in 1988," so I copied that line into my .sig on my
forum profile. It reminded me how we mentally record our "injuries"
when they are very inconsequential in a big picture framework.
Little did I know that by having that film enter my consciousness
would, only two hours later, lead to my own "Rainman" reenactment.
My Sundays are usually spent relaxing and researching while I catch up
on Google Answers. I was putting some water on to boil for tea when I
noticed I had my 5-pound capacity glass canister filled with sugar on
the back burner. This was so I didn't spill it dragging spoonfuls of
the wicked white powder to my coffee cup, resulting in what my mom
refers to as my "sugar mess.
So I turn on the back burner where the canister is, realize my mistake
as I wanted the front burner instead, and clicked it off ... or so I
thought. Instead I turned it on HIGH! I went to the other room and
returned after I heard a loud "POP," only to see my glass canister
shattered into smithereens, the five pounds of pure cane slowly
seeping into the stove top, and catching on fire. Flames, no less!
I'm desperately trying to remain calm and regretting my lack of Girl
Scout skills. It looked manageable so I took a towel and tried to
beat the curly-Q flames into submission. This, of course, only fed
their appetite. It was about at this time that I hear an ear-piercing
screeching sound. My fire alarm. So that's what that thing sounds
I abandon the fire to get my broom and whack it, recreating that scene
when Raymond burns his waffles with Charlie Babbitt comes to the
rescue. Folks, this silencing method ONLY works in the movies. And
what really bites is that Tom Cruise isn't waiting in my bedroom!
Then I ran to grab a chair for a boost so I could rid the apartment
from that infernal sound that was quickly melting the enamel from my
teeth. I whack it and whack it, not knowing how to turn the bleepin'
thing off. Finally finding its sweet spot, the screeching stops.
Going back to the fire which is now burning like the freakin'Sugarland
Express, I vaguely recall the idea that you should throw flour on it
to smother it. So I grab the Gold Medal, throw one handful ... two
handfuls ... three handfuls ... this is doing bupkis. What genius
came up this one? Then I'm heraled AGAIN by the Great Screaming
First Security Owl. What, you have to *keep* smacking that
contraption? Why can't a soothing voice come on saying, "Uh ... I
know the fire's not out yet. Would you like me to call the fire
department?" To which I reply, "Uh, yeah, I'm a little busy over here,
O Wise One."
Climb back on the chair. Whack! Whack! Back to the kitchen.
Agitation ensues. The stove is electric so I can't douse it with
water ... or can I? So I go to the breaker box to trip the switch for
the range. Can't see. Glasses ... glasses? Where are they? Trip
the switch, fill a water container, and there goes the alarm again!
Back up the chair. More whacking.
Back to the kitchen, dump the water on the fire, and ... finally ...
Little did I know, this was going to be the easy part of this debacle.
Have you ever tried to clean up glass chips amidst five pounds of
baker's sugar, three handfuls of flour mixed with water and baked on
to a cripsy black congealed glob? It's NOT relaxing but that's the
tale of last Sunday.
I'm hoping in the future no forum conversation ever conjures up any
See ya later, Nell'sBells. Gotta go buy some sugar. And a fire
Three alarm cheers,