Did you know that blenders can come apart?
I do. At least, I do now.
See, I went to Schnuck's tonight, because I'm low on...uhm...everything. And, since Schnuck's is the place to see and be seen at 10:15 on a Tuesday night, that's where I went to go buy food. I decided that of the meager supply of fruit available at the Lindell/Sarah Schnuck's (you'd think a place that sells every ounce of food that SLU students buy would have a better selection) the oranges were the most singularly appealing citrus. And, on my limited budget, most appealing citrus means food. In toto.
So I picked up about 2 pounds of juice oranges, rather than California navels, because I suddenly got this great idea that I could start making smoothies and tell Bon Appetit, the highway robbers of college foodservices, to suck it.
So I wandered aimlessly through this Schnuck's in my quest - an aimless one, mind you - to find further ingredients to make my smoothies good. Let's face it, pureed oranges by themselves kind of suck. I managed to track down some cranberry juice cocktail on sale in the "Great Buys!" aisle, and snagged it as well. Since my hands were now full, I determined that this would be the end of my food shopping experience for the day. And, post-checkout, it was.
I schlepped the oranges and juice into my apartment and busted out the blender - which, I should point out, can apparently be used for more than liquor. Who knew? Anywho, I busted out my crappy ice tray, with crappy ice, and tossed them into my otherwise quality blender. That blender and I have been through some times together, let me tell you. Actually, we haven't, but it makes for a great story. Perhaps another day.
Today, back on topic, I tossed in some sliced juice oranges, sans peels, and poured in an equivalent volume of my fine store-brand cranberry juice cocktail. Then I pushed "blend." And that is when the magic happened.
A liquid, under great force, can be accelerated in such a way that it flies upward, opposite the direction of gravity's pull. The result of such acceleration is that the liquid flies upward, and, barring any sort of obstacle, will continue to do so until gravity re-estabilishes herself. The obstacle in question here is my kitchen ceiling. That kitchen ceiling can, in almost all cases, stop the upward motion of the liquid. The liquid won't necessarily rebound, however...sometimes, it sticks.
And that's where I was for several minutes after pushing "off," with my trusty bottle of Fantastik (thank you Dow Chemical) and my trusty paper towels (thank you Kimberly-Clarke). And, thanks to the fine people at Corningwear, I am now able to type this as I drink my SECOND great-tasting smoothie firmly encased in glass, the first being a total loss. Except, of course, in terms of keeping this column new, fresh, and...well...a little bit drippy.
I do. At least, I do now.
See, I went to Schnuck's tonight, because I'm low on...uhm...everything. And, since Schnuck's is the place to see and be seen at 10:15 on a Tuesday night, that's where I went to go buy food. I decided that of the meager supply of fruit available at the Lindell/Sarah Schnuck's (you'd think a place that sells every ounce of food that SLU students buy would have a better selection) the oranges were the most singularly appealing citrus. And, on my limited budget, most appealing citrus means food. In toto.
So I picked up about 2 pounds of juice oranges, rather than California navels, because I suddenly got this great idea that I could start making smoothies and tell Bon Appetit, the highway robbers of college foodservices, to suck it.
So I wandered aimlessly through this Schnuck's in my quest - an aimless one, mind you - to find further ingredients to make my smoothies good. Let's face it, pureed oranges by themselves kind of suck. I managed to track down some cranberry juice cocktail on sale in the "Great Buys!" aisle, and snagged it as well. Since my hands were now full, I determined that this would be the end of my food shopping experience for the day. And, post-checkout, it was.
I schlepped the oranges and juice into my apartment and busted out the blender - which, I should point out, can apparently be used for more than liquor. Who knew? Anywho, I busted out my crappy ice tray, with crappy ice, and tossed them into my otherwise quality blender. That blender and I have been through some times together, let me tell you. Actually, we haven't, but it makes for a great story. Perhaps another day.
Today, back on topic, I tossed in some sliced juice oranges, sans peels, and poured in an equivalent volume of my fine store-brand cranberry juice cocktail. Then I pushed "blend." And that is when the magic happened.
A liquid, under great force, can be accelerated in such a way that it flies upward, opposite the direction of gravity's pull. The result of such acceleration is that the liquid flies upward, and, barring any sort of obstacle, will continue to do so until gravity re-estabilishes herself. The obstacle in question here is my kitchen ceiling. That kitchen ceiling can, in almost all cases, stop the upward motion of the liquid. The liquid won't necessarily rebound, however...sometimes, it sticks.
And that's where I was for several minutes after pushing "off," with my trusty bottle of Fantastik (thank you Dow Chemical) and my trusty paper towels (thank you Kimberly-Clarke). And, thanks to the fine people at Corningwear, I am now able to type this as I drink my SECOND great-tasting smoothie firmly encased in glass, the first being a total loss. Except, of course, in terms of keeping this column new, fresh, and...well...a little bit drippy.
posted by Brian at 11:30 PM
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