The Bombs Bursting in Air

The fourth of July was a day for freak accidents. I was sitting right here, typing away at something and I heard a monumental crash above me. It sounded exactly like thunder without the echo. Then my neighbors dog barked for seven hours straight (it's usually quiet). So I thought: Hmm...crash plus unnerved dog equals break-in? So I went upstairs to see if everything was okay. Come to find out, a shelf with dishes on it had spontaneously dropped to the floor. I fall down myself with laughter every time I think of the dog's face at that moment of sudden pandemonium. It's a mini Boston terrier, so it's already predisposed to be nervous. Thus begins a series of unfortunate events.

Now we go to Maryville, where my friend Mikki has just returned to from job-hunting in Morristown. She returns to find not one, but two sixty-foot oak trees have committed hara-kiri. No, they were not cut down. They were uprooted - completely, with the root system intact. One fell in Mikki's yard. The other fell on the neighbor's barn where it laughed to itself as it blocked in his tractor - which he needed to move the tree - and destroyed his log-splitter. This one made the news folks. No other tree fell down or was uprooted, and they still can't explain what happened to those two. Chapter three. Enter, Adam and a wok.

Kat and I didn't watch the vast array of amateur fireworks that were lighting up Monday night. We weren't feeling so well, so we stayed in and lazed around most of the day. Then my wife up and says, "We need to eat something. I'd like some fried rice." So I get up and prepare to make fried rice. We have a nice Betty Crocker Asian cookbook that I looked in for reference. It told me that woks were designed to spread a little heat over a large area and to cook things very quickly. It told me to heat the wok very hot and then put a little oil in before I put the rice in. So far so good. It occured to me that whenever I see someone cooking with a wok, they use an indirect source of heat from a gas flame. It's not in direct contact with the pan. It occured to me that my electric stove eye was not exactly the ideal contraption for such cooking. But I brushed these occurences away with a nonchalant, "It'll be alright." So I put the wok on the stove eye. I turned it up 'very hot'. I put 'a little oil' in the pan. Then I turned around to chop some onions and I here this:

"Um, Adam?" *woomp!*

I turn back around to see the rocket's red glare licking the edge of the oven range and black smoke starting to overcome the wussy little fan on our stove. Think, Adam! Water - no! Suffocate - yes! I was reduced to a kindergarten vocabulary as my brain used all functions to react to the carnage before me. Black smoke is filling the house. The smoke detector was going off. My dog is going insane. So I told Kat to open the door, I grabbed a second skillet to try and suffocate the blaze, and I carried the flaming ball outside. So for dinner, we have a bowl of uncooked vegetables, a pot of rice, and a bottle of soy sauce. We took the dog and went to Sonic. Returning to the house, I thought I might could salvage the pans. I looked at the wok and turned it over to watch black goo drip from the bottom. No dice. So we are minus one wok. And in case you're still buying post-ceremonial wedding gifts, no, we don't want another one.

Falling shelves, suicidal trees, exploding wok. Happy Independence Day.