Mouse as Master of His Fate

Today has started out in a bothersome way. Blame it on the microwave machine. I had brewed up a gourmet mixture of oatmeal and water, inserted it into the reactor for the first round of cooking, and set about to gather the makings for the crowning of the masterpiece: two packets of store-brand sweetner and a laudable scoop of a miracle butter substitute they have named Smart Balance. Master chef that I am, and fearful that some hidden component of the invented "buttery spread" might upset the delicate flavors and aromas I had skillfully blended into the porridge, I read the contents message printed (in readable letters, as if they were not ashamed of it) on the side of the "non-hydrogenated" product. You will I am sure permit me to recite for you here the letter and verse of that highly informative message. I am not lying, this is exactly how it reads.

Ingredients: Natural Oil Blend (palm fruit, soybean, canola, and olive oils), water, contains less than 2% of salt, whey (from milk), vegetable monoglycerides and sorbitan ester of fatty acids (emulsifiers), soybean lecithin, potassium sorbate, lactic acid (to protect freshness), natural and artificial flavor, calcium disodium EDTA, vitamin A palmitate, Vitamin B6, Vitamin B12, Vitamin D, Vitamin E (di-a-tocopheryl acetate), beta-carotene color.

5.8:1 ratio of Omega-6 to Omega 3.

Omega-3:400mg/svg. Omega-6:2300mg/svg.

Having been trained beneath the feet of the great chefs of Honduras, I easily understood why "they" had capitalized "Natural Oil Blend" and all but the first of the "V(v)itamins." I would have been somewhat critical of their abreviations, "mg" and "svg" had I not remembered an artical in the Reader's Digest about abreviations approved by agencies of the Federal Government for use on government approved labels. (In addition to being a gourmet cook, I also have a lead-pipe memory.) I wasn't altogether sure whether "mg" meant "milligram" or "microgram" but I was positive that it did not refer to anything other than an internationally approved weight and/or measure. The other abbrev, "svg," is, of course, well known, so no further elaboration is necessary.

I must confess, though, that even though I -- a well-trained master of the culinary art -- knew all there was to know about the ingredients of this healthy and highly successful "buttery spread," the thought occurred to me that a few of the people who purchased it might not be as well-informed. I considered writing a lengthy chemical analysis of each of the named constituents, but thought better of it. Our government surely would not have approved the labeled dissertation had they not been assured that the vast majority of those reading it would be equally as knowledgeable as I. So, rather than run the risk of seeming condescentious and overly didicatious, I forewent that course.

Besides, it wasn't the label, or even the "buttery spread" that caused this day to begin in a bothersome way. It was the damn microwave. I had cleverly set the timer on the machine to turn itself off after exactly one minute. As you might imagine, reading the ingredient list, and gloating (silently to myself) in my superior knowledge of such matters, took more than one minute. No problem. No harm would come to the masterpiece if it sat for a few moments or so while I completed my in depth analysis of possible interactions that might entangalize the delicate flavors and essences of the dish.

But the microwave apparently did not agree. After only ten seconds it let out a demanding beep. At first I thought I was hearing things. No self-respecting machine would beep just for the heck-ot-it, now would it. But ten seconds later (my lead-pipe mind also keeps perfect time) the thing beeped again. I saw it then, as clearly as I had ever seen anything: the makers of this bestial machine had designed it to bug its users, bug them to anger, bug them to distraction ... bug them so completely they would (in a predictable number of cases) go completely berserk, snatch the freakin' thing up by its boney carcass and throw it againt the wall, blasting it to jonesereens.

Of course, being a more deliberative sort, I would never do such a thing, at least not without a touch of delicatious and flavoricious art. Can't you see how much more pleasing it was to the Gods to have taken the thing by its cord (delicately snatched from the wall socket), to have swung it round and round by its tail (as it were), and then slamming it againt the wall. Much more satisfying. Much more of the essence of civilized action. Perhaps a bit untidy, but symbolic nonetheless of man's innate and graceful humanity.

Good for the economy, too. I have to run down to Charlotesville, now, to buy another microwave and get it installed before milady notices the old one's absence. She's not so artistic as I am, so she might not see the beauty in the purposeful acts of a purposeful man, acted out in perfect response to a machine's perfect design.