cuts like a knife

Some time ago - I don't remember how long - I engaged in conversation with my good friend Darcie about the importance of good, sharp knives. In the kitchen, I mean, of course.

I recall I was cutting something at the time - a bagel or something - and had come through whatever it was, to reach my hand.

"It's a good thing my knives are dull," I announced. "I could have hurt myself."

Now let me just stress here – “dull” is a bit of an exaggeration. They still slice bread, dice carrots and accommodate almost all my chopping and cutting needs (not being a cook of any degree). True, they sometimes bludgeon rather than perforate tomatoes and other soft fruit, but they’ve accommodated my needs just fine – and without inflicting injury on me or anyone else.

However, Darcie said, more kitchen injuries come from dull knives than sharp ones, no really, true story, because you have to saw harder, the gash they leave is much sloppier and – I don’t know – you’re more careless, perhaps. And she should know. Her husband is a chef.

So for Kyle’s birthday last year, I bought him a good set of knives. Good and sharp. Since he’s an aspiring novice chef, I thought they’d come in handy in some of our culinary adventures, blazing trails my oddball assortment of knives would never be able to even follow.

There are four of them – a chef’s knife, bread knife, utility knife and pairing knife. And they’re handsome, let me just say – Wiltshire Stainless-Inox, all metal from handle to tip.

And boy can they cut.

Since Kyle moved them in and got them going, they’ve slashed their way cleanly through several apples, cheese, carrots, broccoli, ciabatta and more. Included in the category of More: two fingers (mine) and one thumb (Kyle’s).

Don’t tell me dull knives do more damage. I will not believe you.

Seven years – SEVEN YEARS – of dullness, and nary a laceration. The second time I used one of Kyle’s fancy-schmancy sharp knives, it sliced so quickly and effortlessly through the ciabatta bun in my hand that it didn’t want to stop. Whereat with blade, with bloody blameful blade I went a quarter of the way through my left index and took a gouge out of my middle finger, too.

Blood . . . everywhere!

No sooner than that one was on the mend, then Kyle took a chunk out of his thumb this afternoon while washing the chef’s knife he told me would be much safer to use cutting cheese than the bread knife I wanted.

More bleeding.

I'm not going to be stubborn and say that dull knives are safer when statistics may prove otherwise – but in my case, I’d rather take a little longer cutting my tomato then be so speedy taking my fingers off.

That’s all I’m saying.

star wars kid

Much ado has been made over Gary Brolsma's Numa Numa video and the cult following it spawned, complete with imitators - and rightly so (my current favourite is this remixed one, but check out the original music video by the Romanian band Ozone who's song it actually is).

Brolsma wasn't the first boy wonder to gain infamy for his antics during alone time with a camera though, oh no. There have been many others - one of which I discovered today. His name is Star Wars Kid, and he made his internet debut in 2002. Check it.

Any others?

fancy free

You'd think I'd have been a lot quicker about posting this year, what with all the topics to choose from: newly wedded bliss, reunions with far-away friends, a newly furnished household thanks to an abundance of wedding gifts (and the challenge of finding places for everything), tickets booked for a three week honeymoon in England come April, a new job opportunity, the list goes on and on.

But there's something about being content that sucks the ability to create anything profound from a person (at least me). Even the great ones have nothing of import to say when all is reasonably well (have you READ Keats' early work?). Grit and struggle is always more inspiring - for writers and readers alike - than a smooth, easy, carefree existence.

But alas, that is what I am currently experiencing. Life without the sandpaper. And so I'd rather sit and revel in it than pour my thoughts and feelings onto a page - whether a journal page or blog page. I need angst to express myself, and that's something I'm rather short of just now (thanks be).

Perhaps this is the dark side of comfort.

I have often made comparisons between Kelowna and the poppy field in The Wizard of Oz: when you get into the middle of both, you get so comfortable you want to fall asleep. This is why, despite the talented painters, musicians, writers, and others, no one gets very far in this city. It's so wonderful, temperate, beautiful and peaceful it just lulls you right to sleep.

I'm not suggesting my early married life is a poppy field itself, but all the good things that are happening in my life have certainly softened the edge and inspiration to vent/write - at least right now. So forgive me if I'm a little lax these next couple of weeks - I have a lot of enjoying to do.