The Blender Is Something

Phone’s off.  Didn’t pay the bill.  Blender’s broke.  There’ll be nothing whipped up in that thing tonight.  Why can’t I find any more Johnny Guitar Watson clips from back in the 50’s?  There must be an album, a decade’s worth of albums out there.  But all I can find are tracks I’ve heard many, many times before. 

Ahh, the Dems have made friends with Donald?  Donald, we’re cool.  The New Yorkers assert their native ability to communicate from Chuck’s Brooklyn to Don’s Queens.  I’m only programmed to compute negative news about Donald.  I don’t want to hear about any of his breakthroughs.  I recognize.  I rationalize.  He’s awfully difficult to have anything pleasant to say about.  I don’t want to equivocate with him.

The blender is something I’ve had for as long as I’ve had a younger daughter.  It’s just a blender, nothing fancy, two speeds, the one blade.  Still, I’ve developed an affinity for this blender. It has been making wretched noises lately.  Voices have spoken suggesting we do away with it.  I resisted, but in vain.  The last time I used it the rubber sealing on the blade no longer held the water I’d added.  If it can’t hold liquid without leaking, it really may have reached the end of the road. 

In the meantime, I chop up my fruit and kale and throw it in a bowl in the morning.  It isn’t bad.  It’s nice to eat pieces of papaya for a change.  I’ve already been told not to “just go buy one.”  My wife wants editorial control over our next blender.  This means it will be a profound, aesthetically improved-upon device from the Panasonic minimalist number we’ll be putting to rest, but it will be many moons before she makes the time to actually secure one.  For now, there will be no blending, no leaking.  Just chopping.

Sunday, 09/10/17