(diaryland) October 5, 2000 - 14:28:02

The microwave is on. It's about a metre away from where I'm sitting. Whenever I'm here at the computer and it's on, I feel this sonic wind blowing over from it and hitting me in the face. Surely that's gotta be all radiationy and stuff. Microwaves are killers, man. This one's going to give me cancer. Plus it tells me to have nice meals and that frigging bugs me. Don't fucking tell me what to do, microwave. I'll kick your ass.

I have two picturesque memories about other microwaves.

Memory One: Our old microwave died last year. It didn't blow sonic winds at me. I think that's because it was powered by water-wheel or something - it was an ancient microwave. It was like the prototype for all microwaves. I thought I saw it in the background of a sixteenth century domestic Dutch painting, it was that old. You used a dial to set the minutes and it had faux wood vinyl all over it. Whenever you tried to cook something, it would run out of steam every few minutes and you'd have to encourage it. "You can do it," you'd say, gently, and eventually it would present you with slightly warm potatoes.

Memory Two: A few years ago, at a holiday house, my friends decided to vapourise an apple. What better way than to stick it in the microwave for a lengthy amount of time? After about half-an-hour, it kind of started turning black and the moment of triumph came when it caught on fire. Predictably, my friends had an awfully difficult time turning the smoke alarm off. I would have no part in it. I think I was trying to watch Twin Peaks at the time or something. I don't like mindless destroying of seed-bearing plants anyhow.

So there's my diary entry about microwaves. I got no sleep last night. For dinner, I am eating chicken.

Go, microwave. Go.