Friday, August 18, 2006

Oven Mitts

"You can put your hand inside one and your hand might feel snugly covered in cloth, but when you're talking about a single layer between your flesh and the racks inside a 500 degree inferno, things that say "Guster" on them should be immediately discounted as options."
-Brian "Thundergod" Rosenworcel

It is true confession time again. I love oven mitts.

Bill recently wrote about his Ove Glove experience. I love Alton Brown and how he's always talking about making sure you use the right kind of super duper hardcore Steel Workers Union oven mitts when grilling. I was leafing through the Guster Road Journal and came across Brian's entry about his mother and her Guster oven mitts from 1998 and started laughing. I have a kind of oven mitt fetish. I love oven mitts.

Oven mitts are something I have a hard time resisting when I am in the Bed Bath and Kitchen Supply Beyond Depot. I have had a vast assortment of them over the past 20 years. For a wedding gift, my friend Amy in Arizona gave me cactus potholders, and I thought that was the nicest gift ever. Because she knew from my fetish and fed the madness. That is a true friend.

I have, in fact, considered attaching a Travel Bug Tag to a potholder and putting it into Geocaches. The theme would be that you need to cook something, and wear the oven mitt, and then take a picture of it in action.

Oh I should get on that immediately.

Anyway -- yes. I do love oven mitts, and I thought it was sweet beyond reason that Brian's mother still uses her Guster branded oven mitts from 1998. And she whips them out, cotton flying all over the place, each time he visits and probably opts for safer hot-food-handling items (like an ove glove) when he isn't around. Moms are cool like that. I bet she still has potholders he made at camp when he was 8. Way to go Mrs. Rosenworcel.

Oven mitts are hot. Pun intended.

When we moved, I purged a lot of things. And among those things were ... a large assortment of really battered and bruised and burned oven mitts and pot holders. I was at Bed Bath and Kitchen Supply Beyond Depot recently and bought just two oven mitts -- they have stripes on one side, and crazy circles on the other. The fact that I walked out with only one set is my testament to my amazing strength in the face of temptation and adversity. I could have walked out with 50 sets. And thought nothing of it.

I am feeling the desire to go back, go deep, and buy large amounts of lobster themed oven mitts, more colors, more whorl-covered things, mitts with fingers, mitts with kevlar. MMmmmmmmam, Kevlar..

Maybe even a Guster mitt. That would rock.

Anyway -- wow. What a week. Is it Thursday already? Earl and The Office are on in a little while and I wanted to whip out an entry.

Oh yes. Football season is upon us. And I cannot wait. Just a few short weeks and my Steelers, my Patriots, my NFL Sunday Ticket on DirectTV will be burning up the airwaves.

The sad thing is that means pretty much that it is the end of summer. Sniff Weep. But what can you do. Yet another summer comes to a close here at amusings dot net slash way out inn (for you long termers) and we're okay with that. Queue Fiddler on the Roof with the Sunrise, Sunset business.

Kids start school in 2 weeks here. Let's see if we get the boy to agree to a haircut between now and then.

Anyway. That's the update. Just wanted to share my fetish with you, the way I confessed to monkey wine. Hoping it frees you up to confess similar obsessions you have. The comments are open, bitches. Pitch in.

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