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Caveman
Jack's Self-cleaning Oven
By David
Leonhardt
We
live in a self-cleaning oven. Not literally, of
course. We would burn up if we did. Those things
get really HOT!
In
fact, self-cleaning ovens get so hot that they burn
orange juice to a crisp. They get so hot that they
melt thermometers. The produce enough hot air to
replace the entire American Senate, the British
Parliament and the Canadian PMO put together.
Unfortunately, certain trade barriers and
constitutional clauses impede the replacement of
deadwood political assemblies by modern, efficient
self-cleaning ovens.
The
self-cleaning oven is part of the "oven" genus of
machines. Households these days also boast a
microwave oven, a toaster, a toaster oven, a waffle
maker, a bread maker, a popcorn cooker, an
auto-shut kettle and several other specialty
"ovens". The combined hot air form all these
cooking machines could turn any ordinary home into
an instant Parliament.
Like
the self-cleaning oven, everything is automated
these days. It makes life so easy. In fact, the
machines could almost run the world without us.
Almost.
The
ovens practically clean themselves. My great,
great, great uncle, Caveman Jack, had to clean his
oven with a stick. The hardest part was trying to
figure out which rock was the oven.
Automated
doors at the grocery store open and close even when
nobody walks through...except for those few that
still function properly.
Lights
turn on an off on their own, as long as there is
somebody there to applaud, which brings me to
question the self-esteem of lighting
fixtures.
Lint
gets caught in the lint trap. Caveman Jack had to
trap his own lint, but then somebody invented the
clothes dryer, and people have not had to hunt for
lint ever since.
Planes
fly on autopilot these days. Gone are the days when
Caveman Jack had to pedal over a cliff to take
flight. Now pilots can sit back, sip a drink and
snooze while airplanes fly themselves. Word is that
Al Qaeda has developed a self-hijacking plane, but
they can't seem to develop a customer base.
Television
remote controls, officially called "doodadders",
have made legs virtually redundant, except for
bathroom breaks. In Caveman Jack's days, they had
to get up off their rocks to change the channels.
If Caveman Jack had had a doodadder, he might still
be sitting on his rock praying that somebody will
soon invent a bathroom.
To
be frank, I think the Office of Modern Conveniences
has misguided priorities. My oven doesn't need
cleaning all that badly. But my office does. And so
does my kitchen. And my laundry room. And my
bathroom. Why doesn't somebody invent a self
cleaning bathroom?
Oops.
I forgot. Somebody did invent a self-cleaning
bathroom. On our honeymoon in Rome, we used the
bathroom in a Roman Metro station. As soon as we
left the bathroom the automatic door shut and the
bathroom was rinsed from sprinklers all
around.
Did
I mention that Caveman Jack was a sugar sculptor?
He carved lovely sculptures of rocks out of sugar.
What if one day, while riding the Roman Metro to a
sugar sculpture showing, Caveman Jack suddenly had
to rush to the washroom?
Leaving
the washroom, he remembers his prize sculpture
entitled "Rock" sitting on the bathroom floor. Too
late. The automatic doors close. The water flushes
the bathroom clean.
Later
that day at the sugar sculpture exhibit, everyone
gathers 'round and marvels at the latest offering
by Caveman Jack: "Little Rock".
Caveman
Jack is probably happy that he doesn't have a self-
cleaning oven. Too much convenience is not always
good for the soul. Besides, there's nothing like an
open fire to cook a juicy mammoth steak.
Saaaay...how about a self-cleaning fire pit?
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