Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Chicken In A Tin

I had a bit of a quiet one last week; there wasn't too much excitement.  So I'm just going to talk about canned food.

Have you guys walked down the tins-and-jars aisle at Woolworths recently?  Is this just me?  The number of food types which are available in cans fills me with equal parts astonishment and fear.  I don't want to come across as some kind of food snob, but sweet chilli chicken?  In a tin?  No.  Here is a list of foods is it acceptable to serve in canned form:
  • Peaches
  • Tuna
That's it.  That's all I've got.  And I don't even know that I can justify those two.  'Peaches' was just the first physically can-able food that popped into my mind.
Tuna barely makes the list.  Normally, the idea of any meat-and/or-fish product being canned would have a worse affect on my gag relflex than consecutive shots of tequila, but let's be honest.  When was the last time you saw tuna that wasn't served in a can?  Plus those who know me know that I'm morally opposed to dolphins, and I hear that canned tuna is somehow related to knocking those assholes off.  Is that actually true?

God I hope so.

So like I was saying.  Tuna = acceptable.  But chicken?  Cheese?  Vegetables?  Milk?  Sausage?  Unless you're an astronaut (or maybe in the armed services), there's really no excuse for consuming that many food groups from a tin.  My sister actually is in the armed services, and when she first joined she had to do this 6-week boot camp where they got fed nothing but curried sausages and tinned cheese.  Literally.  No exaggeration.  Alright, slight exaggeration.  They were probably given vegetables at some point.  Still, the fact that tinned cheese was even on the menu shows that the situation was pretty dire.  Catherine brought some home once, so I can tell you from experience - this cheese is the kind of thing that can cause your bowel to perforate.  Just by LOOKING at it.  Of course she tried to convince me to east some, but I respectfully declined.  I like my bowels the way they are, thanks.  And if life has taught me anything, it's to keep all things Navy-related away from my mouth.  Yes, that comment was meant to sound dirty.
Moving right along.

So my parents went away last weekend, and asked me to come around on Saturday just to feed the animals.  No problem!  This was okay with me because I needed to pick up my shoes anyway.  Plus, who doesn't like to feel needed every once in a while?  Even if it is by a household pet.  My cat Nala chose to thank me by taking a big dump on the laundry floor before I left.
It's a little strange going back to my parents house.  Yes, I am referencing the fact that I have just moved out.  Again.  If this annoys you, you will have to get over it.  Or come to my new house and give me something more exciting to blog about.  It would be great if you could also bring a washing machine, since we don't have one and I'm getting a bit sick of washing undies in the sink.  But like I was saying.  Parents house.  Weird.  Every time I pop in, it feels a little less like 'home' and a little more like 'hmmm, this place seems kind of familiar...'.  Of course it doesn't help that Mum put all the shit I left behind in boxes, and is planning on tearing down all my photos to repaint as soon as possible.  What, Mum, you couldn't even wait a full month?  I find this wildly offensive, especially if you consider my older sister, whose room (even though she moved out more than a YEAR ago) has been kept in pristine condition.  I suspect this might have something to do with her being on the way to Australian Naval Officer Of The Year, and me being, you know, a complete fuckwit.  I've taken to calling Catherine's old bedroom The Shrine To The Golden Child.  No I'm not bitter.  Not even a little bit.
The other thing that surprises me is the upstairs bathroom, which in recent weeks has looked cleaner than I have ever seen it.  This is the bathroom my sister and I used to share, so for around 9 years it was in a state of permanent disarray - no matter how many times our Mother tried to clean it.  There were cupboards and drawers we actually refused to open, only beause there was no telling what might jump out and kill us if we did:
Dude.  Chicks are disgusting.

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