They scare me.
I’ve always considered the pressure cooker to be the most menacing piece of kitchen equipment. I understand the appeal of cooking something super fast, rather than leaving it to braise for hours upon hours, but I was always intimidated by their mystery. This past week has only confirmed my fears.
They continue to make a contribution to contemporary life.
Last Monday’s events at the Boston Marathon added the verbalized request from my youngest child of “Please don’t get killed at your race on Sunday” to the terrorism dialogue I have had with my children over the years. The opening statement in this conversation came in the form of question in September of 2001: “Why do the buildings keep falling down?” I don’t like having to revisit these acts of violence with my boys, and I am resentfully heartbroken about the necessity of these talks. It sucks.
They boggle me with their capabilities.
I don’t understand a lot of what happened last week. I can’t grasp that so much carnage can come from ball bearings, nails and other bits of metal. I will never accept that an elected official could make a statement like this, and while I’m not beyond a bit of suspicion when it comes to my government (weapons of mass destruction, anyone?), I really don’t believe there is any type of conspiracy theory worthy activity here, either.
They work quickly, but not necessarily reliably.
The media coverage was at least as explosive as an overheated pressure cooker. The unsubstantiated information circulated was alarming and it was difficult to look away from my Twitter feed. When those pictures of the two suspects were “broadcast,” it became impossible to ignore the immediacy of current news technology. It was breathtaking.
I don’t ever want one in my home.