Ice, Ice, Baby

The freezer in my apartment is having an identity crisis. Rather than being satisfied to simply be a receptacle for frozen vegetables and the odd carton of ice cream, the freezer aspired to greater things and thus converted itself to ice maker extraordinaire. In that capacity, it worked overtime icing over the food we'd been so silly as to put in it's path, covering the shelf with blocks of ice, and even dangling lovely stalagmites and stalactites from the roof and ceiling of its mouth. It fancied itself an artist, perhaps.

Over-blown prose aside, there was way too much ice in the freezer, so much so that the door no longer could close and a slow drip was producing puddles on various foodstuffs within the fridge. That door has to close, I decided - I don't like to waste electricity. Wasting electricity makes Al Gore upset. I certainly don't want to disappoint Al Gore, he's had so many set-backs in his unrewarding career.

So I set about hacking away at the ice with a knife. This was perhaps not the best tool, but since I haven't got a screwdriver it had to do. At first my hands were a bit chilly, but once they got completely frigid I didn't feel them any more and began to have a lovely, cathartic time of attacking every inch of ice with my knife, and later with a spatula. I collected so much ice (not to mention the amount that blanketed my body and the floor) that it over-filled the sink:


As an added bonus, here are some pictures of the roommates that #3 used in her presentation many a day ago. I especially like the variety of arm formations in the second photo. See, freezer, people are much better artists than mechanical items. Al Gore and I will not allow your fiendish ice-creating plays for attention to carry on!

Save the world. Etc.