The Even Bigger Chill

Most of the weekend has been spent carrying fridges around Bondi Junction and its environs. In amongst all the toing and froing of fridges, the plan was, I ended up with one of my own, since the people I was assisting had bought some number of fridges surplus to their requirements. It was not unlike a heist movie, only with less running and more swearing. Protagonists of heist movies would be well advised, in my opinion, to stick to diamonds and the like. A heist movie centered around a cunning double-cross involving multiple indistinguishable fridges would have to be about four hours long. Also, it's hard to come up with decent one-liners when you're halfway up a flight of stairs trying to keep from being crushed by a freezer compartment.

At such times, I could really do with a forty-two ounce margarita of doom. Alas, the original recipe is the other side of a large body of water. However, now I have a place to keep the fixin's appropriately chilled, and my apartment stands prepared to become a full-fledged margarita lab as the weather improves. It has been about five years since I have had enough space and privacy to set up a proper scientific cocktail facility, and I miss the little homelike touches that they provide. The bubbling flasks, the fluorescent liquids, the mysterious explosions in the dead of night - it doesn't seem right without them.