Category Archives: bad habits

On putting something away in a safe place (and losing it forever)

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Have you ever put something away in a safe place and lost it forever? I have lost track of the number of times this has happened to me. Now, I never put things away at all and use a top down stacking method of keeping track of stuff–I just pile it up in plain sight. Otherwise I am in danger of losing it forever. If I put something away in a safe place, I am dead certain it will be lost for at least six months, if not a year. I have lost things that I put in a safe place for good. They just disappeared and I never saw them again. I’ve lost letters, photos, bills, receipts, money, tie tacks, books, magazines, recipes, checks, keys, phones, passwords, pins, hats, socks, and a watch–in other words, just about anything that you can put away, I’ve lost it because I put it away. I one time lost a jacket that was later found hanging in a closet on a hanger–who does that, I ask? I have lost a pair of shoes for weeks only to find them sitting quietly in a front closet where I put them. I once put a set of keys in a safe place, and I’m still looking for those. I’ve lost the light bill because I put it in a safe place with the property tax bill–last I ever saw of either one. Put a library book in a safe place once, never saw it again, either–had to buy the library a new copy. I have lost thousands of pens and pencils because I put them away instead of leaving them out on the counter where they might be useful. I always left the floppy disks with my dissertation just laying about anywhere because I was afraid of losing them–never lost them. I am dead sure that the “safe place” is a mystical, imaginary place where inanimate objects go to escape reality, never to be seen or heard from again. I am also sure that the imaginary “safe place” is also fraught with danger and mystery, sucking unsuspecting objects into a mysterious vortex or fifth dimension outside of our normal time/space, vanishing them once and for all times.

On putting something away in a safe place (and losing it forever)

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Have you ever put something away in a safe place and lost it forever? I have lost track of the number of times this has happened to me. Now, I never put things away at all and use a top down stacking method of keeping track of stuff–I just pile it up in plain sight. Otherwise I am in danger of losing it forever. If I put something away in a safe place, I am dead certain it will be lost for at least six months, if not a year. I have lost things that I put in a safe place for good. They just disappeared and I never saw them again. I’ve lost letters, photos, bills, receipts, money, tie tacks, books, magazines, recipes, checks, keys, phones, passwords, pins, hats, socks, and a watch–in other words, just about anything that you can put away, I’ve lost it because I put it away. I one time lost a jacket that was later found hanging in a closet on a hanger–who does that, I ask? I have lost a pair of shoes for weeks only to find them sitting quietly in a front closet where I put them. I once put a set of keys in a safe place, and I’m still looking for those. I’ve lost the light bill because I put it in a safe place with the property tax bill–last I ever saw of either one. Put a library book in a safe place once, never saw it again, either–had to buy the library a new copy. I have lost thousands of pens and pencils because I put them away instead of leaving them out on the counter where they might be useful. I always left the floppy disks with my dissertation just laying about anywhere because I was afraid of losing them–never lost them. I am dead sure that the “safe place” is a mystical, imaginary place where inanimate objects go to escape reality, never to be seen or heard from again. I am also sure that the imaginary “safe place” is also fraught with danger and mystery, sucking unsuspecting objects into a mysterious vortex or fifth dimension outside of our normal time/space, vanishing them once and for all times.

On steak

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“Are we having steak for dinner tonight?” The answer was “yes.” Sometimes I eat steak with a little salt and pepper, and I’m unapologetic about that–no ketchup though, then I would be apologetic. Sometimes I don’t eat steak, but I do hate tofu and can’t figure why anyone would eat it on purpose. The texture is otherworldly and the taste is disappointing, to say the least–it tastes like something dead. On the other hand, there is something which is creepily primitive,but totally satisfying, about eating the flesh of other animals. I think this may be one of my blind-spots, which is goofy, but I’m not sure. Raw oysters really blow my hair back. I like my steak rare, leaning to very rare, burned on the outside and ruby red on the inside, salty. As an omnivore, I like to eat a little bit of everything, although lately I’m for setting the chickens free since the modern industrial chicken tastes like chemicals and not chicken. I don’t eat chicken. Fish, I love fish–tuna, cod, walleye. I’ll eat the six ounce steak on the menu (or I’ll even cook it myself), but I would turn down almost anything larger than that. Digesting animal flesh is hard work, although the payoff if very high. You don’t want to have steak at every meal–the experience would get old really quickly. I like the cut to be either a T-bone or a ribeye. I like nice marbling and juicy meat. There is nothing like putting a nice big steak on the grill, well-seasoned, and sharing it with the other omnivores. I had a big, leafy, green salad last night, and I still feel a bit hungover from that. Oh, one might be a vegetarian, which is a more ethical position, certainly a more defensible one than killing animals for their meat, but I like to eat a little bit of everything.

On steak

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“Are we having steak for dinner tonight?” The answer was “yes.” Sometimes I eat steak with a little salt and pepper, and I’m unapologetic about that–no ketchup though, then I would be apologetic. Sometimes I don’t eat steak, but I do hate tofu and can’t figure why anyone would eat it on purpose. The texture is otherworldly and the taste is disappointing, to say the least–it tastes like something dead. On the other hand, there is something which is creepily primitive,but totally satisfying, about eating the flesh of other animals. I think this may be one of my blind-spots, which is goofy, but I’m not sure. Raw oysters really blow my hair back. I like my steak rare, leaning to very rare, burned on the outside and ruby red on the inside, salty. As an omnivore, I like to eat a little bit of everything, although lately I’m for setting the chickens free since the modern industrial chicken tastes like chemicals and not chicken. I don’t eat chicken. Fish, I love fish–tuna, cod, walleye. I’ll eat the six ounce steak on the menu (or I’ll even cook it myself), but I would turn down almost anything larger than that. Digesting animal flesh is hard work, although the payoff if very high. You don’t want to have steak at every meal–the experience would get old really quickly. I like the cut to be either a T-bone or a ribeye. I like nice marbling and juicy meat. There is nothing like putting a nice big steak on the grill, well-seasoned, and sharing it with the other omnivores. I had a big, leafy, green salad last night, and I still feel a bit hungover from that. Oh, one might be a vegetarian, which is a more ethical position, certainly a more defensible one than killing animals for their meat, but I like to eat a little bit of everything.

On snoring

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A nasty thing to do, but not all of us can control the fact that we snore. Personally, I would prefer to not snore, pass the night in total, sepulchral silence. Because the night is for total, blackout silence. Maybe a cricket, maybe a ticking grandfather clock, maybe the creaking of centenary Victorian home. No one should get up in the night. Snoring is an interruption in the peace of the night. Snoring is non-lineal, unpredictable, chaotic, torturous. If sleep and rest are about restoration and redemption, how can snoring be anything but trouble? I have startled myself awake from snoring too loudly. Luckily, this has only happened once or twice. My snoring is annoying, but it’s not consistent. Many nights I pass quietly in the arms of the sleep angels who watch over this simulacrum of death that we call sleep. Snoring is an ironic and bitter development that interrupts that sweet rest which restores and rebuilds after a hard day at work, or just a had day. Given the right circumstances, we all snore: a cold, allergies, to many drinks, too tired, crabby. So this is the dilemma: who sleeps on the sofa? Snorer or snoree? If the paint is coming off of the ceiling, or the wallpaper is pealing, perhaps the snorer should be encouraged to seek refuge in another room and leave the poor suffering victim to enjoy the bed alone, especially if earplugs are not an option.

On snoring

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A nasty thing to do, but not all of us can control the fact that we snore. Personally, I would prefer to not snore, pass the night in total, sepulchral silence. Because the night is for total, blackout silence. Maybe a cricket, maybe a ticking grandfather clock, maybe the creaking of centenary Victorian home. No one should get up in the night. Snoring is an interruption in the peace of the night. Snoring is non-lineal, unpredictable, chaotic, torturous. If sleep and rest are about restoration and redemption, how can snoring be anything but trouble? I have startled myself awake from snoring too loudly. Luckily, this has only happened once or twice. My snoring is annoying, but it’s not consistent. Many nights I pass quietly in the arms of the sleep angels who watch over this simulacrum of death that we call sleep. Snoring is an ironic and bitter development that interrupts that sweet rest which restores and rebuilds after a hard day at work, or just a had day. Given the right circumstances, we all snore: a cold, allergies, to many drinks, too tired, crabby. So this is the dilemma: who sleeps on the sofa? Snorer or snoree? If the paint is coming off of the ceiling, or the wallpaper is pealing, perhaps the snorer should be encouraged to seek refuge in another room and leave the poor suffering victim to enjoy the bed alone, especially if earplugs are not an option.

On ties

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I have a passel of ties, but I hate wearing them–all that rigmarole with the fancy knot. Most guys don’t know how to tie the knot, so they do a simple slip-knot, and it always looks like hash. Crooked, I mean. Sort destroys the whole point of the tie if you can’t tie it properly. They are adjustable, you know, according to my friend, Sha. As far as a totally useless piece of clothing goes, the tie is the most useless. Except if you want to keep gravy off of your shirt, the tie has no known use or value. Some guys with fat necks use ties as a cover for not buttoning that top button, but all that means is that they need to buy bigger shirts or lose a little weight. Some might say that a tie adds elegance of color and design to a man’s suit, but that is just style and caprice, meaningless, in other words. So men collect ties, always looking for that perfect shade of red or that one odd shade of gray that will look good with their favorite shirt. Many ties are just flat out ugly. In fact, most ties are flat out ugly. Murphy’s Law of ties says that no matter how you place your napkin, you will stain your favorite tie with bacon grease no matter what. Polyester ties are the worst of the worst. Pink ties? I think paisley is coming back, so hang in there paisley lovers. Murphy’s second law is that you will forget your tie for that one important interview. Never run a drill press with a tie on. Men will never throw away a tie no matter how out of style it might be or how blood-stained it might be. One should never dab one’s mouth with your tie after slobbering on yourself.

On ties

Posted on by

I have a passel of ties, but I hate wearing them–all that rigmarole with the fancy knot. Most guys don’t know how to tie the knot, so they do a simple slip-knot, and it always looks like hash. Crooked, I mean. Sort destroys the whole point of the tie if you can’t tie it properly. They are adjustable, you know, according to my friend, Sha. As far as a totally useless piece of clothing goes, the tie is the most useless. Except if you want to keep gravy off of your shirt, the tie has no known use or value. Some guys with fat necks use ties as a cover for not buttoning that top button, but all that means is that they need to buy bigger shirts or lose a little weight. Some might say that a tie adds elegance of color and design to a man’s suit, but that is just style and caprice, meaningless, in other words. So men collect ties, always looking for that perfect shade of red or that one odd shade of gray that will look good with their favorite shirt. Many ties are just flat out ugly. In fact, most ties are flat out ugly. Murphy’s Law of ties says that no matter how you place your napkin, you will stain your favorite tie with bacon grease no matter what. Polyester ties are the worst of the worst. Pink ties? I think paisley is coming back, so hang in there paisley lovers. Murphy’s second law is that you will forget your tie for that one important interview. Never run a drill press with a tie on. Men will never throw away a tie no matter how out of style it might be or how blood-stained it might be. One should never dab one’s mouth with your tie after slobbering on yourself.

On missing the end of the show (because I fell asleep)

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Have you ever woken up to find you had missed the end of the movie or show? Not that it happens often, but sometimes a long day can take its toll on my ability to focus and stay awake. You don’t even know it, really, until it happens: All of a sudden you are looking at and listening to other characters doing other things and you are wondering what happened to the show you were watching. Perhaps I’ve seen way too much television, perhaps I can predict almost any plot twist possible, perhaps I need my sleep more than I need to watch another police procedural show. Yet, it makes me mad to miss the end of the show–I want to find out who did it. It makes me mad that I couldn’t stay awake long enough to make it to the end of an hour show. By falling asleep I am reconfirming that most television is only sleep-worthy and that we are all wasting our time with most of what’s on the tube. By falling asleep, I am reconfirming that I don’t sleep enough at night, and I need to change my sleep habits. By missing the end of the show my subconscious is suggesting that most television is not worth watching and that my time would be better invested in sleeping. I fall asleep and miss the end of the show, waking up with a sore neck, a hazy sense of reality, and a lost hour or so. It takes a little while to get one’s bearings when coming up out of the black hole of sleep. So I miss the end of the show, no problem, it won’t be a rerun for me in three months when I see it again.