Tag Archives: stuff

Pet Peeves

I was asked the other day what my pet peeves were. After a few minutes, the person who asked realized the painful mistake of asking a curmudgeon for a list of pet peeves.   Now, we can name Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, Bill O’Reilly and CNN but these pet peeves are individual and personal. Death and taxes are inevitable. I believe that pet peeves should be generic and universal.

Pet Peeves

Here are a few of mine. Thousands more to follow.

  1. Robo-calls and telemarketers
  2. Butt cracks
  3. People who invade your personal space when talking to you
  4. Stealth farters, especially in elevators
  5. All reality TV shows
  6. The guy who leaves the restroom smelling so bad it would knock a buzzard off a garbage truck
  7. The lady ahead of you in the checkout line who waits until all her items have been totaled before looking for her wallet (Did she think that the items would be free?)
  8. All waiters who wait until your mouth is full to ask you how your meal is
  9. Bad grammar
  10. People who found Jesus (Was Jesus ever lost?)
  11. People who come up to you and say “Smile!” (I’m a curmudgeon; smiling isn’t permitted unless the person saying “Smile!” falls into an open manhole.)
  12.  Public nose pickers and crotch scratchers (Yes, I’m guilty but at least I try to do these ugly things in private.)
  13.  Parents who abandon their uncontrolled children in stores, malls, movie theaters until you discipline the kids and the parents suddenly appear and act indignant.
  14. Drivers who take up two parking spaces
  15. The guy next to you who coughs continually on a non-stop flight from NYC to Buenos Aries
  16. The lady at the dining table next to you whose piercing shriek of a laugh would break glass (and eardrums)
  17. All commercials or ads involving the digestive system
  18. Born again anything (Please stay dead.)
  19. The phrase “Can I give you some advice?”
  20. People who make lists of pet peeves.

I know that you are itching to tell me your pet peeves so go ahead, I dare you; I double dare you; I triple dare you. (Yes, that’s another pet peeve.)



Stuff Happens!

I have stuff.

The stuff is everywhere.  It grows in closets, shelves, drawers, along bookcases, in the attic, the basement, the utility room.  I have books, tax forms, collectibles, old photographs, old phonographs, Rose Canton china, pottery, pictures, magazines, schoolbooks.  I have wine bottles, half completed kits of medieval instruments and trains and Wright Brothers’ flyers.  While there are no bean bag babies or Barbie dolls or model cars or Coke Cola paraphernalia, there are Hummel figurines (from my mother), old salt shakers, Stieff Rose pattern silver, antique tiles and old decoys.  The list goes on and on.

Where did all this stuff come from?  I secretly believe that, while I’m sleeping, some stuff copulates with other stuff and produces even more stuff.  I have not yet gotten to the point of an extreme hoarder.  Not yet.  You can enter my house and believe that you have entered the home of a normal person with normal tastes.  You do not have to climb over anything to get from one room to another.  However, if you hazard the chance to open a drawer or veer into a back room or the space above the garage, then a whole new and abnormal world awaits you.

There are Christmas ornaments, stained glass windows, trebuchets, Chinese roof tiles, Mongolian entry doors (Was I ever in Mongolia?), antique Roman glass and whiskey barrels.  I have my notes from college courses.  You never know when someone will quiz you on whether or not you really passed that exam in Inorganic Chemistry and, voilà, you produce your college notes to show that, yes indeed, you aced the course.  I am prepared to defend myself with supporting documentation against the Internal Revenue Service in case they ever dare to question me about the$2,342 (USD) I made in 1972!

Logic dictates that there is no need for old suitcases whose rollers no longer roll or traveling alarm clocks that run 30 minutes slow every 24 hours.  You don’t need a Jolly Rodger flag or one from the last Tsar or the Detroit Yacht Club.  On the other hand, who knows when a pirate or a pretender to the throne or the Commodore may appear suddenly at your door and, there you are, with no flag to run up the flag pole, which you also keep.

There is every reason to believe that you need a battering ram (from the Baltimore, Maryland police department, no less), brass knuckles, 18th century scales (from Poland), seven different types of wine bottle openers, Rummer glasses, shark jaws, a blow fish, a cannonball from the shipwreck of the Atocha, sundials, an antique Egyptian eye of Horus, a picture of the Enola Gay, antique easels (to hold antique manuscript pages), an English copper ash sifter, a miniaturized still, Japanese prints, antique embroideries, not to mention a full size Fairbanks grain scale in case you need to measure out two or three hundred pounds of grain.

Oh, to start over again in a simpler life, with nothing more than the clothes you’re wearing, a knapsack and your toothbrush.

Of course, then you need a few reference books (or your kindle), your PC (or your iPad), your cell phone, your HD TV, your home theater, your hiking gear, your scuba equipment, your opera glasses, eating utensils, night vision goggles, snake bite kit, a bazooka, emergency rations …