Beating the System, One Cuppa Joe At A Time

The Latest Installment of my Ongoing Rant About the Age of Diminishing Returns...

You may recall my recent screed on Facebook about the death of our $60 coffee pot, wunderkind of Chinese ingenuity, consigned to the garbage heap after less than two years of service.

Antennae up, I found this stove-top, non-electric percolator of my dreams a few days ago at a local yard sale for all of $3.

This old battle axe probably last saw active duty during the Korean War, but I have faith that it will outlive me, and will definitely last more than two years in my kitchen.  Made in the USA, thank you very much.

Thank you, Mirro Company, for your contribution to the American Dream.  Unfortunately, the company has since been swallowed up and has disappeared into the vortex of that great American phenomenon:  Offshoring.

At least I am lucky enough to own one of their great products that will last me a lifetime.  Even My Husband, who loves all things new and shiny, has become a fan.

While I’m on a rant, let me also present to you this annoying little gem:

Behold the newest addition to our household shower stall:

My old Daisy Shaver served me well for over 20 years.  I was happy with it, practical and economical, until I found that they no longer made the cartridges. 

Grrrr!!!

Now I am forced to buy this ridiculous contraption and spend a fortune on the replacement blades.

If it weren’t for my own ingrained “ick” threshold (I’m a product of the 80s after all), I would chuck it altogether and revert to 19^th century norms of personal hygiene. But alas, much to MH's relief, I am stuck with this thing for the foreseeable future.

Homesick

Sometimes I Really Miss the Midwest

I flew home to Iowa recently for my 30^th high school reunion.  As always, I came back with mixed feelings.  Especially after the 15-hour ordeal of actually getting there, but that’s a bitch session for another day.

As I was recently telling another friend who moved here from the Midwest, and who also has a love-hate relationship with NYC, I’ve always felt like a fish out of water, here and in Iowa.  There are things to love and hate about both.  But there are some things that I really do miss about ‘home’ to the point of sometimes breaking into tears.

1)            Family and friends.  Yes, it’s easier to keep in touch these days with email and social media, but it’s not the same as being in the same room.  I miss you all.

2)            Being around people who Get It.  I know what they say about people being the same wherever you go, but there’s nothing like going home to Your People.  Not having to explain why you partied in corn fields in high school.  Or why it’s called ‘pop’, not ‘soda’.  Sharing memories of teachers, friends, public figures, and local hangouts without having to provide a long-winded back story.  People who know true winter.  My People have known me longer than my husband has, so in some ways they know me better.  We might not even like each other very much, but we understand each other in a way that New Yorkers will never understand me.  Being a Stranger in a Strange Land is a lonely existence.

3)            Nice People.  East Coast people are weird.  There.  I said it.  Tear into me in the comments section if you want, but that’s my opinion and I’m entitled to it.  Sometimes I just get tired of the arrogance, the chip-on-the-shoulder-iness, the unhelpfulness, and downright rudeness that passes for the social norm out here. (Yes, I know there are nice people everywhere, including New York, but the general tone is one of Whaddyawant!?) Back home, even if they’re faking it, most people are nice to strangers.  It’s only after they get to know you that the claws come out.

4)            Meadowlarks.  I have to be content with the memory of their beautiful songs.

5)            Thunderstorms.  Knowing I might never experience a really awesome Midwest summer storm again brings tears to my eyes.  Please appreciate them.

Lord knows I love New York, otherwise I wouldn’t still be here after 25 

years, but I will always be a Midwesterner at heart.  This is a very general 

Miss List of the place I called home for 24 years.  Please feel free to share 

your Miss List in the comments.

Can We All Please Dispense With Door Games?

Don't Force Me To Say Thank You

This may seem like a minor annoyance in the grand scheme of things, but it’s one of those social dances that sets my teeth on edge and I wish would just go away forever.

It’s a phenomenon that used to drive me nuts on a daily basis while still employed, but occurs evenly across the spectrum of human existence.

Let me present to you a representative scenario with which I am sure you are all too familiar:

Me:  able-bodied, not elderly or physically impaired, approaching the elevator, bodega, department store, or what-have-you; not burdened with any baggage beyond a shoulder bag, approaching at a confident, brisk, even pace.

Door Game Instigator:  Approaches door 20 feet ahead of me, grabs door handle, turns to see if there’s anyone following, and locks eyes with Yours Truly.

Me:  The Game has begun.  Great.  I am now an unwilling Door Game Player.

Door Game Instigator:  Opens door with a flourish-cum-challenge, all impatience and expectation.

Me:  Torn.  Do I rush to the door to relieve this poor soul of their Door Duty and gush my thanks, or do I take my time and let them stew in their self-imposed politesse?  I manage to do both at once.   I pick up my pace and halfway there I call out “That’s okay – I got it!  Thank you!”

Door Game Instigator:  Clearly not relinquishing his/her status as Savior of Able-Bodied Damsel In No Distress, continues to hold the door and revels in my discomfort.

Me:  Thinking to myself, Would you please just let the effing door close so I don’t have to thank you?  I’m perfectly capable of opening the door myself!  Upon finally arriving at the door I say aloud to the DGI “Thanks! You really shouldn’t have.  I’m fine!”

Door Game Instigator:  Clearly irritated that his/her gallantry wasn’t fully appreciated, a begrudging “You’re welcome.”

Game Over.

Sigh.

In case you’re confused, let me break this down for you.  If you’re not confused, let us commiserate:

A)    There’s a place for chivalry, but forcing it on others with the sole intent being a selfish need to be thanked is obnoxious.

B)    By making me run for the door just because you’re holding it for me, for twenty paces and zero necessity, you’re not being chivalrous.  You’re being a self-important asshole.

C)    Take a minute to reflect on this behavior:  why are you holding the door for far longer than necessary given that the person behind you is perfectly capable of performing the task themselves and is practically begging you to stop?

It doesn’t take a PHD in psychology to differentiate between those people who are really just being polite and those who are Door Game Instigators.  It’s the Instigators who piss me off.

I would suggest a rule:

If the person following you is more than three or four paces away, is of sound body and clearly not in any distress, put aside your need to be thanked and let them get the door for themselves.

And while you're at it, please stop blessing me when I sneeze.  My soul didn't go anywhere and you know it.  And no, I'm not going to thank you for it.

You Won The Lottery! Now Back the F*** Off!

Why Are You So Angry?

In a previous post I commented on the sheer numbers of seemingly unemployed (or barely employed) people in my neck of the woods.

As an offshoot of that demographic, I’d like to take a moment if I may to rant about how so many of those people are given to Road (and other) Rage.

To be fair, I give a pass to the obvious offenders:  teenagers, angry rich white men, disenfranchised minorities, etc.  They’ve got their own reasons for being assholes that don’t require much speculation  (hormones, midlife crises, racial injustice, etc.).  I just continue on and try to ignore it.

But what is it with middle-class, obviously unemployed white women?  Why are they so angry?  As far as I can tell, there’s no legitimate excuse.

I try not to lose my cool with these bitches, but it’s hard.

A small sampling would include:  the snarky comments while jockeying shopping carts at the grocery store, shooting dagger-ish looks when I dare to scoot past them at the TJMaxx shoe rack, the barely-veiled impatience while in line at the ATM… the list goes on.

And then there’s the most heinous of all offenses:  daring to only drive 5 mph over the speed limit into the hairpin curve by the local library.  That seems to incite sheer rage.

Why?!

Why the anger over such mundane and insignificant life events that everybody deals with on a daily basis?  Aren’t there more important things to get upset about?

In every one of these situations I want to look them straight in the eye and demand an answer:

YOU WON THE LOTTERY!! 

YOU DON’T HAVE TO WORK!!

WHY THE F#CK ARE YOU SO PISSED OFF AT THE WORLD?!

My husband’s theory is that they’ve realized too late that their existences are essentially meaningless.  The kids are old enough not to need them anymore, their husbands and working friends are out there successfully navigating the corporate world, the same corporate world that has no use for them after fifteen or so years of not working.  They’re essentially reduced to being housekeepers and/or trophy wives with no real purpose in life.

That may be true, but in my book that neither excuses nor fully explains such outright asshole-ish behavior.  Feel free to add your two cents.

Why Aren't You At Work?

Who Are All These People?

June 2015

I’d noticed it long before I became purposely unemployed, but it continues to amaze me:  the sheer volume of people out and about on any given weekday.

Three o’clock on a Tuesday?  Traffic jam on the way to the mall.

Ten a.m. on a Thursday?  A line of fifteen cars at the traffic light leading to the Super A&P.

2 p.m. Wednesday? A near mob of able-bodied, working-age adults at ClubFit playing racquet ball or torturing themselves in a pilates class.

Sure, there are plenty of retirees, students, shift workers and stay-at-home mommies out there, but it still amazes me that in this relatively expensive area of Westchester County, NY there are so many people who don’t seem to have a regular 9-to-5 job.  They can't all be trust-funders.

Keeping in mind that the average home price in this area hovers around $500k (even in this post-crash real estate environment), the question begs:  if there are that many people out there without a “real” job, how the heck are people keeping up with their mortgages?  Also keep in mind that in this general area, a $500k house carries with it a hefty 4% (approx) annual property/school tax bill, which equates to roughly $1,700/month in carrying costs.

How do they do it?  We barely keep up with our housing expenses with our corporate jobs (and now, with my rapidly depleting savings).

My sister has noted the same phenomenon back in Illinois.  Her theory is that everyone is on some sort of disability scam.  While being on disability may explain some of it (whether legitimate or 'scam'), there’s a whole segment of seemingly able-bodied adults out there who don’t need to work a full-time corporate job to stay solvent.

How the heck is that possible?  And where do I sign up for this gravy train?!