Complaints dept.

[Momus]

A list of things I hate. You won't find war and injustice here, those being more Adikia's bailiwick.

Transcribing notes
Because I don't trust my brain to remember everything that comes out of it, for many years now my saddlebag hasn't been complete without one of these in it:



Coming home from a ride and for some time after, the last thing I want to do is confront a bunch of messages sitting patiently in flash memory. Yesterday they numbered 50, which granted is higher than normal. There's never going to be an E = mc² on there, but I have my moments, like the time I solved the problem of the coming heat death of the universe, patent pending.

There's a new recorder in town. Actually an old one, which my Amazon order history tells me has been gathering dust since last May, when it arrived and I promptly freaked out at its dissimilarity to my old faithful. Now that it's finally proved itself in a shakedown cruise ("What were you worried about?" it would have told me if it could talk, which it can), I anticipate dreading it, too.



Tangled earphone cords
Good god, were they sent here to test my sanity? How is it possible that every single time I set them aside they immediately start tying themselves into knots?



Is it because I use the ones with hooks, those being the only type that don't immediately make my ears seemingly unclench with nervousness they'll fall out, thus fulfilling the ancient prophesy by Nostradamus, "If earbuds you invent, gravity will not relent"? Given my reliance on the ancient technology of the dedicated MP3 player (in this case, possibly the simplest ever made), wireless is not an option.


Reviews
Being compelled to read them, that is. Oh for the days of buying something and crossing your fingers it'll be fine. At least Which? and the like could easily be ignored; with everything online, there's no escape.



Motorcycles
Having already gone on at length, I'll keep this brief: how dare you assault everybody with eardrums by ripping through the space fabric of time on your bike from hell.

Door handles
Getting my sleeves caught in door knobs that aren't. Also been there, done that.

Unequal Brake levers
Which is to say, levers that don't have equal pull. Fortunately this is easily remedied. It's only here because the rear wheel on my recently repaired Edsel is rubbing when the going gets steep, despite the callipers giving the rims reasonable space. The only way to stop it is to adjust them before every hill. As you can imagine, this gets tedious.

Even with less resistance, there's plenty of braking power. Tell my left hand that. It knows what the right hand is getting, and sends electrical impulses my CPU interprets as tetchiness.

Being ignored
They say to get letters you have to send them. You can tell how old this advice is by use of the word 'letter'.

I've long had the occasional habit of shooting off an appreciative email to someone who's written a particularly good blog post (two more words approaching obsolescence). Just this past week I dropped a friendly note to someone who wrote a heartfelt column for the small newspaper back home; sent a cover letter along with an opinion piece to the same paper, which has used my work in the past; emailed a friend, an acquaintance, and a couple of people I had designs on for becoming one or the other; and posted with no effect (other than a handful of likes) on Facebook, that medium I love to hate enough to have quit, only to come back to get my hate on some more. Likes are the equivalent of receipts, and I appreciate them, but is it too much to ask for a few words out of a Friend?


You so funny

So far I'm batting close to .000

Look, I understand that people are in various states of receptivity. You never know what they have going on in their lives. The above list includes, for example, a grieving widow, who requires a hell of a lot of slack and is only getting a mention out of completeness. Social media encourages busy people to keep words to a minimum. Even email, IMO one of the best inventions ever, is so taken for granted that we can hardly be bothered to pay attention to it anymore, having ceded it to the spammers.

For the newspaper folks, ostensibly in the very business of communication and given what it pains me to say is a freebie, there can be no excuse.

STEADY ON

"Fuck off and die" is too kind a fate: I want also that all record of their existence should be expunged from Gaia's memory.

[close]

One naturally wonders: is it me? At the risk of aging myself considerably, are my expectations incommensurate with stores of common courtesy? A simple "Thanks" would go some way to helping restore my faith in humanity, even when it is a kind of rejection slip (life's rejection slips: collect 'em all!). Reconciled though I may be to The Zero Club, perhaps social transactions should be treated like loaning money to a relative: it’s not a loan.

Dogs and cats
This one’s a bit of a surprise (maybe not the cats). It’s entirely down to living with a rabbit, which is an avatar of unfairness: eaten, yet wouldn’t dream of returning the favour even in extremis, unlike pets and people I could name.

Rabbits effortlessly make the switch between treating us as equals, begging due to our superior reach for victuals, and most brilliantly of all, seeming to submit whilst charmingly bending you to their will.

Dogs are fairly one dimensional, not to mention loud and annoying and frankly disgusting even when they're raining affection on you (a little too much tongue, mate). Cats are terrifying murderers and get away with it because they literally mess with your head.

Neither eats food anybody really likes to serve, and both make you a pure finder, whether it be bearing doggie bags or redepositing buried treasure. Those who freak out that caecotrophs are on the menu for bunnies should at least appreciate their felicitous discretion.

Litter
The stuff thoughtless people drop. See STEADY ON.

Dishes
I'm happy enough washing dishes, and drying them is oddly moreish


You rang?

in that I can't stop until they're done. May I draw your attention to the following:



That's the top of a container with O-ring being removed for proper drying, else mold may say howdy. As the drainer (itself a culprit for confounding my spatial awareness) collects lids, my heart sinks.

As long as we’re in the kitchen: the floor.

The layout of our house is such that natural ingress for guests and inhabitants alike is through the kitchen in the west wing, rather than the hall in the north wing.



Note that due to priceless paintings hanging in the north wing entrance, our insurance company forbids pictures, so this is the south wing, exclusively for the use of equestrians. We've never had one visit, but we wouldn't want to be caught off guard.

The kitchen floor is not one I would wish even our least favourite butler to eat off of to amuse the rest of the staff. Indeed, the 5 second rule has been permanently suspended. This is because it's where the outdoors comes indoors, and the outdoors in these parts is chiefly comprised of mud. Lest I give the impression we could sty pigs in the same room breakfast lunch and dinner are prepared, this isn't the case. It's clean enough. We just don't trust it. Therefore, any utensil victimised by gravity either enters a decontamination chamber or is donated to charity.

My damnably scrumptious lower lip
It must be so, else why am I forever biting it? For the taste of blood denied me thanks to a vegetarian diet? The only cure may be to go duck face. Handy for selfies, at least.

Hair. Everywhere.
After my second jab, celebrations will include a trip to a scissor sister.

A titch longer than his, please

Photoshop's instability on my iMac
This would be Photoshop Elements, as there's no way on god's oversaturated green earth I'm buying into Adobe's Creative Cloud for access to the big kahuna. Once or twice a day out of spite or a poor work ethic, this happens:



Of course I can't ignore it, and Apple are going to tell me to shut up and send them more money.

The fact that I can't spell
This gets tiresome, but what can you do, swallow a dictionary? Compounded with my inability to type more than a sentence or two without making a typo, it's a wonder I ever spit anything out. Technology to the rescue.


Thank goodness I can spell Google

John Hancock
i.e., my sig. The real one, not those you can rubberstamp on emails, etc. Signing is the peeve. The Committee of Ways and Means interrupted my mistyping to request my signature to deposit the latest stimulus check from the US Treasury, reminding me that even my rudimentary cursive skills have atrophied to the point that I'm uncertain how to proceed. Trusting in muscle memory, I obliged, taking care not to violate the box with an S that's difficult to subdue. It's so illegible anyway that when I legally changed my name some years ago, my signature didn't get the slightest revamp.

Creakclicktick
UNBELIEVABLE that bike noise didn’t make the first draft. This is arguably the biggest bugbear of them all, at least cycling-wise. It deserves an entire post/thread/website/government inquiry. Also getting my good bike wet. And belly rub (not this kind). Is that all? I think that's all for now.

Stay tuned for things I love.

[sam]

Because love seemed a little strong. Necessarily incomplete, because I like rather a lot, this list is destined to grow.

iPhone
Shame accompanies this first entry, as despite or because I've used Macs for a long time, Apple have been pending Wrong 'uns thanks to their Scrooge McDuck outsourcing and various first world annoyances. I was reasonably happy with my Sony whatever, and not about to part ways with the cash it takes to buy a full share of one of these, but made the initial mistake of inadequate storage for the times in which we live (ever-expanding bloatware being the final straw). It turns out they aren't terribly expensive if you buy used, and not new is plenty good enough for the likes of me. The bloody thing is brilliant. Uncle, Apple.



Still, I could've lived with Nokia #2. Netflix-to-go isn't absolutely necessary for survival, especially since trains became mostly a thing of the past.

The new toaster
I never knew how much I disliked the previous one until it entered terminal decline and this came along. It has one basic job which it does in a workmanlike way, so why get evangelical about it? Because it looks just right in our kitchen, and has lights which glow prettily blue. That's all it took. I even read the instruction manual, which may be a first for an appliance.




Set loose in the wild

My favourite glass
Not much to say about this, except it's just the right size and heft, and I can't imagine it ever breaking. Rescued from a charity shop.



The kitchen as entrance to the house, on the other hand, belongs on the list above. [It's already there. - Ed.]

Sony RX100
The first one. I also have a IV, bought when that appeared to be on its way out, but don't need the articulated screen, which adds millimeters that make it less pocketable.



Nikkor 180mm

If you run across an especially beautiful shot on this site, chances are it was taken with this. Way too big for a pocket. Maybe if I had a pouch.

(How much smarter did that make you?)

My hat


Most of that hair is now gone, and along with it the need for the hat. I'm not really a hat person, but I got used to it. We'll meet again down the line, as it grows like topsy and regular haircuts are also now history.

Langster
Old faithful.

Wolf in sheep's clothing
I'm not sure what this unused fob is doing here, as I rarely give it a second look. Perhaps it's because every time I do, it's a handy reminder that this mythical beast isn't so mythical.