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Things Get on My Nerves
I’ve finally put to rest the old DocJay phrase, “harshes my mellow.” It was cute for awhile, but it had run its course, as all things do in time. To make up for the missing excitement that DocJay’s phrase added to my post, I’ve started each item on my list with the letter B.
Blowers: I hate these darn things. Leaf blowers interrupt my naps, they blot out my conversation with Marie as we walk the neighborhood, and they scare Bob the dog.
Here’s what really frosts my cookies: I’ll see some guy, an internal combustion engine strapped to his back spewing out the decibels, its nozzle blowing out a 200 mph wind that moves three leaves and speck of dirt from a sidewalk. It’s like picking your nose with a shovel.
I think I know why leaf blowers seem to be everywhere during their three seasons: Whereas raking and sweeping with a broom are chores, blowing leaves with a 200 mph concentrated stream of air is fun. So a yard maintenance man who has been assigned the leaf-blowing chore will drag it out by removing even tiny pieces of debris that no one would ever think of removing manually. I’ve seen them blow a single leaf off a flower bed. I’ve seen them go into the streets in front of a house to blow away a few leaves.
If there is a Hell for non-sentient objects, gasoline-powered leaf blowers — the DeWalts, the Stihls, the Husqvarnas, and all the others of the leaf-blowing fraternity — will end up there. The electric leaf blowers will end up in Limbo to work off their sins.
Blowhards: I love the back and forth of conversation. I hate to listen to monologues. I used to teach at a university, a place that attracts people who think they need to tell the world, in a torrent of words, how things work. Your ideas mean nothing to a blowhard. If you try to interrupt his river of words, he only raises his volume and goes on. You’re trapped. The only way out is to turn and walk away. I’ve done that before. I usually lie by inserting a “I have to go” into his word stream. Don’t judge.
Brainstorm Usurpers. These are people on Ricochet who beat me to a topic that should have been mine. I have enough trouble coming up with new posts on Ricochet without some Ricochet person coming up with a topic that I could have thought of, given enough time. Sawatdeeka, for instance, recently posted an essay (Advice from Popular Culture) that was perfect for me to write on. If you had just given me a few days more to think about it, Sawatdeeka, I think I would have come up with that topic. I’m not saying you didn’t handle it well. In fact, you did better with it than I could have. But it was me, Sawatdeeka.
Bathroom Trespassers. I discussed this in a Postscript tacked onto a previous post, but you probably didn’t read it so I think I’ll repeat it. If you’ve already read it, just go on to the next B.
I dropped by Portland’s Powell’s Book Store a couple of weeks ago. When I started to walk into the men’s restroom, I noticed this ominous sign on the door: USE THE RESTROOM YOU FEEL MOST COMFORTABLE IN. When I entered, there was a female drying her hands on the blower. Damned if I was going to use the urinal with a female standing a few feet away, so I tried to wait her out. Unhappily, those darned blowers take forever to dry a person’s hands. So there I was, standing in the middle of the room, an old man whose bladder was crying out for attention, while some pushy female was taking her time drying her hands on the blower. That woman just plain harshed my mellow.
Bob. When the vet told us that Bob’s infected paw meant that he was going to have to wear a cone over his head, my first thought was, “Photo-op for Ricochet!”
Almost immediately, I chided myself for that insensitive response. Rather than think of Bob’s discomfort, my first thought was a photo-op. So that’s how Bob harshed my mellow: He caused me to think badly of myself.
(And that is probably the lamest excuse to get a photo of Bob into my post that I have ever used.
Weird Postscript: I was watching Life, Liberty, and Levin on Fox this evening. Levin was interviewing a well-known conservative historian, Burt Folsom, when I had an awkward thought: I once went on a date at a drive-in movie with Burt Folsom.
Here’s how it happened. Folsom was a colleague of mine at a state university. He was in the history department; I was in English. We both liked horror movies and our wives didn’t, so we decided — I don’t know who asked whom — to go to the drive-in to see The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Later, Folsom moved on and hit the big time by publishing a number of seminal works in economic history, leaving me behind to nurse along my undistinguished career. By the way, Folsom was a perfect gentleman.
Published in General
The only Folsom book I read is the one about Michigan entrepreneurs. It was rather lame, e.g. in his treatment of the Indian factory system. (It did provoke me to pay more attention to that bit of history, though.) I heard him talk about that book at Hillsdale, and was not impressed to learn that the President of Hillsdale was interested in hiring him. I was more impressed with some of the students. They asked good questions.
That book put me off of reading any of his other books. I’m not against giving them a try. Some of the titles look interesting. But there have always been a lot of books ahead of his in my reading queue.
Doctor Science treated this subject in one of his “Ask Doctor Science” episodes. I’m unable to find it on his website but I remember it pretty well. It went something like this:
Retic, he was a brave guy at my university, often going against the grain in the history department and beyond. Why don’t you try another of his books?
The titles about FDR and the New Deal look the most interesting to me.
To go back to your leafblower section:
There’s a hand dryer called an X-lerator installed in many Interstate rest stops. The thing is so loud, it hurts my ears drying my hands. Surely there’s an OSHA requirement for dB level of these things . . .
You never, ever need an excuse for a picture of Bob.
Tex, I like the way you think, but I’m preparing for the day when someone says, “Enough of the pics of Bob. My dog is just as cute, but I don’t feel the need to plaster his face all over Ricochet.”
And you know what? He would have a valid point. Each of us thinks his dog is the best and the cutest.
They would be wrong, but I understand.
Leaf Blowers! They are worse in California, where they operate all year long and where the ground is usually dry. They should be more accurately called “dust raisers”. The means of operation is to disturb dirt on the ground, render it airborne, and hope it drifts onto your neighbors’ cars, clothes, dwelling interiors if the neighbor has his windows open, and dwelling exteriors. Oh . . . and neighbors’ skin and lungs, too. And then your hired gardener lows it back the next day. This is our system.
I do two things not usually associated with a conservative. I bike to work, and hang my laundry out to dry (the polar bears!). Often I have taken down wet clothes as I hear one of the infernal machines gasp to life. I have commuted through the Stanford Shopping Center and encountered leaf blowers in formations like the Roman legions marching across the parking lots, with huge plumes of dust slowly drifting across my path and into Stanford Hospital’s air conditioning intakes to be filtered out. This is our system.
I have a neighbor who goes to a psychiatrist once a day for OCD treatment. It is only modestly successful, as he leaf blows twice a day, even directly aiming his airstream into the trees to knock the leaves off the trees!
Leaf blowers are close to a protected class, as the overwhelming majority are operated by immigrants. To criticize Leaf Blowers is Racist, so here we are.
There are a lot of trees and leaves in my rural neighborhood, but not much use of leafblowers. The neighbor across the street uses one in the fall, but that’s about the only one I hear. I have a Greenworks battery-powered leafblower that gets a little use in the fall.
Lawnmowers are another matter. There are a lot of Briggs and Stratton Twin-V engines to listen to. That’s one reason why I like to use my battery-powered walking mower as much as possible. I don’t even need special ear-covering headphones to listen to a book while mowing. And I get to enjoy my lawn and see it up close and personal by walking on it. But there is far too much lawn to get it all done that way.
I use a leaf blower, but only to get leaves off of the sidewalks and driveway areas. Then I mulch them with the mower. I guess these guys actually do large scale leaf moving, like what a rake is for?
I also have a cordless one that I use to blow crud out of my shop building. No one lives close enough to hear either one, anyway.
Wow, that sounds dreadful, Mr. Lawyer. By the way, I use a non-PC phrase when I refer to a yard man with his blower. I hesitated to use it on Ricochet. All blowers in Portland, as far as I can tell, are operated by Chicanos, legal and other. I don’t think I have ever seen an Anglo in the Portland area operate a leaf blower.
I will tread lightly here out of respect, but, in my opinion, dislike for leaf blowers begins the slippery slope to Communism. What’s next? Mustang GTOs? Chainsaws?
First they came for my leaf blower . . .
One thing I will say. After reading his book and being dis-satisfied with it, I read the review in American Historical Review. The reviewer raked it over the coals, and rightly so. But a leftist historian who writes the same kind of agenda-driven stuff (normally I use a harsher word than “stuff”) is likely to be praised for being brave, or at most, given mild criticism for not giving coverage to the whole story. I read a lot of those reviews, and have learned how to read between the lines.
But the fact that the process is biased against the few people like Folsom doesn’t mean he did good work. But that also doesn’t mean there isn’t something valuable to learn from his other books.
Good for you, Retic. I too hate loud lawnmowers. For a long while, I had such a small yard that I used an old-fashioned push mower. Now I have artificial grass and don’t mow at all.
Mr. Lawyer, I think you are practicing good old-fashioned conservatism by biking and hanging out your laundry.
On the other hand (so to speak) the x-lerator is much, much faster than the of barely blowers, which would come in handy if you were impatiently waiting in the men’s room for an apparent lady to finish ….
Leaf blowers are an abomination (which is to say, I don’t have one) but then so are rakes. If one chooses to live in the woods, one should respect mother nature enough to appreciate her method of mulching the ground, nourishing her trees, protecting them from weeds, and providing habitat for all manner of free-range vermin.
At least, that is my opinion when the neighbors look askance at my leafy lawn.
Oh, I think there’s probably some sort of Freudian metaphor in play . . .
Trapping them at the back of a small porch at a cocktail party and then discoursing in great detail on obstetrical difficulties in sheep and goats works pretty well too.
Nice post. Not saying it isn’t very similar to one I’ve had in my drafts folder for quite a while, but . . .
I don’t know that I’ve ever felt “comfortable” in a public restroom. I’m just thankful if I feel reasonably clean at the end of the encounter. But I doubt I’ll face this particular conundrum anytime soon around here. Why, even Boutique Tarjay in this neck of the woods still has “gendered” rest rooms, “men” and “women” are the only options, and you have to pick one or the other before proceeding.
Don’t feel bad. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last (I was far more interested in getting a photo-op for Ricochet than I was in preventing my poor Psymon from strangling himself:
I’ve never heard of Burt Folsom, but he sounds like a lovely fellow. I’m trying to think of (somewhat) famous people I’ve met whose names start with “B.” But I’m coming up short.
I did like that concert Johnny Cash gave at his place though.
Thanks for the fun post–I enjoyed it. As for being a brainstorm usurper, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve had my brainstorms usurped many times over my ten years on Ricochet. Sometimes, I’m just thankful that someone finally covered an important topic and did it well, so I didn’t have to put in the effort.
Your dog looks sweet.
I’ve never heard of Burt Folsom, but he sounds like a lovely fellow. I’m trying to think of (somewhat) famous people I’ve met whose names start with “B.” But I’m coming up short.
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She, thank you for your lengthy response. I read two of the mini-responses to Marie. She got a chuckle out of each of them. Love the shot of your pussycat. BTW, I would listen with rapt attention to your accounts of sheep births. I’ve never known a person who raises sheep.
Bob the Dog is the only reason anyone here puts up with Kent, and the hope that Kent will include a photo of Bob in any of his posts is the only reason we read them. Trust me on that.
Sawatdeeka, thanks. I was hoping you would come across my post.
You know I was just kidding, don’t you? It is entirely true, though, that when I came across your post I was a little jealous that you thought of the topic before I did.
Ten years in Ricochet? Why, you’re an old timer. That’s about as old as it gets, isn’t it?
BTW. why do you saw at a deeka? And what’s a deeka?
She, you’re fond of that joke. It is a joke, isn’t it?
That reminds me of an old National Lampoon cover. It had a picture of some guy holding a pistol to the head of a sweet dog. The caption read something like, “Buy this magazine or I’ll shoot the dog.”
Yeah, I remember that cover (from 1973) too (’cause I’m a geezer just like you). But what’s your point? I certainly don’t want to shoot Bob.
P.S. Of course it’s a joke. Nevertheless, I enjoy the photos of Bob, whether or not he has a gun to his head.
DocJay’s phrase? DocJay’s phrase? I’ll have you know my mellow was being harshed when the worst thing that could happen to DocJay was misplacing his sippy cup.
But those are the only hand dryers that actually, you know, dry your hands.
Those stupid things DO NOT work. So, whenever I find myself in a ladies room without a paper towel option…I just lean over and dry my hands on my jeans around the ankle height. See, I figure no one is going to notice wet finger prints down there, but they’d get noticed if I dried my hands on the hip area.
Dumb blow dryers.
Those blow dryers are another item on the list of things I hate. If there are no towels I just walk out of the restroom waiving my wet hands in the air until they dry.
Not sure if @sawatdeeka is still following the thread, but in case she isn’t, “sawatdeeka” is a universal and respectful Thai greeting for “hello,” and it’s pronounced, approximately, “sawatdeeKA” with the “KA” ultimate syllable meaning that it’s said by a woman. (A final syllable of “krup” or “krap” would mean it was said by a man.)
At least, that is how I have heard it, and how it was explained to me.