Thursday, September 16, 2010

Crappy Tools

There's this pair of scissors in our kitchen junk drawer. I use them pretty frequently to open human-proof packaging, like plastic wrappers and blister packaging.

Every time I use the scissors, I notice how amazingly crappy they are. Suitable for cutting nothing tougher than thin-sliced cheese, they may as well be children's scissors,

Cursing, I twist them and tug with them and eventually manage to gnaw through whatever I'm trying to open.

I hold them in my hand and look at them, and think, "What idiot in what store's purchasing department picked up a sample, tried them, and decided they were perfectly acceptable." And ordered ten thousand.

Then I put them back into the junk drawer.

Lord, I am just not that smart.

7 comments:

  1. I have really enjoyed your travel posts! I love Newport and the sound of a train, no matter the time of day or night, still thrills me!
    Bob Dylan sings it best .... ridin' on the city of New Orleans ... good mornin' America ...


    (throw those scissors away, my good man)

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  2. I've always loved the sound of train whistles -- or diesel horns as they are called these days. The old steam whistles had a mournful quality. The lovely minor and diminished chords sounded by diesel horns comfort me at night with the feeling that there is this big world in the dark outside my bedroom's walls.

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  3. "Bob Dylan sings it best .... ridin' on the city of New Orleans ... good mornin' America ..."

    Not Dylan, but Arlo Guthrie had the original hit in '74. Many have covered it since, but not Dylan, to my knowledge. Great song, though.

    Re scissors: To open those damn clamshell packages (may whoever invented them rot in hell!) you need really heavy-duty scissors, such as kitchen shears, which are powerful enough to cut chicken bones.

    Re diesel horns: Not so lovely when they're loud enough and close enough to wake you up at 3 a.m.

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  4. "Re diesel horns: Not so lovely when they're loud enough and close enough to wake you up at 3 a.m."

    Well yeah, that goes without saying. A few glasses of wine will put a spring into yer step and make every woman in the place look lovely. A gallon will fuck a man up. Too much of a good thing.

    I studied the map of Bend before purchasing this house, and noted that the train tracks were pretty far away. I wondered if I'd even be able to hear the horns, but I was assured by others that we would be able to hear them at night. It's the grade crossing at Portland, where they give their obligatory three toots, that we hear here, while the next closest grade crossings (at Wilson and Reed Market Rd, then Brosterhouse, I believe) are too far away to hear except on the quietest of nights.

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  5. We live close enough to the Reed Market crossing to hear the damn horns all the time. If you ever feel the need to hear more train horns you can pitch a tent in our back yard any time.

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  6. Will you bring hot cocoa and read me a story?

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