I love having a home. I hate owning a house.
I’m getting somewhat more comfortable with it, but probably only out of resignation.
As part of my journey to acceptance, I offer yet 5 more reasons why buying a big house is dumb…
(see original article here).
Other than being pretty to look at and providing the oxygen necessary to sustain human life, trees pretty much suck.
Contrary to conventional wisdom, trees don’t restrict their abcission to sunny autumn days when leaves can be swept up gleefully by sweater-clad LL Bean models.
This is especially true here in Atlanta where we have evergreens, aka perennials, that trees drop shit in the
yard, in the pool and on my roof ALL YEAR LONG. Pine needles, pine cones, pine worms accumulate by the soggy bucketful, destroying both our drainage system and my will to live.
Put simply – trees are inconsiderate dicks.
Don’t think so? Then why is the Latin name for pine tree pinus?
I rest my case.
So next time you hear Ray Charles singing about “moonlight through the pines,” think “moonlight through the pinus.”
Or when you see a pine needles on someone’s roof (most likely mine), think, “wow, that pinus really dropped a load on that roof.”
Trees are assholes and Arbor Day sucks.
An ice-maker has one purpose: to make ice. You’d think that that kind of certainty with one’s role in life would be re-assuring – perhaps a bit restrictive to one’s potential, but at least they know where they stand.
Which makes it that much more maddening to me that neither of the two ice-makers in our house actually makes ice.
They make noise.
They make puddles on the hardwood floors.
They make me crazy.
…but they do not make ice.
Yet despite all the trouble, I’m still going to get these little bastards fixed because – for some crazy reason – the “cube-with-a-dent-in-it” ice they make is way better than the crescent-shaped ice that comes from the mini-ice-maker in the freezer.
Why? I don’t know. Perhaps it has something do with fluid dynamics of how cubes interact with vodka, grapefruit juice and Fresca. Or maybe it’s because ice-makers are specialists. They make ice and nothing else. So when they do it, they do it better than any other appliance that sidelines in ice-making.
And that is why I am about to call a plumber who will charge me $100 for a house-visit, only to tell me that I forgot to plug these little prima donnas in.
Kind of an extension of #1 above, but gutters suck. And the more house/roof you have, the more gutters you have. It’s, like, math.
Gutters exist to collect water. But they also collect debris (from trees, rodents and toy-throwing children), which clogs the downspouts and causes massive overflows and groundwater that saturates the soil, penetrates the foundation (it’s not as sexy as it sounds) and floods the basement. Yay!
“So just clean the gutters, Paul!”
Today’s McMansions yield rooflines best measured in altitude and pitches right out of AP Trigonometry. I lack both the necessary tools and the willingness to get my candy ass up there.
Thus I spend my time on work email and hire some other dudes to clean the gutters, putting into action the theory of comparative advantage, an economic principle that can be best described thusly: “do that thing at which you suck the least.”
You buy a home with a lovely backyard pool and envision your kids laughing and splashing with their friends whilst you sip a Heineken and grill cheeseburgers as the sounds of Elton John Coletrane von Beatles Stones waft through the air.
But wait – your kids can’t swim yet! So you must install a hideous and expensive black mesh prophylactic around the pool for a few years. Said fence not only looks like crap, but its installation cracks your patio, necessitating thousands more in reconstructive expenditures.
Speaking of crack – let’s discuss the guys who take care of your pool. Mr. Buttermaker and crew will get to your broken pump just before it gets too cold to swim or right after their new vaporizer comes in…whichever comes first.
Yet while they may not be punctual, somehow their bill always arrives right on time. Funny that.
You buy the big house with all the extra rooms in the basement and next thing you know, you’re running a mini-storage business for all of your extended-family’s crap.
Rolled up carpets, mis-matched furniture, pictures in cracked frames, books that have never been – and never will be – read. All these treasures are yours to keep, as their marginal resale value and your guilt-centric upbringing paralyze you from taking the only sensible action: dragging this garbage out to the street and burning it like the Bulls just won another championship.
Want to know if the stuff you’re keeping has any real value? Use this litmus test: how bad would you feel if your basement flooded and everything in your storage room was soaked to the point where it had to be thrown out?
You wouldn’t feel bad at all, would you? In fact, you’d be relieved. So there’s your answer. If your basement floods and you don’t care, it means that you never should have hung onto that stuff in the first place.
It also means that your down-spouts are way clogged up. Again.