Thursday, June 10, 2010

Today is a slow day, or at least

a slow srarting day.

The computer is running slower than ever, because it is downloading some kind of update coupled with the fact that this is the first day of summer vacation. The latter means that every kid and their older brother is on line playing some kind of game.

It's also trash day which means I had to haul all the jettisonable unwanted materiel to the curb.

One of the things people have to learn to do it throw stuff out. It seems we collect all sorts of meaningless stuff as we go through life, most of which is just stuff.

Neighbor Bob and I were yakking about that yesterday and we both agree that the biggest excuse for keeping something is the amount of money paid for it.

" I paid a hundred dollars for that, and I'm not throwing it out!" seems to be a frequent war cry over this issue.

So that means that for the price of $100, US Dollars, you get the honor and privlige of tripping over some stupid piece of junk for the next three dacades. With any luck, you can stub a toe over the damned thing, and if you are truly one of the gifted, you may even break a leg or something worse and really get your money's worth.

Sometimes you have to look at things and realize that the future holds no reasonable hope for a saved item.

The bell bottom pants in the rubbermaid box are probably not going to come into style again anytime soon no matter how often Cher is spotted wearing the damned things, and besides, after 4 decades it is pretty unlikely that you are ever going to get skinny enough to wear them unless you get really sick or something. If that happens, the last thing you are going to think about are the damned forty year old torn jeans in the Rubbermaid box in the basement.

You look around and see the amazing Jungle Gym/Treehouse/swing set in the back yard that you lovingly built for you sweet little daughter and realize that the little girl is now 34 years old and hasn't used it in well over 20 years and that the thing has been nothing but a pain in the ass because you have to mow around it every week.

But, by God, you paid good money for it and you'll be damned it you'll get rid of it.

By the time your grandkids are old enough to use it, it'll be rotten and with any luck the little crumbsnatchers will have it fall down beneath them and you can spend time getting to know them as the two of you sit together in the Emergency Room.

Who knows? The possibilities are endless.

Or you can simply just throw the damned thing out and figure you got your moneys worth or, if you didn't, just chalk it up to experience.

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