Stuff I Hate

War is bad, OK? But it's too broad a subject.

Today I’m gonna talk about things I hate. This is only fair because I recently talked about things I like.

Rather than drone on about awful things like war, modernist architecture or rap music, I wanted to drill deep and get specific. I also wanted to discuss things most people like, because that’s what makes me…special. So join me as we gallivant down the primrose path of stuff that pisses me off.

Sliding Glass Doors

Hi! I'm a poorly-insulated, ugly piece of crap!

How the hell did these things became ubiquitous in American suburbia?  They’re ugly as hell, require endless cleaning and leak cold air like sieves. They do offer an expansive view of your neighbor’s identical ticky-tacky house with sliding glass door, so I guess that’s some sort of fucked-up consolation.

Ironically, a lot of people hate the lack of privacy that sliding glass doors demand, so they cover them with godawful vertical blinds. You may as well smear mud on a pig. Big help.

Dates

Jesus Christ, we're disgusting!

Who eats these things? You may as well put a bunch of freshly killed cockroaches on a plate and dig in. My father used to enjoy dates, mostly because he knew we kids wouldn’t eat them. I grew up and learned to appreciate things like olives, capers and whiskey. But dates? Fuck, no. Just looking at them makes me want to heave.

Wireless Networking

Bleep bleep! Fuckin' bleep!

I’m alone on this one, I know. Everyone loves the convenience of these goddamn things. But I hate ’em.

They’re painfully slow, regardless of whatever 802.11x standard they’re pushing nowadays. They’re unreliable and horribly insecure  compared to good ole’ Cat5. They’re also a huge PITA to configure, and once configured don’t allow for the networking flexibility of a wired network. Screw wireless networking. Just give me an Ethernet port and leave me alone.

germeister

Liquor for idiots.

“Hey, look at me! I’m an idiotic 20-something frat boy who thinks he’s discovered some kind of awesome new drinking trend! Oh, boy! Look how drunk I am now! Ya know, Metallica ruled the world with this shit! Woo-hoo! Let’s all do Jäger shots and Jäger bombs and frozen Jäger popsicles! Woo-hoo! Look at me!”

Shut the fuck up, you twit. You’re drinking the liquor equivalent a Tonka Toy. You’re a child, and I hate you.

KISS

Look at us! Just don't pay attention to our crappy music!

I was smack dab in the middle of the KISS demographic when they were at the height of their popularity. When I was 12-13, they ruled the world. A bunch of my friends were in the KISS Army. Not me.

I thought their look was cool, but when people played their records, I was left with shrugged shoulders. I didn’t get it. It was just mealy, mediocre, happy-crappy, quasi-hard-rock dreck. In 1977, Led Zeppelin and Black Sabbath were about a million times cooler than KISS.

As the band aged and faded, my assessment of the band was confirmed by Gene Simmons, who became a walking example of shallowness, greed and artistic bankruptcy.

Sunset Photos

Oooh. Lovely.

Yeah, I know that awesome sunset moved you. It was inspiring. The way the clouds were lit, the water glittered and the trees stood black against the sky.

Fuckin’ great. I totally understand. I’m as guilty as anyone.

But rather than toss another sunset photo onto the heap of them polluting the Earth, why don’t you just put down the camera and enjoy the goddamn sunset? If you must take a photo, try this:  turn your ass around and take a photo of what the sunset is actually illuminating. You might be surprised.

Harley Davidson Motorcycles

Fat, slow and loud is no way to live your life, son.

Oh, I’ll catch some flak for this but I don’t care.

Harleys are overweight, cumbersome, slow, noisy pieces of junk for people who don’t really like motorcycles. If you’re a fat, middle-aged moron who shits his pants when a Ducati winds out third gear, then Harley Davidson is for you.

You can revel in the legend of outlaw bikers gone by as you hoist your meaty leg over the cushy seat of your leather-clad idiotmobile. Be sure to have your gay-ass chaps on. You’ll need them to round out the derision of every single person who glares at you when you rev the engine in a quiet neighborhood on a warm Sunday afternoon.

You fuckin’ douche.

Fake Mullioned Windows

No one is fooled.

Maybe I’m biased because my house has actual mullioned windows, but these things are fucking stupid.

I can appreciate that manufacturers and homeowners find aesthetic value in mullioned windows, and that real mullioned windows are expensive. But whenever I see these vinyl abominations, it makes me think about the fakery and silliness of the American suburban landscape. Fake mullioned windows are not a disease. They’re just  a symptom, like pus-filled lesions.

London

What's all this then?

Don’t get me wrong: I love England.  I feel at home every time I visit. I may even live there one day. But I won’t live in London.

London has everything negative about a mega-city: noise, pollution, attitude and crime. But London is sadly lacking in the things that makes a mega-city bearable: the electric excitement of the streets, the air of possibility and the cohesive nature of organic city growth.

In short, London is a fucking mess. From its unspeakably ugly skyline to its uninspiring public parks to the crassness of its mumbling hordes, London falls flat compared to New York or Tokyo.

That said, London has a galaxy of attractions, museums and historical sites. But I’d rather live in New York. Or Vienna. Or Louisville, Kentucky.

Tighty Whiteys

Oh, THAT'S attractive.

Guys: you’re not 10 anymore.  Time to throw out your skid-stained undies and buy grown-up underpants.

Movies About Women Struggling Against All Odds In A World They Didn’t Make

Extended version? Kill me now.

Listen, ladies: shit ain’t all that easy for us men, either. The fickle finger of fate shoots us down with depression, failure and prostate cancer. You ever see any tear-jerker movies about some kind, beloved guy who struggles to find peace as he slowly dies of prostate cancer in a society that doesn’t seem to care? Have you?

I didn’t fucking think so. There’s no crying in baseball for men, either.  So put a sock in it.

Shower Curtains

God, I hate you.

They ALWAYS rise up from the heat of the shower and tangle against you when you’re trying to scrub the filth off your hairy carcass. No stopping it. You can add weights to the bottom or any number of other tricks and it just won’t work.

I’m so glad I’ve been curtain-free for so many years. I like my shower stall with its glass door. If I need to use the tub, I’ll take a bath. I dread taking  a shower in someone’s tub with a goodamn shower curtain crawling up against me like a slimy triffid. Fuck those things!

Your Band

How totally original!

Sorry, dude. I know everyone thinks your band is the coolest-ever mix of the Dead Kennedys and The Sonics with a hardcore Melvins twist, but you suck.

I think it’s great that you get a kick out of it and a buncha kids enjoy misbehaving at your shows. I salute your efforts. Really: I do. But in the grand scheme of things, your band isn’t really good. It’s just another guitar-driven mash of sloppy power chords with some bozo hollering into the microphone. It’s been done to death and you’re not particularly good at it.

Granite Countertops

No, really! I'm upscale!

Granite has its advantages. It’s durable and handles heat and scuffs well. It’s also expensive and heavy, sometimes requiring significant shoring up of your kitchen counter.

But its primary disadvantage is its ubiquitous snob factor. Every smug-faced douchebag you know MUST HAVE granite countertops. They don’t know why; they just saw it on TV and decided all cool, smart, rich people have it, so they should, too. Now they can swan around the kitchen like a Roman magistrate and tell everyone how much they paid those grubby men to install this fabulous new granite countertop.

Is it really all that much better than compressed fire slate or formica stone? No. But you have to have it anyway, because you’re a dick.

and finally:
Chat Rooms

Har har! We're so witty!

I tried IRC and a few other chat room formats and just couldn’t figure out how anyone could maintain an attention span that alternately requires fast responses as well as minutes of inactivity. Screw that. Furthermore, anything said extemporaneously is by nature less interesting that anything said with forethought and careful editing. Want proof?  Here’s this same paragraph in chat-speak:

IRC=teh ghey.
Totally.
BRB or AFK?
Chat=CWOT

I rest my case. Chat rooms are stupid.

Be sure to read about all the other things I hate in future posts to citizented.com.

2 Responses to “Stuff I Hate”


  • I used to love Kiss, but I was, what, nine years old? I still thought the height of hilarity was squirting milk out my nose.

    And the Harleys… yes, I couldn’t agree more. I laugh my ass off at these people when they get together on the weekends to ride their mo’sickles. They all look so serious, so pissed off, so ludicrous in their chaps and badass leather caps and every last goddamned one of them is proudly sporting a Harley-Davidson t-shirt. If these posers met up with a real biker gang there would be a sudden spike in chaps and leather pants going to the cleaners the following Monday.

  • When I was 14 or 15, I took the 3 silly Kiss albums I had, roasted them, and nailed them to my bedroom wall. You’re quite right about that. The Harleys, not entirely. Yes, most people that ride them are douches. For that matter, this is true of most riders of other brands as well, for one reason or another. Dante should have created a Bolgia for the guys who turn themselves into walking H-D billboards or Rob Halford impersonators. No, Harleys are not especially quick. OTH, they’re way more comfortable to sit on than a Ducati, and when you’ve got a lifetime of hard physical labor and crashing skateboards and bicycles and motorcycles and cars on your body, that counts for something. I can also actually repair my Harley with only a bit of wrench-throwing, and avoid being robbed by the dealership. If I had to fix my own Ducati, I’d probably just set it on fire.

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