There are some things in this life that I am unable to compromise on. Call me rigid or spoiled; maybe I just have OCD. Books, butter, knowledge, coffee and manners (not necessarily in that order).
I've worked in technology fields for over twenty years. Nonetheless - there is no touch, no smell, no experience you can get from a computer, Kindle, smartphone or tablet that is remotely close to the gifts bestowed on an experienced reader of actual books. I love books. Real books. I love the feel and smell of well-worn, antique books that have been handed down to younger generations after decades of use. I'm tactile - I love the feel of turning the pages, the comforting and accomplished sound of traveling further into the profoundness of each character. I derive a surreptitious pleasure from amassing a collection of 'already read' books, only to read them again when the mood strikes. No digital edition can elicit such feelings or commitment.
Butter. There's no substitute. Margarine? Come onnnn. It's not even real food. No competition. Margarine is a prime example of everything that is wrong with this country.
Knowledge. Lack of education is rampant in this country and many others, but ignorance is an active choice. With education and experience comes knowledge and understanding.
Ipsa scientia potestas est.
Coffee is the liquor of the gods. I could subsist on coffee alone, I believe, but I would not survive without it. Or perhaps - those in my inner-circle would not..? Great coffee is a luscious treasure; poorly made coffee is swine borscht.
Manners - they define us from the wild animals (both creature and human). Social edicts are the keystone to civility and respect in our culture. Disregarding them thoroughly is impertinent and patently rude. It also takes great skill to be able to tell someone to go to hell politely, and with a smile on your face, and to do it so well that they don't realize what's been said until they are home. True story - I walked out on a date some years ago because my escort had zero table manners.
I use a Bodum French press and hand grind my own French roast beans in an old Corona mill. Three cups in my Mr. Darcy mug (or occasionally my 'Mr Jean Goldfine' (Jean is my wife) mug for breakfast, and that's enough for 24 hours.
ReplyDeleteBooks? God knows I have enough of them, but with weight, dust, and silverfish, I'll take one of my three Kindles every time.
Butter--salt or no salt? Doesn't matter to me! The only time I forego butter on my bread is if the restaurant offers a really fine herbal olive oil dip.
Knowledge? Too much of an abstraction for me to worry about, though I will say that I discovered yesterday that a woods wagon axle bent on a stump can be brought back into service with a few nice tunks from an 8-pound sledge. If only all my problems were that easy to solve!
Manners.... I try to be civil and polite, and I can even be charming if I make the effort. But most people sense my perpetual edginess bubbling under the surface and are a little wary of my handshakes, standing for women when they enter the room, holding of doors, etc. Hell, I would be if I met me!
There! I haven't commented on your writing! Instead I've let it stimulate me to write in return. Now what the heck assignment is this?
I'm well over 60. 'Hooligan' in my mind has two special uses and is otherwise an antique curiosity.
ReplyDelete* In the old USSR, the laws which pretty much allowed the state to imprison anyone it disliked were translated into English as laws against 'hooliganism.'
* At the turn of the 20th Century in cities, it was a current and used term. If I were writing fiction about street kids of the era, I might use it non-ironically.