To shake things up a bit, I'm going to ditch that whole Wasatch Crack Relay update for a few days. I'd hate to lose my non-running readership. What shall I talk about today, to keep that non-running readership? Blinds. That's right. Today's hot topic is Blinds (the window coverings, not the makeshift tents for hunting.)
The Bird wrote about blinds today. Specifically, it was a "what do your blinds say about you" kind of post. This post sparked some cerebral movement. Serious. The brain actually started to waltz. Why? Because I love, love, LOVE making rash judgements about myself over insubstantial objects or experiences.
Yes. If I walk into your house, I'm not going to look at the mannerings of your children and make any judgements. I will, however, determine the amount of child abuse you endured with a simple Freudian-style analysis of your coaster selection. What's on your coasters? Pigs, dressed as chefs, complete with puffy-hat toppers? Oh dear! Your mama locked you in a closet and fed you nothing but raw wheat for days. Either that or you don't eat pig. So you're Jewish? That's cool. Love Passover.
See. Judging over nothing. It's a fun game. Good for the imagination.
Now back to the Blinds. Today I will reach inward, beyond the depths of my chi, to psychoanalyze my Blind Habitation. In essence, I am going to tell you what my Blinds say about me.
My Blinds, and the habits therein, reveal, disclose, manifest and typecast me a Sloppy Conservative.
Why sloppy? That's the simple part. I feel cleaning them is an inefficient and/or negative net worthy use of my time. Net Worth = Time - Benefit. If the Net Worth is a negative number, I don't do it. These days, the Yahoos undo everything I do faster than I do it. Spend three hours cleaning the blinds so as the Yahoos can goober 'em up within 20 minutes? Ain't gonna happen. Economists refer to this as Opportunity Cost.
The Conservative part of my Sloppy Conservative persona is a little more complicated and has many entangled and qirky layers. It all began with my Ma doing what she called "Working The Windows". Sounds dirty doesn't? Like selling your services in a window of the red-light district on 45th Street? Sorry, not this time. Ma wasn't into that.
Before air coniditioning was installed at my childhood house, Working The Windows was the term Ma used for keeping the house cool. It was quite the process. In the morning, the east facing windows were closed and blinded while the west facing windows were opened (this means blinds, windows - the whole shebang.) When the sun was directly above, all windows and blinds were opened. When the sun started to veer west, the west windows and blinds were closed while the east windows and blinds were ventilated. Took all damn day. (Mostly because it took all damn day for the sun to run it's course.)
Now, 25 years later, wouldn't you know, that with my new-fangled air-conditioning system, I still Work the Windows. Not only is it vulgar and wasteful to open an east-facing window in the morning hours, it's like burning twenty dollar bills. Like throwing away a rib-eye. Like tossing a pair of shoes after a measly hundred miles.
I have turned this whole Working the Windows thing into a self-made mini-contest. I like to see how long we can go each day before the ol' AC Machine kicks in. (Due to a gadget called The Thermostat, it comes on automatically when the house is hotter than 77. Magic, eh?)
Another conservative blind revealing layer of my window treatment neurosis? I'm paranoid. We walk around in our underwear and we eat live goats and I beat my children and the Klopeks live in the basement. You do not get to watch the happenings beneath the roof of my suburban shanty. Therefore, I keep the front windows closed unless there's something out front worth spying on. The back (east-facing) windows are opened only because we have a fence... and large trees... and a mote.
Sloppy Conservative. That's what I are.