Thursday, January 06, 2005


Just got through another heated exchange with my big time Democratic co-worker. What was the topic you say? Taxes? Religion? Terrorism? Nope, we were covering the woes of the stupid clawfoot tubs they carry in the big hardware stores. I mean, look at this crap:

They're made of the same stuff as a ten dollar trash can, but the fact that they molded it after a centuries old tub makes it worth $1500! I told her that they could just as well stamp "Little Tikes" on the side and sell it as a $50 toy.

This discussion comes hot on the heels of such exchanges as "when to prune roses", and "what breed of rhodies do you have?". Before I owned a home, I remembered coworkers having 'intriguing' conversations like this and thinking to myself "why don't you both go drown yourselves in the toilet right now?". I figured it was just painful idle chit-chat they felt they had to partake in. But, low and behold, once I was an official homeowner I actually found such conversations interesting.

I don't know where I get it from. My mom and dad were always too busy to mutz with their house (six kids and job for each will do that), and so I came out of the school of "Do Just Enough To Keep The Court Orders Away" school of home care. I don't when I became such a prude (well, a 'D' grade prude at least) about how my house. Lotax over at SA has covered this effect in depth:
I hadn't originally given much thought process to the mental effects owning a home would cause. I assumed that I'd be the same dopey jackass that I was before, content to simply slouch around and occasionally glance away from my computer monitor when I suspected something I owned was either on fire or getting urinated upon by my cats. Nobody told me the cold hard truth about becoming a homeowner: it changes you in ways you cannot imagine. Your entire sense of reality and priorities shift in a way that none of your friends will be able to recognize you, like in that one movie where Tom Cruise was all popular and rich and handsome, then he got in a car accident and nobody liked him anymore because he had become ugly and a Scientologist.


Jill said...

LOL ;) Funny...
However, I myself have always liked the claw foot tub.

Evil Sandmich said...

I like claw foot tubs, and I even don't mind the plastic ones too much. It's just that from a distance, it looks like a real claw foot tub, but when someone gets closer, they'll think you cheap'd out by getting a $1500 plastic one. I don't mind cheap'n out as long as that's what I'm doing!

I mean really, it's not the thing is custom made or anything. It's a Chinaman pulling on a lever and punching these things out by the thousands.

murrayT said...

Mr. Evil... If people your age would just pause and cool their jets they would realize that S.S. can survive quite well over the next 40 years. All that is necessary is to elect legislators who keep their hand out of the till. (you know... the "old lockbox") How do you do that you say? Why it's easy. Just never vote for an incumbant until they finally get the message. Oh, and one other thing. They must raise the ceiling on S.S. contributions so that the over paid contribute a fair share. Most of my life I paid on 100% of my earnings so why shouldn't they?