I’m in a bad mood this morning. It’s the only way to make New Year’s resolutions — to be in a bad mood. Because that means that most of my resolutions will pertain to the actions of other people, not me.
For one, I’m done associating with anyone who uses the phrase “torn asunder.” Those words just make me really, really angry for some reason.
I understand that by disavowing this phrase I only risk disassociating myself from preachers, poets and songwriters and that this, technically, is no great loss. Point taken. But when you clean house you start with the catbox, that’s the way I’m looking at it.
Next on my list are traffic reporters who tell me that the accident occurred “at the 26-mile marker.” Do you know where the 26-mile marker is? The planet Mars, that’s where. If you can’t be troubled to give me a local landmark, then don’t bother.
And don’t give me any “Exit 15,” either, because you know where Exit 15 is? It’s at mile-marker 15, which is what got me so mad in the first place.
I do understand that the media just parrot what the police tell them, which is why no one ever gets cuts and bruises anymore, they get lacerations and contusions. Please. I don’t think it makes the murder victim feel any better to think that it wasn’t a baseball bat to his dome that did him in, it was “blunt-force trauma.”
But if anyone needs any blunt-force trauma it’s the ice-cream manufacturers, because I’m getting real tired of this little liters/quarts hopscotch game they’ve been playing to mask their downsizing, not to mention the cartons that are shrinking back to front, so it looks head-on as if the box is in the same size. If they keep it up, pretty soon they’ll just be selling us a flat piece of cardboard with a picture of vanilla beans on it.
At least that’s a real problem, unlike the mutual bogeymen of the national debt and climate change; it’s getting so that the introduction of either topic into the conversation makes me want to open a vein.
Yeah, the national debt. Bad debt, terrible, naughty, evil debt. It’s going to be the downfall of us all. Oh yeah? Like — when? Look, the stock market’s up, interest rates are almost nonexistent, there’s no inflation and stores still carry beer. Really, the only way my economic situation gets any better is if they bring back Cash for Clunkers. If this is the product of a national debt, I can live with it.
Can’t we please just throw the national debt on the same scrap heap of topics that are no longer relevant, like the trade deficit “crisis” that everyone was on fire about back in the ’80s before we finally realized that It Just Didn’t Matter?
Ditto climate change. You mean I’m going to have to suffer through a December where the temperature never dips below 40? Oh bother. Shame about the glaciers and all, but at least climate change is interesting — floods, hurricanes, wildfires, tornadoes and blizzards. I’d much rather read about them than some talentless woman who gets stuffed down our throats morning noon and night for divorcing a basketball player that nobody’s ever heard of.
Let’s give climate change and the debt the same treatment we gave to the national power grid: We were horrified with its condition for about two weeks, until we blessedly came to the conclusion that fixing it would just be too hard.
And while I’m on the subject, I plan to personally skin the next person I hear using the adjective “crumbling” before the word “infrastructure.”
Not that I want to sound like I’m complaining.
Tim Rowland is a Herald-Mail columnist. He can be reached at 301-733-5131, ext. 6997, or via email at email@example.com. Tune in to the Rowland Rant at www.herald-mail.com, on www.antpod.com or on Antietam Cable’s WCL-TV Channel 30 at 6:30 p.m. New episodes are released every Wednesday.