Elan Morgan is a writer and web designer who works from Elan.Works, a designer and editor at GenderAvenger, and a speaker who has spoken across North America. They believe in and work to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

Nine Things Of Which I Am Suspicious

Barbara from Just Another Ink-Stained Wretch mentioned a few things of which she is suspicious, and I thought: I like the word suspicious. I do. And, I am also highly suspicious of a great many things. Hand in glove, a new list was born.

Nine Things Of Which Schmutzie Is Suspicious:

  • Long lineups. It seems to be the rule that whenever I have been in a long line-up, the reward at the end is less than satisfying. I was once hired to wait in line in an underground parking garage so that I could purchase an annual parking pass for someone. The fifty dollars I was paid just was not what I thought it would be after fourteen hours under orange fluorescent lights trying to sleep in a lawn chair while having to weather wannabe-cool guy setting up and playing retro Donkey Kong next to me. Yes, I got it. You made that oil-stained, concrete floor into another version of your living room. My mind was blown. Die.

  • Poop that floats. Good poop doesn't float.

  • Fruit in anything cooked. Fruit is perfect by itself and turns slimy when cooked. It begs no alteration. Why on earth would anyone take a perfectly good plum, stew it, stuff it inside bland dough, and then further smother it with heavy cream sauce? I have no idea why, but my relatives do it all the time. They call it plume verenike. I call it disgusting.

  • The back corners of cupboards, especially if said cupboard is high up. My brain likes to make up mice or roaches out of the dark recesses behind towels and old boxes. It makes up phantasmagoric creatures with exoskeletons and furry manes. I am sure I hear the clicking of hard feet pacing behind the bottle of the previous tenant's wood oil soap. As a result, the backs of my cupboards become more terrifying by the year. One day I will be able to reinvent my apartment as Schmutzie's Phantasmagoria Emporium and charge an entrance fee and sell snow globes.

  • Hot alcoholic beverages. I cannot separate hot and caffeine from each other. They shall not be torn asunder. I want my beer frosty, my whiskey on the rocks, and my coffee hot and sobering.

  • Anything that does not have an apparent purpose, such as any lone individual standing on a street corner who is not waiting to cross the street. I want them to have a purpose. I want for everything to have a purpose. Why are you standing there? There is nothing to do there. You are not with anyone. Street corners are generally ugly. Why? Why? Why? Are you reveling in your shoes' excellent arch support? Are you counting how many yellow cars drive by in an average hour? What? Walk, check your watch as though you are waiting for something, eat a sandwich. What kind of life is this? Just do something.

  • Attics turned into livable rooms. I always suspect that the floorboards were only ever meant to support a ceiling, and I get a touch of vertigo with the fear of plummeting through the ceiling cum floor and breaking my legs. I want to see those official inspection papers, mister, if you expect me to stop lying spread-eagle on the floor to keep my weight evenly distributed over the greatest area.

  • Metal zippers on clothing. I think this one is directly related to the fact of my Canadian childhood. Those of us who are old enough to remember when manufacturers were so clueless as to install metal zippers on children's winter coats will remember the lesson learned through trial error that wet noses, fingers, and tongues could freeze to your coat's zipper really fast in subzero temperatures. That is less fun than ripping off bandaids.

  • Toasters. I have had a fear of toasters since childhood. It is like they are alive what with the heating up and turning orange inside and popping up unexpectedly and toasting however they like regardless of the dial setting. Also, they want to start on fire. I just know it. If you see someone at the office concentrating on the toaster throughout the duration of the toasting process and then unplugging it with frightful speed, that's me.
  • And then, just like that, I am turning this into a meme and making up some rules, because that's how I roll:

    1. Write a list of things of which you are suspicious. Any number of them will do. Even the number 0 works. This is the first meme that can be done without even doing it. In fact, you're doing it right now.
    2. Include the list of rules, if you feel like it.
    3. Link back to the person who tagged you. Or not.
    4. Tag however many people you want to tag. You can skip this step.
    5. If you acted on rule four, leave comments on their websites to let them know that they have been tagged. This step is also completely optional.

    The following seven people have been duly apprised of the situation:
  • Jon of Ransom Note Typography
  • Daysgoby
  • Maureen of I'd Rather Be Blogging
  • Sweetisu
  • Abigail of Abigail's Road To Nowhere
  • Jennifer of Open Book
  • and, of course, the Palinode
  • I am a participant in NaBloPoMo. Check out the upper right sidebar and vote for me in the 2008 Blogger's Choice Awards.

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