Things That Could Push Me Over the Edge

Introduction

To begin, I want to assure you that I’m a pretty even-keeled sort, and although in my youth I had quite a temper—my brothers referred to my not-infrequent rages as “fire-ups”—I am very good at keeping it together these days. Still, I know that everyone has a breaking point. Probably it would take the perfect storm of annoyances to push me over the edge, not just a single irritant (such as the incessant call of the whip-poor-will in James Thurber’s eponymous story). The purpose of this post is to give anthropologists, biographers, or police detectives some good leads if somebody, someday, seeks to figure out why a calm, easygoing person like me actually went berserk. So here’s a list of the kinds of things that could, if chained together under the right circumstances, finally push me too far.

Anything involving a fitted sheet

Could it possibly be that in 2026 nobody has improved on the weirdly quasi-rectangular, never-correctly-sized, inexpertly-elasticized fitted sheet? This product’s job is just not that complicated: to stay put on a mattress. Sometimes fitted sheets actually fit, and thus recede into the background, but so often they misbehave: for example, a corner peels away, so you wake up with your sweating skin plastered against the mattress, perhaps imprinted with its weird texture. And where fitted sheets really drive me nuts is when they’re not on the bed. Unlike a top sheet, they’re impossible to fold … no matter how precisely you try to line up the edges, you just end up practically wadding the thing into a ball. And then when you try to mount it on your mattress, you can’t get it oriented—it it behaves like pizza dough you fail to stretch into a disc, only you’re trying for a rectangle. Finally you find the little seams that (if you’re lucky) delineate these edges, and then you’ve got the sheet covering most of the mattress, but that final corner is either way too tight, so you can’t tug it far enough down, or it’s too loose, and you have all this slack to fold under. Every time I deal with a fitted sheet, I almost want to just give up and go sleep on the couch with a sleeping bag.

Stuff stuck in my teeth

I should only eat nuts at home where I have a gum stimulator tool. Otherwise I have all this shrapnel in my teeth I can’t work free, and my tongue gets tired and sore. When this happens on a hike I’ll sometimes pull a thin twig off a tree to use as a toothpick, in which case my wife warns me the twig is poisonous. (The worst part of this scenario is that she actually knows what she’s talking about.) But things get really bad when some sneaky bit of food gets stuck so badly right between two teeth that that it actually hurts. In this case, a toothpick doesn’t always help. In fact, the worst case scenario is that either a toothpick actually breaks in there, compounding the problem, or a piece of dental floss shreds in between the teeth. At such moments life seems literally hopeless.

And speaking of dental floss, even it doesn’t shred, trying to throw away a strand of it can seem futile. I pop the trash can lid up, try to drop the strand in, and it clings to my fingers, or misses the can, or only half of it goes in so it dangles over the side, or—worst case—it falls on the floor and (because I’m usually so exhausted at bedtime) I have trouble even finding it. Can’t Dyson create some kind of Floss-Vac, so that when I’m done flossing I can just press a button and have the floss ripped from my fingers and sucked into a vortex where I never need to think about it again?

Janky POS at gas station

Paying at the gas pump should not be complicated. Every company designing this point of sale interface should just copy an existing design that works. And yet the Service Station Industrial Complex seems to need to innovate. Sometimes it’s loud video ads or byzantine car wash options, or else it’s half a dozen loyalty card options. If I try to use my Safeway card and don’t have any award points, it sometimes hoses the whole transaction; other times, it weirdly gives me the Chevron member discount (which is a mistake, but hey, I’ll take it!). This confusion is only slightly annoying, but what kills me is when the POS wants me to pre-select something. The other day an Arco POS display said, “Enter amount.” Amount of what? Gas, or money? I guessed and put in “6,” figuring consumers care mainly about how many gallons we need, vs. the unpleasant matter of how much we’re forced to pay. Well, I guessed wrong and the pump gave me $6 worth of gas … a little over a gallon, which is of course nearly worthless. But I was like, okay, fine, it wants a dollar figure. So I tried again and put in a generous number, which should have worked, except that after pumping for like 30 seconds the POS realized, hey, this same card was used twice at this pump—an obvious sign of fraud! Stop the fueling! So I got like another half-gallon, plus it locked up my credit card, so I had to call my bank. Amazingly, this isn’t the first time such a thing has happened. Whoever designed this interface should be force-fed gasoline through a beer bong.

Car blasting horn at cyclist

Look, I understand that when I am out bicycling, sharing the road with cars, occasionally a driver will want to make sure I’m aware of his car bearing down on me. A little toot of the horn from, say, 30 feet away is completely appropriate. But I also encounter motorists who wait until they’re five feet from me and then blast the horn. It’s not like I didn’t know they were there, but that unexpected loud blast can just about make me jump out of my skin. The horn is supposed to be for safety; why this need to weaponize it? When this happens, I generally flip the driver the bird. This response might seem strange to you: I mean, what if the driver overreacts? Well, think about it: what’s he gonna do, come after me? He’s ahead of me! If he screeches to a halt, I’ll ride right past. If he waits for me at the next intersection and wants to fight, I’m all for it. After all, I’ll be the only combatant in a helmet.

The last time this happened, a couple weeks ago, I flipped off the driver, and then my riding buddy said, “There were kids in that car.” I grasped his point immediately: I had lucked out! Consider: the driver is an asshole; his young kids know it; and now I’ve taught them an important gesture they can make to their dad on a regular basis. I only wish I could give them a better tutorial, emphasizing that the ring and index fingers don’t curl all the way in, but are positioned such that their knuckles line up with that of the bird finger. But I’m sure those kids will refine their technique over time.

Resurfacing earworm

I am cursed with the ability to remember rock songs in great detail, whether I like them or not. Obviously in the case of a band I love, like Pink Floyd, it’s natural I’d remember every word of every song, along with all the instrumentals—but also intact are all these songs I never even meant to listen to but encountered secondhand because they got a lot of radio play. This means I also know all the lyrics to, say, “Piano Man” by Billy Joel, even though I only liked the song briefly, when I was like seven. Mercifully, lots of the  music from my youth has failed to pass the test of time and, due to zero airplay, finally fades from memory.

Until it comes back. And this, alas, can happen at any time, for no reason. Some minor song like “One Step Ahead of You” by Split Enz will suddenly pop back into my head, and I’ll be like gosh, that’s strange, but then it’s kind of understandable that one would resurface because “one step ahead of you” is a household phrase. But occasionally a song I always despised, and which hasn’t been played on any Bay Area station in decades, and has no reason to be remembered, will pop into my head and then become the soundtrack to my latest anxiety dream, so I hear it all night as I sleep. Most recently the offending song was “Hair of the Dog” by Nazareth. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s the song whose chorus (which is like 90% of the song) goes, “Now you’re messing with a / Son of a bitch!” Why does my brain do this to me? Am I punishing myself for something?

Modern light bulbs

I understand the benefit of modern LED light bulbs: they use like a tenth of the energy of traditional incandescent bulbs. And I’m all for saving the planet, of course. I like to run my lights on a dimmer (which also conserves energy) … but it’s strictly hit or miss how the new bulbs will behave. The same make and model might work this week but not next. How they fail varies quite a bit. The LED bulbs designed for above my stovetop don’t do a damn thing. (I found some non-LED ones on Amazon but they refused to ship them to California due to state law; I had to have like 20 of them shipped to my mom’s place in Oregon.) Other LED bulbs seem to work on the dimmer but occasionally, spontaneously they’ll start flickering like crazy, causing seizures in my epileptic houseguests. Or they’ll just occasionally stop working until I futz with the switch a bunch of times. Completely maddening.

The other issue is, even though these modern bulbs barely use any energy, I can’t get a bright enough bulb for the bathroom. When I shave, I want that bathroom lit up like an operating theatre (and the rest of the time it’s on a dimmer, remember)? But all these LED bulbs max out at some piddly lumen number.

Does your neighborhood feature people leaving totally cool stuff out in their driveways for anyone to take? Sometimes it’s crap, like worn-out, depressingly faded or dirty toys, or waterlogged books. But more of the time it’s great stuff … we once got a beautiful drafting desk, and another time some elegant drinking glasses, and once (as celebrated here) we found a sweet toaster. But perhaps the most satisfying item ever was a box (in front of this old geezer’s house) of old-school incandescent bulbs. I couldn’t believe my luck! I mean, these you cannot buy. It’ll be a sad day when they finally burn out. Just like me I suppose.

People who can’t use calendar software

Among workplace productivity applications, perhaps the most useful is the shared calendar. How did we ever set up meetings before we could instantly see what day and time works for all six attendees? It’s great! Which makes it extra frustrating when colleagues—whom I have no option to avoid having meetings with—choose not to participate. They break the whole system. You go to set up a meeting and their schedule looks like Tetris—they’re triple- or quadruple-booked all day, every day, for the next five years. How many of these meetings are bogus? Answer: all but (possibly) one.

And if you’re attending a meeting, accept the invite! Don’t keep me waiting! I mean, what’s the problem … are you holding out for a better offer? Just keeping your options open? Look, if you don’t accept, I’m either going to have to hassle you, or reschedule, because believe me, I wouldn’t invite you in the first place if you weren’t absolutely necessary to the discussion. Chances are I don’t even like you.

If I were a manager, I would tell my employees, “If I ever see you double-booked on your calendar, you’re fired.” (You might think this would be frowned upon by leadership but actually, I’d be a hero, just for finding a novel way to get rid of more employees.)

Malfunctioning smoke alarm

Is there anything worse than being awakened in the middle of the night by a shrieking smoke alarm? Not only are you jumping out of bed, but you’re legitimately alarmed, especially because so many of these don’t only detect smoke (which at least you can smell) but carbon monoxide (which could silently kill your whole family). So you’re trying to figure out if you need to evacuate the house or just silence the damn thing. And half the time the “Silence” button doesn’t work. After all, the thing is malfunctioning.

It was bad enough when all you had to do was take out the battery—but now there are these factory-sealed models where you can’t. So you have to bury the damn thing like the telltale heart, smothering it in a clothes drawer so you don’t have to hear it anymore.

Bonus points: a certain model I seem to have a weakness for buying has a switch on it called “Deactivate.” It’s so tempting to throw this switch, except you can never go back. I mean, what’s the difference between using this switch and just smashing the alarm with a hammer?

I actually got the manufacturer to warranty a unit recently. The support rep asked what happened. I said that it wouldn’t stop alarming, no matter how many times I pressed “Silence,” and then finally it went silent but now won’t respond to the “Test” button. (I confess I left out the part where I repeatedly beat the alarm with my fist and then threw it on the floor.)

I was traveling recently and my daughter, who was visiting (or I guess technically housesitting since my wife and I weren’t there) called to report a smoke alarm wouldn’t shut up. Before I had a chance to actually advise her, she said, “Oh, wait, here’s a ‘Deactivate’ button!” Before I could stop her she’d thrown the switch. “Thanks a lot, “ I snarled. “You just bricked it.” Then I felt like a jerk, which hurt especially bad because I know it’s true.

Synthesis

I just realized what’s probably going to push me over the edge one day: I’ll be asleep, having an anxiety dream, with “Rock Me Amadeus” playing on infinite loop in my head, and then the smoke alarm will go off, and it won’t shut up, and in my frenzied attempt to smother it I’ll end up trying to wrap it in a fitted sheet!

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Online Holiday Gift Guide!

NOTE: This post is rated R for coarse humor and pervasive profanity.

Introduction

It’s gift-giving time! Let’s go gifting! Or better yet, let’s stay at home in our fuzzy slippers and gift from here! Then we won’t even have to touch the godawful shit we’re foisting on friends and family! All we gotta do is pay! We don’t even have to come up with our own ideas, because it’s not the thought that counts—it’s the money! So here is my online gift guide … all the crap you wouldn’t want for yourself but will gladly—for some reason—give to others!

How about a Keurig?

A Keurig coffeemaker is the gift that says, “I know you can’t figure out coffee filters, French presses, Mr. Coffee, or any other normal way of making coffee!” For the hapless, clueless, or just plain lazy, here’s another giant hunk of single-purpose plastic appliance—the Death Star of coffeemakers—to clutter up that kitchen counter!

It even takes little cartridge pods so your loved one can create maximum waste! And when he loads the pod he can pretend he’s slapping a magazine into some hi-tech weapon! But wait, there’s more! Your lucky recipient doesn’t have to make do with plain old coffee: with specialty K-Cup pods he can enjoy blueberry, caramel vanilla, and even French-toast flavored beverages, and pretend he’s one of those loser kids in the Willy Wonka movie! And that’s not all: this little coffee-brewing jewel comes with a 30” cord so if your gift recipient still manages to screw up his coffee—perhaps by running out of K-Cup pods—he can just strangle himself!

Wow, a nostalgic candle!

Look, you can send that former Texan in your life a fabulous scented candle that says “homesick” on it! That way his friends will know he wishes he still lived there instead of wherever he ended up! Kind of like celebrating the lack of agency in his life!

But it’s not just a statement, it’s an actual candle! It smells like dark leather, fresh pine, fish bones, thick lemon slices (which smell different from thin lemon slices for some reason), combined with cyclamen and a touch of sage to summon the big, bold aura of the Lone Star State! And you what else? Since a big Texan man might think it’s a bit wussy to have a fancy candle in his home, it also smells a lot like an old dried-out cow pie! But just in case that seems kind of dirt-baggy, the label informs guests that this candle is “Made in small batches in the USA!” Holy shit, this big-hearted, big-hatted dude is gonna love it! It’s the elegant home furnishing that says “Don’t mess with Texas!”

Internet-connected, voice-activated smoke detector!

This hot little number is for that special person who is good and fed up with standard smoke alarms that, when they go on the blink—and they always do—are impossible to silence. They shriek and howl, as does anybody in earshot, and no little button can ever stop the sound, nothing can, not until you’ve clawed at the alarm, banged on it, and eventually ripped it out of the ceiling, taking those stupid little molly-bolts and a bunch of drywall with it, and smashed it on the floor. Well, those days are finally over for the person lucky enough to be on your gift list! Finally, when this thing goes off—announcing in a computer voice (that is somehow even more excruciating than the standard shrieking) exactly what dangerous vapor is supposedly threatening her home—she just can scream at it, “ALEXA: SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Macho coffee!

Give your boyfriend, husband, father, or son the gift that says, “I’m all about turning every aspect of my life into a pissing contest!” It’s badass coffee in a black package with a daring skull-and-crossbones logo!

And in case that’s not enough to impress his guests, it even has a warning label on the back!

Oh my god, this shit could kill somebody who isn’t ready for a big, bold taste and gobs of caffeine! And you know what? If you bought this poor bastard a Keurig coffeemaker last year and he’s still trying to fish his male ego out of the gutter, this strong-ass coffee will be perfect!

Electric roller skates that are also Segways!

You know that nerdy friend who actually wanted a Segway, but couldn’t afford one? And wanted the Google Glass but couldn’t get on the list? The friend who wishes there was a such thing as a wireless Internet-connected fanny pack? Well guess what? Segway makes “Electric Hovershoes” which are like roller skates you get to stand on instead of wearing! And they’re electric! And they have headlights and taillights!

These things are so fucking weird your friend will think they’re a hoax, until he tries them! Who’s laughing now!? He’ll be so thrilled he’ll almost die, until he finds out you don’t have a pair yourself so he’ll have to go skating all by his lonesome! But guess what? That’s just more babes for him! Win-win!

The Sweetgrass Boxed Set!

That sensitive—and literary—soul in your life probably can’t get enough books about humility, our sacred earth, and how to rebuild our relationships with plants, animals, and humans alike, learning from our plant-based elders. She also can’t get enough beautiful words like “meadow” and “compassion.” So give her the gift of sweetgrass—a treasure trove of books on the subject!

Included are Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Road Back to Sweetgrass: A Novel by Linda LeGarde Grover, Sweetgrass by Jan Hudson, Sweetgrass Basket by Marlene Carvell, Sweetgrass by Mary Alice Monroe, and—just for the hell of it—Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman’s Search for Everything by Elizabeth Gilbert! And they’re all packaged up in a beautiful faux-sweetgrass box lined with—you guessed it!—satin.

Camouflage bedding!

There’s a certain kind of man in your life who doesn’t have the time—or the headspace—for humility, for our sacred earth, for rebuilding relationships, or for plant-based elders. He’s a glowering, brooding type … and you know what he’s brooding about? Security. Protection. He doesn’t pretend for a minute that there aren’t threats—very real threats, clear and present dangers—and being prepared for them always falls to him since the little woman has her head in the clouds over satin-lined gift boxes and journeys to authenticity and belonging, shit like that. Who’s gonna keep this family safe during the most vulnerable time—when everybody’s lying in bed, fast asleep? Well, those dangerous would-be burglars and kidnappers will have to find this family first, am I right? And just try it with these badass camouflage bed sheets.

And guess what? If that intruder bastard’s tactical flashlight does foil the camo, there’s another little surprise in store: this comforter is an American fucking flag! Just so that bitch-ass punk knows what kind of patriot he’s dealing with! If he doesn’t just absolutely shit himself on the spot, he must be blind or something!

Sloth tea infuser!

There’s nothing worse than giving a humdrum gift, right? It’s always better to give your loved one something that causes utter bewilderment. Imagine your mirth when the lucky recipient unwraps this flabby figurine and resists the urge to blurt out, “What the hell is it?!” Well, she’ll figure it out. It’s a (pretend) sloth that your friend or cousin fills with her favorite loose tea and hangs on the end of her mug—or better, on the edge of her glass, so she can watch the lazy mammal appear to pee in her hot water!

And not to worry, this clever little sloth is made of food-safe, BPA-free silicone so it’s soft, non-toxic, and (obviously) tasteless! Your friend can stop worrying about teabags clogging up landfills or compost bins … clean-up is a cinch! She just discards the loose tea leaves, and hell, while she’s at it, the whole damn sloth as well! Throw its arboreal ass out into the street!

Star Wars cookbook!

The perfect gift for that rare, rare breed: the Star Wars fanatic who knows how to cook, or wants to learn! Inspired by Disneyland and the almost incomprehensibly venal cynicism of Hollywood, this actual hardback book is full of recipes for such made-up non-foods as Roasted Kajaka Root, Fried Endorian Tip-Yip, and Parwan Nutricakes.

The recipient’s dinner guests will have no basis to evaluate the authenticity of these dishes, so it’s a can’t-lose proposition! Maybe you’ll get invited over for Laser-Fried Deep Space Oysters (yes, that does mean wookie testicles)!

Freak his shit out!

OMG, do you have one of those boyfriends who’s totally insensitive about others’ crippling emotional problems? The kind of guy who learns that a mutual friend is in therapy and says something coarse about it behind the person’s back, like “Get a backbone”? Well, no time like the holidays to turn the tables! Get that callous motherfucker a pair of custom-printed boxers with your face right in the crotch! 

He’ll be freaking out and sweating bullets even before you insist, quite forcefully, that he put them on! Drag him over to the mirror and say something shocking like, “Look babe, you’ve got me where you want me!” Hold his damn eyelids open like in A Clockwork Orange and make him look at that shit!

When he stammers out some incredulous protest, you’ll be like, “What’s the matter, honey? Don’t you like them?” He’ll be so emotionally shattered he’ll lose his sex drive altogether! He’ll wake up in the night screaming! And then you break up with that insensitive prick! His New Year’s Resolution will be to try to put the pieces of his psyche back together!

Incongruous t-shirt!

Everyone on your list could use a new t-shirt—and this isn’t just any t-shirt. It says “Unicorns are born in July” on it because, well, God, who the hell knows? I guess that’s kind of the point, right? Unless I’m missing something? Damn, this thing is perfect!

Imagine your joy watching that friend, daughter, or sister do the math, trying to figure out when exactly those unicorn parents had sex to give birth in July. Except how long does a unicorn gestate? That’s an easy one—340 days!

Now, you might think this gift is only appropriate for someone born in July who identifies as a unicorn, right? Wrong! Everyone else can wear this shirt ironically!

Vanity beard comb!

If your man not only has a beard that’s so long he has to comb it, but is willing to actually take time doing this, let’s face it: chances are he’s a bit of a narcissist. But that doesn’t mean he’s not vain, too! Make sure you stroke his ego along with his beard, with this beautiful walnut-wood beard comb engraved with “DANGEROUS MAN.”

Yes, he’s not only a hipster, but he’s a bit of a rogue! Kind of a blackguard, really, and not above a bit of savagery—you gotta keep an eye on him! This little folding comb suggests those straight razors that certain murderers like to cut throats with, but don’t worry, these teeth don’t bite! Your man’s beard has never been so soft—and his heart so hard! Are you getting hot yet?

Just a shit-ton of batteries!

You know what’s harder than finding the perfect gift? Charging those stupid nickel-metal hydride batteries! What a pain in the ass. Those stupid chargers with the little colored lights that make no sense—like, why does it light up green when I plug it in, when I’m pretty sure these batteries are dead? Does the light go out when they’re charged, or does this mean the battery is already charged? Is this charger fucking stupid? Well guess what? Your lucky friend or family member doesn’t have to worry about that anymore, because you just gave him a shit-ton of old-school, single-use batteries!

And it’s all guilt-free because he didn’t choose them and it’s too late now to worry about it! For once he won’t be secretly bummed about his gift and thinking, “What am I gonna do with this?” With this inarguably useful gift, you’ll be a damned hero!

Note

In case you’re wondering, all of the above are real products except the Braiding Sweetgrass Boxed Set. All the books listed are real but you can’t actually get them in a boxed set (at least, not yet).

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