New Fangled Gadgetry

I don’t like dishwashers. I don’t trust them to get my dishes clean. I’ve owned my condo for almost 8 years and I think I’ve used the dishwasher once. Maybe. I can’t really remember. We never had a dishwasher growing up so my brother and I were assigned dishwashing duty every night after dinner. We would play, fight, and then report transgressions to my parents, who were seriously trying to ignore our petty squabbles while drinking tea and reading the newspaper in the living room.

Rob owns a dishwasher and uses it for everything. I swear, if he could wash his clothes in there, he would! Not really but he is as obsessed with his dishwasher as I am inclined to avoid it. He doesn’t run it every night, especially when he’s there alone during the week. Sometimes, we will run it once or twice on the weekend when I am visiting but I refuse to load it. The thought of opening a contraption, half filled with dirty dishes, to put in more dirty dishes, does not appeal to me.

I love it when I go to set the table and I find schmeek (unidentified food stuff) on his “clean” dishes. It gives me great pleasure to show these dirty dishes to him and then wash them by hand. It is only then that I feel they are really clean. I know I’m weird. Don’t even get me started on dirty sinks. My mother thinks that obsession started at a very young age when she used to ask me to clean the bathroom. I would do the sink but not the toilet or the bathtub. They were just too ‘icky’ for me. Dishwasher = icky.

I also don’t like cell phones. They are the bane of 21st century civilization. I know I’ve ranted about this before but lack of cell phone etiquette bears repeating. Don’t you just hate it when you’re in a conversation with someone, face-to-face, and they interrupt you so that they can check their Blackberry or answer their cell phone? Most of my friends who are handicapped with cell phones know that I do not tolerate this behaviour and think twice about answering anything, except maybe the doorbell, when they’re sharing my personal space. I sometimes catch Rob taking surreptitious glances at his Blackberry when he thinks I’m still sleeping. I feel sorry for him, standing there, bathed in the synthetic blue glow of his little addictive, electronic friend. *sigh*