What irks you?

Pity by William Blake, c. 1795

Being the particular person I am, I bitch about little things. Often it's a sign, of which someone spent thousands to make, with atrocious typographic sensibility. Or when people try to make things fancy, like the humble grilled cheese sandwich. If you follow me on Twitter, this is not news.

But I don't complain about big things. I mean, I care about things like the economy and policy and whatever else people get worked up about, but I do not let them rustle my feathers. Maybe it's because I don't have a grand vision of the world, or maybe it's more that I don't buy what the visionaries are selling. Even if they had good ideas, the chances of them being realized are slim to none.

So I whine about the leftovers of bad ideas: the terrible traffic patterns devised by C-grade suburban planners, thirteen dollar cups of coffee spit out of wrecked espresso machines, and the butter boards which took over morning talk shows last fall.

Do I have control over these things, however specific I can be in their criticism? No, no I don't. In fact, this spiritual practice of mine is surely counter-intuitive. There may be but a dozen grand narratives that could rile you up, but the barrage of stupidity is unending. Every day, I encounter someone doing something ridiculous, and I of course snarl in response.

Is this some sort of neo-buddist exposure therapy? Also no. While I think exposure therapy may be psychology's most useful tool, I'm no fan of numbing one's relationship with the world around them.

So why do I pay attention to these things, if not to punish myself?

I'm in search of opinion, of a better description for the worlds I do and don't want to reside. It's the opposite of growing numb, really. I instead want to be able to imagine the world I want to live in, using concrete nouns and verbs and adjectives. One should be able to communicate a vision of a habitable future, beyond the empty words that accompany the grand narratives.

So, you have my permission to complain, dear reader.

Now tell me, what irks you?