It’s the Thought that Counts.

The giving and receiving continue.  I appear to be about to give various businesses a pile of money, as the television (nearly five years old), the stove (somewhere between thirty and forty years old, from various clues of industrial design), and the toilet (likely contemporary with the house, built in 1959) are all showing signs of failure in one degree or another.  I am hoping that the toilet’s issue is no more than a wax ring too long in service, as that’s something I can deal with myself, but the appliances almost certainly need replacement.

I have received one of two prizes I’ve recently been awarded on the blogs of others.  The arrival stems from a (US) Thanksgiving effort of The Peaceable Writer, while the ocean between me and Lady Dandelion makes for an obviously longer wait.  I’m pleased to report that Winter has not damaged the ink bottles which made their way up from the US.

The dispassionate reader might think, “He’s down some on the balance, here.”  In strict economics, I suppose this is true, as less ink than would fit in a small juice box is less costly than a couple of major appliances.  In my own somewhat ideosyncratic estimation, though, I’m well ahead.

Howso?  Well, if I may be somewhat new-age-y and esoteric, it’s best to focus on the positive.  “What’s the worst that can happen?” is probably the most provocative phrase in English to an animate Universe or the Fates (whichever you prefer), but not far behind is, “Well, at least things can’t get any worse.”  If you’re coherent enough to frame the phrase, there’s definitely some worse available.  I don’t need any, thanks.  I’ll stick with better.

Very slightly less vapourous is the notion of the intent behind the event.  In the case of the blog-loot, we have a a couple of nice people who have decided to spread happiness around by sharing a little of what they’ve got.  An active effort was made to enhance the sum-total of joy in the world, the sort of gesture that a few enlightened nations view as a more valid indicator of a functional body politic than Gross National Product.

Against that, there is simple, mindless entropy.  No intention whatever behind it, and so nothing to throw into the pan to measure against the weight of the benignity.  At worst, someone behind the TV didn’t care whether the thing would last or not, and while that is sort of the curse of the modern age it is in the end simple negligence.  No moustache-twirler in a black cape shouted, “Ho ho!  When this TV kacks out a half-decade hence, a Who down in Whoville will cry, ‘Boo hoo hoo!'”  Mere neglect counts for less than active concern.  Therefore, I win.

I do, by the way, have a small thing to say about a pen tomorrow.  I imagine you’re wondering when I’ll get back on track.

Today’s durable good:  Sheaffer Sentinel
Today’s ink:  Diamine China Blue