I am the (Second) Law (of Thermodynamics)

Thirty-five years of bitter experience have led me to suspect that my body somehow generates an entropic field, from which no device more sophisticated than a simple pulley is safe from its effects. Take the sturdiest, most idiot-proof piece of machinery, put it in my custody for the briefest period of time, and I guarantee that some unforeseen fault will manifest itself in the most spectacular manner imaginable. Automobiles, home electronics, power tools, sharpened sticks – it doesn’t matter; all have (and will) malfunction if left in my presence. It’s the main reason I don’t like to borrow things from people.

It’s not that I’m especially clumsy or that I’m baffled by the material legacy of higher primate-dom. I’m not a particularly “hard” user who treats his possessions like they’re all disposable commodities. I read the manuals. I keep up with the recommended preventative maintenance routines. I’m savvy to the inner workings of the machine spirits – hell, I have to be, otherwise I’d be dropping wads of cash every other week on repair and/or replacement costs.

I was doing some housecleaning today, when I decided that the easiest way to get at some spilled bird seed behind one of the shelves would be to use the wand attachment of my wife’s vacuum cleaner. I was a little hesitant about doing that, though, because I broke the previous vacuum cleaner while using it Ghostbusters-style to get rid of some flies on the living room ceiling fan. (The entopic field wasn’t to blame in that case, just a very misguided flash of inspiration.) I replaced the broken machine, with the understanding that I would leave vacuuming-related maters to my wife in the future.

Sucking up some spilled sunflower seeds isn’t the same as playing amateur Orkin Man, though. I mean, that’s what the machine was designed to do, right? Millions of people use their vacuums for similar tasks every day. So what could go wrong?

Well, the machine could shit the bed, for starters, which it did halfway through the job. The motor gave up the ghost, leaving behind the all-too-familiar acrid tang of ozone and burnt plastic in the air. The smell of machine death. The smell of “Oh, fuck. I’m really in for it now.” Because, honestly, how does one explain to one’s spouse how they’ve managed to destroy a second vacuum cleaner in the space of six months, especially when the previous incident suggested an inability to grasp the basic principles of appliance use?

With some heavy duty self-abasement, of course, along with a visit to the vacuum cleaner section of the Target website. And a solemn vow to never ever use, touch, or even glance in the general direction of the household vacuum cleaner as long as I ever live.

Entropy may be inevitable, but why not pass the time until the heat death of the universe with some contemporary synthpop and classic punk rock?

Soviet – Breakdown (from We Are Eyes, We Are Builders, 2002)

The Buzzcocks – Breakdown (from the Spiral Scratch EP, 1977)