.SOMETIMES RAW.

If you are a book nerd like me, it’s impossible to spend more than 20 minutes online without coming across the following quote from filmmaker John Waters — “If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck ’em!” 

Whether or not he actually said the quote doesn’t matter, it sounds genuine enough that it’s taken on a life of its own. Etsy and similar sites are filled with tote bags, shirts, hats, and even fucking decorative pillows bearing the quote. It appeals to a certain type of book snob, of which I am one, but not that type of snob.

I don’t particularly care whether or not you read books as long as you subscribe to my wonderful website, www.sometimesraw.com, but I do care about whether you show those books the proper respect. That’s why I lose my mind whenever I see color-coded bookshelves. Any book nerd knows these insta posts #shelfie or #bookstagram and ways on how to make your bookshelf prettier.

Even the dumbest book you can imagine — which for me is “Hillbilly Elegy” — deserves to be recognized as more than just another prop to make your Zoom background really pop. Or to take the place of actual art in a misguided attempt to simultaneously create an aesthetic and give the impression that you’re well-read. The fact that there are Etsy stores selling books by the foot (2 feet = 60cm) makes my point that this practice is disrespectful to the very purpose of a book.

This is how a bookshelf should look. There’s a little something there for everybody: fiction, non-fiction, periodicals, shit I wrote, shit my friends wrote, my grandma’s super old still functioning typewriter, a candle, a cookbook, some comics and more.

One of my favorite things to do when I’m at someone’s place for the first time is to peruse their bookshelves. I like to see if we’ve read the same things, if they’ve read things I’ve been thinking about reading, and, if they have some books I can borrow. So when I approach their shelf my thoughts are along the lines of, “Wonder if they’ve ever read any Howard Zinn?” and never, “I haven’t read a purple book in a while, wonder if they have any good ones?” 

I’m not trying to come off as a hater, at least not entirely. But I do firmly believe that when your bookshelf is designed to be looked at in purely the most superficial way I’m not wrong in assuming you don’t give a shit about what’s inside of those books. If only there was some sort of idiom I could call on to illustrate my point… 

Beyond that, I like to think of a bookshelf as a living organism that is always altering its appearance. Organizing it by color ends up making it static. For example, if you take out a blue book, you need to find another blue book to take its place, or if you buy a new book, there better be room in the indigo section, or it won’t be able to find a spot on the shelf. 

My mom will probably laugh upon hearing me say this, but I’m not against the concept of organization. All of my graphic novels are on one shelf. Most of my dense-as-hell history books are in their own bookcase. And my Russian novels are spread throughout all of my bookcases because those bastards are so big they work as bookends. Thanks, Tolstoy! 

Maybe I’m just being an asshole. I have been working on curbing those urges lately, so I should probably stop being such a snob about books… but I do believe my heart is in the right place. If it wasn’t for the hundreds of books I’ve read over the years I’d be a pretty dull person to hang out with. My love of writing (which is sometimes done in a form called “books”) has shaped everything about who I am, so when I see the writing being treated as an afterthought it pisses me off. “The Master and Margarita” is proudly displayed on my shelf because it’s a brilliant allegory about Soviet Russia with some of the most beautiful prose I’ve ever encountered, not because of the cover’s earth tones. 

Before I bring this post to a close, there is one book-storage method that is even more infuriating to me than color-coding. It’s whatever is going on behind Jenny Mustard (the Youtube infcluencer) here in her minimalistic living room. This is certified psychopath shit. 

Have the books’ spines been removed? Were they painted? I want to fully understand what’s going on here… but I’m not going to wait to start hating on it. This is terrible. The worst. 

I’m sorry. I spoke too soon. This is 10,000 times worse than color-coding.

Please sound off down below and let me know how you organize your books (or if you don’t organize them at all). Hell, if you show me an amazing color-coded bookshelf there’s a chance that I might come around on the subject. It’s an incredibly slim chance, but never say never…

What is the main use of leaf blowers?
Leaf blowers allow us to powerfully blow leaves into big piles. This is totally awesome. It ensures that humanity has unobstructed views of the naked ground at any time of the year.

Is viewing the naked ground really that good?
Definitely. As Emily Brontë wrote, “Every leaf speaks horrors to me, fluttering from the autumn tree as it says, ‘Just wait until I fall and block your view of the ground. Then you won’t like me very much, will you?’”

Are there any health benefits to leaf blowers?
Absolutely. Each fall, thousands of people accidentally step on dry leaves, which causes a terrifying and unexpected “crunch” sound. Many barefoot people accidentally step on wet leaves, and this feels super slimy and gross. These leaf-steppers often become startled and topple over, leading to sprains, concussions, or death. Leaves are dangerous, and we must blow them away so they can no longer hurt us.

Are there any statistics on leaf deaths?
Over 7,000 people per month lose their lives to leaves. Before leaf blowers, this number stood at 135,000.

Couldn’t we get rid of leaves by burning them?
No. Burning leaves is illegal and environmentally unsound. When burned, leaves emit a noxious smoke that coats our world in a miasma of pure, unadulterated fall.

What do leaf blowers sound like?
Gas-powered leaf blowers emit a gentle whir similar to a white noise machine that lulls a baby asleep, except it is sharper, more piercing and mechanical, and louder than four riding lawnmowers stacked on top of each other.

From how far away can you hear a leaf blower?
Roughly from across the Grand Canyon through a concrete wall.

What are the economic benefits of leaf blowers?
Leaf blowers directly contribute to the employment of more than 500,000 deaf people.

Where are leaf blowers most commonly used?
In leaf-dense areas directly outside your bedroom window.

When are leaf blowers most commonly used?
They are operated on mornings when you just had a rough night’s sleep. They are also used when you are trying to meditate, nap, read, talk on the phone, record a podcast, focus on anything, or hear the sound of your own thoughts.

What if I hear a leaf blower and need to escape the noise?
Not to worry. The soothing hum of a leaf blower can be easily blocked by closing all windows, inserting a pair of foam earplugs, putting on a pair of over-the-ear noise-cancelling headphones, cranking up Slayer’s 1986 opus Reign in Blood, and huddling in a closet under a lead blanket.

Who invented the leaf blower?
Roberto Kioritz, PhD, founder of the Kioritz Corporation of America, a company built on two timeless values:

1. Fallen leaves are evil, and we must blow them into huge piles and imprison them in dark trash bags.
2. The ground is beautiful when it is naked.

Where can I learn more about Roberto Kioritz and his exciting philosophy?
Excellent question. You can read Kioritz’s memoir Blown Away: My Quest to Rid the World of Fallen Leaves and Make a Hell of a Lot of Whirring Noises.

Kioritz further elaborated on his ideas in his follow-up book, I Always Want to See the Ground Naked: Why Human Happiness Requires Getting These Damn Leaves Out of the Way So I Can Look at Buck-Naked Lawns, Sidewalks, and Parking Lots All Year Round.

Both books were best sellers and are highly recommended for leaf-blower aficionados.

Could we rake leaves instead of blowing them?
We have tried. Lord knows we have tried.

What was Roberto Kioritz’s relationship to rakes?
Dr. Kioritz’s father, Roberto Kioritz Sr., once tried to rake his yard leaves into a huge pile. But his rake, like all rakes, was weak. The rake missed a leaf. When he inadvertently stepped on the leaf, it startled him with a loud “crunch,” and he toppled over, dying instantly. Roberto Jr. vowed to one day build a device to battle Mother Nature. He envisaged a machine so loud that it would “forever drown out Papa’s final death scream.”

So we have to blow on leaves forever? Is there no other way to defeat them?
Leaves cannot be defeated or destroyed. They can only be blown into piles, imprisoned in dark bags, and buried beneath the ground for all eternity.

A Rock: Feel how solid it is. How smooth. How heavy. Like, really heavy. Good lord. Was your kid lugging it around all week? Is this the burden we all bear—lugging around rocks that we thought, for just a fleeting moment, were special? What rocks in our own backpack can we unload? And will your kid remember this particular rock and have a fit when they discover you threw it in the rockpile outside?

A Broken Stick: The stick is broken, barely hanging together. So is the world. You can take comfort in knowing that all things are broken. Your kid will probably not take such comfort. Is it better to conceal the broken stick or confront the reality of its brokenness? A difficult decision in much of life. But not here, since it’s just before dinner and your kid is already hangry.

Wet Bathing Suit: It is cool and damp. Let the coolness rest on your fingers. Let the vaguely moldy smell waft through your nostrils. Wonder whether this was the suit your kid wore Monday. How is it still in here? You have emptied the backpack completely twice and partially twice, so you couldn’t have missed it? Marvel at the mystery of the suit and the uncertainties of life. Wonder whether the mildewy smell will come out in the wash.

Gimp Bracelet (incomplete): Observe the twisting strands of color. Individually, they are weak and monochrome, but working together they are strong and vibrant. Ignore the clash of the colors and that one piece that’s braided incorrectly that could be fixed if you could just undo those last two stitches. Your kid would never know, and it would be fixed. But you would know. So you summon your strength to let the imperfection remain. (Probably.)

A Feather: Feel the feather’s softness between your fingers. Then feel the hand sanitizer you will need to remove the disgusting germs from them. What kind of bird was it? How high did it fly and what summits did it soar over? Was it covered in mites? The feather, in repeated motion, has allowed the bird to fly. It also, in repeated motion, has been thrown out by you and retrieved by your kid. You will remember to bury it deeper in the trash next time.

Half-Eaten Piece of Fruit: Observe the squishy peach. Or possibly apple. No, it’s definitely a peach. Your fingers squished through to the pit. Don’t we all have a solid core within our pliable exterior? Shouldn’t we all carry the seeds of the next generation within us? Shouldn’t this thing have been put back in its plastic bag or at least wrapped in a napkin? Ugh. Gross.

Crumpled “Important Updates” Info Sheet for Parents: Unfurl the ancient text bearing words of wisdom—about other kids’ severe nut allergies, important date changes, and payment schedules. Marvel at how the written word can transmit information across time. Note, disconcertingly, that this sheet is school letterhead, not camp, and that you are therefore reading it not days late, but weeks or months. Mull the passage of time. Do not mull the arguments that ensued due to the information you never received.

Another Rock: Feel the bumps and ridges on this second, less interesting rock, which was buried even deeper in the backpack. Feel less guilty about tossing this rock out, as you know it will land at least somewhat near its former backpack-mate in the rockpile outside.

Sand: Let the sand flow between your fingers. Consider how each sand particle, when seen up close, is its own intricate world. Ponder in amazement the vast number of these worlds making up every desert and beach. Ponder in even greater amazement the fact that your kid’s school is in the city, miles from any beach (or desert or other source of sand). How in the world did it get there? What the hell?

Empty Space (where a water bottle should be): Place your hand in the side pocket where your kid’s water bottle should be. Feel the emptiness. The lack. Practice non-attachment. Ponder getting a water bottle holder that will actually keep the water bottle attached to the backpack. Realize the futility of this and relax into the notion that at least a few of the water bottles will reappear in the lost and found.

You Guessed It, Another Goddamn Rock: Hurl that sucker right into the rockpile as hard as you can. Feels good.