1. This terrible town in which my employer is sub-headquartered has the tedious contours of a Sim City game played with dogged consistency in place of any shred of imagination. Numbingly uniform tiles snap together with cultivatedly anonymous diligence. The streets have individual names, but absolute characterlessness, and preferring one over another would be like having a favorite ounce of hypoallergenic hand lotion. If the question of whether there should be a picture-framing outlet every 2.79 miles or every 2.83 fascinates you, you'd love it here.  

2. The wishful insistence that two numbers constitute a trend or an anomaly based on whether the second one is more or less desirable than the first.  

And I'm still allowed to hate a third thing today, so the service at dinner better be good.