Let me explain yet again, gentle Craptacular reader, that despite my annoying tendency to complain about every tiny detail of my pathetic existence, in actuality I hail from a fully functional, happy family. I do not mention this very often because, as Tolstoy once said (oooh! Look how smart she is! She's quoting Tolstoy! Gosh, she must be REALLY smart, huh?) happy families are all pretty much alike. In other words (if I may have the temerity to rewrite Tolstoy) if you're not about to commit adultery and throw yourself under a train, you're really not worth writing about.
In case you think this morbid fascination with misery is purely a Tolstoyian contrivance, let me point out that we as human beings are much more fascinated by conflict than happiness. You don't see too many fairy tales starting with "They all lived happily ever after." You don't see soap operas filled with good-looking scantily clad people curled up next to a roaring fire reading a good book. Happiness is fun to experience yourself, but if people are spying on you, its...um, well .... boring. Hence the Craptacular's peculiar focus on all the negative features of the things I encounter. I find the question "What was this person THINKING?" much more interesting than the several, several instances of "Oh, my, that's just lovely, what exquisitely good taste, thank you very much" that also populate my life.