Sunday, February 04, 2007

Aim High, and Higher

I held out as long as I could, but in the end I was given no choice. I had to update to the New Blogger. Usually, I shy away from updates like this, because they're so often full of glitches, and also because I just plain liked the old version of whatever.

Since I updated about five minutes ago, I have no opinion yet. But you all know by now that if anything goes wrong, I'll let you know. :)



Sometimes I think my sense of humor is weirder than anybody else's on the planet. This poster hung in the boy's restroom (Yes, I spent a little time in there, kneeling on the concrete floor, with my arm up the toilet and poop on my elbows, by order of the principal. . . . .) and I don't think anybody else in the building ever found it funny except me. Of course, from that position, ANYTHING else would be a step up. . . .
There was also a big framed poster in there that said, simply, "Aim High." It was about goals or something, but nobody else in the building thought it was funny, placed feng-shui-ly over the urinals as it was.

The very best, the VERY BEST, men's restroom in the world, is the one sent to me by S,C, & A, and if we all ask nicely, maybe they will post it on their blog for you. I'm still giggling over that one. But that is THEIR picture.

Try as they might, though, the restroom sign-makers can never match the toilet signs of the seventies. We had class chutzpah back in them days.

"Please do not throw toothpicks in the toilet. The crabs here can pole vault."

"The water in the bowl is blue so you can make designs in it instead of on the walls."

"Please make sure there is no cellophane underneath the seat before you take aim and fire. Or, worse, sit and wonder why nothing's coming out."

"Dick Nixon before he Dicks You. And while we're on the subject, aim carefully with the Dick you were born with."

"Do you really want to think about some poor schmuck cleaning up after your poor aim, for $1.35 an hour? Of course you don't. Hit the water, please."

"Puddles are made by guys with tiny hoses."

"The really big ones don't make a mess. Little tiny ones do that."

And while we're on the subject. . . .

I never saw a urinal until I went to college. My dorm had once been a men's dorm, and one side of the restroom was, of course, lined with them. We hung ferns in them.

It dressed up the restroom, and we never had to water the ferns.

It was only after the ferns had hung there for months that I learned what those little alcoves really were. I couldn't even imagine a guy doing that.

Later, of course. . . . .

Never mind.