It’s a sign

There is an account on Instagram, Ian the Sign Guy (ianthesignguy), who posts short videos of himself cleaning road signs in England. (He is also on YouTube.) There is no background music, you rarely see him. The videos are just his brush scrubbing away the filth that accumulates in roadside traffic signs. Here is an example. I think it’s one of the greatest things on the internet today. Sort of a new go at cat videos.

Do I want to explain that? Sure. Why not? There is nobody screaming at you. No UNHINGED USE OF CAPITAL LETTERS, or ridiculously obvious lies to wade through. It’s not an innocent looking post trying to get you to buy something, agree with something, or watch and re-watch over and over to find the hidden meaning. It’s just a guy scrubbing away the dirt and grime of your basic traffic control signage.

I don’t recall ever seeing signs here as filthy as he finds there. Some of his pre-cleaned signs are barely legible, yet they seem to be on some major roadways. I suppose we haven’t yet stripped the Department of Transportation’s personnel budget of the sign scrubbers. It’s quite satisfying to watch the dirt melt away, to see the brush go scrub scrub scrub over the sign surface, and to hear the faint drone of whatever equipment he uses to get the water flowing through the brush head. I could watch video after video and be quite content with it and nothing more. A cat video for the 2020’s.

We need more of these. Yes, it is an unexpected joy to have a random Muppets video show up in your feed, and a daily dose or three of old Peanuts cartoons will surely turn surfing snarls into smiles. But no, they aren’t the sign guy, a real-life person out to make his part of his country a little cleaner so his fellow motorists can tell where they are going or how fast they should be going while getting there. It’s a new twist on “love your neighbor.”

Or perhaps he is the new superhero. Not a Superman dumped on our planet to avoid complete annihilation on his. Not a Spider-Man or a Hulk who happened to be around the wrong radioactive insect or experiment. Not like Aquaman getting the best genes from a human father and an Atlantilean mother. More like Batman, just a normal guy who happens to be incredibly wealthy and has a cool costume. I don’t know if Ian is incredibly wealthy, but on the rare occasion you get to see his work clothes, they seem to be top shelf.

It’s worth it to spend a few minutes or hours watching Ian tirelessly make England’s Motorways Glow Again. And no stupid red hat either.

Encore again

Don’t look at me like that. I thought I was done too, but you know, sometimes it takes more than one trip to the curb.

When I’m not writing or speaking, I’m reading or listening. Listening to a really good speaker is fun because I can imagine what the speaker was doing or going through as I hear the words, see the movement, and feel the emotions as the speech unfolds. It gets interesting when the speaker speaks with an accent unlike mine. (Yes, we all have accents. Ask anybody who didn’t grow up in your block!) When the speaker’s first language is something other than English, I rarely have trouble understanding the words. While listening to a speaker who speaks English other than American English, I may have to listen a little closer but it too usually is not a problem (except for someone from Georgia who still isn’t sure the North won). But a writer who writes in English other than American English…well, I’m sorry, but I’m just not enough of a world traveler to be comfortable reading “colour” and not want to correct it to “color.” I’m getting better. It only took 60 some years of reading but I am getting used to the alternate spellings and the odd idioms, but, but … but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to “maths.” It makes more sense than the American “math,” given that it’s a shortened form of “mathematics,” but it just sounds too weird. There. I said it.

I walked into my daughter’s house a day last week and everything, everything was out of the kitchen cabinets and on the counters. (You remember her, the human the dog let join him on vacation in last week’s post.) “Moving?” I hesitatingly asked. “Oh good. I’m doing it right,” was her reply. Apparently, it’s a new (to me) cleaning strategy. When you want to do a serious declutter, make like you’re moving to a smaller home. If you wouldn’t take it to your new downsized abode, don’t put it back in the cabinet. I kind of like that. It seems much better than what some people refer to the Shinto method of decluttering. Hold something and if doesn’t bring joy to your life you don’t need it in your life. I have no proof of it, but looking at the sequence of events, I’m pretty sure that’s how I became an ex-husband.

A morning news article one day last week brought home the closeness of winter in a big way, which is most impressive considering it is not yet autumn. Folks at Pikes Peak woke up to six inches of snow. Here at the base of the mountains on the other side of the country we’ve been having cool nights and days alternating between deluge like rain and desert like heat. A wonderful combination to make weeds along the sides of the road flourish and flower.  They make a very pretty contrast the orange barrels that typically line the highways as an homage to the states that actually maintain their roads.

Yesterday was Constitution Day in the U.S.A.. If you missed it, don’t worry. Almost everyone did, including the local governments who order the fireworks displays for every other holiday or event you can imagine. Let’s travel through time. On July 4, 1776, the colonies’ representatives to the Continental Congress (the Second Continental Congress to be specific) signed off on the Declaration of Independence. [Yay, fireworks!] So we had a country, sort of, but no framework for the government to uh govern it. On November 15, 1777, that same Congress approved the Articles of Confederation that went into effect on March 1, 1781 when all the states ratified it. [Yay, but hold the fireworks.] The Articles established a framework, but it was more a frame of balsa instead of steel. In other words, it wasn’t terribly strong. From the government’s point of view. It treated the 13 states as 13 states, 13 independent states (as in little individual countries) bound together by the “Perpetual Union.” (Yep, that’s what it was called.) Then in May of 1787, a new batch of representatives from those sort of independent states saw the Articles needed a bit of an overhaul, and maybe they were a little rash not letting the central government do too much. So they convened the Constitutional Convention. Instead of fixing, they rewrote, and on September 17, 1787, the states’ representatives signed off on the new Constitution of the United States. [Yay! But wait, still no fireworks.] Finally on June 21, 1788, the required number of states needed to ratify the Constitution had done so and now we had a government to go along with the country. [Yay, but the fireworks people got tired of waiting (like we need another summer holiday anyway).] And so, in 2004 (yes, 2004!) Congress approved September 17 to be Constitution Day (technically Constitution and Citizenship Day) because why not. [Yay, still no fireworks but we’ll have them for Black Friday instead.]

Also for those residing in the U.S.A., today (September 18 to be clear in case you’re not reading this today), is National Cheeseburger Day! “Cheeseburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger.” (Bonus points if you can identify from whence that line comes.)  Discounts throughout this great land of ours can be had from penny burgers to full price but we have a new flavor. Check here for what is certainly an incomplete list of participating burger bistros.

And I bring this up only because it is so stupid it begs to be included.

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At least it wasn’t a handgun.

I certainly hope my brain is empty now. It would be nice if my sinuses followed suit, but you know, seasons change and all that.


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Spring cleaning

I did some electronic spring cleaning tis morning. I fear this is a battle I’m doomed to lose. Of course by electronic spring cleaning I don’t mean deep cleaning my living space with robotic assistance. A robot vacuum might be fun to have around, but until they come up with one who can wash down the cabinets, keep the appliances sparkly, daily clean the bathroom, and tidy the bedroom – like Rosey on the Jetsons! – I’ll do the physical cleaning on my own for as long as I can. No, the spring cleaning was going through apps on the phone and tablets, reviewing bookmarks on the browsers, moving image and document files to cards or cloud storage or deleting them outright, and getting rid of those nasty cookies (which unfortunately eliminates the helpful ones also which is why I so rarely take that on).

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It went relatively smoothly except for one tablet which makes me wonder if I take things too literally.  The tablet in question is an older Samsung that I’ve threatened to put out to pasture at least once a month for the last several years. But I’m used to its quirks, it fits me and my expectations, and I guess I like it enough to poo-poo my attempts to use the newer but still not completely set up tab sitting on my desk (which is now certainly itself hopelessly outdated).

The odd thing about this particular, older unit is the help that it wants to provide, particularly at clean-up time. It knows its storage limits and can clue me in on where I can reclaim valuable storage space. What it has a hard time with is knowing what’s stored where. Let me explain. As an older tablet it has limited storage, only 16 GB, so each little chunk of that is valuable. It wants to be a helpful little thing so this morning it told me that 970 MB was holding onto pictures and videos. No need to have them there but also no need to use up space on the cloud account with them when I have plenty of room and can move them to the SD card. Except when I tap the icon to show me the detail of what makes up those 970 MB of treasured photos, it gets confused and shows me all the files the tablet can access – internal, card, and cloud storage. It very graciously tells me how much each destination holds but not which files are at which destinations. So I go through file by file to find what goes where Sigh.

Another thing the poor old piece wants to help with is shedding itself of unused or rarely used apps. Every handheld device has a means of displaying all its resident applications by frequency of access. Except this one hasn’t learned the English definitions for always, sometimes, rarely, and never. I’m just certain that it would get so confused trying to complete a survey it would give up after the first few questions. Anyway, it listed all my apps by often used, sometimes used, and rarely used. Except that they aren’t. My crossword app that I use daily was in the sometimes used pile while Facebook that I haven’t accessed in the last several months was among those often used.

After hours more than I wanted to devote to the project I feel good that all my electronic, connected devices are as trim as can be and for a short while I should be able to enjoy efficient downloads, speedy uploads, and generally smooth, glitch free surfing on the Internet on my own little intranet.

I just really hope I didn’t delete my WordPress account.  Well, here goes nothing! (Hmm, let me know if you didn’t get this.) (Thanks!)

Cleaning My Desk

Today is “Clean Out Your Desk Day” so I think I will. Before I get to the one in the corner I’ll clear out some of the mental clutter. I warn you right now that today’s thoughts cover politics, society, and religion so I’m sure to tick off everybody with something before you reach the end of this post. But if I missed you, please let me know in the comments section and I’ll be happy to try harder next time. 
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This morning’s news had an report of a toddler vaping. According to their release the Pennsylvania State Police received a “Snapchat-like video showing what looks like a young toddler taking a hit with the help of a woman, then the video shows the toddler sit down and take another hit. The camera then cuts to a shot of another woman laughing.” The women have been identified as high school students and the toddler is a two year old one of the girls was baby sitting for the evening. There’s just so much wrong with this. The obvious is you don’t give a baby something to smoke, vape, swallow, or inject. Then where did high school kids get vaping pens and solution since the legal age to buy vaping accessories and supplies in Pennsylvania is 21? (Yeah, I know, nobody enforces “legal age” before the fact for anything anywhere except alcohol and that often only poorly.) Last on my list but certainly just one off many more things wrong with this picture is why is it going out on social media? If there was not an audience for this type of behavior it wouldn’t be shared so blatantly. Are we are better off now than when teenagers lived in a “Leave it to Beaver” world?
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Groundhog Day is the best holiday ever!
 
A local supermarket chain is joining the growing number of stores eliminating single use plastic bags, plastic food containers and plastic straws. A very positive step in the fight for the environment by reducing resources required to supply a disposable world and the impact on the world after their disposal. A word of caution though. Once you put a biodegradable item into a black plastic garbage bag you just threw away all your good effort. 
 
If your parents used to threaten you with no dessert until you ate your veggies don’t complain that Burger King is cooking plant burgers on the same grill as the real burgers. 
 
In the “Just Because You Can” drawer boy do I have a lot of things I bought on sale.
 
Have you seen the commercial where a guy walks away from the coffee shop register after paying for his latte with a debit card and a balloon pops up displaying “overdraft fee $35?” He opines that he wishes a bank existed that won’t keep charging him all these fees. His companion happily informed him that one does, the sponsor of that very ad they are in. Imagine that! No more annoying overdraft or any other fee – yay! Hey, I have a way to avoid overdraft fees too. Don’t spend money you don’t have! Schmuck.
 
Thank you Ricky Gervais.
 
Over the weekend Ontario officials apologized for sending a false emergency alert regarding an unspecified issue at an atomic power plant outside of Toronto. It was not the first time a government warned of impending peril that wasn’t there. Most recently in 2018 the U.S. Dept. of Homeland Security apologized when an erroneous alert was distributed in Hawaii warning of incoming missiles. Maybe the world is getting used to false alarms. In Canada, Jonathan Davies noticed Sunday’s alert while he was driving but he waited until after he picked up his Tim Hortons to check the news. “I can’t cope with much until I have my coffee,” he was quoted in an Associate Press article. 
 
Today Pope Francis tweeted (yes he does, doesn’t everybody?), “it is not enough to be knowledgeable: unless we step out of ourselves, unless we worship, we cannot not know God.” Sound advice for all religions, all societies, and all people. It’s not enough to just think, if you want to matter you have to do.
 
Finally,  an oldie but goodie:  love thy neighbor, no exceptions!
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Okay, I think I’m ready to work on that other desk now. Altogether now,  go clean your desks!
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A Clear Failure

I have to buy a new car. I don’t want to. Well, that’s not really true. I always want to buy a new car. Actually I always want to buy something. I get great comfort from buying things. Fortunately I have a dollar store within walking distance so I can satisfy the buying urge fairly economically but this particular buying urge isn’t just a plain, old fashioned, garden variety shopping binge. This urge, the “I want to buy a new car urge,” is strictly due to windshield streaks. I tried to clean the inside of my windshield yesterday. That was when I decided it would be easier to just buy a new car than to de-streak (un-streak?) the inside of the car windshield.

I don’t understand it. I have the patience, skill, or both to clean almost anything else from the car side windows to the refrigerator door shelves. If it’s dirty I’ll clean it. I know it’s not the most fun activity, it’s not the first thing I think of when I’m deciding what to do for a day, but cleaning is a necessary evil and is a chore I generally manage to accomplish successfully and with a minimum of drama. Except for that miserable, no good, filthy, — um, except for the inside of the car windshield. As a result, it becomes a chore I usually put off for months. Not days. Not weeks. Months.

TheSneezeI don’t understand how it gets so dirty anyway. It’s not like I walk across it. I don’t sneeze my latte foam on it like in that commercial for allergy medicine. Where does windshield grime come from? No, that’s not the question. Dirt just happens. Ask Charlie Brown’s friend Pig-Pen. The real question is what do they put on windshields that prevent the grime from being wiped off.

I’ve tried everything. I’ve used ammonia based window cleaner, vinegar based window cleaner, plain vinegar, diluted vinegar, plain water, soapy water, foamy window cleaner, even pre-soaked cleaning towelettes. I’ve wiped with cotton rags, paper towels, rubber squeegees, microfiber towels, old newspaper, blank newsprint paper, even tissue paper. Nothing works. Everything works on ever other window in the car, just not on the windshield. But why would you want that window clean anyway. It’s much more challenging to drive through bright sun or oncoming lights while looking through streaks and blotches of yuck.

Sigh. I need a new car.

No Skeletons in my Closet*

If you’ve noticed, over the past few weeks I’ve included posts about counters and drawers and cabinets. That’s because I’ve been paying more attention to those spaces as I prepare for the annual fun fest known as spring cleaning. Last weekend I was in the bedroom closet. My bedroom closet is about the size of my first apartment and has just as much in it. So I thought it would be a smart idea to perhaps whittle down some of the extraneous pieces there before attacking the disaster it has become over the winter months.

For some reason I have clothes like you wouldn’t believe. Actually I know the reason. Over the past couple of years I have lost a remarkable amount of weight, about 120 pounds all told. Now, some of it (maybe 2 or 3 pounds) was planned but the most of it came off as numerous surgeons removed, rearranged, and reconstructed various pieces of me. Although I’ve been picking up new pieces (of clothes, that is) along the way I haven’t done a good job of eliminated the old. As a result, in addition to the few pieces Hangersthat actually fit I have clothes that are anywhere from too large on me to OH MY GOD WAS I REALLY THAT FAT BEFORE!!! So where does one start?

After taking an entire weekend de-hangering, cleaning, folding, and sorting I have a nice pile to donate, a few that will become welcome additions to the rag bag, a couple that are probably even too disreputable to throw away in a middle class neighborhood, and remarkably enough, some that fit. And still the closet bursts at its seams.

I know I could have avoided all of this if I had adhered to a few tried and true methods of preventing the clutter before it started. Things like remove one old item for every new one bought. That worked well enough when I picked up a new piece here and there. It went out the window last year when I came home with a few totes full of new stuff since I had no summer wear that didn’t fall off me and the neighbors kept asking about that guy with the suspenders holding up his swim trunks. Then there’s the old trick of turning all one your hangers facing away from you at the start of a season and reversing them as you wear what’s on them. Let me tell you right now that I don’t have OCD but if I did I wouldn’t go more than two days before being driven bonkers by the disarray on the closet rod. I can tell you for sure and indeed that I know I don’t have OCD because I made it all the way through a whole week before having to correct that madness. Perhaps you subscribe to the Forty Hanger Rule. Limit your wardrobe to whatever can be stored on 40 hangers. Everything else must go. I don’t know how women do it. I’m just a guy and I have over 100 hanging pieces plus all the sweaters on the shelves and the shoes on the rack and the ties, oh the ties. Why, I have more than 40 hangers tied up in golf shirts, football jerseys, and hockey sweaters.

There was once a time when I wouldn’t buy tires for the car. Trying to decide between tread patterns, mileage ratings, whitewall, blackwall, white-lettered. It was all too much. So I would just trade in the car. I wonder if I can do that with closets………

That’s what I think. Really. How ’bout you?

*There’s no room.

Forget About It

I cleaned out my desk last week. Not the one at work. That one was cleaned out last summer on my last day. Not the one in my home office. That one was cleaned out of anything of value years ago and the whole room took on more of a storage quality. Well, that sounds too neat. It sort of became a junk drawer with expandable walls. No, the one I cleaned out was the one I use almost every day. It’s the spot where bills are paid, receipts are kept, coupons are sorted, and important papers are stored. After almost thirty years I figured it was time to do some thinning.

Geez, you should have seen the stuff I dug out of those drawers. If they could only talk maybe they’d tell me what I was doing with some of that. There was once a time when I spoke at a lot of conferences and that time reached back to before we put our slide shows on a flash drive and used real slides. For some reason I decided to keep those slides but couldn’t imagine what that reason was. Out they went. Over the years the bank I deal with has been bought, sold, and/or changed names. Several times. Lots of several times. And each time they felt it necessary to change account numbers and thus change checks. And I found all the old checks. Not cancelled ones to prove when I paid for the coffee grinder so I could take advantage of the 90 day warranty. These were the unused leftover checks the bank said not to use after some specific date usually 2 or 3 days before the letter from them was received. I couldn’t recall any good reason why I would have kept checks just as useless as if there was no money in the bank. To the shredder they went. I also uncovered eight (yes, 8) pages of return address labels, 200 labels per sheet, each page with 4 to 6 labels used and the other 190-some waiting patiently to be stuck on an envelope. That was over 1500 return labels. Apparently I paid my monthly bills, did not remember that I had labels somewhere, and printed another page. Several pages found themselves on the inside of the recycle bin.

But the point of today’s post isn’t pre-hoarding proclivities I may be demonstrating. It’s the tale of a specific piece of paper, a single page of a simple form to reclaim lost money. In our state, any sort of property held by an institution in a person’s name is turned over to the state treasury if said person has forgotten about said property. Before it becomes part of the general fund and disappears forever into the current year’s pool for graft, the state conducts a search for the rightful owner. Quite some few years ago I was the rightful owner of an account forgotten at a credit union. Amazingly, years’ worth of fees had not depleted the balance to nothing and there was still money to be reclaimed.

Reclaiming it was easy. All one had to do was prove one was the one being sought and one owned that which was the reason for the seeking. Easy enough, a state issued ID such as a driver’s license is sufficient to prove who I was, or am.  And a copy of a statement from the credit union showing my name and address was sufficient to prove ownership. Hmm, now I began to remember why I had forgotten about this form those many years ago. I actually had a statement from the credit union even though it has been many, many years since I had dealt with them. But that statement had an address three addresses old. According to the nice lady who answered the phone at the state treasury it is a simple process to prove I am that person who lived at the address three addresses ago. Just provide copies of the change of address requests for each change from that address to the one on my current ID.

So in order to get my own money back from the state I have to prove that I once held an account that I completely forgot about when I was living somewhere else in a different century.  I think I just might have remembered why I never finished that form.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?