At First I Thought It Was Stupid

While sitting in my car in a New Jersey rest stop, wolfing down my lunch, I looked up and saw the following sign...



And I confess, the first thing that came to mind, was "What kind of stupid sign is that? What kind of stupid law is that?"

So then I did a little digging, and discovered that this is a clean air initiative, probably targeted primarily at the big diesels that traverse our highways; although passenger cars are not exempt. So the law has a reasonable purpose behind it. But I'm still not sure how much cleaner this makes our air and how much this is just a way for lawmakers to feel like they are doing something about the environment.

Especially given the following bit of information -- this doesn't appear to be a law that standard law enforcement agencies are necessarily doing anything about.

From the www.stopthesoot.org website: "The new diesel bill has given authority to State government and local police departments to fine offenders. Call the NJDEP 24-hour, toll-free hotline at (877) 927-6337 or WARN DEP or your local police department to report idling violations (please do not call 911)."

I may be wrong, but this sounds like they are relying on tipsters. I could be wrong. I wonder though, if you are a state trooper and you are cruising the NJ Turnpike, and you pull into a rest stop, are you going to be looking to see if cars and trucks have exhaust coming out? Are you going to hang out for three minutes to see if they shut off? Or are you going to pull in, grab you coffee, and hit the road looking for speeders and reckless endangerers?

I honestly don't know.

But I can tell you that I was idling while I took that picture...

Five Things

I bet you think that this is going to be one of those annoying "Five Things That Really Chap My Ass" kind of lists, but it isn't. This is meant to be about negative energy and prioritization.

I was having a conversation with my wife yesterday, and we got to talking about an upcoming fundraising event and how great it would be if we could get our local US Representative to make an appearance. But one of the other event organizers stated uncategorically "I HATE that woman." So, that was the end of that discussion.

Not that our Representative would have been available anyway.

My wife's response was one of bafflement over that response. Why would anyone HATE a representative? Sure, you can disagree with her politics. But HATE? Seems awful strong.

I mean HATE carries a pretty nasty connotation in my mind -- HATE means that you would enjoy seeing harm come to whatever it is that is the target of your hate. Perhaps its death would be enjoyable?

So, as Mrs. P postulated, assume that the rules state that you can only hate five things. Each time you are compelled to say out loud "I HATE that ...", how great would it be if you could evaluate that and say "If I can only hate five things, would that be on the list?"

I hate brussel sprouts. That is to say, I will not eat them. I cannot endure the flavor or the texture. But is "hate" really the right word? No. Not really. It's off the list.

I hate child abuse. Of any kind. Does that mean I would like to see harm come to child abuse? That I would like to see Child Abuse suffer a painful death? Would I eat popcorn while watching it die? ... Yes. Yes I would. It stays on the list.

Etc.

I don't want to get preachy or anything, and for you maybe five is too small of a number, but how great would it be if there really were a practical limit on the amount of hate a person could have? How much better would this world be if the word hate, and hate actions, and hate crimes, were limited by some unknown natural law?

Oddly, I think that one of the things that would make my list of things that I hate would be Hate itself. Not sure what to do with that.

Who Am I, Corporate Edition

When I was a kid, if we wanted to get pizza, we would not have turned to a fast food chain. It wasn't snobbery - it's just that there weren't any anywhere near us. We had Maggio's (for whom I later worked and let me tell you - not a single Italian in the place), Angelo's (this is where all the local Italians were), Cecil's Hut, or Longhitano's. We saw ads for Pizza Hut and Domino's, but the nearest of each were many miles away from us.

The first wave of pizza joints came through in the 80's when Little Caesar's showed up. Anyone older than say 30 probably remembers the ads -- a short fat toga wearing dude, and all he ever said was "Pizza, Pizza!" Because their gimmick was they sold pizzas two at a time, for one low price (of course).

I stayed loyal to Maggio's, but my mother defected to Little Caesar's. The last Little Caesar's I saw, I think, was in Hawaii in the 90's. They were no longer doing the 2 for 1 thing. And the pizza kinda sucked.

I don't know when or how it happened, but in the 90's, Pizza Hut started doing what Starbucks did in the oughts... They started opening up everywhere. There were suddenly several Pizza Huts, all within a close walking distance of my house, were you so inclined. But let's face it, you're going for pizza, and you'd have to walk back, and we're Americans, so no one was ever so inclined. Not even sure why I mentioned it.

During this heyday, you could go to Pizza Hut for ... well, for pizza. Maybe wings too, and bread sticks, but this was not a widely diversified place. Maybe that was their downfall? Because in the oughts, most of the Pizza Huts that had opened near me in the 90's boarded up. One of them is a nice cheap and half-decent Mexican place now. The other is still a boarded up red walled chalet.

Now, when we want pizza, we go to Papa John's. In truth, I don't like Papa John's pizza, and I know I can get better prices, but they allow me to order online and the kids like it. So that's where we go. Again -- all they really have is pizza and wings and bread sticks and sodas.

So, whatever happened to Pizza Hut?

Over the weekend, I found out. The 9-year-old and I had an adventure in search of a reasonably priced replacement dryer. Our quest took us to the Franklin Mills Mall, in Philadelphia, where Sears has an outlet store. A quick note about the 9 year old... it often takes an act of god to get him out of the house on a Sunday. Given his druthers, he'd be holed up in front of the TV all day, every day if we let him. This trek to find a dryer was like asking him to go on an extended safari with me. I felt like I should reward him for his bravery. So having procured a dryer, I noticed a bunch of fast food joints, and asked him if he wanted lunch.

One of the options available was a Pizza Hut. And he chose that, because of an ad he saw on TV for Tuscani Lasagna. So we chose that.

That right there bears repeating -- Pizza Hut now has "lasagna."

Also, on pulling into the place, the joint is no longer called strictly Pizza Hut... It is now called Pizza Hut and Wing Street. On the menus, they had three separate logos displayed -- PizzaHut, WingStreet, and The Hut. No clarification as to why three separate identities. No indicators as to when you left Pizza Hut and entered Wing Street before taking a side detour into The Hut.



I'm no expert on these things, but I would be willing to bet that Pizza Hut, per se, is in deep doo doo, and they are starting to try anything they can to keep some semblance of a market share. And eventually, you will not see Pizza Hut anymore. You will instead see either The Hut or Wing Street, whichever brand grows legs faster. And pizza may still be on the menu, but it will be a very small offering, next to the lasagna and the calzones they start offering instead.

So, what did I think of the lasagna? A lot of food for a little money, but you could get close to the same quality grabbing some Chef Boyardee.

My Irregular Heart

I have an irregular heart beat. Instead of a steady ka-THUMP ka-THUMP ka-THUMP ka-THUMP ka-THUMP ka-THUMP like most other people, my rhythm is a bit syncopated...

ka-THUMP ka-THUMP ka-THUMP ka-THUMP ka.................THMPKA-thmp ka-THUMP ka-THUMP

I have had this irregular rhythm all my life. The official explanation is I have PVC's -- premature ventricular contractions. I can remember feeling this rhythm beating in my chest in grade school. It has been a part of me long enough that I don't know what it is like to not have it.

It was diagnosed when I was in college. I had a head cold and went to the health center for something stronger than Sudafed, since the Sudafed was failing me. They did the full normal workup - BP check, height, weight, pulse.... and that's when their faces went white.

"We're going to want to keep you for observation."

"What? Why? ... No. Just give me the sinus meds."

Turns out that not much earlier that year, a young man with an undetected heart defect dropped dead on the basketball court. It was big news. Everyone was really sensitive about it, and I suppose they didn't want a repeat. So be it. But no matter how insistent I was that I had this "defect" for years, they refused to let me go -- convinced a heart attack was imminent. I had to stay under their care for observation until they were comfortable that I wasn't going to die.

As icing for the cake, they wouldn't let me drink coffee, take Sudafed, or smoke. Caffeine, nicotine, and pseudoephedrine are all cardiac stimulants. So, in addition to being uncomfortable, unable to do my homework, and suffering from a sinus ache, I was also in withdrawal from at least two addictive substances.

It was not the best night of my life.

The next morning, the PVCs had faded. They were still there but weren't anywhere near as alarming. So they released me with the admonishment that I should stop drinking coffee and I should quit smoking. (I still drink coffee. I quit smoking 3 - 4 years after that.) They also said I should get an appointment with a cardiologist ASAP.

I was due to head home for a vacation in the next week or so, so I had my mother make me an appointment. I had electrodes connected to me. I was placed on a treadmill and run through a stress test.

As my heart rate increased, my PVCs completely disappeared.

The consult with the cardiologist went like this. "Do the rhythm bumps bother you?" "No." "Then keep doing what you're doing."

In the end, that was how we left it. And for years, I sort of forgot about it. But I have learned of another cardiac stimulant -- adrenaline. And I have had adrenaline coursing through my system for the last few weeks. I am at maximum alert level trying to juggle several deadlines for several nervous clients.

And at night, as I try to sleep, my heart goes ka-THUMP ka-THUMP ka.................THMPKA-thmp ka-THUMP ka-THUMP ka.................THMPKA-thmp ka-THUMP ka.................THMPKA-thmp ka-THUMP.

And it is starting to bother me. I would love to quit ingesting adrenaline, but I haven't figured out how. All I know how to do is channel it to other directions -- biking, lifting, treadmilling. But all of that cuts into my writing and thinking time.

I am becoming increasingly convinced that despite the fact that I am very good at what I do for a living, it is not particularly good for me. Indeed, I am good at what I do because it isn't good for me.

Now, if I could just find someone willing to pay me my current annual salary to write instead of what I am doing...

Expelled - A Response

I have been struggling with this for a couple of days... How do I say it? How do I make it sound interesting to anyone but me?

Gaah! Screw that. This place is for me. If you happen to want to tag along, great! If not, don't let the door hit you in the keister ...

Okay, that's taken care of. Now breathe, Pos. Breathe.

...

Last week, I was watching a documentary on Evolution -- Darwin's Dangerous Idea. Produced by PBS. Part of a series. I mentioned to a near and dear friend of mine that I was watching it, which prompted a discussion.

In this discussion, he stated something to the effect of "Well, you know that the theory of evolution is full of holes," and "You know what I saw that I really loved? Expelled, made by Ben Stein."

And I thought "Uh oh. No good can come of this."

A couple of necessary points of background. This near and dear friend of mine is the child of a very conservative man of the cloth. And he is also an emergency room physician. So, despite the first, I was sure that the second would automatically dictate that he was in the natural selection camp. But it sounds like I may have been wrong.

As an aside, I personally am not sure whether there is a higher power or not, and being a humanist, I am coming to the conclusion on this matter that if there is or is not, none of us will ever know for sure, not while we draw breath, and our best course of action is to live our lives according to a code of civil morality, and simply hope that if there IS a higher power, that will cut it.

Of course, I could be wrong.

Nevertheless, this friend is the sort of friend who would not only pick you up from the airport, but would give you the shirt off his back, and if he were not wearing a shirt, would fashion one for you out of his pants. He's generally a great guy. A sweetheart. He loves dark and twisted movies, just like me. He has a mangled sense of humor, just like me. In almost every way, he is just like me.

Excluding politics and religion.

So, in fairness to him, I watched Expelled.

I think I know now how a conservative feels when watching a Michael Moore film.

As a general overview, I have to say that this was possibly the most illogical, irrational documentary I have ever seen. The lines of causality it draws are dotted and frail and dishonest. No form of intellectual honesty was present at all. And Stein's prejudice was so apparent as to render any of his rhetorical devices powerless.

The day after watching this drek, I wrote out some notes on some specifics. These are in order of how they occurred to me, not assembled into a logical essay of any kind. Still, as stated above, this is my place so...

Eugenics. The film makes the claim that subscribing to the theory of natural selection would lead to a policy of eugenics. In fact, it very nearly makes the claim that it would inexorably lead to eugenics. Which would then lead inexorably to Nazis, or course. However, the application of a policy of eugenics represents a complete and total misunderstanding of the theory of natural selection.

The argument of eugenics is that modern society's support for the sick and the feeble and the elderly weakens the race as a whole, so it is in the race's best interest to eliminate them. But what this fails to account for is the fact that our species' capacity for compassion for even the weak buoys the entire species up as a whole.

So, eugenics is not natural selection -- it is artificial selection. And as we have demonstrated so often throughout our history, whenever we try to manipulate some natural mechanism to enhance our position, we usually wind up screwing up big time. What we think is desirable to the continuation of the human race may actually be our downfall, and that which we shun may be that which causes us to thrive.

Origin of Life. Because no scientist yet has come to a proven theory of the origin of life, proponents of intelligent design wish to rush in there and proclaim that "because and intelligent designer did it" should be one of the scientific theories studied. Fine. So how do we frame a scientific experiment to prove that? Although we can try to recreate primordial conditions in a lab, it is very difficult, if not impossible to include the experimental procedure of "Now, apply God." Because "God did it" is not testable or even repeatable, it is not a scientific inquiry. It very well may be a Philosophical inquiry, since Philosophy is the area best suited for debating the "why" type questions.

This tendency to want to insert an intelligent designer into the mix here at the origin of life is an application of what Dawkins calls the God of the Gaps. That is to say, whenever a gap in evolution appears, ID folks like to say, "That gap in species development is so wide, it must have been designed." This is the same gap that people used to declare that the seeing eye is so complex, it could not possibly have evolved via natural selection. But science has shown time and time again that where a gap exists, we simply need to collect more data, and soon enough it is explainable. Now, do we have access to all the data? No. Will we have access to all the data? No. But I have seen enough examples of unfillable gaps that have eventually been filled that I am convinced that where a gap exists, we do not need an intelligent designer to fill it.

That said, if there were an intelligent designer, wouldn't that designer need to have some sort of mechanism for bringing about that which comes about? Would that mechanism not have to include some sort of natural, observable phenomenon? But, as I have stated, this is a philosophical question, not a scientific one.

The complexity of the cell is another gap used in this documentary to show that Darwin was naive. But their attempts to show the unlikelihood of a cell emerging via natural selection is what winds up coming across as naive.

Abortion and Euthanasia. The documentary makes an argument that Planned Parenthood was started by a follower of Eugenics, with the express purpose of eliminating lower class births, and that Euthanasia is made tolerable by natural selection for similar reasons as the eugenics argument.

But who gets the abortions? I don't have stats on this, but it seems to me that the very very poor don't. That they get welfare. The middle class, and possibly the upper class, are the ones getting abortions. And planning their parenthoods.

About euthanasia... who gets euthanized? The oldest and sickest. Long after any of them have already passed on their genes, if they were going to do so. We're not talking about infanticide here, we're talking about mercy killing. Saying euthanasia follows from natural selection is simply not logical.

Abortions and euthanasia are most likely not tolerable due to natural selection, but instead due to the fact that our planet is straining to support the volume of human life on it given the number of resources it possesses.

Darwinism. Expelled keeps throwing the term "Darwinists" out there. "Darwinists believe that...," "According to Darwinists...," etc etc. But what is a "Darwinist?" Scientists who believe that the theory of natural selection accurately explains how species have evolved don't call themselves "Darwinists" any more than Mormons call themselves "Smithists." Use of this term is an attempt to paint belief in natural selection with the veneer of religious fervor, which could not be further from the truth.

Being fired for believing in intelligent design. The one point that the film makes that warrants examination, possibly, is it purports to show that several scientists were fired from positions for espousing, or even just mentioning, intelligent design in a position paper or in a classroom setting. I didn't see what I thought to be credible evidence for knowing for sure that that was the cause of each and every one of their dismissals, but if it were, it certainly needs to be discussed.

If Intelligent Design is raised in a scientific class as a philosophical point, I have no objections. If it is raised as a theory of how such and such came to be, I would need to know how these scientists planned to test that theory, and apply the scientific method to the hypothesis. If a natural designer is found, I would hope they would turn that same method to the question of where THAT designer came from.

Okay. I am done. I have been exorcised of these demons, and I may now face my dear friend again without feeling as though I need to explode intellectually.

Of course, on matters of religion and politics, I still think he's an idiot.

Been There, Done That, Bought the T-shirt

Okay. I'll admit it. I have been known to buy into the hype.

I have gone on vacations to fun and exotic locales and come away with T-shirts commemorating the occasion.

Hard Rock Cafe? Yup. From Honolulu and London.

Planet Hollywood? Orlando.

At Niagara Falls I bought a t-shirt with a pseudo native american print of a wolf and another of an eagle.

From the Wayne County Fair way back in 1977 I bought a "Husky People" t-shirt, complete with a picture of a husky dog. (Mind you, he did not seem to be rooing.)

But for the life of me, I cannot imagine what would inspire someone to buy this:



That's right. It's a New Jersey Turnpike T-shirt.

"Gosh, hon. We've been on this road for almost 45 minutes. I wish there were some way I could hold onto these memories forever. ... I wonder if they have a T-shirt."

Let me know if you want me to pick one of these bad boys up for you. Will ship anywhere in the United States!

SharkJumpers.com

You know what I love?

When I discover something new on the internetz that is funny/cool and that amuses me.

You know what I hate?

When something on the internetz sticks around longer than the originality would have warranted and winds up sucking big time.

Let me give you an example or two.

How many of you have ever heard of Despair.com? Probably a ton of you. Because it has been around for a really long time. And when it started out, it was really cool. It was a wonderful parody of all of those corporate motivational posters you see in the offices of Fortune 500 companies run by type A personalities all across America. One of my personal favorites? Consulting: If you aren't part of the solution, there's good money to be made in prolonging the problem. I like it because I am a consultant who is called in on a pretty regular basis to fix the problems not fixed by the previous consultants.

Have you visited there lately? Well, let's just say that their later ideas feel like they're really reaching for the laugh that came so easily before.

The fact is, ideas like this have a certain optimal duration... much like a television series. And after a while, they either need to hire new writers, or go in a different direction. Or they just need to bring it to a close gracefully. Hopefully BEFORE it jumps the shark.

Of course, that's wishful thinking. One thing we Americans are crap at is recognizing when clever has become stupid. Why else would Christopher Guest made the same exact movie three or four different ways? (Best in Show, Waiting for Guffman, A Mighty Wind)

Need another example?

Over vacation Mrs. P bought me a T-shirt that says "Out of Coffee: Life is Crap." It's a terrific spoof of the whole "Life is Good" crap that adorns EVERYTHING right now.

I went to their website to see what else they had. And it was clear that they had jumped the shark before they even got off the ground. Too many derivative designs. Too little actual humor.

Sigh.

I have had a few ideas like this over the years, but could never come up with sufficient material to make it worthwhile even trying.

For example. "Wish you were here" cards. Only the picture isn't a vacation spot. The first one I thought of was actually the inside of a pair of my pants. "Wish you were here, babe!" The second... a morgue. Get it? Wish you were here? Wish you were dead? And well, after that, my ideas kind of dried up.

If anyone wants to license this idea from me and take it and run with it, just let me know.

How Exactly Does a Husky Roo?

Although I despise spam messages, every now and then one manages to catch my attention, based on the subject line and the little preview that manages to peek through before I delete it.

Like, for example, the following...



Hmm. Let me think about this, Donna... Perhaps I can roo like a husky. After all, you're that loves long nights on the beach. And I am indeed a tall man with sexy hair.

As far as you know.

More Helpful Advice From Your Uncle Pos

If you are on vacation, and you buy a toy gun as a souvenir, and you intend to fly back home, by all means, either CHECK YOUR BAGS or LEAVE THE ORANGE PLASTIC TIP (the one that indicates that the gun is just a toy) ON THE GUN.

That is, unless you like being yelled at by airport security, almost missing your flight, and having your souvenir confiscated.

*** We did not fly. We drove. But, yes, this did happen to someone we know. ***

Fargo South

I'm not "beach people." Maybe I was for a while as a kid, but right now, I equate the beach with the three S's ... Sunburn, Saltwater, and Sand (everywhere). I don't consider these things to be pleasant, but my family apparently does. And I fully intend to keep them all around long enough to extract all possible benefit out of them. So I go along with it when they want to go to the beach for a week, as long as none of them tries to cajole me out when I don't really want to.

They're all pretty good about that by now.

So, Pos, if you don't like the beach, what did you do in Sanibel for a week?

As I have explained earlier (possibly ad nauseum), I'm not a drinking man either. So, I spent a lot of time lounging by the pool, in the condo, talking to friends, playing volleyball, biking, eating whenever and wherever I can...

Typical basic bear-just-coming-out-of-hibernation behaviors.

The hot tub saw a lot of action. We bears love hot tubs.

This particular resort we were guests in was the type that caters to old people. In Sanibel, I think they all do. As my dad says (and as Dave inadvertently reiterated), old people are the only ones who can afford these places. We young people are welcome as long as we don't screw with the old (and rich) people enjoying themselves. Consequently, the hot tub was officially closed at dusk, so that the old people can sleep without being disturbed by a bunch of young whipper snappers having fun at night.

But there wasn't a gate around it.

So one night, Mrs. P and I, along with a few of our friends, decided to risk climbing into the hot tub in the illicit hours. Mrs. P and Mrs. B, the wife of one of my good friends, decided that they were cooked enough and went back into the condo after only about a half an hour. But Mr. B, Mr. B's brother, and I stayed.

Before long, two very drunk and very loud women joined us.

They were from Minnesota, complete with the Fargo accent. They very loudly informed us that they were "vacation smokers" and lit up.

Up until that point, the three of us had been enjoying a very pleasant and low key conversation about the Steelers and the Broncos, about 80's and 90's music, about movies, film making, and recording music.

When they showed up, it killed our conversation. Their voices boomed across the compound, echoing off the walls of the condos around us. And we were subjected to the Barbara Walters special from them...

"So, where are you guys from?"
"I see you're a family man. Anyone else?"
"What is there to ****ing do in this place at night anyway?"

Oh yeah, I should have mentioned, every sentence uttered by these women contained between one and seven instances of the F-bomb. I have nothing against a well placed and well timed F-bomb. I am not a prude by any stretch. But there is a time and a place for everything. And 10:30 at night in an old folks home by the sea probably isn't the best choice of times for someone to be doing their best Lenny Bruce routine.

I was uncomfortable. I don't really care for drunk forward women in hot tubs at night when my wife isn't around to buffer me.

In fact, I fear them.

Mr. B is a lot more of a people person than me. And he kept engaging them, even though everything that came out of their mouths could charitably be described as a train wreck. I was too far away from him to kick him under the table. His brother and I kept sharing those knowing looks, but he kept going.

It came as actually a relief when the resort security finally came around the corner...

"I'm sorry, but this area is closed. (ahem) We've been getting some complaints."

I told Mr. B's brother as we went back into the condo, "Good thing he showed up there. I think that they were just about to whack you over the head and drag your unconscious body back to their lair..."

It was like we were hanging out with the two hookers from the movie Fargo. "Ya, you know. I was with the funny looking one." If you haven't seen Fargo, you won't get that reference. But that is indicative of a greater problem than not getting the reference. You are culturally bereft. You must stop reading now and get a copy of Fargo and watch it now.

Seriously.

Come back when you are done.

We tried again the next night, and when it was just the three of us, we were able to soak in the tub until the wee hours of the morning without being tossed out. But the third night, after a brief soak, three women representing three generations climbed in - a grandmother, a mother, and a daughter. The daughter was probably in her late twenties, the rest you can calculate the rough ages of.

This time, they were sober, and not doing their best Diceman routine, and it didn't feel like we were in the process of being ensnared, so I was not anywhere near as uncomfortable. But still, the daughter didn't know how to modulate her voice in spite of our warnings about staying quiet (I actually SHUSHed her like an old librarian a couple of times), and shortly thereafter...

"I'm sorry, but this area is closed. (ahem) We've been getting some complaints."

The funny thing? These women were all from Minnesota. And had that Fargo accent as well.

The way I figure it, when three men of Viking heritage (one Swede, two Danes) get into a hot tub at night, it must release Viking pheromones into the air, creating an overwhelming desire in Viking women to couple up and, I dunno, chew blubber or pillage a village or something.

Mrs. P was amused but not amused by it. But the way I figure it, there was no real threat any of these nights. I am not the type to dally around anywhere, anytime. Even if I was suddenly in a hot tub filled with the most beautiful and most intelligent women in the world, there would be no threat. I might enjoy the moment and the conversations, but I always wander home to my own condo.

Language Precision 101

This sign was posted near the hot tub at the resort we're staying at:

Now, depending on how you look at it, this means one of two things.

Sure, all of those things listed do indeed exist. The signs says not to enter the spa if the conditions exist. Ergo, no one can enter the spa. Ever.

Okay, maybe that was too harsh. Another way to look at it is no one should enter the spa if the conditions apply to them. Since it would be pretty rare to find someone who is pregnant, has heart disease/high blood pressure, has some sort of open gaping wound, is under the influence of something, is experiencing nausea/dizziness/fainting, and is a child under 12 -- all at once, then you might think that just about everyone can enter the spa.

Yeah, I know what they MEAN, but what they meant is not what they said. And that's a problem. Imprecise language is sloppy thinking. And sloppy thinking leads to things like voting based on the type of suit the candidate wears as opposed to the candidate's position on the issues.

(And what the hell is up with having two colons in that one sentence anyway?)

What this sign should have said was "WARNING! Do not enter the spa if one or more of the following conditions apply to you:"

Seriously. How hard was that?

Really. I'm not that smart. And that took me like 12 seconds.