Why are they so small?
October 5, 2010
August 22, 2010
August 18, 2010
I INVENTED THE PIANO KEY NECKTIE
I'm a big fan of weird inventions. If it weren't for quirky people (read: Japanese) who invent stuff that no one in their right mind would usually use, the world would be a far drearier place.
The world of cleaning is one where weird inventions can flourish. People generally hate cleaning, but are often forced to do it for hours on end (again, this is more a Japanese thing, Americans either hire a foreigner to clean or live in filth). These countless hours of cleaning are inevitably spent trying to think of a better, easier way to do it. This has given rise to several brilliant inventions in the cleaning industry.
Say you're a mother. You have this adorable little baby that crawls around on the floor all day. Child labor laws do not permit you to send them off to the factory (for another 6 months at least), and you're desperate for it to start pulling its own weight.
Your search for a productive infant outlet is over. I give to you... the baby mop.
It looks something like this.
What's that, you say? That looks cruel and hideous? It looks like it should be outlawed? I, too, felt this way once, until I discovered this next photo.
Look at him! Happy (that's the Japanese expression for delight, by the way) and productive. He's going to make his parents proud one day.
Another problem that often ails the world of cleaning is that of old age. Oftentimes, a young girl will work in the cleaning industry from the age of 9 or 10, and not get a pay raise for the next 70 years. As she reaches the twilight of her life, she will start to develop various physical maladies, and become less productive as a cleaner. Because she is still making 80 yen per hour, she has no savings and will starve if she can no longer work.
Now, conventional wisdom would say to let her go, to cull the herd, if you will. But that's what's so great about the Japanese, they go against the grain.
Thus, I give to you, the slipper-broom-dustpan-cleaning-thing.
Just because you can't bend over doesn't mean you can't work.
Man, this was supposed to be a post about neckties, and how they suck. I really need to work on my focusing skills...
The world of cleaning is one where weird inventions can flourish. People generally hate cleaning, but are often forced to do it for hours on end (again, this is more a Japanese thing, Americans either hire a foreigner to clean or live in filth). These countless hours of cleaning are inevitably spent trying to think of a better, easier way to do it. This has given rise to several brilliant inventions in the cleaning industry.
Say you're a mother. You have this adorable little baby that crawls around on the floor all day. Child labor laws do not permit you to send them off to the factory (for another 6 months at least), and you're desperate for it to start pulling its own weight.
Your search for a productive infant outlet is over. I give to you... the baby mop.
It looks something like this.
What's that, you say? That looks cruel and hideous? It looks like it should be outlawed? I, too, felt this way once, until I discovered this next photo.
Look at him! Happy (that's the Japanese expression for delight, by the way) and productive. He's going to make his parents proud one day.
Another problem that often ails the world of cleaning is that of old age. Oftentimes, a young girl will work in the cleaning industry from the age of 9 or 10, and not get a pay raise for the next 70 years. As she reaches the twilight of her life, she will start to develop various physical maladies, and become less productive as a cleaner. Because she is still making 80 yen per hour, she has no savings and will starve if she can no longer work.
Now, conventional wisdom would say to let her go, to cull the herd, if you will. But that's what's so great about the Japanese, they go against the grain.
Thus, I give to you, the slipper-broom-dustpan-cleaning-thing.
Just because you can't bend over doesn't mean you can't work.
Man, this was supposed to be a post about neckties, and how they suck. I really need to work on my focusing skills...
June 7, 2010
Sitting
Everybody has their perfect job. Guidance counselor's sometimes say: "If money wasn't an issue, what job would you see yourself doing." Then, of course, that's the job you should take. That works really great if you have a burning desire to practice corporate law, but not so good if you get your kicks by cleaning up horse poop all day.
Some people have just one dream job. A friend of mine who has recently become a 'follower' on here, (and thus deserves a shout-out), has the dream of being a mattress tester. I wish him luck in this endeavor, and will be greatly impressed if he can make a career out of it.
Myself, I have two dreams, and luckily they are not mutually exclusive. For a long time I have wanted to be a teacher. In recent years I have settled on becoming a high school English teacher, because I've had enough experience in the field to know what a difference a not-shitty teacher can make.
In recent years, or year, I've also decided that I want to carpent. I want to build my own house someday. I just think it would be pretty cool to go home at night, stand in my driveway, look at my house, and think, "That was me."
I think both of these dreams have to do with leaving a mark on the world, with doing something real, and tangible. Creating something that will last. An education does that, obviously, by changing the youth of the future. Not just by teaching them what a badass Shakespeare was, but by changing the kind of people they'll turn out to be.
On the other hand, there's something to be said for a real-life building. Something you can walk around in, have babies in, buy insurance for.
Of course, the best laid plans...
We'll see what happens.
Some people have just one dream job. A friend of mine who has recently become a 'follower' on here, (and thus deserves a shout-out), has the dream of being a mattress tester. I wish him luck in this endeavor, and will be greatly impressed if he can make a career out of it.
Myself, I have two dreams, and luckily they are not mutually exclusive. For a long time I have wanted to be a teacher. In recent years I have settled on becoming a high school English teacher, because I've had enough experience in the field to know what a difference a not-shitty teacher can make.
In recent years, or year, I've also decided that I want to carpent. I want to build my own house someday. I just think it would be pretty cool to go home at night, stand in my driveway, look at my house, and think, "That was me."
I think both of these dreams have to do with leaving a mark on the world, with doing something real, and tangible. Creating something that will last. An education does that, obviously, by changing the youth of the future. Not just by teaching them what a badass Shakespeare was, but by changing the kind of people they'll turn out to be.
On the other hand, there's something to be said for a real-life building. Something you can walk around in, have babies in, buy insurance for.
Of course, the best laid plans...
We'll see what happens.
June 4, 2010
April 10, 2010
L is for Leukemia
CANCER NEVER SLEEPS!
It’s true. Unlike most things that people are terrified of: bears, spiders, having peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, cancer is something that just works round the clock to murder you. It is because of cancer’s unrelenting resolve to wreak havoc on the lives of men that tonight I chose to take a stand. If cancer won’t sleep, then neither will I.
Granted, me not sleeping isn’t that big of a stand to take. As a matter of fact, if I wanted to show cancer I really meant business I would probably just conk out for a good 18 hours, but you’d be hard pressed to find someone to sponsor you to sleep against cancer.
No, that would be too easy. People aren’t going to pay money to see you do something you enjoy (unless they’re really creepy). In order to convince people to donate to your cause you have to do something painful, something you wouldn’t normally do. Walk.
I’ve long been of the mindset that walkers are a dying breed. With the way technology is advancing these days, (see here), I think we will soon live in a world where only the hardcore Lance Mackey/Armstrong folks feel the need to use their feet for transportation. I know what you’re thinking: “Hey, that’s just the plot to Walle, you cheese-eating copyright infringer!”
Wrong. In the world of Walle everyone was fat and ugly and didn’t use their legs because they were lazy. In the world I envision, everyone will take hard narcotics to sleep at night while complex machines work out every muscle in our body. The result will be a bunch of really hot, toned, muscular people who roll around on Segways all day.
Wow, that was quite a tangent.
As I was saying, before I so rudely interrupted myself. Tonight I decided to walk for cancer. The idea was that you walk in a circle around a local high school from 8pm to 8am to show cancer who's boss. Apparently cancer just acts tough, but if you show it that you’re not a little pansy it will just shake in its boots and beg for mercy. Since I’m down for pretty much anything that includes an all-nighter, I paid my 30 bucks and joined the club.
After a long and boring opening message, (basically, cancer is bad), we started walking. And walking. After a whopping 15 minutes of circling the high school by myself, occasionally talking to one of the many Eskimo girls doing laps as well, I decided that perhaps this wasn’t the activity for me.
There’s more to this story, but I’m hella tired.
So, cancer. You may have won this round, but I’ll be back. And next time…. Something.
It’s true. Unlike most things that people are terrified of: bears, spiders, having peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, cancer is something that just works round the clock to murder you. It is because of cancer’s unrelenting resolve to wreak havoc on the lives of men that tonight I chose to take a stand. If cancer won’t sleep, then neither will I.
Granted, me not sleeping isn’t that big of a stand to take. As a matter of fact, if I wanted to show cancer I really meant business I would probably just conk out for a good 18 hours, but you’d be hard pressed to find someone to sponsor you to sleep against cancer.
No, that would be too easy. People aren’t going to pay money to see you do something you enjoy (unless they’re really creepy). In order to convince people to donate to your cause you have to do something painful, something you wouldn’t normally do. Walk.
I’ve long been of the mindset that walkers are a dying breed. With the way technology is advancing these days, (see here), I think we will soon live in a world where only the hardcore Lance Mackey/Armstrong folks feel the need to use their feet for transportation. I know what you’re thinking: “Hey, that’s just the plot to Walle, you cheese-eating copyright infringer!”
Wrong. In the world of Walle everyone was fat and ugly and didn’t use their legs because they were lazy. In the world I envision, everyone will take hard narcotics to sleep at night while complex machines work out every muscle in our body. The result will be a bunch of really hot, toned, muscular people who roll around on Segways all day.
Wow, that was quite a tangent.
As I was saying, before I so rudely interrupted myself. Tonight I decided to walk for cancer. The idea was that you walk in a circle around a local high school from 8pm to 8am to show cancer who's boss. Apparently cancer just acts tough, but if you show it that you’re not a little pansy it will just shake in its boots and beg for mercy. Since I’m down for pretty much anything that includes an all-nighter, I paid my 30 bucks and joined the club.
After a long and boring opening message, (basically, cancer is bad), we started walking. And walking. After a whopping 15 minutes of circling the high school by myself, occasionally talking to one of the many Eskimo girls doing laps as well, I decided that perhaps this wasn’t the activity for me.
There’s more to this story, but I’m hella tired.
So, cancer. You may have won this round, but I’ll be back. And next time…. Something.
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