Wednesday, February 22, 2012

Restroom Dispensers for Mental Health

The human race is beset by a curious array of challenges, both in the external world of things and objects, and the internal universe of, well, worry over getting one's hands dirty. While such concerns are in no way as dire a prospect as, for example, being stalked by tigers, eaten by hyenas, falling off of things from on-high or contracting curious diseases and infections, obsessions and compulsions often drive our lives with an undeniable force that outweighs our more pressing external stimuli considerably. Every person is slightly different in respect to what internal forces or concerns move them to act or not act, but speaking personally, the thought of touching any object within a public restroom prompts me to reach for the prescription psychotropic and some means of distracting myself, quickly.

Restrooms can be improved by adding restroom dispensers of all sorts. The public restroom is an absolute petri dish of filth and disease. I have it on good faith from a friend who passed multiple exams in our biology class that the modern-day Ebola virus came from public restrooms attached to pubs, taverns and bars of ill repute. I trust him. Nobody passes those tests and does not come out the other side wise to the ways of Ebola and the common frog's thoracic cavity, both valuable sums of knowledge to have with one in today's world. It never fails to impress me how often from thoracic cavities and Ebola virus knowledge finds some useful application, such as now, when I consider the horrors of the modern restroom.

Consider the sorts of things that people touch in restrooms, the things that are attached to themselves and doubtless carriers of all manner of horrific disease and contagion; then, consider the things in the restroom not attached to themselves that they touch, rub all over, caress and fondle, and the bacterial load that they transmit from their genital-polluted hands to soap bars and soap dishes. That pile of soaking-wet paper towels perched precariously atop the toilet, the one with no privacy stall or seat? That pile of soaking-wet paper towels will give you Ebola, and three-to-seven days later, a person will turn in to wet, bloody soup, all from visiting the public restroom and touching things indiscriminately.

Meanwhile, those of us ostensibly cursed with some variety of obsessive-compulsive disorder, one that is fixated almost entirely upon germs, viruses, diseases, dirt, contagion and human waste, will be relatively disease-free, at least free from the sort of things that we have discussed as being endemic to public restrooms. Both parties can enjoy this safe harbor of health by only patronizing restrooms that include up-to-date contemporary restroom dispensers for soap, paper towels, and fragrances, indeed, anything that would otherwise require significant and prolonged contact with other people's diseases.

Restroom dispensers come in attractive and durable designs, are readily mounted to walls or other fixtures with a minimum of skill and effort, using only the things found in the common household toolbox, and for some of us, they are the only difference between using a public restroom and holding it until we get home.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

I Have a Dream For Writers

Feb. 18, 2012I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the lowest point in the history of American writers.Two score and nine years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand, gave a speech known as “I Have a Dream.” A great statesman and great writer, he spoke of another American who had lived a hundred years before, also a great statesman and