2002-01-15 - 11:42 a.m.
Question of the Day: If I�m in a public place and I have to pee really badly, and the men�s room isn�t wheelchair-accessible but the women�s room is, can I go crash the women�s room?
Normally when I go see shows at the Casbah I go piss in the alley next door because the men�s room is the size of a broom closet. Which is ok, all things considered--the alley smells better, and while I sometimes have to chase the potheads away to have some privacy, the cloud they leave behind gives me a nice contact high. So it�s all good.
On Friday night, though, I was there with a female friend who also uses a chair, and she informed me that not only are the doors to the women�s room about twice as wide, but the room itself is about three times as big. And it has stalls.
Stalls!
Shit. It was like hearing about that luxurious little room Mormon churches have that you�re not allowed into unless you�ve saved up enough LDS green stamps, or something.
I�m not about to file an ADA suit over it, but goddamn it, if the women�s room toilets are the only ones I can piss in, I should be able to piss in them. I don�t care if my urethra has a hose attachment and theirs don�t--we all know that if the roles were reversed there�d be about a hundred angry gimp females busting down the doors of the men�s room proclaiming their right to pee. I�m sure there�s been a Lifetime Original Movie made about that very issue.
What do you all think? Of course, my other problem with crashing the women�s room is that I�d feel like either a dirty old man or a character from one of the Porky�s movies. Sure, all I want to do is make room for my next Newcastle, not sneak a peek at anyone�s naughty bits--try convincing my subconscious of that.
But enough. Debating bathroom etiquette is what guestbooks are for. Have at it, people.
***
So how about that Enron thing? I�ve seen "debacle" in big friendly letters in about a dozen headlines the past couple of weeks. There are certain words we journalists adore using, and that�s one of them.
Take note also that conservatives have finally gotten around to blaming Sept. 11 on Bill Clinton. Jeezis Effing Kee-rist--give it a rest already. The man isn�t even President anymore, in case you haven�t noticed. I have this image in my head of Clinton sitting next to Andrew Sullivan in the back of a station wagon going, "Does this bug you? Does this bug you? I�m not touching you. ..."
I mean, it�s not like Clinton�s own antiterrorism measures weren�t stymied in Congress by GOP lawmakers shrieking about Big Gubmint, you know? The Evil Big Gubmint meme is just so 1994. I know it still plays well with the masses, and I personally still don�t trust government any more than I trust big business, but at least I get to register my displeasure with the former at the ballot box every once in a while. Which is more say than I have about, well, Enron. How a corporation can loot the whole treasury of the state of California and still manage to go bankrupt is beyond the ability of my own monkey-brain to comprehend.
America seems to have gone from "United We Stand" to "Every Man For Himself" in record time.
Oh well. At least I�m back to bitching about the Shrub administration, so I guess all�s right with the world after all.
***
Last night�s Angel didn�t suck, for once. Probably because the Star-Child (aka Angel�s baby, aka the Dumbest Plot Development Joss Whedon Has Ever Come Up With Except Maybe for the Initiative) was only onscreen for a minute or two at the very beginning. Dear Joss: More Cordy, less baby. Love, Mig.
***
|
 |