Long Shrift

red-nosed rain here

It's two days before Christmas, and my head feels like it is packed with Play-Doh. I am kneeling in front of the bathroom sink, about to attempt a sinus rinse for the first time.

I am not looking forward to this. The directions are simple: fill the squeeze bottle with warm water, add saline packet, squirt in one nostril until water comes out the other nostril, repeat until the bottle is empty or you wake up in the emergency department. My wife has assured me that it works, and that I should stop being so dramatic.

She has also helpfully pointed out a tip from the instruction booklet, under "To Avoid Any Ear Discomfort": Keep your mouth open. Do not hold your breath and if possible make the sound "KHA... KHA..." as you breathe out.

So Quinn, our 5-year-old son, is expecting me to make noises like Chewbacca. Whatever happens, I have to make this process appear enjoyable, even intriguing, because one day we may want to try this on him.

I squeeze the bottle. There's a brief moment where I think I am about to drown, but that passes quickly. As does the solution, and as it goes down the drain, I am relieved to see it has not taken on any particularly alarming tint.

My sinuses are clear. My son is disappointed.

 

bin and gone

It's the time of year when the city giveth and the city taketh away. We've had a couple of minor snowfalls, and the streets have been cleared quickly. And it wasn't that long ago that we took bushels of leaves to the curb, where sanitation crews waited to spirit them away. And when high winds took out a tree limb and some electrical wires in our backyard, the police were quick to arrive on the scene.

The alley out back is home to our garbage and recycling bins (and the raccoons that love them). Each household gets a green bin for garbage and a blue bin for recycling. Oddly, we have two green bins; the second was there when we moved in years ago.

The other day, we got the word that as of January 1, the city would be charging $20/year for extra garbage bins. However, the city will happily take the second garbage bin away for no charge. Apparently, amnesty days aren't just for library books and handguns any more.

My wife was practically reaching for the phone, but I had second thoughts. The extra garbage bin has never seen much use, but it's nice to have for bulky or oddly-shaped items, such as the occasional two-by-four, big pieces of styrofoam packaging, or raccoon carcasses. Once or twice, neighbors have asked me if they could throw items in the second bin, and I've been happy to share our embarrassment of riches. I never abused the second bin with contraband items: if we had extra recycling, I'd keep it in the garage until the blue bin was emptied. We managed the second bin with complete regard for the honor such responsibility imparts. Well, frankly, most of this management was left to me, and perhaps this is why my wife didn't fully understand my hesitation.

Years ago, when we were adding on to the house, we had the luxury of a 30-yard dumpster parked outside the house for weeks. We loathed it at first, but slowly we learned to accept and, yes, even to love the dumpster. The dumpster ate construction materials without a burp, and when it was full, it would be magically replaced with an empty facsimile. Then we realized that the dumpster would digest almost anything, like the decrepit chair that languished in the basement, and the broken bricks that had once been piled alongside the garage. Unless you've had a dumpster, you can't truly appreciate the catharsis that it offers. When the days of the dumpster were over, it was me that felt empty.

So, do we pay the $20? The skeptic in me wonders if the charge is an empty threat, one that won't - or can't - be enforced by the city's bureaucracy. The plebeian would suggest that it would only be fair to pay a little more for the extra service. The insurrectionist considers painting my neighbor's house number on it so that he foots the bill.

The realist in me will probably call and have the second bin carted away. If I have extra garbage to throw out, I can always wait until cover of night and throw it in a neighbor's bin. Of course, that's when the raccoons come out.

Where the rubber meets the road

I recently had a need to conduct a poll, and someone suggested IdeaScale. It's a simple yet powerful tool: people can make a suggestion, or give a thumbs-up or thumbs-down to other suggestions, and eventually the most popular ideas will rise to the top.

There's an IdeaScale blog that showcases how their clients use the product, and a recent article caught my eye: Durex turns to crowdsourcing.

Condom companies around the world have been asking themselves the following question since the advent of television advertising: How can we harness all the brilliant ideas of guys hanging out in bars who have “the best idea for a condom commercial?”

It seems that everything from buildings to business plans (including a few dubious business plans) have been conceived on the back of a cocktail napkin. I wonder if Durex sees the irony in looking to drunks to scribble down their ideas about, well, not conceiving.