Sunday, March 03, 2013

signing out

I have a fascination for signs.

Not the signs of augury.  Being elbow deep in lamb entrails is not my idea of a good time.  I will leave that hygenically-challenged task to the Chris Matthews set.

The signs that fascinate me are the ones that sprout up on doors and roadsides.  Such as the vaguely fascist "no smoking outside" sign I shot in don't smoke 'em -- even if you got 'em

Once you start looking, you can see them everywhere.  Especially, north of the Rio Bravo.  And, yes,there are plenty of signs in Mexico, but my neighbors know how to deal with them.  They ignore them.  Especially the roadside signs that instruct drivers to obey the signs.  But that is another post.

For now, let me share two of my recent finds.  The first is at the top of the post.

The vaguely arts-and-craftsy hand-written sign is on the door of the Play Boutique -- a daycare center where parents who desperately want to be upper middle class pay money to park their children for the day.  Apparently some parents are so reckless that they arm little Nancy with a deadly peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Now, I know that some Americans and Canadians suffer from food allergies -- or, more accurately, food sensitivities.  But the rare exception now seems to be the basis for all of our social intercourse. 

When I was a kid (yeah, I know: tell us a story Grandpa Cotton), I do not recall any of my friends who had allergies.  There was the kid who was allergic to bee stings -- and we looked out for him.  Without all of these First World Problem hysterias.

And then there is this one.

The warning in the first sign begins to make sense.  If 40 hunks of deep-fried chicken serves 4, that means that a McDonald's serving of chicken is 10 pieces. 

I like thse Chicken McNuggets.  But I doubt I could eat 10 pieces at one setting.  That does not seem to be the case for most of the people I see waddling into McDonald's these days.  And that is coming from a guy who is far too big for his own britches -- and shirts.

But this is Oregon.  A pioneer state of the medical marijuana movement.  So, I will leave you a final sign.

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