My grandfather passed away earlier today.

I have been prepared for quite some time, since he was a very old man and I have learned to accept a world without him. Cottled and nagged by women, his wife and eight daugthers, he deserves much rest.

The hassle of security measures at the Detroit/Windsor border were a mixed blessing. This barrier kept me away from him in his narrowing days, but also kept me away from seeing him not as the proud man he was and not the frail soul he became. This evening, crossing the border for the first time after his passing I was just in the mood for an insensitive, racial-profiling, homeland security agent.
I pulled up to the interrogation booth, and answered the inital interrogatives. When I was asked why I was in Canada, I confess that I was there because my grandfather passed away. The agent offered his condolences and said that he’s in a better place after I disclosed my grandfather’s age. The agent dismissed me and I wished him a good night. Trite as this all was, a very profound thing happened. The agent quietly and almost hesitantly whispered ‘God Bless You’. As I write this it loses it’s impact, but at the moment I was moved. I’m not deeply religious. I’ve renounced the actions of the Catholic church, the pedantic musings of the religious right, and given the situations in the Middle East, I’ve resigned myself of structured religion. The hesitation in this man’s voice gave the phrase some credence. Like a fool who blurts out a declaration of love, this agent expressed sympathy for me. Those three words transcended all of my mistrust and struggle caused by structured religion. His sentiment didn’t carry along with it messages of how to live or who to isn’t worthy. I felt no malice or urge to remind him of separation of church and state. This was his wish for me, in his own voice, and surprisingly enough it spoke to me.

The closest restroom to the new office suite is frequently used despite its small size. People on the first floor, dock workers, the office suite that I’m in, and people on their out of the building use this facility. Now, I’ve seen some messed up bathrooms, from euro-rail WCs to unlit tiny rooms in a asian back alley, but I work in a gleaming first world Fortune-500 company. Consisting of 2 waterless urinals, 2 commodes, and 4 sinks; this poor little room takes a lot of abuse. This morning’s green tea and banana flavored soy drink coaxed me to use this restroom.

I walked into the restroom, and immediately saw a tall man standing in front of the lower set ‘waterless urinal’. Angered that this man wasn’t using the appropriate urinal for his height, I approached the higher set urinal which to my horror was filled with urine. As a quick aside, my keen atavistic sense told me that the person who last used the toilet could do with drinking more water. I left to use a stall, but to this moment, I’m haunted by the thought, “How do you flush a waterless toilet?” and furthermore, “How does a waterless toilet get clogged”.

Addressing the latter, I wonder if this is a mechanical issue where something physical blocking the drainage. I picture some collective of rogue kidney stones or bolus of hair clogging the patented waterless system. I have visited the website of this technology but my personal interest in the inner workings of waste management is fleeting, if any. Now onto the other issue, clearing the blockage. The bowl of a waterless toilet system is very shallow, it’s much like peeing into a decorative bird bath. The waste drains through small slits at bottom, hardly the drainage system of traditional urinals. The ‘system’ relies on some type of voodoo to move the urine, and there is no lever or chain to tug expunge your business. I imagine that someone had to manually remove some of the excess urine in the bowl before having to pump/plunge the urinal. In any case, the poor person who has to address this full toilet will have to handle urine. All you asshole environmentalist have that on your conscience, we’re conserving water (IN THE GREAT LAKES STATE) but you’re not the one unclogging or flushing the waterless toilet.

There was an assortment of giant donuts, I could only show this one because I wanted to get the pies in the shot to show scale.
I saw a rather rotund family enjoying these and I though it best not to buy them. Though we did buy stollen, raisin-apple bread, a cherry bar, and small apple tartlet.

I’m not having fun making counterfeit money as described in the B52′s song “Legal Tender”. My department has moved to the basement, which all in all is not that bad, with the huge exception of NO CELL SIGNAL. No text messages, calls, or mobile packet internet. I’m so sad. I don’t want to dial out when I want to read my mail or connect to my box at home.

I’m considering purchasing an amplifier for my pc card, but I’d hate to risk paying for a US$200 box that may or may not compete with the high voltage generators, surrounded by thick metal walls, capped with high polished stone. I now have to watch what I do on the corporate network.