Disposable, cleaner-infused cleaning heads, shaped where they can actually get under the rim of the toilet and get all up in that nasty splatter matter that wants to hide from you. You know what I’m talking about. That stuff that comes out of you and defies the laws of physics like the JFK magic bullet? Yeah, that stuff. This thing cleans like a glorious bastard!
When you are done, you pull that cleaning head off the wand and throw it away, and put the wand in its handy holder. No nasty brush that has just cleaned up pee and dookie (in all its forms), sitting in a nasty holder full of nasty pee/poop water.
Now, is the disposable cleaning head wasteful? Yes. Good for the environment? No. Do I care? Yes. Do I care enough not to use this device? No. Not even close. Not – even – close.
The Clorox Toilet Wand, sitting cleanly in its clean holder, after its first use, not a shit particle on it. GENIUS! Yes, those are cleaning heads inside the older.
When I was a kid my parents brought home a beat up old B&W television from my grandparents’ house. It might have been from my aunt Trish and Uncle Don. Whatever. Looked like it was from the early 1960s or even late 50s. Probably an RCA. We had it back in the “recreation room”, so-named because of my dad’s original plan to put a pool table back there, which never quite happened, so it served the same purpose that a basement does in many homes up north. By that, I mean it was where all my shit was. My train layout on plywood. My 2 gerbil habitats. My aquarium full of goldfish and my other fish bowls, all with a network of aeration tubing, my supplies and card table for building plastic models.
The Spindrift spaceship from Land of the Giants, under attack!
The TV sat on the “old” coffee table. The one I had carved on and just generally messed up as a small child. Theoretically we had five normal channels and at least one UHF channel in North Dallas. In practice, with a 20 year old television with rabbit ears, the number of channels available depended on a number of factors, including tuning, position of the rabbit ears, the weather, and how I held my body.
Sunday afternoon was typically a sci-fi afternoon on Channel 11. In no particular order, one could watch Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, Lost in Space, the Time Tunnel, and Land of the Giants. Yes, the great Irwin Allen owned the airwaves in that glorious time.
The Time Tunnel, which I’d realized years later drew design inspiration from the classic SF film, Forbidden Planet.
At risk of using the word “shit” again in this post, let me simply say that TV was a piece of shit, but I was lucky to have it. LUCKY. And APPRECIATIVE. As many of you “sports fans” are aware, Sunday afternoon is also a big day for televised sports. In fact, while I’ve not done my research and have no empirical evidence, I’d guess that there has not been a Sunday afternoon in the last 70 years (maybe more) without televised sports on all afternoon. So regardless the time of year, there was exactly a ZERO percent chance I’d be able to watch any of these shows on the color TV. So that black & white TV was my lifeline to true culture (space ships and creatures and weird ideas).
Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. The Flying Sub leaving the nuclear submarine Seaview.
So I’d sit back there, on the floor, and periodically reposition the antenna, curse (quietly), and watch those shows and/or various monster and science fiction movies. I was compelled. That’s how human beings are. What we dig, we dig, and we don’t really care about much else. I have been drawn to science fiction and imagination since I was a small child. The cartoons I liked when I was really young, like 4 years old, tended to be SF-related. Might have something to do with the decade I was born into. Space exploration was starting up. All that stuff was big. Frankenstein Junior and the Herculoids were my favorites. Robots, alien worlds, and creatures.
In retrospect, it was actually great.
That room was my domain. It was, indeed, a recreation room, but it was MY recreation room. When I started skateboarding, in the winter I’d practice tricks back there on the linoleum floor. My mom never even got on my case for it. Even then, I still used that TV. There was still a lot of SF to watch, and still a lot of sports on TV.
This is our cat, Lefty. He was once part of a duo known as Pancho & Lefty, but Pancho met his fate back in 2015, at 7 years of age.
Lefty is now 12. None of our other cats have lived past 7 before, so for the first time we are in senior-cat territory. He’s a good boy. Kept me company during the lockdown. Sleeps with us every night.
He is a little under the weather. Has the sniffles. Took him to the vet today and he got a shot. Heart and lungs sound good. No signs of any major problem. Antibiotic shot as a precaution.