Nice! I really enjoyed that entry too.
Great newspaper review too, through the eyes of someone new to the band. (link "In the Media" thread)

---

Free Cruise Clocks

Another new From The Road!  Check out Alan's Saturday posting:

In the latest "From The Road", Alan writes:

"...I cannot for the life of me figure out why someone would write on the wall of a bathroom stall."

Well, I don't think I needed the graphic description of the inside of a men's room! LOL! And I have accidentally walked into a men's room and all-too-late realized it. I had to wait a long time in that stall before I wondered out. And that was BEFORE I had any drinks!

Also often wondered about the bathroom philosophers. I guess if you get to talk wiht real people often, you don't need it. *shrugs*

Always enjoy reading the FTRs. Keep 'em coming, Alan!

---

And when the winds of change begin to blow,
I'll whisper, "You're my lighthouse" in case you didn't know.

Sons of Maxwell

visit my website!:
Anne's Philly Phan Site at http://www.gbsfanatic.com

HA! I am SO glad I'm not the only one eternally puzzled by bathroom graffiti! The comedian Dane Cook has a HILARIOUS rant on this, and public bathrooms in general. Search him on YouTube, it's in one of the clips (warning: rated R for language and content!)

I've found though, that graffiti in Canada seems to be somewhat more witty than that in the States. Observe:

Women's restroom in Savage Garden goth club, Queen Street, Toronto, ON.

I also confess to occasionally walking into and using an empty men's room on occasion...if there's no one in there, and a line 3 blocks long for the ladies' room...I ain't waitin'! LOL

(that's always puzzled me...what is it that takes most women SO LONG in the can?!)

---

"We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. We are here to drink beer. We are here to kill war. We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us."
-Charles Bukowski

"Bad as I am, I'm still here."

Hah,
I just recently read a message on the women's restroom of a nightclub that really made me laugh:

Right on the door was written the following sentence:
"Would you like playing toilet ping-pong with me ? Than just have a look to the right !"
And as I had a look to the right wall the following sentence was written there: "just have a look to the left !"
And as I had a look to the left wall the following sentence was written there: "just have a look to the right!"
And as I had a look to the right wall ...
That's the moment I joined the toilet ping-pong, I think !

Hope I translated it the right way.

Kati

---

Learn from the past, live now, see the future !

Kati, that's tooooo funny!!!!!

My brother called a number once from a find on a men's room stall and behold the gal answered. My brother informed her of what was written and she had a FREAK on his head,lol.

Perhaps Alan and the boys can turnthe bathroon writings into a song,lol. Bet it would be a good one,lol.

---

Georgain Bay Lass

What a hoot.  My biggest beef with public bathrooms, other than cleanliness, is that they aren't always clearly marked...why do restaurants and bars feel the need to use kitchy phrases and drawings on the bathroom doors.  Half the time, I can't tell from the drawing or the word if it's the women's room, and I've bounded into a roomful of men at urinals, who then turn to look at the door -- not a pretty site  Why can't they keep it simple and use the words, men and women (or some variation)...as for scribbles on walls, I always wondered how do men write something above the urinals -- quite the multitaskers

Ahh the joy of public toilets! Junior high stalls have to be the best for random comments. I remember quite fondly an interesting comparission of Math and Sex.... which I'll skip on repeating here.

For those of you that were wondering why women take so long in the bathroom... hopefully this helps explain it. (This was sent to me in an email awhile ago, not sure who had this lovely evening but it is similar to many encounters I've had/seen)

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place.

 

Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors.  Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.

You get in to find the door won't latch.  It doesn't matter.

 

The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty.  You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."

 

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake.You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."

 

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser.  In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"

 

Your thighs shake more.You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one

that's still in your purse.  That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible.  It is still smaller than your thumbnail.

 

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the

tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, you lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto

the TOILET SEAT.

 

It is wet of course.You bolt up; knowing all too well that it's too late.  Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper -

not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

 

You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."

 

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At that point, you give up.

 

You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat.

You're exhausted.  You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

 

You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women, still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them.

 

A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

 

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's restroom.

Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

 

...This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public

restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains

to the men what really does take us so long.  It also answers their

other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in

pairs. --- It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and

 hand you Kleenex under the door.

Melly:

Ahh the joy of public toilets! Junior high stalls have to be the best for random comments. I remember quite fondly an interesting comparission of Math and Sex.... which I'll skip on repeating here.

For those of you that were wondering why women take so long in the bathroom... hopefully this helps explain it. (This was sent to me in an email awhile ago, not sure who had this lovely evening but it is similar to many encounters I've had/seen)

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place.

 

Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors.  Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.

You get in to find the door won't latch.  It doesn't matter.

 

The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty.  You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there were one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."

 

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake.You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."

 

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser.  In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"

 

Your thighs shake more.You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one

that's still in your purse.  That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible.  It is still smaller than your thumbnail.

 

Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the

tank of the toilet. "Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, you lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto

the TOILET SEAT.

 

It is wet of course.You bolt up; knowing all too well that it's too late.  Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper -

not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

 

You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."

 

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose that somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At that point, you give up.

 

You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat.

You're exhausted.  You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

 

You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women, still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them.

 

A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

 

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's restroom.

Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

 

...This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public

restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains

to the men what really does take us so long.  It also answers their

other commonly asked question about why women go to the restroom in

pairs. --- It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and

 hand you Kleenex under the door.

Thanks Melly. Oh my god! Hahaha!!! I've NEVER had the brilliant inspriation to hang my purse around my neck - how inventive! Usually, I balance it on top of the big round multi-roll TP dispenser. It seesaws back & forth under my watchful eye while I finish my business - always ready to throw out an arm to make a save in case it threatens to slide off while I'm fighting with the dispenser which will only give me one bloody square at a time.

---

Free Cruise Clocks

Alan is on a roll!  Here's another From The Road:

In the newest From The Road, Alan writes:

"...An overnight drive to Montreal and we should be on the Rock by lunch time."

Enjoy!

-Helen

Variety is the spice of life, if we put stock in an old saying. So, it's no surprise, I guess, that entries from one day (16th) to the next (17th) move from the ridiculous to the sublime. Or, from the sublime to the ridiculous, if we put stock in an old saying.

Thanks for the entries Alan! I think touring one week at a time would keep the shows energetic too, not that the shows ever threaten to sedate me. I wonder if Darrell would've been interested in that more family-friendly schedule? Timing is everything I guess.

---

Free Cruise Clocks

Being from a large family, I'm pretty good at the peepee dance, but even my bladder has it's limits so I've used the men's room once in a while too.  I must confess, I am often amused by the graffiti in the stalls.  Not that I can ever remember any of the witty stuff, but it can give me a laugh at the moment.  There is one place I've been to that has a chalkboard and chalk in the stall so you can write to your hearts content.  It works too becasue there isn't anything else written on the walls/door of the stall.

.

---

Sandy

Like Alan, I'm confused by the need some people feel to write all sorts of stuff on bathroom walls.  Unlike Alan, I don't understand the need to spray-paint "Van Halen Rules" anywhere, but that's another matter.

I've only written on a bathroom wall once.  It was in university and, under the typical 'Janie loves Johnny' grafitti, someone had written:

"Yeah.  I love my mommy but I don't write it on bathroom walls."

So, I felt compelled to add:

"Actually, not to put too fine a point on it, yes you do."

---

There's a rope around my neck
and there's a trigger in your gun.
Jesus, say something.
I am someone, I am someone
I am someone.

It's the captive audience, I should think.  I mean... we all READ what's on the wall, right?  So I guess I get it and I don't.  I've never written anything myself although I did mod a forum titled The Bathroom Wall for the longest time.  It was kind of a catch-all place for random comments, profound short essays, announcements, celebrations, and favorite quotes.

I'll pass on the spray paint as well, even if I agree with the expressed sentiment.  ;o)  I hear OU812 calling my name.... *L*

---

~Kes


Desperate times call for desperate measures
Open your mind to all life's little pleasures
The hole in this world could be healed if by chance
everyone just stood up, took their pants off and danced

~Bruce Guthro

Alan's Newest From The Road Journal!

In his latest entry, Alan writes:

"...Fulfilled a bit of a lifelong goal last night and officially performed onstage with my favorite songwriter, Ron Hynes."