Slamming toilet seats
by James Channing Shaw
My office is across the hallway from a public bathroom (washroom in Canada). The English term 'water closet' is more accurate for this particular washroom since it's a one person, close-the-door-and-lock-it bathroom. All day long I am constantly jarred by the 'whack!' of the heavy plastic seat falling onto the porcelain rim. Someone goes in, closes the door, throws the dead bolt, and bang! down goes the seat. I can forget about ever having a five minute power nap after lunch.
Do people slam toilet seats at home? I suspect not. What happens to them when they leave the house? Do they leave all respect for public property at their front doorstep every morning? It's as if toilet seat bangers have no perception of anyone other than themselves. I know people like that. I'm related to people like that. Is this Nature or Nurture? Were the parents of toilet seat bangers so permissive that they grew up thinking that anything they wanted to do was OK, regardless of consequences to others? I would love to know the answer to these questions.
Actually I think I understand two reasons why people slam toilet seats. First, we think we can be disrespectful of property when it’s not our own. We don’t care if the thing breaks as long as we didn’t have to buy it in the first place, and don’t have to pay for the new one. Sadly, it's human nature. Second, there must be some phobia about germs that makes people afraid to touch the toilet seat and let it down gently. They must be using their foot or a stick or something to hit the toilet seat down, into submission, as it were, before they completely wrap it with toilet paper so they can finally sit on it.
What degree of separation from kin is necessary to view toilet seats as prime vectors for disease? Spouses and children?—they're cool. Slobbering Labrador Retrievers?—generally not a problem. Aunts and Uncles?—they're usually OK if not too old and don't smell bad. Neighbors?—could get a little sketchy. The cleaning lady?—now we're getting warm. Colleagues from the office?—you get the picture. So it is about strangers, and those in a socioeconomic class lower than the one you currently occupy. It's the thought of the buttocks of the riff-raff having just sat where you are about to put your buttocks, that makes people squeamish so they approach the toilet seat as if it were radioactive. The broken toilet seats I've seen in my life!
But I do have some suggestions. Concerning respect for the next guy or public property, I can't do much about that other than to say: Parents, teach your kids to do the right thing. It just might stick. Concerning germ phobia there are some points to make. First, bacteria don't bore holes into normal skin; nor do they typically fly around the room. If you happen to get bacteria or viruses on your hands now and then, like every time you bite your nails, scratch your head, rub your eyes, or touch the spout on the office water cooler, you can always wash your hands. It washes off!
Second, if you just can't handle the thought of putting the toilet seat down gently with bare hands, use a paper towel or piece of tissue for protection. Germs don't jump through paper in a nano-second.
Finally, men, guys, this is really about you: after you pee and wash your hands, use the paper towel with which you dried your hands to lower the seat for the next customer. She could be your future wife, if that's not too old-fashioned. Alternatively, try sitting down to pee; you'll likely have to do that eventually anyway, when your prostate gland gets too big. Just a thought.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Layering for warmth. Or not!
I am surprised every autumn when, as soon as it starts getting cold, the media start to preach about 'layers' and the importance of 'layering for warmth', as if the ruling came from stone tablets. They make no distinctions among fabrics.
In fairness, I suppose that anybody who wears enough layers of any material can probably stay reasonably warm, but the truth is, in severe cold, IT’S NOT THE LAYERS that determine warmth and functionality in clothing, IT’S THE GARMENT ITSELF. The irony is that layering is most valuable when you're too warm and need to shed clothes. Sound crazy? It's actually simple.
Two main principles are essential for staying warm in cold weather: 1) create pockets of warmed trapped air close to the skin, and 2) prevent the wind from blowing them away. Ask any mountaineer or polar expeditioneur: the crucial items for warmth are goose down parkas and pants, plus wind resistant outer fabrics (Gore-tex being the prototypical best 'outer' fabric). And for nights, the bulkiest down sleeping bag is the warmest way to a good night’s sleep.
'Loft' is the important concept here. Loft is the property of a garment that allows trapping of little pockets of air. Usually the thicker the fabric, the greater the loft, but the downy feathers of geese or Eider ducks (eiderdown) are by far the loftiest materials known to humankind. Down feathers trap air, maintain their shape indefinitely, bounce back after being crushed, and so far, in the history of keeping warm against the elements, down is irrefutably the warmest insulator for its weight. Eiderdown has been used in bedding and garments since the Stone Age, and goose down clothing, popularized in the 1930s by Eddie Bauer, continues as the gold standard. There is one 'downside': if down clothing gets wet, it becomes worthless for warmth and takes a long time to dry. Also, down is expensive.
What about loft in other materials?
Fur: highly effective in a Neanderthal sort of way, but very heavy, and politically sketchy these days.
Synthetics: great invention of the 1980s. Fleece and polypropylene are light in weight and relatively inexpensive, perfect alternatives to down in all but the severest cold, where down is still best.
Wool, that time-honored gift to humanity: wool has considerable loft, from sheepskin coats to cashmere sweaters, to felt liners, and unlike down, wool keeps some loft even when wet.
Cotton: worthless for warmth. Very little loft
Woven silk: strong, but no loft, no warmth.
Bulk silk: this is the long-fiber silk used in duvets. Time-honored and reasonably good in moderate cold.
Linen: take a wild guess. Strictly a summer fabric.
Another misperception is the concept of tight versus loose clothing. Not too long ago, I came across the Cornell University website on how to survive cold winters as a student in upstate New York. It emphasized loose clothing because tight clothes 'don't help to keep you warm' (the website also emphasized layering). This was surprisingly bad information from an institution of higher learning. It is true, tight cotton pants provide little protection against cold, but loose cotton pants are no better! It's the material, not the fit that is important. Wool or fleece will always be warmer than cotton or nylon. And for those of you who think loose is warmer than tight, I suggest you compare a tight cotton t-shirt with a blousy cotton shirt on a hot summer day in Atlanta. Against-the-skin is always warmer than loose and flowing. Have you ever heard of loosely fitting long underwear?
For those frigid walks to class in upstate New York, layers are fine if you don't have anything better. If you can afford it, buy a down coat and forget about the layers. If you don't have the money for down, wear long underwear, wool pants, a wool or fleece sweater and wool coat and you should be able to keep hypothermia at bay for at least an hour or two.
So when is layering important? It's about cooling off, not staying warm. Let's say you are cross-country skiing in minus 5º Celsius (23º Fahrenheit), and working up a sweat. You need to take some clothes off. Going directly from down-filled parka to sweaty t-shirt is not the smartest solution. Layering allows you to remove what you need and not risk hypothermia. The best fabrics for layering are medium loft with wicking properties: Merino wool, polypropylene, or fleece. Even better for cooling off are zipper vents, found in most high-end outerwear, but removing a layer or two works splendidly.
Voila. Layering definitely has its place. Understand the concept; reject the slogan. You'll be more comfortable for it.
In fairness, I suppose that anybody who wears enough layers of any material can probably stay reasonably warm, but the truth is, in severe cold, IT’S NOT THE LAYERS that determine warmth and functionality in clothing, IT’S THE GARMENT ITSELF. The irony is that layering is most valuable when you're too warm and need to shed clothes. Sound crazy? It's actually simple.
Two main principles are essential for staying warm in cold weather: 1) create pockets of warmed trapped air close to the skin, and 2) prevent the wind from blowing them away. Ask any mountaineer or polar expeditioneur: the crucial items for warmth are goose down parkas and pants, plus wind resistant outer fabrics (Gore-tex being the prototypical best 'outer' fabric). And for nights, the bulkiest down sleeping bag is the warmest way to a good night’s sleep.
'Loft' is the important concept here. Loft is the property of a garment that allows trapping of little pockets of air. Usually the thicker the fabric, the greater the loft, but the downy feathers of geese or Eider ducks (eiderdown) are by far the loftiest materials known to humankind. Down feathers trap air, maintain their shape indefinitely, bounce back after being crushed, and so far, in the history of keeping warm against the elements, down is irrefutably the warmest insulator for its weight. Eiderdown has been used in bedding and garments since the Stone Age, and goose down clothing, popularized in the 1930s by Eddie Bauer, continues as the gold standard. There is one 'downside': if down clothing gets wet, it becomes worthless for warmth and takes a long time to dry. Also, down is expensive.
What about loft in other materials?
Fur: highly effective in a Neanderthal sort of way, but very heavy, and politically sketchy these days.
Synthetics: great invention of the 1980s. Fleece and polypropylene are light in weight and relatively inexpensive, perfect alternatives to down in all but the severest cold, where down is still best.
Wool, that time-honored gift to humanity: wool has considerable loft, from sheepskin coats to cashmere sweaters, to felt liners, and unlike down, wool keeps some loft even when wet.
Cotton: worthless for warmth. Very little loft
Woven silk: strong, but no loft, no warmth.
Bulk silk: this is the long-fiber silk used in duvets. Time-honored and reasonably good in moderate cold.
Linen: take a wild guess. Strictly a summer fabric.
Another misperception is the concept of tight versus loose clothing. Not too long ago, I came across the Cornell University website on how to survive cold winters as a student in upstate New York. It emphasized loose clothing because tight clothes 'don't help to keep you warm' (the website also emphasized layering). This was surprisingly bad information from an institution of higher learning. It is true, tight cotton pants provide little protection against cold, but loose cotton pants are no better! It's the material, not the fit that is important. Wool or fleece will always be warmer than cotton or nylon. And for those of you who think loose is warmer than tight, I suggest you compare a tight cotton t-shirt with a blousy cotton shirt on a hot summer day in Atlanta. Against-the-skin is always warmer than loose and flowing. Have you ever heard of loosely fitting long underwear?
For those frigid walks to class in upstate New York, layers are fine if you don't have anything better. If you can afford it, buy a down coat and forget about the layers. If you don't have the money for down, wear long underwear, wool pants, a wool or fleece sweater and wool coat and you should be able to keep hypothermia at bay for at least an hour or two.
So when is layering important? It's about cooling off, not staying warm. Let's say you are cross-country skiing in minus 5º Celsius (23º Fahrenheit), and working up a sweat. You need to take some clothes off. Going directly from down-filled parka to sweaty t-shirt is not the smartest solution. Layering allows you to remove what you need and not risk hypothermia. The best fabrics for layering are medium loft with wicking properties: Merino wool, polypropylene, or fleece. Even better for cooling off are zipper vents, found in most high-end outerwear, but removing a layer or two works splendidly.
Voila. Layering definitely has its place. Understand the concept; reject the slogan. You'll be more comfortable for it.
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