Thinks I get a kick out of - Volume One

It's probably time to add a new recurring segment to the blog.  I can't say for sure how frequently recurring it will be but hey, we'll give it a shot.  Given how regularly I observe here and in other places that the world is basically full of shit, it would be easy for one to conclude that I don't enjoy much.  Such a conclusion would be completely inaccurate.  It's just that I enjoy the insignificant stuff a lot more than the significant.

When it comes to the more existential issues that face humanity, I'm pretty sure we're screwed.  Here's hoping that Rapture thing didn't actually happen and we all didn't just get left behind.  That would be a bummer.  On a smaller scale though, the world is pretty cool when you're easily amused.  I'm easily amused.

Volume One - The conveyor belts at dry cleaners

I used to wear a suit to work every day, so I had to visit dry cleaners on a regular basis.  Even aside from the vocational requirements though, I find that they make life as a single guy a lot more convenient.

When I was a kid, my mother would iron my clothes for me whenever I needed to look presentable.  A little later in life, my wife would iron my clothes for me.  After that failed experiment in marital bliss ran its course, I had various girlfriends who would iron my clothes for me.  (Brand me a sexist if you must, but it ain't always the worst thing to be.)  In recent years, I've been solo and I have less than zero ability to iron a shirt properly.  I can do okay with pants for the most part, and pants get wrinkled pretty quickly once you sit in them anyway.  But shirts - can't do it.  The best part about dry cleaning, in my opinion, isn't the actual cleaning.  It's that you get your clothes back in a nicely pressed condition, ready to take on the world.

Somewhat recently, my old buddy Mr. Pedro died.  It follows then that I had to attend a funeral.  I wear old jeans and a work shirt 90% of the time these days, so I went to my closet to assess the wardrobe situation.  My suits were hanging neatly in place, but they had been wrinkled a bit during my latest relocation.  In what must surely be a sign of unprecedented optimism on my part, I went to the store and bought a fancy iron with the steam shooter and all of the other high-tech nonsense.  I gave it a shot.  Yeah, I still can't do it.  So I had to take my clothes to the dry cleaner.

Upon arriving, I was reminded of one of the things that I really get a kick out of.

I dig those conveyor belts, man.  Walk around the shop and look for someone's clothes?  Hell to the naw.  This is America, Jack.  We whip out a remote control and watch a thousand sets of clothing cruise around the building until the correct one lands in front of us.  Up to the roof, down to the floor, around corners, over walkways.  It's awesome.  It really is.