Post #1 “The Silence of the Urinals”

 

I really do apologize for the fact that my first foray into blogging is centered on the unappetizing subject of men’s room urinals. It’s a pity too, because I’ve been thinking about creating this blog for a good long time now and have come up with some truly original ideas. Unfortunately, right now I just can’t recall a single one of them.

 

By the way, in case you’re wondering what ‘No Spring Chickens’ is all about, let me quickly tell you what I’m hoping to do here: simply put, perhaps my favorite pastime in the world is being an unobserved observer of the human scene in all its wonder and absurdity. Sit me down at a café anywhere on the planet and my body, brain and spirit become joyful at the prospect of breathing in human foible and vicissitude. Occasionally, through that prism, I even get the chance to glimpse my own imperfections. It isn’t always pretty, but it does seem to serve as grist for the mill of my curiosity, which is the driving force behind my work, both as a filmmaker and psychotherapist. Add to this the many indignities of older age- some amusing, others annoying, still others downright humiliating- and I think you’ve pretty much got the picture. In the end, what it all boils down to is that the older I get, the more I feel as if so many of the experiences that have given my life meaning seem to be so quickly disappearing. If you feel that way too, perhaps by me writing about them and you reading them, we can keep them alive for each other just a little bit longer.

 

Now, back to those urinals:

 

Here’s the dirty little secret: size does matter; perhaps to women, but definitely to men. Even more importantly, noise matters, because it serves to cover up the discomfort men feel upon entering a public rest room and possibly making the discovery that other men may be, shall we say, better equipped than they are? I know I’ve often felt that way and made a point of facing straight ahead, for fear of catching a glimpse of something I might later regret having seen.

 

All the more reason to have been taken by complete surprise one day about a year ago, upon entering the rather elegantly appointed men’s room of the prestigious Academy of Motion Pictures in Beverly Hills. The room was filled with men attending to their ‘business’ and yet instinctively I knew something was wrong. Nor did it take very long to figure it out. It was sound- or rather the lack of it. No, I’m not talking about voices.  I’m referring to the sound of flushing water. Had everyone in the room decided to not flush at exactly the same time? Had I alone not received the ‘no flush’ memo? Or was something else going on? My curiosity was soon satisfied as I sidled up to a urinal, prepared to relieve myself and was shocked to discover staring me straight in the face a brushed metal plaque, which proudly declared ‘This Is A Flushless Urinal’!

 

Indeed, there was not a drop of water in sight; leaving me with nothing but the deafening sound of silence. You see, in a men’s room, flushing covers up all manner of unwanted noises, not to mention many uncomfortable feelings. And too, for those of us who with each passing year find that our need to ‘go’ has increased exponentially, yet our ability to do so has not, there is nothing quite like the sound of flushing water to inspire the stimulation of our collective prostate glands.

 

Don’t get me wrong; I’m as dedicated as the next person to the conservation of our ever-diminishing natural resources- especially in a place like Los Angeles, where instant gratification knows no bounds. However, in deference to those of us who require a bit of aural assistance, might not the powers that be consider some other form of resource reduction in favor of bringing back the flush, so that those of us who truly require it for inspiration can finally relieve ourselves in the manner to which we have so long been accustomed?

 

 

Please send your feedback to Ira Wohl at: bestboy@earthlink.net