Category Archives: dirt

On washing the car

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A most worthless past-time has never been invented. I’ve seen the guys who spend every weekend washing their vehicles, waxing them, polishing up the chrome, making their cars shine. I get it–these vehicles are an extension of their egos. I’m not even going to talk about those people who pay to have their cars washed by others–disgusting. Nevertheless, cars go out into the world, cars get dirty, cars drive through every bit of crap and dirt and pollution that contaminates our environment; these things never vary. I haven’t washed my car in several months; it’s not a habit of mine, and every time it rains, the car just gets a little more dirty. Finally, the back end of my red car had turned gray, so it was time to go to the car wash. Washing a car is bit like painting the Golden Gate Bridge, no matter how often you do it, the car will still be dirty. Other than pride, wanting to show off, why would we possibly wash our cars? Yes, you do want to get the bird excrement off of the paint so the paint doesn’t start to flake off, but just regular dirt doesn’t have that much of an influence on the paint job. In fact, doesn’t the dirt protect the paint from further harm? Now my car is a nice, bright, candy-apple red, again. But I still can’t figure out what drove me to wash my car; it’s only going to get dirty again.

On washing the car

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A most worthless past-time has never been invented. I’ve seen the guys who spend every weekend washing their vehicles, waxing them, polishing up the chrome, making their cars shine. I get it–these vehicles are an extension of their egos. I’m not even going to talk about those people who pay to have their cars washed by others–disgusting. Nevertheless, cars go out into the world, cars get dirty, cars drive through every bit of crap and dirt and pollution that contaminates our environment; these things never vary. I haven’t washed my car in several months; it’s not a habit of mine, and every time it rains, the car just gets a little more dirty. Finally, the back end of my red car had turned gray, so it was time to go to the car wash. Washing a car is bit like painting the Golden Gate Bridge, no matter how often you do it, the car will still be dirty. Other than pride, wanting to show off, why would we possibly wash our cars? Yes, you do want to get the bird excrement off of the paint so the paint doesn’t start to flake off, but just regular dirt doesn’t have that much of an influence on the paint job. In fact, doesn’t the dirt protect the paint from further harm? Now my car is a nice, bright, candy-apple red, again. But I still can’t figure out what drove me to wash my car; it’s only going to get dirty again.

On changing a tire

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A flat tire gives you all kinds of time to ponder the world. You have to clear out the trunk to get to the jack and other tire changing gear, so as you ponder all the crap you keep in the trunk, you might also ponder the meaning of life, wondering all the time why you do have so much useless stuff in your trunk. Jacks today are a little different than the bumper jacks of yesteryear that our fathers taught us to use. They are smaller and safer, but harder to use–most of are a scissor-type that goes under the frame just in front of the tire. Once you have that figured out, you have to attack the lug nuts with the lug wrench. Since most lug nuts are put on with power tools that torque the nuts to a certain torsion that will not loosen up on its own, getting them loose by hand is a real challenge. The act of loosening those lug nuts really gets you in touch with your feelings, your muscles, your weight. All of this takes time, and for someone who doesn’t do this every day, this is a chance to review the principles of physics that govern mass, work, gravity, torque, and the like. Since changing a tire is a solitary past-time, you get to talk to yourself, review procedures for the correct changing of the tire, debate the pro’s and con’s of carrying a larger lug wrench, and analyze the engineering of the jack and its correct application. Once you have the old, flat tire off and the spare tire on, you have to repeat the procedure of removing the tire, but in reverse. You screw on the lug nuts, lower the car, tighten the lug nuts, remove the jack, and had to the tire store to get the flat fixed. You pick up your tools, put the flat tire in the trunk, ponder the destiny of all the junk that was in the trunk, pour yourself a cool drink and wipe the sweat from your forehead.

On changing a tire

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A flat tire gives you all kinds of time to ponder the world. You have to clear out the trunk to get to the jack and other tire changing gear, so as you ponder all the crap you keep in the trunk, you might also ponder the meaning of life, wondering all the time why you do have so much useless stuff in your trunk. Jacks today are a little different than the bumper jacks of yesteryear that our fathers taught us to use. They are smaller and safer, but harder to use–most of are a scissor-type that goes under the frame just in front of the tire. Once you have that figured out, you have to attack the lug nuts with the lug wrench. Since most lug nuts are put on with power tools that torque the nuts to a certain torsion that will not loosen up on its own, getting them loose by hand is a real challenge. The act of loosening those lug nuts really gets you in touch with your feelings, your muscles, your weight. All of this takes time, and for someone who doesn’t do this every day, this is a chance to review the principles of physics that govern mass, work, gravity, torque, and the like. Since changing a tire is a solitary past-time, you get to talk to yourself, review procedures for the correct changing of the tire, debate the pro’s and con’s of carrying a larger lug wrench, and analyze the engineering of the jack and its correct application. Once you have the old, flat tire off and the spare tire on, you have to repeat the procedure of removing the tire, but in reverse. You screw on the lug nuts, lower the car, tighten the lug nuts, remove the jack, and had to the tire store to get the flat fixed. You pick up your tools, put the flat tire in the trunk, ponder the destiny of all the junk that was in the trunk, pour yourself a cool drink and wipe the sweat from your forehead.

On translating

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Translating by definition is falsification and, ultimately, betrayal. Languages are not parallel so all translation is marked by what is lost, not by what is gained. All translators know this because it is their job to understand, interpret, and compromise as they switch a text or discourse from one language to another. There is no such thing as a literal translation, and all bilingual people understand this chasm between languages that cannot be bridged by translating. Translation is about changing a text is such a way that it might be understandable to people who don’t speak the original language. All translation is about loss. As I look at an English translation of Dante’s Inferno, I can only lament the loss of rhythm, sound, and rhyme. We get the “gist” of what Dante is saying about sin and shame, ego and pride, but his art as a poet is lost forever: Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita / mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, / ché la diritta via era smarrita. Translating and translation are about the translator turning a blind eye to the myriad and multiple meanings that cling to the original words and sacrificing the author’s creativity and originality so that the text might be accessible to others who fall outside the circle of the author’s language. Yet, translators prevail, get hired, and they do their jobs with little shame or humility. Translations are as ubiquitous as taxes and death. Could it be, all along, that translation is the world’s oldest profession? The problem, of course, is not translation, but the multiple languages the people of the world speak, that Tower of Babel from which we are doomed to inhabit forever. Yet, I am not in favor of making one language a required, dogmatic official language. The more common norm is for people to live in multilingual societies. Even today there are many areas of the world where people speak two, three, or even four languages according to the demands of the social situation. Being multilingual does not solve the problem of translation but it does eliminate the need for translation. If a person speaks Italian, reads Italian, then anything they experience in that language is self-explanatory even if the person’s first language might be German or French. Translation only occurs if the original language is a barrier to understanding the text, or conversation, or song. The only way to approach translation is to assume failure before you even start, and by assuming failure, the translator can only produce a new text which was inspired by the original. In a sense all texts are failed translations of other texts, and there exists no ur-text or Q manuscript which might have been original. Misreading, misunderstandings, ambiguity, mistakes, lacunae, accidents, double-entendre, obscurity, complexity, prejudice, bias, and misinterpretation all plague the translator who cannot avoid or evade his/her own human condition as imperfect translator. In the end, all translators must recognize their failure, ignore the imperfection of their work, and move forward to the next sentence with the understanding that failure is the best they can do. In a larger sense, this is the existential question of the human condition–translator as failure.

On translating

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Translating by definition is falsification and, ultimately, betrayal. Languages are not parallel so all translation is marked by what is lost, not by what is gained. All translators know this because it is their job to understand, interpret, and compromise as they switch a text or discourse from one language to another. There is no such thing as a literal translation, and all bilingual people understand this chasm between languages that cannot be bridged by translating. Translation is about changing a text is such a way that it might be understandable to people who don’t speak the original language. All translation is about loss. As I look at an English translation of Dante’s Inferno, I can only lament the loss of rhythm, sound, and rhyme. We get the “gist” of what Dante is saying about sin and shame, ego and pride, but his art as a poet is lost forever: Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita / mi ritrovai per una selva oscura, / ché la diritta via era smarrita. Translating and translation are about the translator turning a blind eye to the myriad and multiple meanings that cling to the original words and sacrificing the author’s creativity and originality so that the text might be accessible to others who fall outside the circle of the author’s language. Yet, translators prevail, get hired, and they do their jobs with little shame or humility. Translations are as ubiquitous as taxes and death. Could it be, all along, that translation is the world’s oldest profession? The problem, of course, is not translation, but the multiple languages the people of the world speak, that Tower of Babel from which we are doomed to inhabit forever. Yet, I am not in favor of making one language a required, dogmatic official language. The more common norm is for people to live in multilingual societies. Even today there are many areas of the world where people speak two, three, or even four languages according to the demands of the social situation. Being multilingual does not solve the problem of translation but it does eliminate the need for translation. If a person speaks Italian, reads Italian, then anything they experience in that language is self-explanatory even if the person’s first language might be German or French. Translation only occurs if the original language is a barrier to understanding the text, or conversation, or song. The only way to approach translation is to assume failure before you even start, and by assuming failure, the translator can only produce a new text which was inspired by the original. In a sense all texts are failed translations of other texts, and there exists no ur-text or Q manuscript which might have been original. Misreading, misunderstandings, ambiguity, mistakes, lacunae, accidents, double-entendre, obscurity, complexity, prejudice, bias, and misinterpretation all plague the translator who cannot avoid or evade his/her own human condition as imperfect translator. In the end, all translators must recognize their failure, ignore the imperfection of their work, and move forward to the next sentence with the understanding that failure is the best they can do. In a larger sense, this is the existential question of the human condition–translator as failure.

On cleaning

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Though I am not the neatest person that ever lived–I file by the top-down pile method–I certainly appreciate a clean kitchen, a clean bathroom, clean floors, empty waste baskets, and an empty garbage can. Having a dirty, smelly, full garbage can is not only nasty, it attracts bugs, which is something I just cannot abide. Paradoxically, I am dead lazy when it comes to mopping or dusting, but I am good at doing the dishes, emptying waste baskets, and throwing away unwanted papers and junk mail. I can throw things away, but I have to focus to do it. I can’t stand to see some unidentified black speck on the bathroom floor, but I don’t get up in the morning vowing to mop every last floor in the house. And I hate to vacuum, which makes lots of noise and makes me sneeze, both of which are activities I can do without. I profoundly admire those who have the cleaning bug because immaculate floors are one of life’s great pleasures. I tend to leave piles of stuff all over the place, but with a little bit of a nudge (okay, by hitting me with a two-by-four) I can be convinced to go through a pile and throw most of it away. Books are problematic. First, old books smell a bit and they attract dirt, which are two big negatives for clean freaks who see books as one of their big enemies. New books are not as bad as old books. My oldest book was published in 1798. Dirt is both smart and ubiquitous. Regardless of how hard you try to keep it out, it creeps in everywhere–the garage, the entryway, the bathroom, the living-room. You track things in with your shoes, which are always very dirty, and you bring things in from the outside–food, papers, whatever–which will bring dirt with them. Cleaning is one of the monumental non-stop propositions that must be forever on-going or you will lose, miserably. Clothing is a great example of the perpetual nature of cleaning. In just one day a family of four will generate a load of wash, but it’s not just a load a day–the trajectory of dirty clothing is geometric over time, not arithmetic, so dirty clothing multiplies faster than just a load a day, especially in a hot climate like Texas or Florida where sweating is a national pastime. Soap, cleansers, and detergents are our only hope of ever turning the tide on uncleanliness, and in the end, we must look the other way anyway because real cleanliness is a mirage, is unattainable. Yes, we can make things look clean and picked up, but this is a veneer. Don’t look too close because you may find dust on the staircase or a cobweb in a distant corner, not to mention the stray dust-bunny that may roll up at the most inopportune time to spoil your immaculate “better homes and hovels” effect that you have set out for visiting relatives who think you are great housekeeper and a neat freak. All you can do resist the rising tide of dirt, but you will never defeat it. The mere passage of time is enough to bring tons of dust and dirt to your front door even if you aren’t there to dirty things up. Dirt is malicious. By practicing the age-old art of cleaning on a daily basis, perhaps even hourly, we can hold back, just for awhile, the inevitable influx of dirt and grime.

On cleaning

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Though I am not the neatest person that ever lived–I file by the top-down pile method–I certainly appreciate a clean kitchen, a clean bathroom, clean floors, empty waste baskets, and an empty garbage can. Having a dirty, smelly, full garbage can is not only nasty, it attracts bugs, which is something I just cannot abide. Paradoxically, I am dead lazy when it comes to mopping or dusting, but I am good at doing the dishes, emptying waste baskets, and throwing away unwanted papers and junk mail. I can throw things away, but I have to focus to do it. I can’t stand to see some unidentified black speck on the bathroom floor, but I don’t get up in the morning vowing to mop every last floor in the house. And I hate to vacuum, which makes lots of noise and makes me sneeze, both of which are activities I can do without. I profoundly admire those who have the cleaning bug because immaculate floors are one of life’s great pleasures. I tend to leave piles of stuff all over the place, but with a little bit of a nudge (okay, by hitting me with a two-by-four) I can be convinced to go through a pile and throw most of it away. Books are problematic. First, old books smell a bit and they attract dirt, which are two big negatives for clean freaks who see books as one of their big enemies. New books are not as bad as old books. My oldest book was published in 1798. Dirt is both smart and ubiquitous. Regardless of how hard you try to keep it out, it creeps in everywhere–the garage, the entryway, the bathroom, the living-room. You track things in with your shoes, which are always very dirty, and you bring things in from the outside–food, papers, whatever–which will bring dirt with them. Cleaning is one of the monumental non-stop propositions that must be forever on-going or you will lose, miserably. Clothing is a great example of the perpetual nature of cleaning. In just one day a family of four will generate a load of wash, but it’s not just a load a day–the trajectory of dirty clothing is geometric over time, not arithmetic, so dirty clothing multiplies faster than just a load a day, especially in a hot climate like Texas or Florida where sweating is a national pastime. Soap, cleansers, and detergents are our only hope of ever turning the tide on uncleanliness, and in the end, we must look the other way anyway because real cleanliness is a mirage, is unattainable. Yes, we can make things look clean and picked up, but this is a veneer. Don’t look too close because you may find dust on the staircase or a cobweb in a distant corner, not to mention the stray dust-bunny that may roll up at the most inopportune time to spoil your immaculate “better homes and hovels” effect that you have set out for visiting relatives who think you are great housekeeper and a neat freak. All you can do resist the rising tide of dirt, but you will never defeat it. The mere passage of time is enough to bring tons of dust and dirt to your front door even if you aren’t there to dirty things up. Dirt is malicious. By practicing the age-old art of cleaning on a daily basis, perhaps even hourly, we can hold back, just for awhile, the inevitable influx of dirt and grime.