Dave Barry – The Department of Lateral Thinking

Toilet Seat Lore v.2

Posted on April 4, 2026April 4, 2026 by George Gillson

This post is a revision of the original which appeared on September 24, 2015. I’m replaying some of the older posts because I can’t for the life of me figure out how to display the posts in folders by year which would make it much easier for people to browse. As it is, there’s a list of about 115 posts in chronological order. Nobody bothers diving down to the bottom of the literary swamp. Anyway, here goes:

Well, it looks like I’m cranking these things out somewhat less often than I’d like to but echoing the immortal words of John Cusack explaining to his prof why he was late to class in the cult movie: The Sure Thing (1985): “Well you see there was this problem and I’m late because of it.”

The problem is that a few weeks ago we woke up one morning and decided to adopt a seven-year-old border collie named Mickey. Everything you read about border collies says they need to have a job, so Mickey’s job is to play fetch 23 hours a day and look at me reproachfully the rest of the time.

So, between Mickey and the treadmill, there’s not a lot of spare time these days. Plus, I didn’t have anything worth writing about until last week when we had visitors from LifeLabs head office, aka The Mothership. (LifeLabs bought my lab in 2013 but kept me on as Medical Director until 2023, for some reason.)

OK, where was I? Yes!

For the sake of argument, I’ll call refer to one of the visitors from The Mothership as: “Lisa Kearns” (not her real name).

“Lisa” was telling one of the people with whom I share an office what a great stay she had had in the Hotel Elan (otherwise known as the Hotel Elan): “a unique, business-friendly boutique hotel in Calgary, located uptown just off vibrant 17th Avenue SW.”

I wasn’t sure what a boutique hotel was so I Googled it.

A boutique hotel is: “a small stylish hotel, typically situated in a fashionable urban location.”

I read a few more Google results and found a pearl of wisdom from Kobrun Vidisdottir, of Reykjavík, Iceland.

According to Kobrun, a boutique hotel is: “an accommodation that makes their guests feel happy and contented while staying there, makes them feel extraordinary, makes them to realize that they should revert soon and makes them to recognize that this hotel is worth discussing with others.”

I followed most of what Kobrun was trying to say but I got stuck at the part where she started talking about reverting. Reverting to what? Her maiden name? Windows 7? Human form? Then I figured out she meant return soon.

That reminds me! I should return to the theme of this post, which is supposed to be about toilet seats. Therefore, I will now commence talking about them. Just don’t forget to remind me to tell you a little bit more about Reykjavík before I sign off.

Our visitor, “Lisa”, was going on about the heated and lighted toilet seat in her hotel room, which in her words, “changed my life.” I asked her if her life routinely involved sitting on ice-cold toilet seats and she said no, the heated seat was just a particularly pleasant experience. The underside of the seat was festooned with blue LED lights which, apparently, were also pleasant.

Now this is important because everyone knows that if you wake up in the middle of the night and turn on a yellow or orange light, it will immediately shut down your melatonin. Everyone also knows that the last thing you want to do is sit on an ice-cold toilet seat and shut down your melatonin when all you really want to do is take a pee and go back to sleep. But I guess it’s this kind of thing that separates a normal hotel from a boutique hotel. I think it’s still sort of surreal though, like going to the bathroom in 2176 AD.

Speaking of going to the bathroom in 2176 AD, Calgary happens to have a few choice, futuristic, public washrooms (FPWs) strategically located around the city. I had the chance to use one a few years ago but to refresh my memory about it, before I started writing this post, I paid a visit to an FPW near my house, at the Tuscany LRT station. (My house is not at the Tuscany LRT station; the FPW is at the Tuscany LRT station.)

For starters, the FPW was pretty futuristic-looking. You approach the door, push a button, the door slides open and you find yourself in a little room with a lot of stainless steel including a stainless-steel toilet, with no toilet seat.

You push another button (“Toilet Seat”) which triggers a bunch of disturbing mechanical noises. A panel in the wall slides open and a toilet seat deploys from behind the panel, spraying liquid in the process. (I am not making any of this up.) You half-expect that some robot arms with metallic claws will appear, seize your eyelids and pry them open, like in “A Clockwork Orange.” A mellifluous robotic voice guides you through the whole process, accompanied by a stirring rendition of “The Ride of the Valkryies.” (Kidding.)

You go to into the FPW and happily, if you can’t figure out how to flush, there are instructions to help. Once you wash your hands, the toilet seat folds back into its nook, the panel slides back down and you’re good to go. (I thought you just went.)

But say you’re still sitting down or just remaining immobile for some reason: shock probably. The mellifluous robotic voice comes back on and tells you that you have about 20 seconds until the cubicle door opens, unless you start moving around soon. If you don’t move around fast enough, the voice starts counting down. Seriously.

I actually filmed the whole thing and you can check it out here:

(Futuristic Public Washroom video clip)

My son Ty got quite panicky in an FPW once, when the mellifluous robotic voice announced the countdown while he was still working on going #2 or whatever. Maybe it was #2.6. I dunno. Anyway, Ty lept up from his perch and began waving his arms madly, gaining the precious seconds he needed to finish his business.

The whole setup is just so weird that I fully expected to emerge from that washroom to find myself catapulted two or three centuries past 2176 AD and coming face to face with a Dalek or else “Robot” from Lost in Space. “Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!”

For the heck of it, I started looking at high-end toilets and found one which automatically deploys a menacing-looking probe from somewhere in the bowels (pun intended) of the toilet bowl. The probe emits a gentle spray of water which you direct with a complicated remote control. Since I can barely use my TV remote, I probably won’t buy one of those probing/spraying commodes, even if I could afford one. I’m saving up for a time machine.

Last but not least, if you happen to have to go potty in O’Hare Airport in Chicago, brace yourself. When you’re in the cubicle, you press a button on an apparatus situated on the back of the toilet. You hear mechanical noises and then a protective plastic sleeve shoots out and telescopes around the toilet seat.

You do what you went in for, then get up. After more mechanical whirring noises, the sleeve retracts back into the apparatus behind the toilet seat.

My only question is: what happens to the sleeve you sat on? Is it discarded or is it sent back around for the next unsuspecting victim? I know, I probably shouldn’t worry about these things but I can’t help feeling that life is getting way too complicated here in 2015.

Maybe I should just move to Reykjavík even though there are a shitload of consonants in Iceland. Quoting now from Randburg.com (whatever that is) about the downtown area: “The old city center is atmospheric and relaxed. Many excellent cafes, bars and restaurants are located there and there are also many shops, including stores specializing in traditional souvenirs and stocking a good selection of merchandise, including crafts, Viking spears, ceramics, jewelry, toilet paper, playing cards, books, golf tees, calendars, Avaxtskyr cheese, sheepskin products and Iceland’s famous woolen underwear. “

Sounds great. I’m fresh out of Viking artifacts, so I’ll definitely check Reykjavík out. But I bet the toilet seats are freezing in Iceland.

zany, offbeat humor

Treadmill Desks v.2

Posted on February 10, 2026 by George Gillson

This was originally posted July 2, 2015. At that time it was a little overdue because it took me longer than anticipated to get those pesky RFID chips that I mentioned last post out of my distal colon. But that’s all behind (!) me now and it’s time to move on and talk about moving in general and treadmill desks in particular.

A few months ago I was sitting at my office desk when I was suddenly seized by an uncontrollable urge to start standing at my desk all day instead of sitting at it all day. This wasn’t a random obsession like some other random obsessions I’ve had but was actually driven by my having just read a book by Dr. James Levine MD PhD entitled: “Get Up! Why your chair is killing you and what you can do about it.”

To be clear, Dr. Levine has nothing against chairs. He is an endocrinologist and an obesity researcher as well as the Director of the Mayo Clinic/Arizona State University Obesity Solutions Initiative. One of the key messages in Dr. Levine’s book is basically that humans weren’t meant to sit down all day, and regular workouts can’t compensate for the amount of time we spend in our chairs. He is also noted for coining the phrase “Stuffed Burrowing Owls are the New Furbys”.

Actually, I’m lying. Levine coined the phrase: “Sitting is the New Smoking.”

Anyway, the rationale for why sitting is bad for you revolves around explaining why standing is good for you. When you are standing, the large muscles in your legs are more active (unless you are duct-taped upright to a tree or lamp-post) and will absorb lots of glucose (sugar) from your blood. Standing also increases your basal metabolic rate. Conversely, when you are sitting around all the time, your basal metabolic rate is lower, it’s more difficult for your body to clear glucose from your blood and your pancreas has to produce more insulin to compensate. Over time this leads to Type II diabetes.

The pancreas doesn’t get a lot of air time because, to be honest, as far as organs go, it’s pretty unfortunate-looking (Exhibit A). It’s also quite a shy organ and doesn’t get out much as it’s closeted between the stomach and the spine and surrounded by the liver, the spleen and the small intestine.

Burning glucose simply by standing is called NEAT or Non Exercise Activity Thermogenesis. Not that it matters, but NEAT can easily be rearranged to ETNA, meaning maybe your insurance premium will go down next year if you stand all day but don’t bet on it. Alert readers will note that I shamelessly borrowed here from Dave Barry’s lexicon of literary devices which include rearranging a seemingly normal acronym to make a funnier, or at least a more interesting one.

Anyway, more NEAT means your pancreas doesn’t have to make as much insulin, and the insulin you do make will work better. This will reduce your risk of diabetes but the jury is still out regarding the effect on other degenerative conditions such as birdwatching and reselling stuff you bought at garage sales on Facebook Marketplace.

Long story short, standing at least intermittently throughout the day is much better for you than sitting for 8 hours straight. However, the shine eventually wore off just standing there, immobile, day after day. Fortunately, I was seized by yet another urge which involved converting my desk into a treadmill desk. A treadmill desk is exactly like an ordinary desk, except it’s higher and has a treadmill in front of it. Levine says walking slowly on a treadmill is a great way to increase NEAT.

Oddly enough though, with all that standing and slow walking, I found myself constantly fighting the urge to go outside and nibble grass for some reason.

Levine is widely credited as the inventor of treadmill desks but that distinction likely should belong to Nathan Edelson, who patented a design for a portable desk intended to be used with a treadmill back in 1993. Dr. Levine does get credit though, for helping to popularize working while walking on a treadmill via his Get UP! book but also via his other book: If These Boots Are Good Enough For Nancy, They’re Good Enough For You.

I bought a used treadmill, removed the handrails, slid it under my desk, built a platform for my phone, computer, stuffed Burrowing Owl, etc. and off I went. In his book, Dr. Levine cautions the neophyte treadmilling worker, saying: “There’s a tendency to want to jump on the treadmill and walk for hours and hours a day. Don’t do that. Certainly, at the absolute maximum, do half-hour on, half an hour off, for two to three hours a day.” He also suggests a top speed of 0.5 to1.5 mph.

So naturally, being the possessor of a Y chromosome (trillions, actually), I began walking for 8 hours straight, on Day One, which happened to be a Monday. By the following Thursday afternoon I was happily clocking along at 2.5 mph and by Friday afternoon, I had acute pain and tenderness in my lateral left lower extremity, six inches above the ankle. I could barely walk. I swear on my podiatrists medical license that I am not making this up.

But several weeks later, after I ditched the crutches, I was back at treadmilling and settled into a steady 1.5 mph, still fighting the urge to nibble grass and stopping only to go to the bathroom. Typing and mousing took a while to master but I got there.

Fast forward a few months. My FitBit kept flashing the “Full” symbol but I’m a few pounds lighter and my belt is several notches tighter. Tracy, one of the two people I share my office with, goes around with a hunted look in her eyes most of the time and has taken to muttering and wearing earplugs. Martin, my other office mate, is pretty blasé about the whole thing. He thinks that the electrically-grounded, tinfoil lined hat I’m wearing (to prevent static buildup) is a bit weird but otherwise he’s cool with the incessant low-grade droning of the treadmill.

Levine was certainly right about the thermogenesis bit. I had to install a couple of fans trained on my head and torso, once summer arrived. I haven’t gotten any bloodwork to check on my metabolic parameters since I started treadmilling but one of these days I will. I just have to amble on over to the nearest Alberta Health Services lab. It’s 14.3 miles one way but somehow I think I’m up to the walk.

zany, offbeat humor

Alien Abduction Checklist

Posted on May 8, 2025November 2, 2025 by George Gillson

A few days ago I had nothing better to do so I went over my To-Do list which includes things like rearranging my sock drawer, trying to figure out witty comments to make about the posts that Dave Barry is putting up on his new Substack and last but not least, updating my Alien Abduction Checklist.

With the threatened disclosure of sealed UFO files from the 1950’s and also the discovery of things like ancient Mesopotamian Cylinder Seals, you can’t be too careful these days. Everyone needs to be aware of the possibility that you, your accountant or maybe even your Congressperson/Member of the Legislative Assembly has been the victim of an alien abduction.

See that creature to the right that looks like the love child of a praying mantis and a donkey? That is almost for sure an alien, getting ready to probe the unsuspecting Mesopotamians. Or it might just be another Mesopotamian standing on his/her/their head. How can anybody know for sure?

The Daily Mirror may know for sure because it recently featured an article listing six signs that might point to an alien abduction. The signs are: tiny bumps under the skin (possibly indicative of implantation of sensors), nosebleeds, strangely realistic memories such as being “probed” by reptilians, time gaps/lost time, and development of psychic powers such as the ability to know when your dog wants to go outside.

That’s all fine but I have my own list, which I feel is way more accurate than the Daily Mirror’s list-not that I’m biased. The key is to look for abrupt changes in behavior and the acquisition of new abilities other than mind-reading.

Here goes:

One of the most common indicators is when a SOAP (Survivor Of Alien Probing) abruptly ditches their pet for a new, more menacing, more alien-looking creature. One example would be swapping out a goldfish for an alligator gar. Clearly, the alligator gar (on right) did not originate on Planet Earth. It can be found in Texas, though. And Texas isn’t all that far from Nevada. (Note: these fish are disgusting, They can be 7 feet long, weigh over 200 lbs and will eat small mammals including unsuspecting toddlers. I’m probably lying about the toddlers.)

Anyway, Geography aside, another example of abrupt pet-upgrading would be ditching an innocent, normal-weight zebra finch for an imposing, underfed shoebill crane. Equally clearly, the shoebill is also not of Planet Earth. It is not found in Texas, either.

OK, enough about pets. Yet another behavioral clue is an abrupt change in handedness which can happen any time the person in question is under acute stress such as being in the middle of a sword fight. Jut don’t make the mistake of accusing someone who is ambidextrous of being a SOAP. Also, please watch The Princess Bride if you don’t know what the hell I am talking about.

What about food? Take cheese for example. There are many well-documented cases of sudden changes in cheese preference following an alien abduction, e.g. switching from Velveeta to Casu Marsu, a soft cheese which requires living cheese fly larvae (Piophila casei ) for its taste and liquidity . This cheese is banned on most planets but not California. Which explains a lot. If you need to throw up in your mouth, go ahead. I’ll wait…

SOAPs have also occasionally displayed a sudden hankering for a dessert featuring dried elephant dung. I swear on Julia Child’s gastroenterologist that I’m not feeding you B.S.

E.S. maybe but not B.S.

I could go on with a few more random SOAP “tells” and in fact, I’m going to do that right now. It’s too late to turn back.

Abruptly gaining the ability to sort laundry to your spouse’s satisfaction will probably lead to this comment. “Who are you and what planet are you from, even?”

A sudden propensity to start wearing a curlew costume and then walking 53 miles is another dead giveaway. The 53 miles is very significant because the B-52s wrote a song called “53 Miles West of Venus.” Coincidence? I think not.

If you get the following message when you open a Fortune Cookie, it might also raise your index of suspicion that you yourself are a SOAP:

The “others” are deeply moved-read unsettled-because they probably feel kind of naked: they know you are reading their minds. And their dogs minds.

Lastly, finding a copy of an alien abduction insurance policy on the desk of a SOAP suspect at the office would pretty much clinch things in my book. But don’t take my word for it. Listen to broker Allan McNulty, commenting on a potential new offering by the Apollo on-line insurance company:

“Similar to key man or key woman life insurance coverages, if you lose an essential contributor to your organization — potentially to another galaxy — this could be disastrous for your business,” commented LeGear Pelling Agencies commercial & specialty markets broker Alan McNulty.

McNulty added that alien abduction coverage would bridge the “intergalactic personal risk gap challenge.”

Like I said at the start, you can’t be too careful these days.

With that admonition, I’ll wrap this post up. I have to go wipe my nose anyway. It just started bleeding for no reason. Plus I think my dog is telling me he wants to go outside.

zany, offbeat, somewhat silly humor

New Mexico Ant Skirmish

Posted on August 4, 2023August 4, 2023 by George Gillson

Years ago I read a three-volume set (of books) by John Nichols entitled the New Mexico Trilogy. The Trilogy wasn’t a real trilogy as there was no continuity between the books. Really, the only thing the three books had in common was that they were set in New Mexico.

The first book in the not-a-trilogy is The Milagro Beanfield War. It involved a skirmish/heated dispute between the townsfolk of Milagro and a real estate developer. Suffice it to say, if you liked Swamp Story and other Dave Barry books, you will probably like The Milagro Beanfield War. It’s full of zany, interesting characters and interlocking plot lines.

The reason the Beanfield War came to mind is that my son, Tyler aka Ty (not his real name), together with his partner Andrea (not her real name either), moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico, earlier this year. (State Motto: We are too close to Texas.) The pseudonymous couple quickly noticed that they had an ant problem in the house. By the way, I think Taylor Swift wrote a song called Ant Problems. No, wait! That was Champagne Problems. My bad.

Keep reading to learn about Ty and Andrea’s ant problems. Just don’t forget that those are not their real names.

zany, offbeat, somewhat silly humor

In Defense of Astrology

Posted on June 30, 2023July 31, 2023 by George Gillson

Full disclosure: today, June 30, is my birthday. This puts me close to the middle of Cancer “aka The Crab” in the Zodiacal Astrological Universe, a subdomain of the Marvel Universe, inhabited by ultra-intelligent Florida Stone Crabs like the one in the Featured Image.

Putting any reference to Astrology in print will drive my buddy, whom I’ll call “Bob” for the sake of argument, completely bonkers, as he thinks Astrology is utter horseshit. I beg to differ. Also, being that it’s my birthday, I don’t really care what Bob thinks. Here’s why I think Astrology is NOT utter horseshit.

TO FIND OUT WHY I think ASTROlogy is not utter Horseshit, keep reading

zany, offbeat, somewhat silly humor

Ode To Ogden Nash

Posted on February 1, 2022February 1, 2022 by George Gillson

My last post ended with an open question: Who is Ogden Nash? His name came up in one of the lines in the poem that was featured in that post : “…Rugged individualists trying to mimic Ogden Nash, the only difference being: he traded words for cash…”.

The Department of Rugged Individualists, consisting primarily of me and Spencer (a stuffed plush seal) hates leaving alert readers dangling, so as threatened, I’ll give you the scoop on Ogden Nash. But first, another poem:

Spencer
If he weren’t stuffed with foam,
Spencer would be denser.

A great way to learn MORE about Ogden nash would be to keep reading

Dave Barry, zany, offbeat, somewhat silly humor

The Fine Art Of Quarantining (With Apologies To The Boomtown Rats)

Posted on May 19, 2021May 20, 2021 by George Gillson

Many people have already been through one or more quarantines since this Covid business started more than a year ago. It can be very challenging to be cooped up alone indoors for two weeks, especially if you don’t like the company. Fortunately there are loads of sites you can go to for help. As VP of the Altruism and Trivia Division of the Lateral Thinking Department, I decided to make a contribution to the Covid cause, so I thought up some suggestions to help people avoid going stark raving bonkers while quarantining.

DO NOT READ MORE

zany, offbeat, somewhat silly humor

Patrick Mahomes Is Definitely A Highly-Evolved Honey Badger But I Still Think Tom Brady Might Be An Immortal Humanoid Alien From The Future

Posted on February 12, 2021April 18, 2026 by George Gillson

Full disclosure: I watch one Pro Football game a year. That would be the Super Bowl. This year, I was swept up in a tide of confusion trying to figure out if the NFL had missed the class on advanced Roman Numerals, back in Grade Whatever.

All of us who passed Grade Whatever know that LIV is fifty-four in Roman Numeralese, right? So why did the NFL make the Super Bowl Fifty-Five logo so that it looked like it was the logo for Super Bowl Fifty-Four? And since you brought it up, why did they go and stick that football-on-an-obelisk thing in the logos for Super Bowls Fifty-One, Fifty-Two, Fifty-Three and Fifty-Four?

People have been walking around in early February for each of the last five years, scratching their heads and saying, “What the hell Super Bowl IS this, even? That dang logo doesn’t make any sense. Is that pedestal thing supposed to be the letter “I”? Is it one of the Silver Surfer’s high school football trophies? Or what?”

Mrs. Norrin Radd, spouse of Silver Surfer:

“Norrin! Put that trophy in the garage right this century! If I’ve asked you once I’ve asked you MMDLIX times! It’s been like 500 million years since you went to high school. Just because you’re an immortal humanoid alien who can throw a football several parsecs through space with pinpoint accuracy, it doesn’t mean you can leave your old crap lying around everywhere for the rest of eternity. And why are you even in the kitchen right now anyway?”

Norrin Radd (aka Silver Surfer):
henpecked immortal humanoid alien football star/defender of the Galaxy

zany, offbeat, somewhat silly humor

There’s No Place Like Laniakea

Posted on January 22, 2021January 24, 2021 by George Gillson

Here in the Department of Keeping Tabs On The Universe we note that there’s a lot of stuff going on: gravity waves, stars that explode and jet out opposing beams of pure iridium, planets moving in and out of conjunction and now, rays of light that are shooting up from the sides of the reflecting pool in the National Mall in D.C., rays that are regarded by at least one commentator as “extensions of President Joe Biden’s arms” shooting up to metaphorically embrace America.

Read on. Don’t Say I didn’t Warn you!

zany, offbeat, somewhat silly humor

Richard And Gunner vs the State of Florida

Posted on December 7, 2020December 7, 2020 by George Gillson

Back in 2019 I threatened to answer the following question in an upcoming post:

What the heck is the Florida Man game?

Sadly, I immediately forgot all about answering that question. Months went by. But then, a few weeks ago, I ran across an unusual headline emanating from Florida. Happily, the headline jogged my memory about the Florida Man game. Sadly, I soon forgot all about the unusual headline and also my failure to write about the Florida Man game. A couple of weeks went by. I happened to gaze at a map of Florida. Happily, I suddenly remembered the unusual headline and my failure to write about the Florida Man game. But sadly, I had forgotten about an appointment I had to go to. Happily, I made it to the appointment, remembered where I lived, was able to return home where I immediately recalled the unusuaI headline, my inability to write about the Florida Man game and the fact that since my last post was on November third I needed to get my ass in gear. I began to type feverishly…

to find out what I TYPED FEVERISHLY, read on

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