Tag Archives: signs

April Fool

Slightly out of season, I know, but like most New Yorkers, I’ve spent this August dreaming of a time when the city wasn’t wrapped in a blanket of hot, wet air. Specifically April, when I snapped these photos and mentally placed them in the “April Fool” category, though I’m fairly certain the creators thought their signs were models of clarity. First up is a statement about a mysterious “shirt machine”:

How are your shirt conditions?

How are your shirt conditions?

 

I’d probably be tempted to use this device if my clothing were in good “conditions.” But my tees and blouses currently feature sweaty patches, grass stains, and one blob of what may be somebody’s used chewing gum. I’m not interested in keeping those conditions “better and longer” or, for that matter, keeping them at all.

From the next sign I learned that the city has a “Business Integrity Commission.” Great. If only NYC had a grammar commission as well:

Recycling what?

Recycling what?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Absent punctuation, the establishment is “recycling used cooking oil services.” How exactly do you recycle “services”? And did someone call a hyphen strike without informing me? I’d rewrite the sign this way: “Bio Energy Development, Inc. recycles used cooking-oil from this establishment.”

One more, also punctuation-challenged:

Refinish repair?

Refinish repair?

As written, the shop is offering “restoration” of antique furniture. They also do “caning,” which has nothing to do (I think) with corporal punishment and instead involves weaving strips of stiff grass into a chair seat. So far, so good. Both services are nouns, and both may apply to antique furniture.

Where I crash and burn is “refinish repair,” which seem to be verbs in this context. Is the store refinishing something it had previously repaired, or are they refinishing and repairing upholstery? If so, a couple of -ing syllables would be helpful. Also, is it possible to “refinish” upholstery? Paging furniture specialists! Send in your clarifications, please. While I wait to hear from you, I’ll dream of cooler days.

 

 

 

Thanks for nothing

Recently I took advantage of New York City’s IDNYC program, which gave me an official photo ID and a raft of free membership offers to some of the city’s best museums. In redeeming one of those membership offers at an institution I won’t embarrass by naming, I received an email thanking me for my “contribution of $0.00” and telling me that donations such as mine “support the work of the museum.” If that’s true, the museum is probably nearing bankruptcy. Continue reading

Magritte in NYC

On this Bastille Day, I am pleased to report that Rene Magritte is alive and well and creating art in New York City:

"Ceci n'est pas une 'bike stand.'"

“Ceci n’est pas une ‘bike stand.'”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the sake of comparison, here is one of Magritte’s earlier works:

To see the original, go to Los Angeles.

To see the original, go to Los Angeles.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In case you’re wondering about the power of art, I staked out this spot for a while, to see whether a bicycle would be chained to it.  New Yorkers do sometimes interpret a prohibition as a dare. But no bikes appeared. Either the sign is very effective or the glowering shop owner, who was standing next to this tree every time I passed, scares cyclists into compliance. Either way, enjoy Bastille Day. (Especially you, Don and Avram, my art historian friends.)

Ritual Pick-Up

I spotted this sign in a food court near Battery Park in Lower Manhattan. I lurked for a while, hoping to see what sort of customers or services were associated with it. But it was a holiday weekend, when most New Yorkers were anywhere-but-here, so I was left alone with my speculations.

Rituals, outsourced.

All I wanted was coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

First, I concentrated on “ritual.” This is a city with its own unit of time — a “New York minute,”  which lasts only a couple of nanoseconds and which a comedian once defined as “the interval between the traffic light turning green and the guy behind you honking his horn.” To save time, New Yorkers will do almost anything. So, I reasoned, if you’re too busy to plan, say, a wedding ceremony, a baptism, or a bar mitzvah, you can pick one up here. And if the timing is right, your next life event may even be on sale.

Then I shifted my attention to “pick-up.” Perhaps, I thought,  this is where you meet when you’ve donned your sexiest outfit, artfully mussed your hair, and practiced lines like “Come here often?” or “What’s your sign?” or “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes/great abs?” Nice to know that the hackneyed has an official spot in NYC, I thought.

A quick Internet search revealed that an app called “Ritual” allows you to order and pay for food online, which you then pick up at this location. Efficient and useful, true, but much less fun than my interpretations.

 

 

Boxing, New York Style

Manhattan apartments are notoriously tiny, and so are Manhattan closets. So it’s not surprising that during my walks around the borough I encounter many shops offering storage. What is surprising is the nature of that storage. For example:

Legal? Illegal?

Legal? Illegal?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Could be oregano, parsley, or . . . well, I’m sure the DEA would supply a list of herbs that people might want to stash off-site.

And then there’s this beauty:

Put your cold in a box.

Put your cold in a box.

Absent a hyphen, the sign’s meaning is ambiguous. The shop may be offering to store boxes that are low in temperature (cold-box storage). Or, the sign may be targeting sneezers, coughers, and those with similar symptoms (cold box-storage). I know I’d like to stash my ailments at times, especially when I see this sign:

What's free?

What’s free?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I also know, however, that the old adage, “you get what you pay for,” is true. So what’s free: the storage of a box (contents cost extra) or the box (storage charges apply)? I’ll let you know if my kitchen runs out of space and I have to store some herbs, eggs, milk, or anything else.

Contradictory Words

As I worked my leisurely way through the Sunday paper a week ago, one phrase stopped me in my tracks.  The New York Times, which should know better, referred to a “very mediocre” rock band. According to my dictionary, “mediocre” means “moderate” or “not very good.” So “very mediocre” means “very moderate” or “very not very good.” Aren’t you glad I cleared that up? Nice to know that something can be extremely not extreme.

That experience sent me to my picture files, to see whether I had any photos of signs with contradictory meanings. I found this one:

A specialized generalist.

A specialized generalist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I was a kid, my doctor was a “general practitioner.” He was good at many areas of medicine, but when things got interesting, he sent me to a specialist. This sign in a 24-hour, no-appointment-necessary, storefront clinic leads me to believe that the “multispecialty physicians” inside are, in fact, the 2016 version of  “general practitioners.” They may have the medical equivalent of several masters degrees, but I doubt it. I’m not complaining about the medical aspect of this sign. The docs inside may provide excellent care. I am complaining about the language, which is much less precise (I hope) than the diagnoses and remedies dispensed  there.

One more example of a contradictory statement comes from an official notice taped to a streetlight on my corner, announcing a public hearing on issues affecting the neighborhood. Here’s item three of the agenda:

Restricted to?

Restricted to?

Turning again to the dictionary, I found that “restricted” means “admitting only members of a particular class.” Thus a street “restricted to” vendors is a street where vendors are allowed — but nothing or no one else. No stores, cars, residents, annoying little kids on scooters — you get the point. I spent the rest of my walk trying to reword the agenda item to reflect the most likely intended meaning: how to keep hotdog carts, ice cream trucks, tables piled with “designer” handbags, and other such vendors off the block. Expressing this idea concisely was surprisingly hard. “Restricted from” doesn’t do the job, nor does “restricted against.” I came up with “barred,” in this revised wording: “Discussion of the process of barring venders from a street.” Alternate versions welcome.

I know I’m being picky (what else is new?), but I do believe that language should be precise. How different would our current political campaign be if every candidate followed this principle, even if their command of the language was “very mediocre”!

Extra! Read all about it all!

As a teacher I read many three-page essays that were buried inside six pages of typing. I tend to be ruthless in deleting unneeded words. I do not edit signs, though, because (a) graffiti is against the law and (b) it’s more fun to mock what’s there. For example:

Darn. I like my leather renewed like old.

Renew like new.

 

Darn. I like my leather jacket renewed “like old.”  Well, I would if I had one, and I don’t. Here’s another:

 

Recycling what?

Recycling what?

 

How can you recycle something that hasn’t been “used” already? Also, is “this establishment” recycling “cooking oil” or “services”? And how exactly do you recycle a service? Inquiring minds want to know.

Now for the animal kingdom:

Aren't dogs pets?

Pet dogs?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From this sign, I gather that wild dogs are welcome in this store, as are other animals people keep as pets – cats, rabbits . . . maybe even boa constrictors. But if you have a pet that is a dog, you have to leave Fido at home when you shop.

Not that every repetition is wrong. I love this sign, which appears on the door of a restaurant that caught fire a few weeks ago. I am ignoring the grammar errors, though I acknowledge that “roofer’s” shouldn’t have an apostrophe and “electrician” should be “electricians.” A couple of periods would be nice, too. But the wordplay is just plain fun:

Electrifying electricians.

Electrifying electricians.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That’s it for today. Feel free to find unnecessary words in this post and mock me as much as you like.

Short takes

No lengthy discussion today. These signs speak for themselves. True, they speak gibberish, but they do speak.

First up is a photo my friend Jacqueline sent me:

What brand is your kid?

What brand is your kid?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ignoring the pretty important fact that baby-selling is illegal, I’m surprised that babies are branded. If you purchase one, does the kid come with a little logo?

Here’s another puzzler:

With what?

Look younger with what?

So you wear the spa, accessorized with pearls?  That would be quite a fashion ensemble! And do you have to have the spa custom-fitted?

One more for today:

If you're disorganized, go for it.

Define “organized.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you’re completely disorganized (and just about every kids’ sport I’ve seen falls into that category, as do the Yankees at times), you’re fine. If you’re organized, go somewhere else.

Maybe somewhere with signs that make sense.

Deer Equals Phone?

I thought I’d seen it all, grammatically speaking, until I read an interview with Phil Schiller, the marketing tsar for Apple’s empire. If you think you have several iPhones, according to Schiller, you’re wrong. You have several iPhone (or iPad or iPod). Schiller likened the products’ names to the words “deer” and “clothes,” which, he said, can each be both singular and plural.

Good to know. And good luck with changing people’s habit of referring to the “iPads” on display in an Apple Store. If I were Schiller, I’d worry more about misappropriation of the lowercase letter i, which you see in this clever (but probably trademark infringing) sign:

Does Apple know?

Does Apple know?

I ( i ?) should point out that no one ever talks about one eyelash, except when referring to an errant hair falling into an eye. In this sign, though, “iLash” is a modifier of the noun “salon,” so the singular makes sense. (Sort of. Does anyone actually need a salon for eyelashes, or iLashes, or iLash?) Plus, following Schiller’s edict, “iLash” can be plural. Would Schiller say that this sign may be singular, or does his rule apply only to the lowercase letter  i ?

 

One eyebrows.

One eyebrows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And here I thought that the singular form for this feature was “unibrow.”

If Schiller prevails, these two signs will be correct:

How many?

How many?

 

 

How many "cent"?

How many “cent”?

 

I guess I should celebrate the “s” on “wings,” which, I’m happy to say, aren’t “iWings.” Yet. And I should note that Apple’s marketing materials do add “s” to their product names. The interview didn’t take place on April 1st, but Schiller may have been fooling around anyway. Time, or times, will tell.

Live from NY, it’s Mother Nature!

New Yorkers tend to see nature as something you beat into submission by (a) covering it with concrete or (b) manicuring it so that any semblance to actual greenery and wildlife is accidental. My favorite moment during a recent blizzard took place outside Eli’s, a fashionable (and expensive) food store on the Upper East Side. A store employee was loading plastic-wrapped logs into a taxi, presumably so their new owner  — who was wearing high heels! in the snow! — could keep warm. Roughing it, New York style.

But I digress. This post is about signs in Central Park, Manhattan’s closest brush with nature. The first appeared near a large open space dotted with some tufts of . . . well, some tufts. (I’m a New Yorker. Don’t ask me to identify plants.)

Renovation: Not just for houses anymore.

Renovation: Not just for houses anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can envision “reseeding,” “rehabilitation,” or even “new sod.” But “renovation”? Nor was I aware that a lawn could be “closed.” The day I snapped this photo, the sparrow population of the area hadn’t gotten the message.

Logically, anything that’s closed can open. Hence this sign:

How do you open a lawn?

Unzip  each blade of grass . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even the animal kingdom is subject to New Yorkers’ orders:

Noisy turtles, beware.

Noisy turtles, beware.

 

Good to know that, as in Amtrak’s quiet cars, no one around this pond will be distracted by turtles talking on cell phones or playing loud music. Now if we could just get the snapping turtles to tone it down a little . . .