Monthly Archives: November 2020

For the Birds

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Although a number of pet birds have flown around my living room through the years, I tend to divide avian wildlife in New York City into two categories, as this sign does:

Why single out pigeons? Here’s my theory: if you have one or two pigeons, they’re beautiful — a feathered palette of grays and whites with touches of black. But that’s never what you actually have. You have a flock, a megaflock, many megaflocks! You have a pigeony exponential growth-curve akin to the one Covid-19 has, unfortunately, made us all too familiar with.

Pigeons also make an appearance in this sign, which a reader spotted in a park:

The reader remarked that she “would have thought NYC already had plenty of these without anyone having to breed more.” I join her in rejecting this imperative sentence.

Still another pigeon, because, as I said, you really can’t have just one:

You can read this sign two ways. (1) You’re not required to feed a pigeon and clean-up, but doing so would be nice. (2) You’re not supposed to feed the pigeon, but you’re going to do it anyway, so could you please remove the inevitable end product? It’s the law. Which surprises me. I know there are all sorts of laws about snow removal — how much time may elapse after the last flake falls before you must shovel a path for pedestrians, for example. Is there also a time limit on poop? Do you have to sit around staring at the pigeon you’ve just (illegally) fed, so you can scoop the end product? Asking for a friend.

That’s it for pigeons, you’ll be glad to know. But not for birds. Below is one of the first signs I spotted when I started this blog:

Then, as now, I smiled to think of how you would sit . . . birds. Bend their little legs? Offer a chair? I’ll leave you with that image, hoping it cheers you, and any pigeons you’ve befriended.

The Importance of Rpoofreading

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That little extra minute spent rereading an email, post, text, or sign . . . it’s hard to quantify its value, but I’ll try anyway. Take this sign, sent by my friend Sean. There’s only one misplaced letter, but what a difference that stray N makes! I’d definitely pay more than $4.99 to know that the devil hasn’t hunkered down under my tree, eating cookies intended for the big guy in the red suit. (Also, Santa deserves homemade baked goods. Just saying.)

Then there’s this line from an email I received, sent by a school I attended:

If the alumni office wants to assign a body part to my class, I’d prefer a new knee or maybe a shoulder. I’m guessing that class elbow is the auto-incorrect of “below.” The email this sentence appeared in didn’t ask for donations, but that’s always, and understandably, the subtext when your alma mater reaches out. Although I can’t condone proofreading errors, I’m actually tempted to give more because this made me chuckle, which is no small feat in 2020.

This mistake, on the other hand, is worth thousands of dollars — the salary of the person who inserted it in a stock paragraph preceding a film review. (I cropped out the name of the film, because it’s an obscenity. Judging by the review, so was the film.) This is from the print version of The New York Times:

Someone was probably drinking something while writing this, and it wasn’t water. I do hope the writer negotiated severance pay before passing out of the ranks of the employed.

Moral of the story: an ounce of prevention goes a long way, in proofreading and in life. Be safe!

What I Meant Was . . .

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I think and also hope that what these signwriters think they said is different from what actually landed on the page. Or screen. Or metal sheet. Wherever! Take a look at this one, courtesy of my friend Don:

Someone killed 3 Pedestrians for my own Safety? Please let that not be true. Also, what will Repeat to cross other side? Homicide? And don’t get me started on the green man’s activity.

Another, which I spotted while obsessively checking apartment listings in my building to find out who’s moving:

I’m wondering which hairdresser the apartment owner went to for Coiffured Ceilings. I have to admit that my own ceilings have never been cut, dyed, or curled. However, they are coffered by support beams. Does that make me stylish enough?

Probably not. I do sometimes shop at a fancy grocery, where the food is better than the accuracy of the “best if bought by” date:

True, time is relative and certain portions of 2020 have seemed endless, but September 31st? Nope. Well, maybe if there’s a recount . . .