increasingly disappearing

oxymoron of love or whatever you call it Leonard Cohen called it room service to disappear increasingly meaning the apex of detachment the antithesis of attachment currying favor with the healthy self opposite the poisonous spice of obsequious pandering apposite the embrace of fullness of time other side of waning decrease withering wallowing Joyce is dead nobody does this crap anymore this fancy tapdance this diamond studded diversion increasingly disappearing into equanimity tempered balance buoyant serenity unfathomable steadiness floating oceans of oh-my-this  

lockdown

They've locked down the toilet paper. It sounds like a line straight out of "Desolation Row," right after "they're selling postcards of the hanging." Same cadence and mood. In this case, who are "they"? They are the owners, managers, or maintenance staff of the building housing a coffee shop I occasionally frequent. (Let me get away with the oxymoronicness of "occasionally frequent.") I happen to know one of the owners of the building; have known him for decades. He confirmed my suspicion that the lock placed on the toilet paper dispenser seeks to prevent the theft of toilet paper. He added that they (a different "they" than in the first sentence) were losing a significant amount of "bath" rolls every week from the various "bath"rooms with public access. Permit me to clarify. The lock does not prevent you from taking a sheet, two-ply or whatever-ply, from the roll. It's not like that. If you were so inclined, or obsessed, you could unspool a stream of sheets, hundreds. You can still steal sheetly. In that case, you could steal one roll of toilet paper, and it would then be your choice as to how to surreptitiously transport it out of the restroom. Presumably, re-creating the roll shape would be both awkward and too visible. Without a cardboard tube as a core, would it even be possible? No, you would probably want to neatly fold layers of the thin paper, forming a book, as it were, which could be slipped into one's pants, underwear, briefcase, knapsack, or backpack. The toilet paper dispenser lock we are talking about is a lock on the receptacle or holder that holds in the roll. Typically, a second roll drops down by gravity when the first roll is depleting. Most likely, the toilet paper thieves were taking one or both rolls. Clearly, they were toilet paper thieves, not borrowers. Borrowed toilet paper that is returned? Ewwww. Gross. 

In some cultures, this wouldn't make much of a difference. The toilet paper dispenser would not be locked because there would be no toilet paper. Restroom "customers" would employ other means of cleanup other than toilet paper, a topic I'm not willing to explore right now. 

At first glance, toilet paper theft might evoke a response along the lines of, "Are you kidding? Locks on toilet paper? They don't even do that at Penn Station! What's next? Locks on water fountains?" On further reflection, you might think: who are the toilet paper thieves? I suspect it's homeless people. But that might be a biased conclusion, however tentative. We can't rule out needy college students, large families, sufferers of diarrhea, the mentally ill, hoarders, or eccentrics. (These are not mutually exclusive subgroups.) Whoever, he, she, it, or they are, can you blame them? The bathroom is in an urban setting. Users punch in a code to use it. Despite efforts to limit use, it gets a lot of traffic from a downtown urban population. Since "drugs" are often mentioned as a cause of civic woe (they don't mean drugs; they mean illegal pharmaceutical substances; again, another different "they"), we can pose this question: how much does a roll of toilet go for on the street? Is it enough for one to get or maintain a high of any sort or a purchase of that other drug, alcohol, or a single loosie cigarette? I don't know. 

I am curious, but only mildly so, about the success or failure of this preventive gesture. Had someone been caught in The Act? Not the act of taking a shit; the act of making individual a bit of intended communal property. Wait! It's a unisex bathroom. Did you assume it was a male thief? Maybe not. Maybe female. Is there not arguably a greater female need for this product? Maybe not. 

As for preventive measures, could there have been a community forum to address this issue? (I almost wrote "tissue.") How about a pay-it-forward initiative? At one local coffee shop, customers can buy medallions for coffee or bagels. The medallions are placed on a wall, and people can cash them in if they can't afford it a coffee or bagel. Could something like this be done for toilet paper? (Why stop there? Consider how transformative this practice would be on a community scale for an array of social needs. Consider how radical this is.) 

What charge would the thief or thieves face if apprehended, red-handed, as it were? The penalty for conviction? I know: community service. 

Cleaning bathrooms. 

twenty minus ten oxymorons

intimate strangers
job security
committee decision
holy war
even odds
once again
front end
adult children
bad sport
auto pilot

More here, though many are not true oxymorons.

visible erasure

From the January 11, 2010, edition of The New Yorker, "Top of the Pops," an article by Louis Menand on Andy Warhol:

". . . he painted over 'Thirteen Most Wanted Men' with silver paint--a visible erasure that was widely read as a statement about censorship."

Visible erasure.

I love that oxymoron.

Reminds me of Thomas DeQuincey calling the human brain a palimpsest, which, as you can see from the Online Etymology Dictionary, is a word akin to palin, which is YIKES akin to moron, not oxymoron.

In the long run, I'd say that all blogging is subject to the palimpsest of visible erasures in the Ephemerasphere of cyberspace.