Signs of the times

Public signs often say more than they were meant to say or they simply might not say what was intended. At other times, the wording makes one wonder. Look what happens when a sticker was slapped on a box at the library (above). Makes a big difference.

Here's a sign that offends me mightily. I can't help think of the girls run in for sharing an ibuprofen tablet at schools where I'd bet that there are other, more serious deals going down in one of the loos. I caught the strange sign below at the same school one evening (as you can plainly tell). Obviously Perlak is not a drug.

I know, I know, this sign is meant to welcome ladies out walking their toy terriers. However, I can't help imagining a big burly dude showing up with a mastiff in his arms to inspect the antiques & collectibles beyond that door.

The problem must have the heat of the summer (or perhaps a sample of the Miller) when the supermarket guy wrote this copy. Sounds like the store had a deal with a contractor, maybe; or were they simply planning to drop of the bills on one's patio?

On the other hand, this sign really means it! But why the ban on cardboard in this big dumpster? Doesn't compute.

I'm from Chicago, where building inspectors are the favored enforcement tool of heavy-handed politicos; therefore I truly appreciate this sign.

In contrast, I suspect that this admonition outside the McCormick Place condos on Gurley is unenforceable. The last time I heard it, the sidewalk out front was still public property.

And how could I resist including this real estate special from a couple of years ago. My, how times change!

Partners on Cortez Street (above, below). Someday, I'll have to show up between 2 and 5 a.m. to see just what is happening at that hour (other than javelina wandering the streets).

This sign on Beach Street behind the Sharlot Hall Museum flat out lies. If you look down the street, you'll see the outlet down at the McCormick Street end.


And, finally...

Signs of the times

Public signs are curious: in prosperous, comfortable times, one interprets them in a positive light. When times are tough, the implication of a sign's language is often portentous and forbidding. For evidence, consider Exhibit A above.

Similarly, there is always a bit of churn in the business landscape of a town. But as the markets have tanked, the visibly empty store front becomes a harbinger of worse to come.

Why should I feel it worrisome when businesses put up "for sale" signs? Possibly because, if the economy were better, these same operations would be hot properties, selling quickly through business brokers, no "for sale" sign necessary.

Rack down to the bottom sign -- this is the first I've seen "owner may carry" in a long, long time. Apparently this owner is not waiting for a buyer to locate a no-money-down loan (and yes, apparently these still exist, believe it or not). Actually, in more normal markets, owners often had to carry in out-of-the-way locations such as Wilhoit, down SR89 south.

We're also entering a world in which it may be necessary to hire citizen-handymen once again, as many illegals return home. The magnetic auto sign above reminds me that it took several Sci-Fi stories worth of reading before I finally figured out just what "Billy the Joat" did for a living. That's a word that should enter our everyday vocabulary -- let's hear it for the Joat!

What does this sign tell me? First, that our population includes louts with nothing better do with their time than randomly muck up the right of way. Second, that the city doesn't care -- that sign has been missing letters like a six year old is missing teeth for ever so long.

Not bad. Data. Wonder how often a speeder actually has to pay out such sums. OK, I also wonder how many speeders have read that sign.

I suspect that we'll be seeing a lot more conspiracy theory signage -- another predictable side effect of an economic downturn, especially one in which public trust in our financial and political institutions is low.

And, of course, there's always prejudice to worry about ... over on McCormick Street, at least.

Signing in at Lynx Lake

On our family outing to Lynx Lake, the kids went off climbing, leaving me behind at the parking/picnic area at the north end. What to do ... rather, what to photograph? As I scanned the scene, what struck me was the inordinate number of signs. To the left. To the right. Instructions, permissions, no-no's, information -- everywhere I looked. What better subject for a post. (Just FYI, I took one of those maps and it was a very nice topo of the area. I heart topos.)

We'll start off with a no-no. None of the local lakes are OKed by officialdom for swimming.

A trail marker, with its own list of what's allowed and what's not. On the alligator juniper in the background, a sign acknowledging a volunteer who cares for this trail.

These two signs refer to some sort of improvement to the area or the lake --with full credit to where the $$ are coming from. At least they passed through the hands of a designer or two.

The side of the loo provides a good, broad expanse for posting a good collection of signs.

As one starts out on a walk down to the lake shore, an admonition.

Some instructions get a "please", others are strictly orders. However, at least this standard Forest Service sign is of a less intrusive design.

Now these colored reflector signs carry a message for those in on the secret. You can see them almost anywhere out in the countryside that there's pavement; the LH and I used to try to figure out what was meant by the different combinations of colors and number/size of reflectors.

Naturally, the dumpster is plastered with its own special messages.

And the lawyers get their say on the subject of garbage.

Here's a call for volunteers. Unfortunately, I suspect that any potential volunteers would be suffering from sign-fatigue by the time this catches their eyes -- if it does.

This series of three does tell us something about the lake (a man-made) and its impact on the local wildlife. Nothing ordering us to do this or that. And nicely illustrated, to boot.

The subdued Lynx Lake sign in the background tells the history of the impoundment. Quite a contrast to the demand for fees in the foreground. That's the lot of them --- except for one no parking sign. All in an area of about an acre. That's a lot of reading material, but perhaps it's just as well to have it all concentrated in one spot so that once one ventures out on a trail, there is no need for any more of this printed noise.

Signs of the Times

Time was that our nation's founding fathers and subsequent big shots likely belonged to the Masonic order. That was then. This is now, an age in which MySpace has taken the place of the old-line fraternal groups. And so the local Masons manned a booth at the recent County Fair to promote membership. A strange commentary on a group that has been the subject of many a conspiracy theory in the past.

Also at the fair, this Tshirt on sale at the Libertarian Party booth. The message on the tee is not the meme -- which is the actual presence of the LP at this venue.

"We're neither Rambos nor the NRA. We're pussy cats," is the statement conveyed by this tee spotted at the recent pie social in Skull Valley.

On the other hand, don't forget that we're living in the hip-hop age. Or are we seeing a reminder of Mae West? Written on a bust in a Cortez Street collectible shop window.

And a reminder that misspelling is a given these days. (Not to mention the plethora of s's and apostrophes.) One would think that the sign painter could have slipped a T at the end of DEPO; after all, the shopping center is called the Depot Marketplace.

More Links: I came across an curious local blogsite, The Prescott Pundit, which invites readers to post comments about the local scene. My guess is that very few people know of its existence or there would be more comments. Also added: Around the World, a link-up to local picture blogs about cities in all manner of locales. And, in case you missed it, here's how to see and save that awesome view of the California wildfires from space.

Pot Shots

An all too common sight in the forest -- signs that have been all shot up.

Here's a closer look. I wonder how much the county has to spend replacing these wounded signs dying the death of a thousand shots.

I suppose it's related to tagging, like graffiti, or those century old Chinese ideograph tags I saw on the Great Wall. Except that there's no identity involved. Just the temptation to shoot up a sign. Husband and I gave into the urge one time, long ago; the target was a pretty far gone sign out the Perkinsville Road. Shame on us!