In the Sudan, tens or even hundreds of thousands of people are dying in a spasm of mass genocide, and nobody in the West seems to care. Meanwhile, to the south the President for Eternity of Zimbabwe has urban-renewed as many as two and a half million people into homelessness, and nobody in the West seems to care. The London underground is being blown up on what seems to be a periodic basis. The chief political advisor to the President of the United States appears to be guilty of a treasonable felony, and nobody much cares. The President himself has proposed replacing a moderate conservative on the Supreme Court with a self-styled "conservative" of the radical-reactionary bent, and Democrats are satisfying themselves by saying that it could be worse. Ten years from now there will be no more gasoline for our cars, and nobody has even started looking for a replacement energy source, particularly one that will not turn the planet to toast as our fossil fuels are doing ...
We can dismiss all of these trivial problems with a light laugh, however, when faced with the real problem that confronts us. I am, of course, talking about the fact that every time I enter the men's room at any movie theater to use the facilities, I find the toilet seat completely covered with somebody's piss.
Yes, the world seems to be full of people who do not know how to
(a) lift a toilet seat, or, failing that,
(b) aim.
My solution to this sad state of affairs is to have a digital camera mounted in the back of every stall, pointing horizontally at the door at head level. The camera would be triggered by hydrocells (the moisture-sensitive equivalent of photocells) embedded in the toilet seat. Those using the seat properly would be safe from identification; even if they somehow managed to get a few drops on the seat, all the camera would see would be the backs of the tops of their heads. But those who committed the above-described dereliction would have their faces immortalized, perhaps on the cinema's Wall of Shame, or Wall of Aim, or perhaps Wall of Aim Shame.
My wife informs me that there are similar, though not identical, problems in the stalls in the ladies' room. Not being familiar with this particular attack on the foundations of civilization, I will leave the discovery of a solution to her.