Uncle John's Ahh-Inspiring Bathroom Reader

by Bathroom Readers' Institute

It takes 10,000 pounds of roses to make one pound of rose essence.

  LOW TECH

  The Game Boy wasn’t exactly state of the art. It didn’t have a color screen or a backlight, because those drained the batteries too quickly and added too much to the cost. You couldn’t play it in the dark. The screen was so crude, in fact, that when Atari’s engineers saw it for the first time, they laughed. Over at Sony, the response was different. “This Game Boy should have been a Sony product,” one executive complained.

  The Game Boy went on to become hugely successful, thanks in large part to the fact that the game appealed to adults in a way that the NES didn’t. The original Game Boy was packaged with Tetris, an adult-friendly, maddeningly addictive game in which the player has to maneuver and interlock blocks that fall from the top of the screen. Game Boys became a fixture on subways, on airplanes, in company lunchrooms, any place adults had a few free moments. When President George H. W. Bush went into the hospital in May 1991, the leader of the free world was photographed playing a Game Boy. Kids liked to play Game Boys too…whenever they could pry them away from their parents.

  NEW AND IMPROVED

  Yokoi led the effort to keep the Game Boy product line fresh and profitable over the years. In 1994 his design team came up with an accessory that allowed Game Boy cartridges to be played on the Super NES system. That was followed by the Game Boy Pocket and the first Pokémon (short for Pocket Monsters) cartridge in 1996.

  Pokémon was the first game that allowed players to exchange items from one linked Game Boy to another, and though Nintendo’s expectations for the game weren’t particularly high, the game became an enormous industry unto itself, spawning other toys, trading cards, clothing, an animated TV series, a movie, and even food. It’s estimated that Pokémon merchandise has racked up more than $20 billion worth of sales for Nintendo since 1996, not including the video games. As for the Game Boy product line (which saw the addition of the Game Boy Color in 1998), by 2001 it had sold more than 115 million units and 450 million cartridges, making it the most popular game system of all time.

  Food claim: Four tablespoons of ketchup contain as much nutrition as a medium-sized tomato.

  DOWN AND OUT

  Needless to say, Yokoi made Nintendo a lot of money over the years. What did he have to show for it? Not much—in 1995 his Virtual Boy, an addition to the Game Boy line that was kind of like a 3D View-Master—bombed. The red LED display gave so many players headaches and dizziness that when the product was released in the United States it came with a warning label. One reviewer called it a “Virtual Dog.”

  Nintendo lost a lot of money on the Virtual Boy, and Yamauchi apparently decided to humiliate Yokoi publicly by making him demonstrate the game system at the company’s annual Shoshinkai trade show, even though it was all but dead. “This was his punishment, the Japanese corporate version of Dante’s Inferno,” Steven Kent writes in The Ultimate History of Video Games. “When employees make high-profile mistakes in Japan, it is not unusual for their superiors to make an example out of them for a period of time, then return them to their former stature.”

  EARLY EXIT

  Yokoi must have decided not to wait around for his restoration. He left the company in August 1996 after more than 27 years on the job, and founded his own handheld game company called Koto (Japanese for “small town”). It produced a game system similar to the Game Boy, only with a bigger screen and better speakers. We’ll never know what kind of gains he might have made against the Game Boy, because on October 4, 1997, he was killed in a car accident. He was 56.

  “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”

  —Yogi Berra

  One giant leap for lefties: Astronaut Neil Armstrong stepped on the moon with his left foot.

  THE

  EXTENDED

  SITTING

  SECTION

  A Special Section of Longer Pieces

  Over the years, we’ve had

  numerous requests from BRI members

  to include a batch of long articles—

  for those leg-numbing experiences.

  Well, the BRI aims to please…

  So here’s another great way

  to pass the uh…time.

  A RESTLESS NIGHT

  Mark Twain is one of Uncle John’s heroes—a humorist whose writing is still funny a hundred years after his death. We found this in Mark Twain’s Library of Humor from 1888. It’s a chapter from his novel A Tramp Abroad.

  EARLY TO BED

  We were in bed by ten, for we wanted to be up and away on our tramp homeward with the dawn. I hung fire, but Harris went to sleep at once. I hate a man who goes to sleep at once; there is a sort of indefinable something about it which is not exactly an insult, and yet is an insolence; and one which is hard to bear, too. I lay there fretting over this injury, and trying to go to sleep; but the harder I tried, the wider awake I grew. I got to feeling very lonely in the dark, with no company but an undigested dinner. My mind got a start, by and by, and began to consider the beginning of every subject which has ever been thought of; but it never went further than the beginning; it was touch and go; it fled from topic to topic with a frantic speed. At the end of an hour my head was in a perfect whirl and I was dead tired, fagged out.

  The fatigue was so great that it presently began to make some head against the nervous excitement; while imagining myself wide awake, I would really doze into momentary unconsciousnesses, and come suddenly out of them with a physical jerk which nearly wrenched my joints apart—the delusion of the instant being that I was tumbling backwards over a precipice. After I had fallen over eight or nine precipices, and thus found out that one half of my brain had been asleep eight or nine times without the wide-awake, hard-working other half suspecting it, the periodical unconsciousnesses began to extend their spell gradually over more of my brain-territory, and at last I sank into a drowse which grew deeper and deeper, and was doubtless on the very point of becoming a solid, blessed, dreaming stupor, when—what was that?

  CREATURES IN THE NIGHT

  My dulled faculties dragged themselves partly back to life and took a receptive attitude. Now out of an immense, limitless distance, came something which grew and grew, and approached, and presently was recognizable as a sound—it had rather seemed to be a feeling, before. This sound was a mile away, now—perhaps it was the murmur of a storm; and now it was nearer—not a quarter of a mile away; was it the muffled rasping and grinding of distant machinery? No, it came still nearer; was it the measured tramp of a marching troop? But it came nearer still, and still nearer—and at last it was right in the room: it was merely a mouse gnawing the woodwork. So I had held my breath all that time for such a trifle!

  The shoe size of the “average” American has increased 1.5 sizes in 25 years.

  A MOUSE IN THE HOUSE

  Well, what was done could not be helped; I would go to sleep at once and make up the lost time. That was a thoughtless thought. Without intending it—hardly knowing it—I fell to listening intently to that sound, and even unconsciously counting the strokes of the mouse’s nutmeg-grater. Presently I was deriving exquisite suffering from this employment, yet maybe I could have endured it if the mouse had attended steadily to his work; but he did not do that. He stopped every now and then, and I suffered more while waiting and listening for him to begin again than I did while he was gnawing.

  Along at first I was mentally offering a reward of five—six—seven—ten—dollars for that mouse; but toward the last I was offering rewards which were entirely beyond my means. I close-reeled my ears—that is to say, I bent the flaps of them down and furled them into five or six folds, and pressed them against the hearing-orifice—but it did no good: the faculty was so sharpened by nervous excitement that it was becoming a microphone, and could hear through the overlays without trouble.

  IF THE SHOE FITS

  My anger grew to a frenzy. I finally did what all persons before have done, clear back to Adam—resolved to throw s
omething. I reached down and got my walking shoes, then sat up in bed and listened, in order to exactly locate the noise. But I couldn’t do it; it was as unlocatable as a cricket’s noise; and where one thinks that is, is always the very place where it isn’t. So I presently hurled a shoe at random, and with a vicious vigor. It struck the wall over Harris’s head and fell down on him; I had not imagined I could throw so far. It woke Harris, and I was glad of it until I found he was not angry; then I was sorry. He soon went to sleep again, which pleased me; but straightaway the mouse began again, which roused my temper once more.

  Because of the weight of its face, a penny is slightly more likely to land “heads” than “tails.”

  A GNAWING PROBLEM

  I did not want to wake Harris a second time, but the gnawing continued until I was compelled to throw the other shoe. This time I broke a mirror—there were two in the room—I got the largest one, of course. Harris woke again, but did not complain, and I was sorrier than ever. I resolved that I would suffer all possible torture, before I would disturb him a third time.

  The mouse eventually retired, and by and by I was sinking to sleep, when a clock began to strike. I counted till it was done, and was about to drowse again when another clock began; I counted; then the two great Rathhaus clock angels began to send forth soft, rich, melodious blasts from their long trumpets. I had never heard anything that was so lovely, or weird, or mysterious—but when they got to blowing the quarter-hours, they seemed to me to be overdoing the thing. Every time I dropped off for a moment, a new noise woke me. Each time I woke I missed my coverlet, and had to reach down to the floor and get it again.

  EARLY TO RISE

  At last all sleepiness forsook me. I recognized the fact that I was hopelessly and permanently wide awake. Wide awake, and feverish and thirsty. When I had lain tossing there as long as I could endure it, it occurred to me that it would be a good idea to dress and go out in the great square and take a refreshing wash in the fountain, and smoke and reflect there until the remnant of the night was gone.

  I believed I could dress in the dark without waking Harris. I had banished my shoes after the mouse, but my slippers would do for a summer night. So I rose softly, and gradually got on everything—down to one sock. I couldn’t seem to get on the track of that sock, any way I could fix it. But I had to have it; so I went down on my hands and knees, with one slipper on and the other in my hand, and began to paw gently around and rake the floor, but with no success. I enlarged my circle, and went on pawing and raking. With every pressure of my knee, how the floor creaked! And every time I chanced to rake against any article, it seemed to give out thirty-five or thirty-six times more noise than it would have done in the daytime. In those cases I always stopped and held my breath till I was sure Harris had not awakened—then I crept along again.

  Mark Twain liked to say he only smoked once a day—“all day long.”

  I moved on and on, but I could not find the sock; I could not seem to find anything but furniture. I could not remember that there was much furniture in the room when I went to bed, but the place was alive with it now—especially chairs—chairs everywhere—had a couple of families moved in, in the meantime? And I never could seem to glance on one of those chairs, but always struck it full and square with my head. My temper rose, by steady and sure degrees, and as I pawed on and on, I fell to making vicious comments under my breath.

  SPUN AROUND IN CIRCLES

  Finally, with a venomous access of irritation, I said I would leave without the sock; so I rose up and made straight for the door—as I supposed—and suddenly confronted my dim spectral image in the unbroken mirror. It startled the breath out of me for an instant; it also showed me that I was lost, and had no sort of idea where I was. When I realized this, I was so angry that I had to sit down on the floor and take hold of something to keep from lifting the roof off with an explosion of opinion. If there had been only one mirror, it might possibly have helped to locate me; but there were two, and two were as bad as a thousand; besides, these were on opposite sides of the room. I could see the dim blur of the windows, but in my turned-around condition they were exactly where they ought not to be, and so they only confused me instead of helping me.

  I started to get up, and knocked down an umbrella; it made a noise like a pistol-shot when it struck that hard, slick, carpetless floor; I grated my teeth and held my breath—Harris did not stir. I set the umbrella slowly and carefully on end against the wall, but as soon as I took my hand away, its heel slipped from under it, and down it came again with another bang. I shrunk together and listened a moment in silent fury—no harm done, everything quiet. With the most painstaking care and nicety I stood the umbrella up once more, took my hand away, and down it came again.

  I have been strictly reared, but if it had not been so dark and solemn and awful there in that lonely vast room, I do believe I should have said something then which could not be put into a Sunday-school book without injuring the sale of it. If my reasoning powers had not been already sapped dry by my harassments, I would have known better than to try to set an umbrella on end on one of those glassy German floors in the dark; it can’t be done in the daytime without four failures to one success. I had one comfort, though—Harris was yet still and silent; he had not stirred.

  Forgotten first: On February 18, 1930, a cow flew in an airplane for the first time.

  FUTILE EFFORTS

  The umbrella could not locate me—there were four standing around the room, and all alike. I thought I would feel along the wall and find the door in that way. I rose up and began this operation, but raked down a picture. It was not a large one, but it made noise enough for a panorama. Harris gave out no sound, but I felt that if I experimented any further with the pictures I should be sure to wake him. Better give up trying to get out. Yes, I would find King Arthur’s Round Table once more—I had already found it several times—and use it for a base of departure on an exploring tour for my bed; if I could find my bed I could then find my water pitcher; I would quench my raging thirst and turn in.

  So I started on my hands and knees, because I could go faster that way, and with more confidence, too, and not knock down things. By and by I found the table—with my head—rubbed the bruise a little, then rose up and started with hands abroad and fingers spread, to balance myself. I found a chair; then the wall; then another chair; then a sofa; then an alpenstock, then another sofa; this confounded me, for I had thought there was only one sofa. I hunted up the table again and took a fresh start…found some more chairs.

  BUMP IN THE NIGHT

  It occurred to me now, as it ought to have done before, that as the table was round, it was therefore of no value as a base to aim from so I moved off once more, and at random, among the wilderness of chairs and sofas—wandered off into unfamiliar regions, and presently knocked a candlestick off a mantel-piece; grabbed at the candlestick and knocked off a lamp; grabbed at the lamp and knocked off a water-pitcher with a rattling crash, and thought to myself, “I’ve found you at last—I judged I was close upon you.” Harris shouted “murder,” and “thieves,” and finished with “I’m absolutely drowned.”

  Ha-ha: Researchers claim men laugh longer, more loudly, and more often than women.

  The crash had roused the house. Mr. X. pranced in, in his long night garment, with a candle, young Z. after him with another candle; a procession swept in at another door, with candles and lanterns; landlord and two German guests in their nightgowns, and a chambermaid in hers.

  ENLIGHTENED

  I looked around; I was at Harris’s bed, a Sabbath day’s journey from my own. There was only one sofa; it was against the wall; there was only one chair where a body could get at it—I had been revolving around it like a planet, and colliding with it like a comet half the night.

  I explained how I had been employing myself, and why. Then the landlord’s party left, and the rest of us set about our preparations for breakfast, for the dawn was ready to break. I glanced furtively
at my pedometer, and found I had made forty-seven miles. But I did not care, for I had come out for a pedestrian tour anyway.

  A FEW MORE WORDS FROM MARK TWAIN

  • “Name the greatest of all inventors. Accident.”

  • “Sometimes too much to drink is barely enough.”

  • “Familiarity breeds contempt—and children.”

  • “A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.”

  • “A round man cannot be expected to fit in a square hole right away. He must have time to modify his shape.”

  • “Always acknowledge a fault. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you an opportunity to commit more.”

  • “Always do right. This will gratify some people and astonish the rest.”

  Q: By what name is the fictional character Princess Aurora known as? A: Sleeping Beauty.

  REDISCOVERED TREASURE: BUSTER KEATON

  Any list of the greatest movie comedians has to include Buster Keaton. Never heard of him? You don’t know what you’re missing. Here’s the story of one of Hollywood’s comic treasures.

  THE GREAT STONE FACE

  Today filmmakers have nearly a century of history to build on. But that wasn’t always the case—in the early days of Hollywood, directors had to invent their craft as they went along. How do you film a romantic scene? A car chase? An Old West shootout? An invasion from Mars? Somebody had to do it first—and they had to figure it out for themselves.