THE 1995 URBAN DESIGN Awards focused on signs this year. Now the competition's come and gone, and I didn't get a chance to vote on my favorite billboards and Burma Shave slogans.
I spaced out.I missed all the signs.
Like a lot of people who raised rabble in the '60s, I've found that signs bring out the worst in me. Whenever I'm told what to do, my teeth grind together. And signs always speak with harsh authority. They bark and blare.
I remember a rock song about such things. The chorus began, "Sign, sign, everywhere a sign, blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind."
The singer, disgusted with all the signs, finally makes his own little sign to protest all the other signs. He didn't realize he was just contributing to the confusion.
But then that was pretty much the '60s, wasn't it?
Today, like most people obsessed with words, I tend to drive around correcting the spelling, punctuation and grammar in the signs I see. I've learned that misplaced apostrophes are more contagious in Utah than the flu. And most signmakers who take a run at using a foreign language get it wrong. High school baseball players have higher batting averages.
There are some signs I'd also like to alter.
That T.O.L. sign on the scoreboard at the Delta Center, for instance. It stands for "Time Outs Left." It really should be T.O.R. - Time Outs Remaining. When you say Time Outs Left, it sounds like Karl Malone went on a road trip and left all those important "time-outs" behind.
And the sign that reads "Se Rancho" doesn't say anything. Even it it were "Me Rancho" it still wouldn't make sense; unless "I ranch myself" is bizarre Bolivian slang.
I'm not too fond of the fact the state will put up three signs in 10 miles telling you how far away a town is, then not mention the place again for 150 miles.
Finally, let's get rid of the term "signage" all together. What is that? It sounds like a cross between "sinus" and "silage" - maybe a weird strain of bovine hay fever.
In the end, the best place to look for nifty signs is in smaller towns. The marquees there have homespun, clever messages, and advertising slogans are folksy - easy on the eyes and ears. In small towns, nobody takes advertising, regulations or authority too seriously. (I've included photos of two examples: a little warning sign from Cache Valley and a tongue-in-cheek thing from the drive-up window at the First Interstate Bank in Brigham City.)
As for me, I may be more like the singer in that old song than I realize, because there are some signs I wouldn't mind making myself.
Here's a handful:
Trespass. Please!
No shirt, no shoes, no problem.
Swim all you like!
If you can read this, you're still not close enough.
Call them "Signs of Life."
If you have ideas for others, mail them in.