At Jordan's Apartment

One way to closely examine New York City's filth is to look at a fan. I am looking at one right now--two actually--in Jordan's apartment. I was thinking about limestone bedrock before my thoughts were interrupted by a classic aberration of cleanliness: the dirty fan.

What an awful thought. As you attempt to circulate the air in your balmy apartment, tiny particles of human skin and and ash and car exhaustand roach feces and animal hair are being delicately collected and made into a mesh through which the rest of your air will be filtered. Thanks, fan.

If I put my neatfreakishness aside, dirty fans still bother me. Sitting in front of a fan caked with dust is not refreshing. The crud blocks the airflow. Would you rather sit in front of a dirty fan or have someone fart in your face through a dryer sheet? This is a trick question. Either way you're breathing shitty air.

This is an urgent message: keep your fucking fans clean. Do it for me.