September 2009 Archives

Ah, it's nice when I come across an article that explains what I'm doing with my life. I like labels. They let me know exactly where I fit in and it helps the marketers figure out just what kind of mouthwash I need to attract the female of the species or to avoid social pariahness.

Like gastrosexual. What is it with Brits and appending, or is it prefixing, gastro to everything? First there were gastro-pubs - which is just a fancy dancy way to say a bar that serves food. Now there's gastrosexuals. As far as gastro anything is concerned, anytime I hear it, all I can think about is gastrointestinal distress which I'm pretty sure is the complete opposite thought picture the jargoneers are looking for. And why is everything male, sexual? I didn't accept metrosexuals and I'm sure going to fight like the blazes against being labeled as a gastrosexual.

Mary has alerted me to the next most important internet site, after of course Mousesavers.com, and not forgetting the Chowhound boards. The new site is chock full of content that invokes responses like, Oh My God, and Are You Freaking Kidding Me, and That Is Most Definitely Wrong In SO Many Ways, I Can't Even Begin To Count!

This website is, of course, ThisIsWhyYourFat.com. Though after reviewing the offerings I think they should change their name to - This Is Why You've Had a Massive Coronary And Are No Longer Among the Living.com. Well, that uses up this month's allotment of capital letters. I'll just start tweeting from this point. Yeah, when hell freezes over and/or Paris Hilton enters a convent.

According to Jaunted, Sydney, Australia, (Down Under, Bottom of the World, just go south till you hit it, if you see penguins you went too far) has moved ahead of the once mighty United States in the quest to make the Jetsons era a reality.

The Aussies now have robo-restaurants. Well, not completely robotic - there's no robot waiters or robot bus boys, or sadly - robot bartenders, but they do have touch screen menus and ordering. That's pretty much completely awesome.

While pondering Ryanair, which I try and do at least five times a week, which is amazing for an airline that I have never flown on nor have any intention of flying on, I came across this article on my favoritest airline to dislike.

Seems some people (read analysts), who have probably too much time on their hands what with the current apocalyptic economic forecasts and airlines going bankrupt left and right, are wondering if Canada is ripe for a lost cost carrier like Ryanair. Or even Ryanair itself. Although economics dictate that many of the features that contribute to the success of Ryanair are lacking in Canada (it's really big, it has a small population, and it lacks those out of the way secondary airports that low cost carriers are besotted with), it seems like the biggest stumbling block is possibly the Canadians themselves.

Apparently they feel that Canadians are too nice to fly on an airline that treats them like convicts being exiled to the Fatal Shore. Perhaps, but maybe if you tempted them with donuts? Or better yet - tear out the galley and put in a Tim Horton's. From what I've seen you'd make money hand over fist.

Still, I find something endearing about a country populated with people so nice that they might not fly an airline because it doesn't treat them with courtesy and respect. Viva Canada!

What is it about men and our apparent ability to forgo logical thought because we think something sounds like it might be fun. This product for instance, raises alarm bells from sixteen states away and yet, and yet, I am still ever so slightly tempted. Because, it's a jetpack, man! I've been promised a jetpack since I was a wee tyke and I'm still waiting (along with flying cars, robot maids, and a meal in a pill, though in retrospect, the latter is not really high on my list anymore but still).

The idea that someone has cobbled a jetpack together in his garage workshop seems a bit chancy I will admit. And the fact that it will require an hour to cool down after a couple of short flights, okay, a bit of a limitation. Still it's only a few thousand and god knows people spend more money than that on sillier ways to kill themselves like ATV's or eating KFC.

Damn, okay, it turns out it's a fake. I guess I'll forgo tempting the fates a while longer. Someday though, like Icarus, I will fly too close to the sun. Or trip over a small yappy dog, do a face plant in front of a speeding ice cream truck, and buy the farm that way. Which seems much more likely.