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Okay I've now had a chance to see the iPad (which, by the way, is not the name I was expecting at all - though I like it) on-line and I have to say, for the first time I'm going to get one and be one of those early adopters. You know the ones - they have scorch marks surrounding their pockets where thick wads of cash have spontaneously combusted. I am drawing the line at camping out or pretty much lining up at all. I'll put in my order on-line and go pick it up at my leisure when it arrives.

After spending a significant amount of time reading all the comments about it and thereby avoiding doing any actual work, as Mary is quick (too quick) to point out, I've come to a couple of conclusions

I have a new addiction. The new addiction joins the panoply of other food related addictions such as the fried pork products, fried potato products, beer, fruit cake (that's another story - for later), smoked meat products of all kinds, and on occasion, po'boys. Though the latter is only applicable only while in New Orleans.

My new addiction, though takes me even farther afield than the po'boys. For this one I have to go to England. On our last trip I encountered something called Anchovial Alchemy while browsing food items in Fortnum and Mason. Don't you just like the sound of that - Fortnum and Mason's? You could package corrugated cardboard in some sort of cream sauce and put it in a tin - not a can, and I would eagerly devour it, if it carried the Fortnum and Mason logo.

In this particular case I came across a little ceramic container or pot, with the description Anchovial Alchemy, An Armada of Superior Anchovy. See this is why I love the Brits. First, they have an anchovy and butter spread, which for someone who loves anchovies is bliss. Second, they use product descriptions with words like 'Armada'. In America, we count ourselves lucky if they use the term 'yummy' and spell it right.

Anyhow, I bought this stuff because it sounded intriguing and I try and do something intriguing at least once a week. It's the kind of guy I am. After we arrived home it sat in the pantry for four or five months, mainly because I kind of forgot it and also because I really didn't have any idea what to do with it. Possibly also because my try something intriguing phase petered out around the holidays. Then I ran across a reference to some anchovy butter and how it was nice spread on good rustic toast. So I pulled the ceramic pot out, made some toast, and sampled it.

Nirvana.

Now I realize this isn't for everyone. If you don't like anchovies or things with a piscatorial tang, you'll hate this. If you don't like salt, you'll hate this. But if a blend of fish, salt, butter, and pepper appeals to you then man, is this a taste treat. Personally, if you spread this on wood chippings I'd probably eat it.

 A little search revealed that this product can also be found under the name, Patum Peperium, a Gentleman's Relish. Which is convenient as I thought I would have to keep going back to London every six weeks or so as I ran out of Anchovial Alchemy. Much as I like going to London, the recent habits of strip searching international travelers seems a little over the top and somewhat inconvenient. So I'll restrict myself for now to sampling Patum Peperium and see how that compares. Besides, who wouldn't love a Gentleman's Relish?

Today's entry concerns something that can, thank god, not be found in the United States. I mean we've invented more than our fair share of things that are an affront to man and nature alike, such as nuclear weapons and the pedal powered wheelchair (just the thing for those lazy-ass paraplegics). And let's not forget the culinary sciences, where American ingenuity overcame obstacles like good taste and health, to bring us the deep fried Twinkie and the KFC Heart-Attack-In-A-Bowl.

But, on our recent trip to London we came across a product that while obviously developed by an American corporation, was not marketed here in the States. And we think it's because the corporation in question, McDonalds, which has never been one to let moral, ethical, or taste issues stand in the way of increasing corporate profits, actually thought that Americans would find the item in question too fancy-pants. The product to which we refer is the After Eight McFlurry.

For those who are not up on their chocolaty confections (and I am only because Mary is one of the world's most unsung experts in the field), After Eight is a small rectangular  sweet with a layer of soft mint fondant between two thin layers of dark chocolate. Interestingly enough, the company that makes these is based in England but is now owned by Nestle, obviously as part of the sinister Swiss plan to dominate the world's candy sector and force us all one day to sing the Swiss national anthem and eat cheese with holes in it. Damnned Swiss. As the name implies, After Eight is or was intended as an after dinner mint, though here in Colorado it would be more accurate to call it After Six since that's when most people have finished dining out. In any case, and the swipe at Coloradan dining habits disposed of, After Eight mints are the type of thing one might find at the type of establishment that is striving to rise above the common ruck of Chili's and Outback Steakhouses. A little after dinner mint on the tray with the check makes the pain of overpaying for pedestrian food go away, because it's free and well, we Americans are just absolute suckers for free stuff.

Anyhow, returning back to London and strange ice cream based treats we found the whole concept of the After Eight McFlurry something only the Brits could love. And not just because it's fancier than what the average American McDonalds customer would prefer. From comments I've followed here and there the quasi ice cream sundae slash milk shake is tooth jarringly sweet, and minty. British sensibilities seem to tolerate much higher levels of sugar in their confections than most Americans can handle.  I feel though on the plus side they do expect a much higher quality than the American - just taste a Cadbury bar and then sample a Milky Way and you'll see what I mean.

I have little enough tolerance for candy in my ice cream as it is - after a brief flirtation with Ben and Jerry's Heath Bar crunch some years ago, I went back to eating ice cream as it was meant to be - with a single flavor and no added ingredients. Understandably then, we avoided sampling the After Eight McFlurry and not least because it would have forced us to actually enter a McDonalds which we're loathe to do in this country much less some place overseas. So you'll just have to take our word for it that the confection exists as we have no intention of ever sampling one.

Ahh, Ryanair, how I love to bash you. And you make it so easy.

So some time ago, Ryanair starts charging a fee for people who check in online, rather than at the ticket desk at the airport. Seems like a jerk move as the online check-in is more efficient and costs Ryanair virtually nothing. Ahh,  but you see we're dealing with an evil super villain here, a mad genius who's every move is planned out months in advance. How can common mortals hope to prevail against such depraved evilness?

Because, you see, Ryanair has now eliminated all airport check-in desks so you don't have a choice but to check-in online. And get charged extra for the privilege. Awesome! I suppose that hijacking a nuclear sub or developing a mind control ray was too much trouble so they settled for this scheme. Well, there is still the plan for installing pay toilets on board the planes, but that nefarious plot hasn't progressed any further at the moment. But I wouldn't rule it out.

Oh, and just because they can, and you're not able to do anything about it, they're raising the return flight bag fees to $48 for the first bag and $112 for the second. I'm sure if you ask they'd be happy to punch you in the face for free though.

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!

In the latest report on passenger foibles in the sky we have Exhibit A for why flying is a bad time to go off your meds or poor timing for a bender.

On a recent Southwest (Clothing Is Not Optional!) flight a passenger, three hundred pounds of burly man meat decided to expose himself to his female seat mate. She screamed, entirely understandably and he replied by punching her, not quite so understandably unless of course one assumes that this is the result of one too many cocktails in the lounge before boarding. Or again, going off the meds.

At this point our candidate for Southwest Passenger of the Month decided to go all the way and disrobe completely which he then proceeded to reveal to the rest of the airplane by running, or rather more probably, lumbering up and down the aisle. And then he lay down in the aisle, undoubtedly exhausted by all the exertion. Several passengers were eventually able to wrestle the man back into a seat where he was covered by a convenient plastic sheet. Which raises the question as to whether or not Sheets, Plastic, Naked Passengers Coverage, For Use Of, are standard equipment on Southwest flights?

At this point I think it behooves us to honor the brave and not too squeamish passengers who wrestled the man mountain into submission. Sure some people may have to face down a terrorist with a bomb or a gun, but wrestling with three hundred pounds of naked, sweaty perv is really above and beyond. Hats off!

Sorry, long time gone. Back now. No excuses. Funny meter was depleted and needed some recharging. Well, that's kind of an excuse but a remarkably poor one. I'll do better next time.

So I thought I'd start off with the recent post via Gridskipper and Transracial, which really isn't what I first read it as - Transsexual, not that there's anything wrong with that or anything, it's just you know, I don't spend all my time trolling sites like that, if indeed there are sites like that, which of course I'm sure there must be cause there's something for everyone on the World Wide Web and have you noticed that no one actually uses that term anymore, World Wide Web, instead it's all Internet this or the Net that, or my favorite - the Intratubes, and obviously I'm just in ramble mode and am avoiding something which is...oh, right, BEER!

So anyway, there's a micro trend where the wily Czechs are combining beer and spas. Why? I don't know, but it's got beer in it so it has to be good. Except, there's one little detail that does bother me somewhat. They have beer baths. Now one would think I'd be all in favor of beer baths, because well, it's beer, right? But it's like Czech beer, which is like the best Pilsner in the world and it really seems wrong to bathe in it instead of drinking it, preferably in an ice cold Pilsner glass served to you by a pretty young Czech lass with one of those low cut peasant blouse like they wear in every third rate vampire movie, well those movies that don't have emo vampires that don't bite people and can come out in daylight cause it's cloudy and what's with that stuff, anyway?

I mean if it were Budweiser or something that's nigh undrinkable to start with I wouldn't have so much trouble wrapping my head around the concept, but it's Pilsner! The horror! The sacrilege! The waste!

Still I like the idea of a Beer Wellness Land. It might not be Disneyland for beer drinkers, or maybe it is, but I think I might be able to find true bliss there. And it's surely the only way Mary is ever going to get me to go through the doors of a spa so it's worth a try.

One of my favorite airlines (Virgin Atlantic) had announced that they're joining forces with their spin-off little sister airline (V Australia), and allowing people to earn and use miles from either airlines' loyalty program. Huzzah! I guess. If I lived in Australia and liked to travel a lot to the West Coast and Europe then it'd be a great deal. Since I don't it's just a neat deal. Still, since Virgin Atlantic doesn't have a direct flight from the West Coast to Aussie-land, I can fly V and still get miles I can apply to another jump across the Atlantic at a later date. So all cool there.

In related, but only slightly related news, shamelessly copied from USA Today, Virgin America, which by the way is oppressing me by continuing to not fly to Denver, damn them, has been won a survey for best domestic airline by Travel and Leisure magazine.

One does wonder about the survey as it appears that one of the Top 10 domestic airlines is WestJet which is actually a Canadian airline and doesn't fly between any US destinations. I'm sure WestJet is a wonderful airline but I'd hesitate to call it domestic. Sure I guess I could fly from Honolulu to Yellowknife, and who wouldn't, but then I'm there in Yellowknife and all I have to wear is shorts and Billabong t-shirts. And I imagine that Yellowknife is a dress-up kinda town, and I'll just feel out of place.

At this point I'd probably have to worry about people writing impassioned e-mails about how I'm dissing Yellowknife, but since I doubt I've managed to get the readership numbers into double digits, I'm thinking I can sail right through this controversy.

If this keeps up and I'm going to have to look up what the Roman numeral is for fifty. In the long, and yet probably never to be concluded annals of Brits going on holiday overseas, getting blind-drunk, potted and sotted, and then doing something against the laws of man, nature, and/or God, we have a new entry.

Apparently a gentleman from Great Britain, the country that used to rule the world, or at least all the parts anyone wanted at one time, inherited a substantial sum of money. Like many people who come into a bit of unanticipated largesse he decided to take the heritance and have a nice vacation, after which I'm sure he was going to put the rest of the money in nice tax-deferred municipal bonds. So a holiday in Spain, Mallorca to be exact, a locale that manifests all those things that a proper Englishman longs for like sun, warm water, and tanned natives.

Spain also has booze. Our lucky inheritee decided to have a few drinks, and then from the sounds of it a few more and, well eventually he was discovered in an airport bar handing out wads of cash to anyone and everyone. And having a bit of a laugh, as they say. Besides the obvious issue as to why anyone would hand strangers cash, is the more interesting question as to what he was doing wandering around with $72,000 in cash and travelers' checks. Do people still use travelers' checks? Why?