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 just had a thought. A couple of months ago Mary and I both converted to Apple folk. You know the ones with the black mock turtlenecks and cool retro dark rimmed glasses that are always waving their iPhones around and so on. Well, we're not quite like that, though I have to admit since we dropped the Microsoft Network stuff we haven't had a single issue with the Apple equivalent so now I might think about spending a few mornings a week at the local Starbucks preaching the word according to Steve Jobs.

But really, we're not those people. Yet.

Anyway, back to my thought. Tomorrow is the big day, I-Day if I might be so bold as to suggest a marketing catch phrase, for the release of the Apple tablet computing device thingy. Or is it? See, Apple hasn't actually said they're going to release a tablet - they've just said that there's an exciting product launch tomorrow. What if it isn't a tablet?

Think about it - maybe it's a something else entirely. Like they're going to build iPods into all GM cars (which would make them like 120% better than they are today), or maybe they're going to release iJacks which are Apple branded personal jetpacks. Or iFlars - Apple Flying Cars! The future is here! And it comes it a lower case I in front of it! And an exclamation mark at the end!

I really wish they would release something different - just to screw with people's minds. No wait, I'm an Apple person now and I must have my next Apple fix so it better be an iTablet or iSlate or something like that or I will lose all faith in my technological messiah.

If you're looking for me next week I'll be in line at the Apple store for the iSlate. And yes, I know it won't be released till October. But I must have it! My precious!

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?

Via the New York Times this weekend and picked up by Gawker (We Really Like Celebrities!), we have an article regarding the proliferation of 'young' people who are going out to dinner early in order to take advantage of the special deals and lower prices. There being this Great Recesion on and all. Who knew? I really need to catch up on current events. Apparently we also have an African American president.

It's pretty much of a piece with people going out to dinner and using two-for-one coupons because times are tough and such. To be honest though we always did that, even back in the days when the economy was flying high and bankers were guzzling champagne and coke cocktails from Alan Greenspan's slippers. Oh, wait - I think they're still doing that.

Mary and I did have a discussion on what one would call an early bird dinner here in the Springs where people tend to eat early, like before the sun sets, even in winter. If the normal dining time is 6:00pm then what would one call pre-twilight dining? Mary suggested lunch. I agree with her sentiment but feel that it lacks a certain zing. I prefer tiffin.

We'll see if that takes off.

Also in the Times (and referenced by Gawker) was an article on new-age cavemen or 'paleos' in New York City of all places. I wanted to write something pithy but the concept is so easily mockable that it's kind of like shooting baby manatees in a bathtub. You can do it, and do it easily, but afterwards you'll just feel a little unclean.

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.

Mary came across an article in the New York Times, or The London Times, or some type of old-school-soon-to-be-defunct media outlet (according to all the pundits that have been mostly wrong about pretty much everything else they've predicted, but we should listen to them this time, well, because). The article was about the best foods for your health. Along with the usual suspects like Swiss chard and roots that can double as building materials, they included sardines because they have lots of healthy Omega3 fats which are the good kind of fats unlike the good tasting fats like butter, and they also don't have nearly as much mercury as the fishies that eat other fishies contain. Though, someone did subsequently note in the comments that sardines do seem to hoover up PCB's quite happily, so that's probably a wash.

In any case, a mention of the lowly sardine served as a reminder that I had several tins sitting in the pantry, liberally coated in dust. And why doesn't anyone say tins in this country? It sounds so much better than 'can'. When I hear 'can' I think of something that can be kicked down a hill or alternatively a body part that can be kicked, down a hill if need be. When I hear 'tin', I envision someone's great aunt Sandra offering me some tea and would I please get down the tin of biscuits? Much better than kicking animate or inanimate objects as far as I'm concerned.

In any case since we were recently in London I'm now referring to all my canned goods as tins, as well as mentioning, just in passing that I'm going to pop around the corner to the pub for a quick pint, which I'm relatively sure is raising suspicion in the Waring household as we don't have a pub around the corner, or even in the same county, that's available for poppage. Back again to the pantry and dusty tinned goods, I find I have not only sardines but some kippered herring. Which leads me astray yet again as I ponder - what is kippering - is it a verb? Via Wiki, no, apparently not. Kippers are whole herrings that have been split, gutted and smoked. Much like my masculinity.

Looking at my tins of herring and sardines I'm struck with the fact that old cans with the little wind-up key are now long gone. I miss those things. If you didn't get the key lined up just right when you started peeling the tin's cover off it would start sliding to one side or the other and then the lid would be impossible to fully remove. Back then they'd just scored the lid lightly - those babies were built. I know when I was growing up, it seemed like there were innumerable references to sardine cans stopping a 20mm round from a machine cannon or a bayonet trust being stopped by the fortuitous presence of a tin of salmon in our hero's breast pocket. Alas, no more. Today's tins are actually made from thin gauge aluminum and the key is long gone. Now they have pull tabs. It's a bit disappointing. The tins themselves are so wimpy that I can't imagine they'd stop an enraged heiress with a hatpin, much less a crossbow bolt. Which is another thing you don't really see much of anymore - hatpins that is, not enraged heiresses, you see those all the time now.

Anyhow, I think I'll be off to have a nice sardine sandwich with some mustard and raw onion. Just the thing to insure an uninterrupted afternoon of online gaming. Toodles!

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.

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.

Now, I like to think I like my meat, somewhat more than many people, perhaps more than I should. Certainly more than is healthy if I didn't have a wonderful, adoring wife who thinks a 20 ounce Porterhouse is enough to feed a family gathering of twelve and not, as I may have contended in the past, the perfect size for an appetizer. So when KFC announced their latest brain storm, some might have assumed that I'd be leading the parade in celebration and downing a few of these monstrosities on the side.

They would be wrong.

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.