Sushi on a stick

Have you ever spent an idle afternoon reclined in your favourite chair, languidly fingering a 512 Mb memory stick, wistfully observing it weave and wind between your fingers and thought to yourself, “I wish my memory stick looked like sushi”?

Of course you have.

Happily, the computer industry stands ready to cater to your culinary fantasies.

And those allergic to fish are not left behind.

It is not the bowl itself that is the memory stick; it is one of the meatballs. But which one, you wonder. Well, I hope you like pondering that particular question because if you buy that bowl it is the very one you will be asking yourself every single time you need your memory stick in the future.

Now, while an entire tray of sushi-like memory sticks is a sight sure to impress any visitor, it is admittedly not kind on the wallet. Thus, if you are on a budget you will be glad to know that a similar visual effect can be achieved simply by putting ordinary, actually edible food on your desk next to the computer and hiding your plain, old memory sticks in the drawer.

I have this great idea for a TV-show!

Have you ever struggled through any of Kierkegaards works and desperately wanted someone with whom to debate the interpretation? Well, bugger off, book-lover. You have come to the wrong place.

If on the other hand you have ever had what seemed to you to be a brilliant and novel idea for a TV-show but which was ridiculed by friends, lampooned by enemies, spurned by producers and urinated on by small forest animals, this post is for you!

Let’s for argument’s sake say that you are trying to pitch the idea of a televised duel to a producer. With pies. Done by two immobile duellants situated 1.5 meters from each other. Riding those useless rodeo fitness machines peddled by TV-Shop.Yes, you nod slowly to yourself with smug satisfaction while stroking the faint beginnings of a mustache, it is indeed a good idea. A great idea one might even say. Women will want you. Men will want to be you. You will stop receiving spam mail. People will stop crowding into the train while you are trying to exit. And Peter from the 5th grade will finally admit that Batman can beat Spiderman. The world is yours.

However, chances are that grim reality (once again) sees things in a different light and that you will (once again) face nigh universal castigation. But do not despair, nor listen to the horde of critics describing you alternately as an utter fool, a witless moron, and as the greatest threat ever to face the world’s gene pool. Instead merely add the words “Done by bikini-clad girls” to your proposal and *KAZAM* you have a well above average late-night show.

Ye olde YouTube-link

If you are a philistine with no YouTube-account, you can still see the video here:
Somewhere else on the net

the contemporary male

In my daughters’ kindergarden, I rummage through the ‘forgotten-clothes’ bin, looking for a pair of red gloves. Just as I find them, another parent – a mother – passes by.

“Wow! You are looking through the ‘forgotten-clothes’ bin! Impressive! Very impressive!”
“Impressive?”
“My husband would never know our boys’ clothes from that of the other kids.”
“I am just looking for my daughter’s red gloves.”
“Yes! Impressive! My husband would never know our boys’ clothes from that of the other kids.”

I don’t know to what extent we are actually communicating. I hate that feeling; it’s far worse than simply not communicating.

“Well, …, thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Bye!”

My masculinity thus confirmed, I fetch the kids, go home, start fixing dinner. My wife comes home from work.

“Hi honey”, I say, “Dinner’s ready shortly.”
“Good. Do you think we could start a chain of hotels in Eastern Europe?”

My somewhat career-minded wife is taking an MBA in her spare time. She has apparently been studying while riding the train home.

“I’d rather not. I found the red gloves, though.”

I point. She looks.

“Those aren’t ours; ours had frills on the bottom.”