Blather

Another Sack of Your Finest, Francois

There are many, many reasons why I love my wife, and I have just thought of a new one: If we did this on Valentine's Day, she would laugh affectionately and not, say, leave me.

It's one 'em, whattayacallem... Conspiramacies!

Man, I tell you what, every time I think I ought to let this Janet Jackson thing go, I read something like this: The Tennessee woman who's suing Jackson claims in actual court papers actually filed in an actual court that she and millions of others "were caused to suffer outrage, anger, embarrassment and--" (wait for it... yes!) "--serious injury." The Smoking Gun's got the filing.

Okay, You Can Be Mad. Everybody Else Just Simmer Down.

At last, someone who has a legitimate beef with Janet Jackson over the Super Bowl stunt: Staffers at DeMask, a Manhattan fetish shop, say Jackson altered the now-infamous bustier she bought there so it would rip away. They're "furious" that the incident has fostered an impression their clothes are cheaply made. "We're known for putting together solid, long-lasting pieces," manager Sam Hill told the New York Post. "People use our stuff for mind-altering, body-altering experiences. It has to be good quality." A recent poll conducted by Harris Interactive backs this up, ranking "Durable" and "Well-made" ahead of "Hot," "Boy, That's Hot" and "Sleaze-tastic" as qualities most sought after by DeMask patrons.

Somebody Actually Paid For This

There's some beguilingly useless information in this press release from Harris Interactive, like the fact that Britons are relatively more likely to feel rebellious after getting a tattoo, while Italians and Americans are more likely to feel "sexy." ("Rebellious" comes in second among Yanks, followed closely by "Attractive," as apparently distinct from "Sexy," which is slicing the inquisitorial pie a little "thin" if you ask "me".) Italians are statistically least likely to regret getting a tattoo, but most likely to use colorful nonsense words like "labonza" and "bustafazoo." Summarizing the results, HI Europe research manager Karen Jepson concludes helpfully that "The thing about tattoos... is that you'd better like what you get because you're going to be wearing it for a long time." And she's not just whistling "Dixie," or "God Save the Queen," or whatever it is they whistle in Europe. That's the result of three weeks' cumulative polling in three countries, covering roughly 2300 people. So they've got that going for them. Which is nice.

Dignity. Always Dignity.

You know, I've been as hard on David Gest as anybody in the wake of this... unpleasantness with Liza. I've called him a "publicity ho," a "waxy-headed publicity ho," a "shiny-skinned creepy-haired publicity ho," and "the senior senator from the great state of Wyoming" (I might have been a little off on that last one). But I'm starting to think I may have been a tad rough on the guy. What turned me around? These sincere words of support from R&B great James ("Just Once") Ingram: "When people see this interview they will see what I have known about my brother and what he has been through for the last seven months. It's pretty heavy." The heaviness Ingram refers to is an upcoming segment on "Dateline" in which Gest really nails down his claims to aggrieved dignity by receiving, on-camera, "around 80 shots with 4-inch needles in the eyebrows, front and back of ears, forehead, head and neck in front of interviewer Stone Phillips and the Dateline staff. One of the producers left at the beginning of the treatment because she could not watch it." Creepy, semi-literate press release is here. And David? You hang in there, buddy. It's almost unbearably sad that a man like you should have to suffer through this kind of humiliating treatment on camera, in prime time, during sweeps.

Breasts! My God, They're Everywhere! BREASTS!!!

NBC, over the objections of executive producer John Wells, has cut a two-second glimpse of an elderly woman's breast from this week's "ER." A statement issued by the network read:

Though we continue to believe the shot is appropriate and in context, and would have aired after 10:30 p.m. Eastern and Pacific time, we have unfortunately concluded that the atmosphere created by this week's events has made it too difficult for many of our affiliates to air this shot.

A statement issued by the aching, weary soul of mankind wondered whether there were there any lengths to which American television networks would fail to go in their craven campaign to avoid agitating the delicate sensibilities of even the teensiest numbers of potentially product-buying humans, or any windy, self-important, lawyer-vetted language they would fail to use in their sad attempts to make their cowardice seem statesmanlike. The aching, weary soul of mankind then yawned and flipped over to HGTV.

Curse You For Your Unflappable Imperturbability, George Bush!

This is pretty wonderful: The official White House transcript of an exchange between the president and pool reporters during a visit to the Nothin' Fancy Cafe in Roswell, NM. It shows Bush to be both funnier and more adept at flustering the press than I'd previously had reason to suspect. I'm not saying these are good things, just that they're surprising. Best bit:

REPORTER: But Mr. President --

THE PRESIDENT: Stretch, thank you, this is not a press conference. This is my chance to help this lady put some money in her pocket. Let me explain how the economy works. When you spend money to buy food it helps this lady's business. It makes it more likely somebody is going to find work. So instead of asking questions, answer mine: are you going to buy some food?

REPORTER (visibly cowed): Yes.

(Via Tim Porter's First Draft.)

SAY! Can You SEE!

Mieskuoro Huutajat ("Men's Choir Shouters") -- 20 young Finnish guys in black suits who perform popular songs in a heavily-accented shout, like the Gumbys at a hootenanny. Their version of "The Star-Spangled Banner" (64 kbps MP3, 746K) is reason enough to move to Canada, as if one more reason were needed. Seriously: You need to hear this. (Via MeFi.)

Dynamap

Via Gizmodo, here's Dynamap. It uses the eye-fooling technology behind the Jesus With Eyes Open/Jesus With Eyes Closed postcards to embed three levels of map data on one surface. Cool Flash demo here.

Don't Kick Me There

Scientists at the University of Leeds ("Synthesizing Vital Organs Out of 90% Post-Consumer Content Since 1967") are working on an artificial liver made of glass. "If it works it would be fantastic, so jolly good luck to them," Professor Humphrey Hodgson of the Royal Free Hospital, London, told BBC News Online. He then raised the artificial organ to his lips and tried to drink from it, apparently under the impression that it was a decanter of claret.

Polly Wanta Die?

With this post Blather introduces a new feature called "Too Good To Check." Items bearing this rubric are deemed by our board of editors* to be worthy of the old newsmagazine tag for a story that's probably false, but is so irresistibly enjoyable that it gets run as gospel. Here's the first entry, from the Melbourne Age: A Chinese man spends the better part of a year trying to teach his parrot to say "Hello" and "Goodbye." The bird refuses. The guy loses his temper and calls the bird an "idiot." The bird suddenly gains the power of speech, and calls the guy an idiot right back. The joke's on the bird, however, as the guy goes postal and kills it. Yes, it's... Too Good To Check!

*Clifton Fadiman, Arlene Francis, Bennett Cerf, Norton Simon, Simon Norton, Kiki Dee and Hap the Avenging Clownmaster.

Nearly-Unbelievable Coincidences, Pt XIV

Amazingly enough, the new Janet Jackson single was rush-released today.

"Psst. Justin. Are They Buying It?"

The FCC is shocked, shocked at yesterday's halftime hijinx, in which Justin Timberlake ripped off part of Janet Jackson's Mylar body armor to reveal what may have been a small portion of her right breast. I say "may have been" because it was broadcast in a very, very long shot and cut away from immediately, almost as if it had been choreographed or something. Also, at the Super Bowl party I attended, somebody (okay, it was me) grabbed the Tivo remote and ran the video back and froze it, and golly if there didn't appear to be a tiny strip of something like aluminum foil covering the naughty bit in question. Anyway, here come the public watchdogs of the FCC, thundering to the defense of the great American TV viewer, threatening investigations and fines and gosh, just a whole lot of that sincere disappointment and regretful clucking of tongues you tend to get about issues of public morality under Republican administrations in election years. If they want to investigate something (and man, just try and stop 'em once they get that crazy "We gotta investigate this" look in their eyes), here's a suggestion: Why don't they investigate the last time there was an actual moment of unscripted spontaneity at a Super Bowl halftime show? It wasn't yesterday. And with the budget left over, they can look into the cow-eyed credulity of anybody who actually believes that Janet Jackson is embarrassed by being on every front page in America the day after the Super Bowl... or maybe the fact the signal-to-noise ratio in American pop culture has plummeted to such depressingly low levels that two people who are already really, really famous feel like they have to do something this dopey and desperate just to cut through the clutter.

If It Ain't Broke -- What The Heck, Break It Yourself

So you know how I said (below) that there'd be no nonsense like a superfluous site redesign when Blather returned to the air? That turned out to be not so much true. Here's Blather '04, which is not only redesigned but comes to you via Typepad, or Movable Type for people who are mesmerized by pretty, brightly-colored things. If you haven't already done so, this might be a good time to adjust your bookmarks... and to those of you who've been kind enough to link to Blather from your own sites, take a moment to correct those links now, won't you? It's okay, I'll wait.

{la la dee, la da daaaa.... }

I'm hoping to exploit the behind-the-scenes power of Typepad more and more in the days ahead. I'll be categorizing archived posts for easy access, for example, which will mean a long and tedious period of attaching category stamps to posts created under MT... Hmmm. Well, what the hell. I'll do it. Because why? Because Blather is all about YOU, the home viewer! The point is, there's changes coming. Some things will inevitably break in the process. (I can't wait to get in there and try redirecting my permalinks... now that's geek heaven!) I trust YOU, the home viewers, will keep me apprised of stuff that no longer works right. So let's all step inside and enjoy that same great snippiness in a shiny new wrapper, shall we? Mmmm... snippy.

Roaring Back, Slowly

Wahoo! Tell your friends! Tell your enemies! Mark your calendars! Calendar your marks! It's the great big fancy

BLATHER RE-LAUNCH 2004 STYLE, BABY!

Coming your way right here on MONDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 2004!

The same great snarky pointlessness you've come to expect in a bright, shiny new wrapper! Mmm... Shiny! Snacks and refreshments! Free balloons for the kiddies! Validated parking! And valuable, valuable prizes including cash, Segways, Nieman Marcus gift certificates and human stem cells! So don't forget... it's the

BLATHER RE-LAUNCH 2004 STYLE, BABY!

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 2004, bright and early! Or like noonish.

***************************************************************

Please note: Reference to "new wrapper" does not imply a site redesign. Site design is unchanged. Snacks and refreshments not available. Free balloons not provided. No balloons provided. No parking in or near this site. No actual prizes to be awarded. Void where prohibited by law. Your reading this disclaimer indicates your waiver of all rights, express or implied. Too late, you read it.

Bits in Search of a Premise

Note to self: Do something with a French rapper named "P. Didier."

(Note to self 2: Make him snooty. Snooty French people are funny.)

And Here's a Happy Little GuyYAAAAAAUUUGGGHHH GETHIMOFFME GETHIMOFF!!! OH MY GOD HE'S GOT MY NOSE!!! HELP!!! HELLLLLLLPPP!!! HE'S KILLING ME!!! HELLPPPP!!!! HELLLPPPP!!!

Things have been a little quiet here at Blather HQ recently, but all of us -- and that includes not just the kids in the office but Stan and Al and Leo and all the guys down at Regional Distribution -- want to wish you a happy and safe and healthy holiday season. And to mark the sacred nature of the occasion, here's a story about a local TV reporter being viciously attacked by a reindeer.

See you in '04!

Just Came In to Dust and Pick Up My Mail

How you been? Good. I came across this today, via the Exotica List. I don't know what to make of it, or, to be precise, what it is. But I did feel that it was worth sharing.

It's Getting All Quiet Up In Here

Blather continues to be an an extended semi-official quasi-temporary hiatus. Check back from time to time, won't you?

He's Back... And He's Popular!

This item, from the invaluable New Scientist via artist and Blather reader Jessi Buchanan, couldn't possibly be improved on by any half-assed wisecrack I could possibly make up. (Same could be said, now that I think of it, for this piece by The Gate's Mark Morford, whose capacity for creative malice continues to impress me. Hey, maybe that's what I should do with this blog -- use it to point mutely to writers who are funnier than I am.)

These Pictures Coming To You Live, Courtesy of the Goodyear Blimp "Fredo"

This is an air disaster I can get behind:

A large crane was brought in Thursday to haul away a Goodyear blimp that strayed from its moorings in Carson, drifted 300 yards over a fence, bumped into a truck and fell nose-first into a manure pile.

I even love the verbs the LA Times uses in this story: "Strayed." "Drifted." "Bumped." That plus the lovely detail about the blimp falling nose-first into a manure pile... Makes the whole thing seem downright pastoral, doesn't it? Thousands of dollars in property damage, one pissed-off nursery owner, gawker delays on the 405, and all you can really say is "Awwww... "

So Cold In Here... So Very Cold

Open question to my weblogger pals: What do you do when your daily weblog starts to seem less like fun and more like a... What do you call it? Oh yeah: "A job." As anybody who has either published a weblog or held a job can attest, this is pretty much the last thing you want. The possibilities I can think of are: (1) Go weekly, and hope I can scrape up enough content in 7 days to interest someone. (2) Close up shop, because the point of this thing was never to "scrape up content," or at least to feel an obligation to. A middle course, I guess, is to turn out the lights for a while and see if the batteries recharge, which is a terrible mixed metaphor. (Unless the lights are battery-powered.)

Anybody?

That'll Be $400

"If anybody doesn't think based upon what's happened so far that the true motivation of these charges and these allegations is anything but money and the seeking of money, then they're living in their own Neverland," Michael Jackson's lawyer told reporters Tuesday, adding: "It isn't not unclear that the real reason for these charges is the lack of the presence of facts that, if shown, wouldn't not tend to un-exculpate my client."

Well, I'm Thankful I Haven't Been Blown From The Skies... Yet

A Los Angeles-based TSA screener, quoted in the LA Times:

For my particular shift, morale is really low. About 30% are looking for another job. We feel like no one really cares about the screeners. You're a body filling that job.

Have a nice flight, everybody!

Oh, I'm Just in a Mood Today, That's All

The LA Times achieves a near-apotheosis of popcult cliche in slugging a piece about the Michael Jackson mess "A Perfect Media Storm." The really chilling part, though, comes a little further down when USC journalism professor Martin Kaplan gushes that "This is Laci Peterson and shark attacks and Kobe Bryant put together," neatly triangulating that perfect little spot in the Zeitgeist where the anguished ghost of Edward R. Murrow is doomed to spend all eternity, chain-smoking and muttering darkly about what jackasses his professional heirs have become.

Get Bigger, Crazier D*e*a*T*h t*H*r*E*A*t*s NOW!!!

Out on bond and facing five years in jail for threatening to "cut into the left side of [a spammer's] brain using a power drill and an ice pick," a Sunnyvale, CA man told The Mercury News: "If I could go back, I wouldn't have done it. I would have realized sooner that I needed to shut my Web site down, to shut down my e-mail and to re-evaluate the way I was using the Internet." Once again I find myself saying "Maybe it's just me, but..." ...Does the guy really think that "ill-conceived use of the Internet" is among his most pressing problems? I'm not sure it's even in the Top 5. "Creepy specificity of death threats" has gotta be #1.

But maybe it's just me.

It's Up to You, Supreme Court of the State of New York, New York Or: You Gotta Represent

Liza Minnelli claims in court papers obtained by The Smoking Gun that estranged husband/waxwork David Gest "represented to Plaintiff that he was a major 'player' in the entertainment business" at the fateful mid-2001 meeting that led to their 26-minute marriage. Just to prove that there's a cosmic logic to the universe, or that all cosmic circles eventually close, or at least that the cosmos has the spiteful wit of a Friars Club roast, the pair met at -- wait for it -- the taping of a Michael Jackson TV special.

No Thanks, I Filled Up on the Giblet Iced Tea

I'm not sure whether to thank Doyce for this news flash, about the introduction of a turkey-and-gravy flavored soda for the holidays, or simply gag until tears run from my eyes. Yes, it's Great Jones Turkey and Gravy Flavored Soda: "Because the holidays just aren't miserable enough!"? Come on, it's sugar- and carbohydrate-free! Wow! Now how much would you pay?

Achtung! Puttenzei der Big Mac wrapper in der can! Schnell!

It isn't so much the fact that Berlin is about to get talking trash cans that's troubling. It's the prospect of what could happen if one of them decides to get the others together.

So a priest, a rabbi, a professor of early Christianity and a Baptist go into a screening room

The New York Post nicked a copy of Mel Gibson's upcoming "The Passion of Christ" and screened it for a small, religiously-diverse panel of viewers. Doing its bit to counter a climate in which complicated socio-cultural issues frequently get reduced to tiny, meaningless soundbites, the Post asked each viewer for a one-word review. The priest's exquisitely calibrated response: "Unhelpful."

Oh Yeah. Here We Go. I'm Back in Action Now.

"Michael would never harm a child in any way," reads a statement from a spokesman for pop oddity Michael Jackson. Man oh man, is it just me or do even the guy's denials sound vaguely creepy? Still, maybe you have to give the statement some credence. I mean, who treats very young kids with more care and responsibility than Michael Jackson?

I've Been Drinking For Days, So Yes, You Could Say I'm Exhausted

I'm not saying this story, about Meat Loaf collapsing on stage in London due to exhaustion, is hooey. I'm just asking: Have you ever heard of anybody who wasn't in show business collapsing from exhaustion?

It's Great to be Back

A group of Fijians has offered an elaborate ceremonial apology to the family of a British missionary who was, well, eaten in their village 136 years ago. According to AP, "The Rev. Thomas Baker and eight Fijian followers were killed and devoured by cannibals in 1867 in the village of Nabutautau, high in the hills of the South Pacific island of Viti Levu." The wire service adds that the villagers' motives may not have been entirely altruistic: "Residents say their community has been cursed ever since." An interesting footnote: This isn't the first time the village has tried to apologize its way out of the curse. In 1993 villagers presented the Methodist Church of Fiji with Baker's boots (which cannibals had tried unsuccessfully to cook and eat, reportedly finding them "a little chewy around the instep"). Village chief Ratu Filimoni Nawawabalavu told AP that "This is our third apology but, unlike the first two, this one is being offered physically to the family of Mr. Baker," adding in exasperation: "Who does a guy have to eat to get forgiven around here, anyway?"

Dusty... So Dusty...

Construction-related hiatus continues. Back next week.

Off The Grid

Blather HQ is undergoing some hellish, gut-wrenching, dust-raising, hammer-and-saw-based destruction renovations. Back next week.

Everybody's a Critic

Actor Jim Caviezel was struck by lightning while playing Jesus in Mel Gibson's controversial film "The Passion of Christ."

(Thanks to Jeff Cohen for the link.)

Oh, Shut Up

David Blaine reportedly broke into tears on his release from a Plexiglass cube suspended over the Thames embankment, telling reporters: "This has been one of the most important experiences of my life." The reporters started to ask followup questions, then stopped, stared into the middle distance, blinked repeatedly, looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes, started to speak again, stopped, wetted their lips with their tongues, paused, scratched absently at their scalps with their pencils, looked at each other again, shrugged, then drifted away to their cars, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when their lives had turned so awful and empty and sad.

Earworms

University of Cincinnati professor James Kellaris has given a name to the tunes that get stuck in our heads, and even found out the ones most likely to do so: "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," "Who Let The Dogs Out" and Chili's "I Want My Baby Back" jingle. (His highly unscientific study surveyed 500 students, faculty and staff on the U of C campus.) Other findings: Women are bothered more by earworms than men, and people who are around music suffer them more frequently.

Me No Understand New Money

The Treasury Department has invested in one of those spiffy "web sites" to hip Americans to the new $20 bills. Accessible from the site are a press kit, a fact sheet, and links to current TV spots, all of which are apparently predicated on the assumption that average citizens will be so flummoxed by the slightly new color scheme and minor redesign that they'll stare slack-jawed at the new bills the first time they receive them in change, turning them over and over in their hands, folding them into awkward shapes and attempting to use them to start their cars or shampoo their hair.

So Much in Love

There's nothing sadder than seeing two starry-eyed, deep-in-love kids, all goofed up on the romantic thrill of being young and besotted with each other, hit the rocks. But that seems to be what's happened with a couple of crazy dreamers named Liza and David, and it's ended up where all love stories eventually end up: In the Supreme Court of the State of New York, County of New York. (God bless The Smoking Gun for this.)

Legal News

Guys who popularize pop-unders sue X10, win $4.3 million. Millions wonder who, if anybody, to sympathize with.

See, This Is What Happens When You RIF All the Copy Editors

Actual unretouched early hed from CBSnews.com.

Corrected version.

(Thanks and a tip of the Blather chef's hat to Jessi Buchanan.)

Rejected Ad Slogans for Dr. Scholl's Massaging Gel Insoles

1. I'm gellin' like Civil War general George B. McClellan (1826-1885)
2. I'm gellin' like Lake Chelan (north-central Washington; third-largest freshwater lake in the US)
3. I'm gellin' like Herman Snellen (1834-1908; inventor of the opthamological eye-testing chart which bears his name)
4. I'm gellin' like net melon (the fruit of a variety of muskmelon vine)
5. I'm gellin' like Integrelin (trade name for eptifbatide, a cyclic peptide derived from rattlesnake venom)
6. I'm gellin' like Sir Ian McKellen (British actor, 1939 - )
7. I'm gellin' like Excelan (manufacturers of Ethernet cards)
8. I'm gellin' like matfelon (a synonym for knapweed)
9. I'm gellin' like Margarelon (a mythological Trojan hero, son of Priam)
10. I'm gellin like Fran篩s de Salignac de la Mothe-F鮥lon (more commonly known as Fran篩s F鮥lon, 1651 - 1715: a Roman Catholic theologian, poet and writer, best remembered as the author of "The Adventures of Telemachus," a scabrous attack on the French monarchy, first published in 1699. F鮥lon was appointed Archbishop of Cambrai in 1695, but the publication of his "Explanation of the Sayings of the Saints on the Interior Life" was condemned and he retired, complaining to the end of his days about the sore arches he sustained during long hours of celebrating Mass. On his deathbed in 1715, he was reported to have cried out to God: "Mon Dieu! Why have You not yet invented a flexible, gel-filled insole with which to provide the cushioning support Your humble servants demand?")

Graphic Arts... For Victory!!!

The University of Minnesota ("A Darn Good Education at a Reasonable Price, Dontcha Know") hosts this wonderful archive of social-hygiene posters from the early part of the last century through the '60s. Even in those less-enlightened times, I suspect, prostitutes might have balked at being described as "bags of trouble."

I Always Wake Up Grumpy (Especially During Surgery)

100 people a day wake up during surgery, paralyzed and unable to call out for help, according to a new study. The chairman of anesthesia and critical care medicine at the University of Chicago issues a pointed harrumph at the research, which was sponsored by makers of a system that monitors levels of operative sedation: "These studies have not been vetted through the peer-reviewed process," says Dr. Jeffrey Apfelbaum. "We are all anxious to find a way to minimize the incidence of this problem, but we need to do it through sound science." Ummm... Hey, doc? You know what I need to do? Not wake up during surgery with a freakin' tube down my throat. And with all due respect, you know what you need to do? Make sure I don't wake up during surgery with a freakin' tube down my throat. Why don't you make that your first priority -- you know, in your capacity as a professional anesthesiologist and all -- and worry about the niceties of peer review later, mmmkay? Thanks a bunch.

Oh Dear. Oh My.

Greg Daniels is a talented guy -- I've often thought about the irony that the animated "King of the Hill" has some of the most recognizably human characters in prime time -- but jeez, does American TV really have to USAify everything that works a little bit somewhere else in the world? Yes, bad offices and bad bosses are universal. But American pop culture has already produced a definitive statement on the soul-deadening that can take place in a cubicle. And now so have the Brits, who have had the smarts not to push the joke too far, limiting production thus far to 12 episodes over two seasons. Can an American version, which will start life with an initial order equal to The Office's entire history and immediately start to feel pressure to do whatever it takes to get an order for more, meet that same standard of angry brilliance? History isn't on its side.

Mmmm, That's Good Irony

Sure, it's a world full of drivers who cut you off in traffic, selfish jackasses who jump the line at Starbucks, and worse. But every once in a while the universe aligns itself in a way that is both morally just and really, really funny. (Via boingboing and Crypto-Gram.)

No, Peepers, No!

Reader Jessi Buchanan passes along this story about a new advance in monkey-brain technology, which is fascinating for both its content and the weird poetry of its headline: "Monkey mind moves robotic arm". (I also like it because it allows me to use the phrase "monkey-brain technology.") I'm no scientist, but if I were I'd stuff this research deep into the same drawer where I hide the data on wireless underwear. Call me a Luddite -- I'm just not sure monkeys should have the power to control anything with their minds, let alone powerful gripping instruments.

Is That a False Positive Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

Gizmodo reports today on wireless underwear that monitors a user's heart rate and can automatically call an ambulance in the event of a heart attack. Putting aside for a moment the insane, mind-bending greatness of the phrase "wireless underwear," we should pause to consider other potential uses of this technology. Why, for example, should the things be hardwired to dial an ambulance? Is there any reason they couldn't be coded to call, say, "Larry King Live," 1-800-DENTIST, or an old girlfriend from college? What if they just want to call other underwear? Is there a variety of truss that can be programmed to call Domino's when telltale stomach-rumbling is detected? I wonder these things. Then I look again at the phrase "wireless underwear" and laugh uncontrollably.

Price-Gouging in Prison

It's easy to feel sorry for the city fathers of Sayre, OK, which recently lost its biggest cash cow, a privately-run prison, in an arcane dustup over long-distance phone rates charged to inmates. (In a demographic twist that probably makes perfect sense in the world of for-profit penology, the facility housed 989 prisoners from Wisconsin.) Then you read down to the part of this New York Times story that contains the financial details: AT&T and the town split, roughly 60-40, the revenues from the prisoner calls, which ran to $3.95 for a connection and 89 cents per minute, or about $22 for a 20-minute call.