It'll probably kill you...

The other day I was reading an environmental report on a building (I was at work, this is not the way I while away my leisure time, I don't do anything nearly that exciting) and was surprised, as always, at how pervasive asbestos used to be.  In tile, in insulation, in glue, in tape.  It seemed to be used in most everything except food.  Anyway, it got me wondering what the next common household item will be found to drastically increase your risks for cancer / heart attack / spontaneous human combustion.  You know, the kind of thing that in 10 or 20 years people will look back and say things like "Can you believe they used to put lead in paint?" "Do you remember how, when we were kids, no one ever used a car seat or bike helmet?" or "I can't understand why people ever thought drano was a good children's toy." Oh, maybe that last one only happened in my family.  Anyway, here's my list of guesses:

1) Lithium Ion Batteries: They're in everything; laptops, cellphones, and now cars.  And we've already seen that they can randomly explode.  Given Toyota's stellar safety record, how long until the new plug-in Priuses (Prii?  Priora? Priores?) begin exploding in balls of flame, incinerating their carbon neutral, greenie occupants (not so carbon neutral now!)?
2) Wireless Networks: Ah, the freedom they gave us to no longer be tied to ethernet cables!  Shame about the massive brain tumors they caused!
3) Bluetooth Headsets: No real reason for this one, just think of the irony if they were found to make you sterile, since using one makes you look like a huge dick.  Mmmmm, delicious irony.
4) Organic Food: Another one for the irony, but I can imagine a discussion in the future:
"Can you believe people used to actually pay MORE for organic food, that was processed less?"
"I know, right, how crazy can people be?  Didn't they understand that natural just means it is trying to eradicate those organisms that stand in the way of the growth of its species.  Like, say, it's main predator, man?  No way, just hand me another McDonalds brand steripak antimicrobo-meal.  Ooh, dehydrated, radiated, macerated, rehydrated, freeze-dried beef!  Yum!"

For right now, my money's on Li-Ion batteries, but my heart wants the headsets.

The DoItAll Mk. 2 - Now with adaptor to loosen the spark plugs on a 1966 Ford Galaxy Wagon

Maybe you missed the news, but someone (Ibera) FINALLY came out with a cycling mini tool (you're a mini tool!) that combines a 5mm hex, phillips screwdriver, and bike stand.

Now, you may ask:
"Why do I need a stand when I've always just leaned my bike against a tree to work on it on the road?"

"But what if you're riding up Mt. Ventoux, famously deforested by the French to build their navy, what then smart guy?"

Not one to be easily cowed, you may reply:
"But if my mini tool is supporting the bike how can I use it to fix or adjust anything?"

"Well, what if you only need to, uh, adjust your, uh, taillight?"

Yeah, that's it.  And yet you don't stop (why are you being such a dick, by the way?), you come back with:
"Judging from the picture you just lean your bike against this, it doesn't actually hold the bike.  Anything can be used for that, say, my shoe, or a rock (neither of which I call a "bike stand"), so I don't need this."

Fine, jerk, you win this time.
But I digress.  Why does every product designer insist on grafting on another function to an item to try to sell more?  (Oh, maybe to sell more, since that's kind of their job.  Hey, I think I got this one figured out!).  Dammit, I'm tired of it.  Now, don't get me wrong, I'm one of the worst suckers for a multitasker, I am a disciple of Alton Brown after all, but they better work well.  I don't need a tool that does lots of things poorly.  I learned this lesson early in life with my first Swiss Army knife.  I loved it and carried it everywhere, since it was a weapon, after all.  But then I came to realize I didn't have a huge need for a dull knife, or a toothpick that you are just supposed to reuse (ick), pathetic tweezers, the worst scissors on earth, or a nail file ever, really.  So I just started carrying a knife.  And it worked much better at cutting things, imagine that.  Plus I didn't rip off my fingernails trying to open it every time.  But if someone comes out with a combination wheel building station and minipump I'm ordering two, but only if it is made out or carbon fiber.

An Open Letter to Taco Bell

Dear Mr. Bell, a.k.a. Señor Taco, 


First off, I want to state that I am a fan of your establishment.  Many an evening your food has solved my dilemma of being hungry at 2 a.m. but only having $0.69 in my pocket.  And I've been a supporter of many of your menu expansions.  I'm a fan of the chalupa, I can even get behind the grilled stuffed burrito.  But I must question some of your most recent decisions concerning your taco offerings.


The first hint I had that something was going awry or askew was the black taco.  I first became aware of it from a radio ad, and I must admit, I was stumped. 


"A black taco?" I asked myself.


"Well, yes, according to the information." I responded.


"Black how?  Maybe they meant black-ened?"


"The ad didn't say anything about 'ened', just black.  Apparently the taco shell is dyed black"


"But why black?  I mean, even accepting that dying the taco shell is a good idea, which is a tenuous assertion, why, for god's name black?  There is no good black food.  Black food makes me think it is either burnt or moldy."


"Well, maybe The Bell is thinking that burning or molding would improve their food taste and nutritional content."


"Touché"


Anyway, the black taco came and went, and I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking erroneously that you had realized your error and moved on.  But, alas, no.  Worse was to come.  Soon thereafter you rolled out the shrimp taco.  Because people don't have enough concern about food poisoning from Taco Bell, let's add seafood to the equation.  And the worst thing was that your advertisements tried to imply that somehow these weren't the worst shrimp in the world, but that they were some sort of gourmet shrimp, a shrimp that other shrimp aspire to be like.  In other words, an übershrimp.  


Finally, in my expansive research for this letter, I was on your website and came across this abomination.  The crispy potato soft taco.  I feel slightly queasy just typing it.  I can just imagine the pitch in one of your brainstorming meetings:


"You know what people like at other fast food restaurants?  Fries"


"Okay, so let's sell french fries."


"But we're a mexican restaurant."


"Damn!"


"But what if we put french fries in a taco?!?!?!"


"Genius!"


And thus this disaster wrought of tater tots and cheese sauce was born.  


But, Mr. Bell, back to my reason for this letter.  I am not writing to disparage your fine establishment, though you have had some missteps of late.  I simply want to ask why, oh why, won't you just offer pork?  It's a staple of mexican cuisine, (unlike black tortillas), it is cheap (unlike the übershrimp), and it is delicious (think bacon wrapped barbeque, fried in pork fat.  Mmmmm).  But if you need to jazz it up, I will accept it if you dye the pork taco shells blue or purple.  Thank you kindly.

Walking stiffly around a stage with the stars

Come on, Buzz Aldrin.  Seriously?  Dancing with the Stars?  You aren't dancing, you're barely staying upright.  Yes, I've heard the "But he's 80!" argument and I dismiss it.  He may be 80.  He's still a bad dancer.  Face it, even for an 80 year old, he is a horrifically bad dancer.  Hell, for a 115 year old he's a terrible dancer.  He couldn't be stiffer if they surgically fused all his joints together.  But fine, with age so goes your limberness, flexibility, and nimbleness.  But does your sense of rhythm somehow leave you as well, because he has none.  While "dancing" he manages to suck the sense of rhythm out of his partner and the first three rows of the audience.  He's a rhythm black hole.

Why did he do this?  It's not uplifting or inspiring, it is just sad and depressing. Watching the elderly try something gamely and fail miserably does not inspire me, it reminds me that aging is irrevocable, inevitable, and destructive.  That's what I want from my prime time television.  Oh, he wants inspire people to support the space program?  Frankly, if this is the best we've got, an example of the kind of person we're sending out into space as a representative of the human race, maybe we should just keep to our own planet.  We don't want to embarrass ourselves galaxy-wide, do we?

Bibs

Ah, cycling bibs, one of the best litmus tests of how far your cycling addiction has progressed.  You start off just wearing normal 'gym' clothes, because, hey, WTF, I don't need no stinkin' new clothes, ya jamoke (for purposes of this discussion you are a Jersey guido).  Then, once your ass becomes a wasteland of soreness you either
A) scale back cycling, since it's for queers anyway or
B) buy some cycling shorts, most likely the cheapest pair available from Performance or Nashbar.
These suffice for about, oh, 32 minutes until you realize they are made from a combination of steel wool and hay, held together with staples and a chamois made, apparently, from old Juicyfruit scraped from the bottom of the factory breakroom table.  So you decide to upgrade, once again, and you figure, what the hell, I already look like a freak, my family is embarassed to be seen with me in public, why not go all in and wear a 1930's bathing suit as well.  So you buy some bibs.  Maybe you've learned your lesson (or at least your taint did) and you buy a pair of Pearl Izumi's from your LBS.  And for many this is the pinnacle of their cycling trouser evolution.  But some of us go farther yet, exploring the upper regions of the cost spectrum, shelling out hundreds of dollars, our spleen and a child to be named later for a pair of Assos, which according to their reviews in Bicycling will make you faster, skinnier, more attractive and, for some unknown reason, able to paint amazing watercolors of tulips.  Eventually, with lots of pain, suffering, monetary outlay, and a bit of luck you find a pair of bibs that is comfortable, moderately affordable, and doesn't make you look like a total freak.  Alright, they all make you look like a total freak.

Parental Pressure

Oh, the joy of a parent dead set on their child becoming a professional athlete.  And wherever there's an obsession, there'll be a product to support it.  Thus:

Yes, the ubiquitous Nerf Basketball hoop.  The source of great joy to every boy, discovering he can dunk like the pros, only to be replaced by crushing reality when he ventures out of his bedroom and onto the blacktop to discover he is short, poorly coordinated, and has the vertical jumping ability of a small rock.  But I don't have a big problem with this, maybe largely because I enjoyed the nerf set as a child myself, but also because it claims you can "play" like the pros and yes, even today, if I played with this I would play like I was, well, maybe not Lebron James but at least James Jones.  

But right next to it on the shelves of Babies R Us was this... mess:

Because what do kids love more than playing?  That's right, practice!  And I think I saw Tiger warming up with this set before the Masters last year.  Or was it one of the other golfers?  You know, the white one.  Hmmm, pasty, doughy, kind of a douche?  Yeah, I dunno either.  

I just imagine Christmas morning, when your older brother opens the Nerf Basketball set and begins imagining himself as Lebron, dunking over all comers and winning the NBA championships and you open this disaster and look forward to imagining yourself as Ernie Els plugging away at the driving range.  Oh, be still my beating heart!