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June 4, 2009

Snickers Almond


Sometimes it takes a while for me to find stuff out — like the very existence of the Snickers Almond bar which, when I happened on it alongside the checkout line at my local Kroger yesterday, was news to me.

I bought one and had it last night.

Excellent, just excellent.

Eclipses the regular peanut-laden iteration.

As is my wont, I sliced it transversely into about 15 pieces, so I could admire the structure of the inner bar as well as prolong the anticipated gustatory pleasure.

As Yogi Berra remarked, when asked if he liked his pizza sliced into 4 or 8 pieces, "Eight — you get twice as much."

Or something to that effect.


Where was I?

Oh, yeah, Snickers Almond.

Read the Candy Blog review of the Snickers Almond (dated December 28, 2005 — told you I was slow) for a connoisseur's deconstruction of the bar.

They rated it 5/10 but me, I'd give it a 9.

Maybe I need to eat more candy so as to have a better perspective.


June 4, 2009 at 04:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBack

M&M's Ear Buds

` 31245w6ertu.;'

Melts in your ears, not in your mouth.

Wait a minute....

Blue, Orange, White, Pink or Red.



June 4, 2009 at 03:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

'The road we know is always shorter...'


Verlyn Klinkenborg's "Editiorial Notebook" feature in yesterday's New York Times is among his greatest hits, an instant classic; it follows.


The Familiar Place

Recently, I’ve been thinking about the geography of familiarity. By that I mean something like a map of my habitat, the paths I travel most often, the places I feel most comfortable, the routines embedded in the rural and urban landscapes I know best. Most days, familiarity seems inherent in the world right around me, but every now and then I remember that it’s really an artifact of consciousness, a form of perception that can be lost, say, in someone with Alzheimer’s. It’s disorienting to grasp that the world itself is neutral and that all the familiarity and unfamiliarity I feel is being carried around in my head.

A few weeks ago, I went to dinner at a restaurant in a part of northern Dutchess County that was utterly unknown to me. Afterward, I asked my GPS to guide me home. It did so, as always, with an eerie sang-froid, an unflappable inability to distinguish familiar from unfamiliar. I wound northward over the hills with no idea where I really was. And as I drove, I admired not only the beauty of the night but also the pleasurable sense of being comfortably lost. At last I came to an unfamiliar intersection and made a right. The moment I did so, I knew exactly where I was, and I could feel my sense of being displaced in the night slip away. It was like looking into an unknown sky and seeing the stars suddenly whirl about until they formed the age-old, long-familiar constellations of my childhood.

The surprise wasn’t just being reoriented so abruptly. It was also discovering that an unfamiliar world lay a few dozen yards off a road I drive all the time. In a way, the unfamiliarity of that world has been eroded now by driving through it once.

The more I think about that seam between the familiar and the unfamiliar — and how it feels to pass from one to the other — the clearer it becomes that humans instinctively generate a sense of familiarity. You can sense it for yourself the next time you drive someplace you’ve never been before. Somehow, it always feels as though it takes longer to get there than it does to get back home again. It’s as if there’s a principle of relativity, a bending of time, in the very concept of familiarity. The road we know is always shorter than the road we don’t know — even if the distances are the same.

How these matters feel to other species, I can’t even begin to guess. But what they mean for us is that home is ultimately a portable concept, something we’ve nearly all discovered for ourselves in our mobile lives. The trick, of course — and it is a hard one to master — is to think of home not as a place we go to or come from, not as something inherent in the world itself, but as a place we carry inside ourselves, a place where we welcome the unfamiliar because we know that as time passes it will become the very bedrock of our being.

June 4, 2009 at 02:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Cap-sac — 'Fannypack for your head'


The name and visuals need work but other than that,


a pretty good idea.


Offers an alternative


to those darn earphone wires


draped down your body.


It's a hat, it's a bag, it's... Superman!


From the top: Royal Blue, Turquoise, Yellow, Pink, Flame, Red, Black or White.



[via compradiccion, noquedanblogs and Swiss Miss]

June 4, 2009 at 01:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Got roots? 21 million U.S. immigration files now open


"A searchable index is at www.uscis.gov/genealogy," wrote Andrea Stone in today's USA Today story.

Up top, Salvador Dali's re-entry permit.

There goes the day.

June 4, 2009 at 12:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Gigglator Voice Changing Toy


From the website:


Gigglator Voice Changing Toy 

No matter if you're 8 or 80, you'll giggle your socks off with this amazing electronic laugh stick.

Simply record your voice or any sound, then shake, roll and slide the Gigglator to change your voice to staccato, low or high pitch, and everything in between.

Also comes with 12 pre-recorded sounds including belches, laughter, and special sound effects.



June 4, 2009 at 11:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

'Skyful of lies' — connection v distraction in an 'always on' world


"In Burma in September 2007, during the surge of pro-democracy protests, the military junta described the images being sent out around the world by its citizens as a 'skyful of lies,'" wrote Stefan Stern in his excellent May 11, 2009 Financial Times column.

Excerpts follow.


Around a quarter of the 1,200 professionals surveyed spend three or more hours a day on their e-mails and sending text messages. More than half the younger and middle-aged respondents never turn their phones off at all.

Three quarters of younger workers admit to being addicted to technology. Alcohol, tobacco, shopping: none of these temptations matches the appeal of fancy new gadgets and high-tech kit.

There is a paradox at the heart of this exciting world of new technology. We crave flexibility, connectivity, and speed. But we risk turning ourselves into busy fools, bamboozled by too much noise and information.

How should we cope with this excessive flow of information? “You have to distinguish between being more connected, which is potentially very valuable, and just being more distracted, which isn’t,” says Alastair Dryburgh, who runs the Akenhurst management consultancy in London.

Information now travels around the world so fast and in such quantities, he [British journalist Nik Gowing] reports,* that all kinds of organisations – governments, businesses – are struggling to respond fast enough or effectively enough.

“As a result, there is a new vulnerability, fragility and brittleness of power which weakens both the credibility and accountability of governments, the security organs and corporate institutions,” he writes – adding that this often occurs at the height of a crisis....

No matter that the information – noise – which is being spread may be inaccurate, or only partly true. Leaders have to respond, and faster than used to be necessary. “The new core challenge is the tyranny of the time line,” Mr Gowing says.

What advice does he offer leaders in these changed circumstances? “From top to bottom retrain or remove the courtiers who ratchet up old means of control and like behaviour that masks the truth,” he says.

*“Skyful of lies” and Black Swans: the new tyranny of shifting information power in crises [free!], by Nik Gowing, Reuters Institute for the Study of Journalism, Oxford.

June 4, 2009 at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack

What is it?


Answer here this tomorrow.

June 4, 2009 at 09:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBack

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