Cool and, well, not so much.

Come on, does it get more kitschy cool than grafting together Mr. Potato Head and Spiderman? Multi-million dollar licensing deals be damned, imagine the Marvel superhero slingin' starchy threads and curing the potato famine. Or taking on evil power, Locarb Atkins.

Really, can't you imagine Tobey Maguire as a potato? Though, at 5"8 (and no, thank you, I didn't just happen to know that off the top of my head), he's hardly the spud most Hollywood actors are. Some would argue he's actually more stud than spud, but Peter Parker Potato, there you go; welcome to your makeover, replete with tiny spidey costume.

Whomever wrote the packaging, however, had a bit of a Dan Quayle moment, calling Spider Spud a "Super Tatter", as though his costume comes in rags. Come on, Hasbro; did you outsource to Japan, too? You could have at least used the tools at your disposal - you know, the 'web'.


Someone should tell this chipmunk, loitering outside one of the buildings on campus, that smoking kills. Even rodents (in fact, studies were likely conducted on them first). But, I guess he needed his fix - and really, with a hairdo like that, you just knew he was trouble. Hibernation's certainly going to be a bitch of a time for withdrawal.

Recipes for Disaster?

Regular visitors to this cozy little niche of the Internerd will know I find amusement in spelling gaffes on signs, advertisements and product labels, particularly if they lead to double entendres. Sure, it's just a giant eggo (sic) stroke for a syrupy writer. What, can't anyone afford a decent copywriter editor anymore? Or at least an editor name Deloris?

It turns out that English/French expressions are particularly à propos for this post as I was rummaging through my cupboard for something other than cracker crumbs to eat and and read the instructions on the side of this box of Thai Chili Chicken. The first direction in French is to "Sauter poulet". "Jump chicken"? I hope the box at least contains a reliable set of booster cables. Or at least Van Halen, House of Pain or Kris Kross CDs. Naturally, it should have read, "sautée", which, funny enough, is how it's spelled in both languages. I guess they could have saved themselves the translation cost for one word and actually got it right. Then again, this is the same box that lists "Stir fry chicken & vegetable" in English. You know, as though we're back to wartime rations and you can only put one veg into the dish. "Hmm, a lonely carrot this evening?" "No dear, let's try the rutabaga."


There's nothing wrong with this one - I just thought the company's description of its Spicy Thai - compared to its Regular Thai - was pretty witty and to the point.

Who's the winner? Well, let's just call it a Thai.

Really, even that has been patented?

Imagine my astonishment to see that the manufacturing of a climax was patented in 1890 (and then, not surprisingly, over and over again). Ah, we have much to be thankful to the Victorian era for, but I'm gathering the patent was only valid for men ("Not only am I a client, I'm the President"). I can only imagine the full spate of advertising slogans, followed by "New and Improved".

Okay, not really. As if the residents of Climax, Pennsylvania haven't already heard them all (my suggested Climax tourism board slogan: It's worth going all the way to Climax). Yes, Climax is indeed a small town known for its mining industry and was also apparently home to a train engine manufacturer (from which this comes) at one point as well.

Based in New York, there's also a Climax Manufacturing Company that produces folding cartons and recycled paperboard. Sexy. Much like the Big Ass Fans t-shirts from last year, though, this would be a great corporate shirt to have that might induce a snicker or two. Or perhaps even a chortle. Anything more than that would just be gravy.

Potty Humour.

As a guy, it's not like I can say I have the highest standards for washrooms, particularly after having been in some rather sketchy ones in Asia (you know you're not in Kansas anymore when an attendant lurking outside the door offers to sell you Kleenex for five ringit on your way in). That said, I still found the mixed messages on this door to be a bit baffling. Or some might say, shocking.

What, did the architects run out of space and leave the fairer sex a renovated closet chock full of live wires? I'm not so sure I'd be comfortable heading in here, where the so-called throne could very well be akin to 'the chair'. One would think it certainly wouldn't be pleasant to have to use these facilities if you had a pacemaker. Oh well, at least the skirt-shaped yield sign is the appropriate.

This note, posted beside the sink (no, not in the same bathroom mentioned above - we established the whole male/female thing, remember?) just hit the nail on the head for being the most obvious of the day. At least it's polite. That and it gets the grammar of "onto" (rather than "on") correct. Of course, the last sentence is a completely different story. Looks like the author slipped, too; someone must have got the page wet.

End of the rainbow?

According to that ever-so-scientific source, Wikipedia:

"The Irish Leprechaun's secret hiding place for his pot of gold is usually said to be at the end of the rainbow. This place is impossible to reach, because the rainbow is an optical effect which depends on the location of the viewer. When walking towards the end of a rainbow, it will move further (sic) away."

Okay, sure, there don't seem to be any fuzzy-hatted leprechauns (hoisting a Guinness and some Lucky Charms?) dancing around a pot of gold, but it certainly seems to appear that the rainbow ends in the backyard of the house toward the foreground of this photo. The coloured bands are seen clearly in front of the trees and seem to travel over the roof and down the face of the building. Odd -- I've never seen anything like that before.

In an unrelated story, young Johnny from across the road came out of the closet at that precise moment.

Chicken is not a Vegetable. (Neither is Beef.)

Well, that was a given; however, it was the best heading that came up when I typed "vegetarians who eat chicken" into Google. I wondered if a name had been given to poultry-loving 'vegetarians', but nothing was immediately forthcoming (ooh, I just found the term "meat-reducers" has indeed been commonly used, but there's nothing sexy about that. Really, "Too chicken to go all out" would have been much better).

Anyway, long route around getting to the point. Gffl and I were scoping out this package of sausages and thought, "Selves, that looks like a mighty fine option for vegetarians. Er, "meat reducers". Yawn. Feta and spinach = nice and tasty, particularly as a complement to poultry. But then the lesson to all you young, aspiring lawyers out there struck us like a frozen sausage between the eyes: make sure you read the fine print. No self-respecting "meat-reducer" could possibly find a way to turn a blind eye to the "natural pork casing". Odd combination.

I was thinking I could imagine a few more suitable mascots than this fine bovine friend for the above-noted product, apparently called Sipahh. The Sipahh is a straw that flavours your milk as you drink through it. Really? Have our children become so obese they can no longer tilt the bottle of Quick into the glass on their own? What of the chocolate milk of yore? (Okay, I just wanted to say "yore".) In my books, this is sort of along the lines of microwaveable bacon. Really, if you can't wait the five minutes your pork hock will take to fry, you probably shouldn't be having it in the first place.


The product aside, the grinning mascot haunts my nightmares still. Not to milk the issue, but the top picture looks like he has been using the straw for much more nefarious uses. In the bottom, he seems to have passed the brand name in a gas bubble (with a typical childish snicker). Not inspiring; in fact, dairy bad.

Rock Point, On Point.

Smoky goodness and insect repellent: perfume of the outdoors. By now, the smell of campfire has worn off following my first tenting excursion of the year last weekend. Settling on Rock Point Provincial Park near Dunnville, Ontario, gffl and I set up camp and noticed an empty bird's nest in a tree looming over the site. Me being me, I made like a monkey to take a peek (and a 'peekture'). I won't, however, admit to scratching my sides while making monkey noises. Tent raised, we headed out for a stroll along the beach and were greeted by a vast array of topography: fossilized limestone shelves, dunes, shell, rock and sand.

It turns out the area had been submerged in the Caribbean 350 million years ago, as indicated by fossils from the coral reef embedded in the slabs of limestone that line the coast. Forming divots in the rock, evidence of trapped plant and animal life is featured prominently in the limestone, which was eventually sheared off by advancing glaciers as the Earth's continents took shape. It's easy to lose yourself for hours, poring over the landscape for increasingly interesting examples of prehistoric life. Highlights from dinner included campfire-roasted peppers, garlic and potatoes.

On Saturday, we caught a drive-by view of Niagara Falls ($18 to park nearby - incredible) and of some of the rest of Las Vegas North (what a tacky, over-the-top city). Q: "What would a crazed Frenchman say, bobbing along the river, about to plummet over the falls?" A: "Chutes!"

We continued on our short trek to quaint Niagara-on-the-Lake and poked around for a bit. I'm not so sure I've seen that many preppy people walking around in such a concentrated area in quite a while. Oh, and men in pale yellow pants, not a hair out of place. Women, with chunky necklaces, prim collars and, also, not a bouffant hair out of place. We also stopped in at the Inniskillin winery and admired the row upon row of grapes. Hopefully, none of them sour. On the way back, we came across an ostrich farm and had to stop to check them out. Despite being able to run at speeds of up to 65 km/h, the (very large) male and a female took their time coming to see us. Go figure. Like they had their heads in the sand or something. They are mighty impressive birds up close.

Rock Point is a really neat park to explore, particularly if you are even a closet rock hound. Unfortunately, the weather was, surprisingly, a little chilly for swimming this past weekend (unless you had the body temperature thermometer of a child), but there was plenty to see, including various waterfowl, the little critter I found above, pretty shells and plenty of fossils. During the drive, we also came across a couple more signs that could be included on the blog, but we didn't get the camera out in time. They included one advertising the sale of "Tree Wood" (as if there is another kind) and a butcher operating under the name, "People's Meat Market". Wonder if that was intentional. On a couple of fronts.

You Will Be Missed.

You know the type of person I mean. Really, it's inevitable that people like this have shaped who we have become - people who occupy special recesses in our minds. And our hearts. Not necessarily thought of on a daily basis, but people who have made a real, tangible difference in our lives and helped form our identities. They may, or may not be, related - it doesn't really matter - but they taught us something: how to hold our heads high, how to not sweat the small stuff. And chances are, they weren't told enough of the influence they had. Maybe we didn't even recognize it at the time. Not to reduce life to a series of Hallmark moments, but the guidance, support and impact were all there and can be precisely delineated.

I found out the other day that one of the very few people I would place in that category had passed away unexpectedly. We had lost touch over the last couple of years, but I still found myself thinking of her every once in a while and remembering her calm words in times of struggle. I remembered her patience as she endured trying times and attempted to apply it to my own. All the while, keeping a smile on my face. And now, I find myself wishing I hadn't completely lost touch with her. And I wish I had made more of an effort to let her know how her guidance had helped me. How her little chuckle had eased times of stress and her friendship had helped me endure an environment I no longer desired to be a part of. But isn't it usually the case that we think of it too late?

Life is precious, and it is short; and I take this as her final lesson. Complaining of stomach pains, she took some time off work and visited a doctor. A week later, she succumbed to liver cancer.

You will be missed - and I am thankful for having known you. Thank you, too, to the others who have made me who I am, and who continue to make me who I will become.

One. Year. Later.

Sure, I don't update as often as I used to (time is one of those fickle beasts, is it not?), but my original objectives for this blog included maintaining some semblance of momentum with posting, while learning first-hand a little more about technology. Oh, and - of course - I needed yet another outlet for a steady stream of meandering - if not completely random and haphazard - mindless thoughts. One year later, I feel I have managed to meet these goals with 168 posts and 4,683 views from points across the globe.

Along the way, I've picked up some regular readers in unexpected places and have even scored some swag. It has even helped me remember some of the funny things with which I've crossed paths over the past year. Most importantly, it has helped give me some ideas for an academic future.

Having almost done away with any need for HTML coding, Blogger is a lot easier to use than it was when I first started. And new innovations seem to be coming along on a daily basis. One year. Wasn't so sure I'd be able to keep up the blog this long. Time to pull the plug?

Redundant Sign O' The Day.

Wandering through a research facility on campus today, I found this sign comically redundant. Ooh, and to add pizazz, it had been painted to match the colour of flames, licking their way up the walls. I suppose you can't really have too many warnings when it comes to someone's safety, but, keeping in mind that we're dealing with some of the world's top scientists in this facility, you can't help but think they'll understand they should "keep fire away" from flammable materials. I'm just thinkin'. Sambuca shots, anyone? Baked Alaska?

Hangers or Hookers?

so·lic·it (s-lst)

v. so·lic·it·ed, so·lic·it·ing, so·lic·its

v.tr.

1. To seek to obtain by persuasion, entreaty, or formal application: a candidate who solicited votes among the factory workers.

2. To petition persistently; importune: solicited the neighbors for donations.

3. To entice or incite to evil or illegal action.

4. To approach or accost (a person) with an offer of sexual services.

v.intr.

1. To make solicitation or petition for something desired.

2. To approach or accost someone with an offer of sexual services in return for payment.

I'm sure they intended something completely different when they affixed these stickers to the doors (though I can hardly imagine anyone handing out leaflets for the local pizzeria's 99-cent special in front of the bathrooms of a major department store), but you'd think someone might have pointed out to the store's Manager that there might be a potential double entendre at play here. What, was there a local George Michael sighting? At least - at the stickers' behest - the hordes have ceased attempting to "entice or incite to evil" in the bathroom with last season's fashions and end of run footwear. 'End of run' footwear...yup, that's rich.

Well, as the slogan goes, everyone loves a Winner.

Just Don't Be Evil.

Sometimes I wonder if Google is the single web site I could least live without. People, places, things - there's little you can't Google, particularly as the data collected in its ever-widening net could provide a tsunami of information at the click of a button. Sometimes, it's frightening just how much is available. At one point, I used the search engine to do background research for a job interview and the employer was astounded at how prepared I was; another time, I tried the same thing and had to conceal my knowledge of sensitive information about the interviewer. Knowledge can be a double-edged sword.

As one of those brands that has begun to transcend its industry - like Kleenex or Post-it Notes - the ubiquitous term 'Google' has become one of those words used interchangeably in language as an object, subject or verb. Yesterday morning, I had the opportunity to attend the London Economic Development Corporation's Technology Breakfast with Google and came away with a better understanding of the company and its origins.

Shuman Ghosemajumder (who, I suppose, might find this post if he ever Googles himself - the search engine does seem to be one of the great vanity tools of our generation), Business Product Manager for Trust & Safety at Google, came to share some of his experiences with the silicon valley giant. A graduate of The University of Western Ontario (where he actually taught debating skills to a class of mine when I was in university), it was a coming-home of sorts for Ghosemajumder, who has been busy racking up awards on the left coast for the past few years.

He spoke for approximately 45 minutes about the history of the company, its objectives, his role and a little bit about the future. In brief, here are some of the more salient - or interesting to me - points from the discussion:

• Early versions of the Google home page didn't yet include the copyright message at the bottom and people thought the page had simply not yet finished loading. Ah, the early days of dial-up modems. With the addition of the message, people began clicking away and haven't stopped since.
• Google penetration for Internet searches in the United States is 65 per cent - and even higher in Canada.
• The company's original logo (when it was still called BackRub - yes, that was apparently he project's original name) was a hand on a back. Maybe that explains why Google has been used so much for, ahem, porn.
  
• To get his job, Ghosemajumder had to endure 19 - yes, 19 - job interviews over three months, jetting between New York City and California. And his final interview - with founder, Sergey Brin - revolved predominantly around Ghosemajumder's home stereo system.
  
• The most highly sought-after employer in the United States for both undergraduates and graduate students, Google receives more than 3,000 job applications. Daily.
• When Ghosemajumder started at Google three years ago, there were 1,000 employees. Now, there are more than 12,000 worldwide, which is expected to double over the next year.
  
• 98 per cent of the company's revenues come from advertisements. I suppose it would be bad to say I never realized I had been viewing Google's ads. Or, maybe that's a good thing - impressions are being made without my realizing it.
• Early iterations of the artificial intelligence used for the company's AdSense software (which links advertisements to the copy on a given web page) apparently didn't do a great job detecting negative news: after one particularly gruesome murder in which body parts had been disposed of in suitcases, an AdSense ad was generated for luggage. Um, yike.
• The AdSense part of the business for which Ghosemajumder is responsible has grown by $2 Billion. Not a shabby thing to have on your CV.
  
• Google revenue in 2006: $10.6 Billion. Yes, that's with a 'B'.

Sign Maker Not to Hire.

Yes, more signs. During a recent trip to Toronto, I found myself in the mood for a greasy breakfast. Mmm, eggs and starchy tubers. Inky coffee and oinky ham. Walking along Bloor street, I came across a restaurant offering a few options for such fare and chuckled that the sign maker hired to produce storefront menus had obviously not spell-checked. What are the odds "Refills" would have been spelled a different way on each sign? Sure enough, Reffils", "Refils" and - finally - "Refills". One for three: not a good success rate. As a service provider, they should be toast. Even if you're in a jam.


And then there was this mailbox. I'm sure it's innocuous enough in reality, but stumbling along half-awake in the morning, it sort of catches your eye. Of course, the vampy woman in fishnets lingering outside flicking her ashen looks our way like cigarette entrails didn't help matters, either.

Wild Blueberry.

The little guy is free. Having spent the evening curled into a peach basket with some watermelon and cat food (apparently, the diet of champions -- Charlie also approved), Blueberry was released back into the wild yesterday evening. At first, he was a little hesitant to leave the confines of the basket, choosing instead to play, rolling the basket back and forth along the ground. Like any kid. "Look surrogate ma, no hands!" I guess that means he had at least been comfortable overnight.

Even when we tried to encourage him to leave the basket, he clung to it with Captain Hook-like claws. Eventually, though, he succumbed to the smells of the pond, the twitterings of birds and insects and the opportunity to frolic about among the reeds, taking tentative steps -- blueberry nose twitching. But really, who wouldn't? "Hey, there's a turtle! Got a nutcracker handy?"


Musical accompaniment: Ohbijou - "Raccoons"

And Its Nose Was Like a Blueberry.

On an evening when SCS and I rescued a frightened little 'teenaged' raccoon caught inside the market downtown, I found myself reflecting a bit about the level of kindness many exhibit toward others. Sometimes it's surprisingly high; others, it seems to be completely lacking.

The young raccoon was separated from its family and had been wandering through the parking lot before climbing up into SCS's wheel well. Eyes, little pools of night with small stars glimmering behind them. Paws with claws, quick as snakes. And its nose was like a blueberry, which became its name.

Eventually trapped in a bag and handled roughly by market staff, Blueberry was resting in a shopping cart with a stray rind of watermelon and a stalk of celery when I first saw him. Sure, raccoons can be pests, but I didn't get the impression the staff wanted anything other than to see the animal die. And he was frightened, with eyes as wild as he, particularly as I transferred him to a bushel basket for transport.

Earlier in the evening, I had come home and there was a cardboard box placed in the hallway down from my apartment with a note on it. Yes, prying eyes had to know what it said, particularly as I had to step around the box. While there may have been some history between the tenants about which I am unaware, there, likewise, may have simply been a misunderstanding. Either way, the wording on the note seemed to me to be a little harsh:

"To whot (sic) it may concern.

There are no servants (underlined) to take your empty boxes and put it (sic) outside, where it belongs. Suggest you do it yourself ASAP.

One of your fellow residents."

Yes, we may annoy each other and sure, many people don't bother to follow the rules. It can still be tough to fathom our capacity for callousness when we get so bent out of shape over a cardboard box, but really have no regard for a living, breathing animal whose home is increasingly being encroached upon by human sprawl.

Borders Patrolled by Google.

While I certainly understand the importance of security, both at our borders and online, it was with more than a little incredulity that I read this story about a noted British Columbia psychotherapist who was denied entry to the United States after a border guard 'Googled' his name.

And it's not like he turned up a rap sheet. No, Andrew Feldmar, in the course of his studies, had experimented with LSD
nearly 40 years ago which, given the times and his profession, would hardly have been uncommon. Having published some of his results in a respected academic journal, Feldmar's admission to past drug use has now turned up online and was grounds for his permanent banishment from the United States. I can just imagine the thick red tape -- the stripes from 'Old Glory', perhaps -- pulled across the border between our two countries.

Post-9/11 particularly, there is very little question we must be vigilant at our borders. While I cannot imagine the personnel staffing them have an easy job to do, one must still exercise a certain degree of common sense. Feldmar had travelled to the United States frequently without issue and the statute of limitations for drug offenses is even generally capped at five years.

Just how much information about us is available online can be startling and a certain amount of savvy and diligence are required to ensure we take necessary precautions. It's not uncommon for schools, employers, friends and others to search online for information that will round out their impression of you and 'Facebooking' someone now seems akin to what 'Googling' them was just a few years ago. Technology can be a fascinating tool, but while the Internet breaks down borders for many, it apparently closes them to others.

Greatest. Headline. Ever.

A day after feeling all clever for thinking of an alternative headline for the story, "Plant Sale Benefits Bursaries" ("Nurseries for Bursaries"), I came across this Associated Press piece with what has to be the absolute best headline I've ever read: "Skywalkers in Korea Cross Han Solo". No, I'm not the most rabid of Star Wars fans, but I can certainly appreciate the cleverness of coming up with a catchy headline about a high wire championship across the River Han. No word if the successful acrobats used The Force to guide them across. Nor if there are plans to hold a similar event to cross the Yoda River in Japan.

Type O? Negative. Typo!

Regular readers of this blog will know I have a fondness for discovering random spelling and grammatical errors, particularly if they are found in unexpected places or if they take on unintended meanings. So no, the Internet, therefore, does not generally qualify. But, packaging, signs, major publications -- all things you want to be sure to have edited thoroughly before going to print -- do. Under the caveat, of course, that we all make mistakes. My personal best included writing an editorial in which I referred to a "research-insensitive (rather than intensive) university." Spell check isn't enough, folks. Of course, sometimes, neither is a team of editors with sharpened pencils.

This week (no, not weak), we have two blunders to add to the pantheon. The box to the right is for a milk foamer, the directions for which indicate "Skin milk works best". Is that the same kind of milk that goes into soap?

The other came from a Canadian Press story, running on the front page of the newspaper on Friday, about the Royal Canadian Mint's issue of a $3-million gold coin. In the story, the writer referred to one side of the coin having "three maple leafs". And I don't think he was referring to the hockey team, despite how central it seems to be to many people around these parts. MLSE marketing at its finest, ingrained in our psyches. Wouldn't it be great if they paid Mats Sundin's salary with a few of the tire-sized coins?

When I pointed this out to a colleague, he contacted CP -- pretty much the definitive source for grammar in our industry -- to see if we were somehow missing something. The editor in charge said he would let us know if there was some anomaly in the grammar; otherwise, if we didn't hear back, they had simply made a mistake. We never heard back. In fact, subsequent versions of the story have run with the correct use of "leaves". Which of course would segue nicely with the noted grammar book, "Eats, Shoots & Leaves", by Lynne Truss. But that's another whole monologue.

Yes, grammar = important. A cartoon I saw a few years ago demonstrated the importance of comma usage. In it, the sentences, "Get me the paper boy" and "Get me the paper, boy" led to two very distinct actions by the family dog. And of course, hilarity ensued. Maybe less so for the paper boy.

Truth, Inconvenient or Otherwise.

For good reason, global environmental reform seems to be on everyone's tongues these days. From magazine covers to government funding to the near rock star status of Al Gore, talk about the environment is heating up just as quickly as our atmosphere. Or likely, more quickly. Even the term 'green' has taken on a whole new meaning during our lifetime. More important than talk, of course, are education and action.

Hosted by The University of Western Ontario today, the Scientific Journey brought together researchers from a variety of disciplines to deliver lectures to high school students and members of the broader community about issues related to climate change and the environment. Five researchers made 20-minute presentations at the seventh annual event, the theme for which was: "Our Changing Planet". I jotted down a few points from the various presentations I found interesting. Or at least particularly staggering.

• Only six per cent of raw materials used in the production process actually end up in the final end product.
• Canadians are often up in arms about the United States' refusal to ratify the Kyoto protocol, yet Canada's carbon emissions rates are more than double those of our neighbours to the south (30 per cent to 13).
• Scientists are predicting an increase in temperature of between 1-6 degrees by the end of this century, which is consistent with the shifts in temperature that have historically occurred every 10,000 years or so and led to ice ages.
• Scientists trying to 'fertilize' the ocean by 'sinking' carbons created a blume that traveled 1,500 kilometres in three days. This inability to control the blume (and the effects of the blume itself) helped make the experiment an utter failure.
• A study has been done showing the economic benefit of insects to be approximately $57 billion USD through 'free' things they generate for us humans. Think about that the next time your shoe sets its sights on a little critter.
  
• The Wal-Mart empire uses enough energy each year to power all of Namibia (which is slightly more than half the size of Alaska). But at least you and I get Everyday Low Prices.
  
• The world's most profitable company? Exxon-Mobil at $39.5 billion. And yet we read in the papers how oil companies make very little profit and how high gas prices are really the result of exorbitant taxes.

Well, That's a Might Unfriendly.

More spam. And much like the processed meat product, this message contained very little substance. In fact, it was so off the wall a colleague and I shared a laugh when he forwarded it to me. Completely random.

Intended to stir panic, it (in very poorly worded English, no less) threatens destruction of your hard drive, yet contains no executable files. Talk about driving a hard bargain with your hard drive. Better yet, it threatens the appearance of "the pornographic procedure". Hunh? If that fear mongering wasn't enough, the spamster was kind enough to play on east-west tensions. Oh, but at least he wants nothing. You know, except money. A few anyway.

Subject: [Spam?] how you doing?are you hear me?
hi there
hi you,first i want tell you im not a good man,im a Hacker, therefore when you saw this email,my virus already invaded in your computer,i want nothing,i just want a few money. so you must send 80 US DOLLARS to my epay(web site removed ) account,if you dont do it,i will Releases my virus,and then your computer will be paralysed and appears the pornographic procedure.This is not a joke,think about it. check this link to send money to me: (removed) when you send money to me,call me at: (email address removed) and then i wll Cancels my virus,but i just can wait you 5days only. if u dont care about this,so lets see what will happen
see you very soon
A Iranians man( i Hate Westerners)

As an added bonus, yesterday's quote of the day comes from the ever-quotable Courtney Love:

"I'm going to have a Christie's auction. [My house] is like a mausoleum. My daughter [14-year-old Frances Bean] doesn't need to inherit a giant hefty bag full of flannel f***ing shirts ... A sweater, a guitar and the lyrics to 'Teen Spirit' -- that's what my daughter gets. And the rest of it we'll just f***ing sell."

Um, okay. Thanks Courtney. I wonder if -- as an added bonus -- Ms. Love will throw in any of the thousands of copies of her last solo effort that went unsold?