unusual uses for technology - no.4

Got an MP3 player? Want larger breasts? Combine the two with breast implants that have a built in MP3 player.

It could happen within 15 years according to BT Futurology. Hang on a minute, this story is two years old so they should be available in 13 years.

They don't say where the controls would be:

http://www.gnxp.com/blog/2005/10/mp3-breast-implants.php

unusual uses for technology - no.3

While we're on the subject, the following is from an article in the Metro newspaper a year or so ago. If you don't believe me you can check it out here.

RAF repair plane with teapot
Tuesday, December 5, 2006

A teapot was used by an RAF crew to block a hole in their plane after a mid-air mechanical fault with a hatch door.

The Nimrod plane, which was on an operational flight, had taken off from Cornwall and was on its way back to base in Kinloss, Moray, when the problem occurred.

The crew had been trying to release a sonar buoy into the sea through the hatch when it got stuck and air starting whistling in.

Yesterday, an RAF Kinloss spokeswoman said the crew's safety had not been compromised.

'There was a minor malfunction with the hatch cover and the teapot would have been used to make it more comfortable for the crew,' she said.

Airman Neil Campbell, who was on board, said: 'It had no safety implications and really is a storm in a teapot.'

Boom, boom.

This is, in my opinion, quite possibly the most quintessentially British thing that has happened in this country since about 1945, and it makes me feel a warm glow of patriotism. Just makes you wonder how they managed to survive the rest of the mission without being able to make a brew.

unusual uses for technology - no.2

It would of course be quite conceivable to use a dell for such tasks as bashing a nail in, propping a door open, playing cricket or as a some kind of super-giant spatula. Bet you wouldn't do that with a Mac.

unusual uses for technology - no.1

I've got a mouth ulcer (which may explain why I'm not my usual happy go lucky self this morning) so went to the chemist for something to treat it. The problem is there are no mirrors in the office and I need to apply the treatment directly to the ulcer. The solution is to use the web cam on my MacBook with the preview feature on iChat. Fantastic. Bet you can't do that on a Dell.

singing with dead people

Katie Melua is number one in the hit parade. Singing a duet with Eva Cassidy no less. Yes, the same Eva Cassidy who died in 1996. Perhaps I've missed something, but I always thought a duet was about more than two people taking turns to sing verses of the same song. There has to be some chemistry for a duet to work. Think of The Pogues and Kirsty McColl. Think of Brian Adams and Tina Turner. Like them or loathe them, they were singing in the same room together and working off each other. Of course Miss Nine Million Bicycles in Beijing isn't the first to profit from a 'collaboration' with a dead person (I'll get to the fact that this single is for charity mate in a minute). David Bowie and Bing Crosby, Luciano Pavarotti and Frank Sinatra.  Fine songs, fine performances, but duets? Hardly.

Dear Miss Melua, the number one selling British artiste around the world (I wouldn't make that up, I promise you), is donating all the profits to the British Red Cross. One would surmise that this is Katie's charity of choice. But what about Eva's charity of choice? I suspect someone robbed of life at the age of 33 might have preferred the profits go to cancer charities. Of course I'm only guessing here. The dead can't talk for themselves. They only sing.

The experiment - part II

The second installment in our experiment to see what ads appear on the right once Google Bot has 'read' this post...

Malachy Leprechaun opened his eyes with a start.  He looked around the room to see who else was left, or awake, or alive, or undecided. Sartre was slumped over the grand piano, a bunch of keys held down by his face but making no sound. Now that’s what I call music, thought Malachy Leprechaun. Not like the racket he’d subjected us to earlier. Sartre had a party piece: Neil young sings nursery rhymes. It would begin well enough. ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ to the tune of ‘The Needle and the Damage Done’. Then a few more from ‘Harvest’. Maybe a rendition of ‘Humpty Dumpty’ to the tune of ‘Rocking in the Free World’ - that always got the party singing - or maybe a duet with Bob Dylan joining Young at the piano. It wasn’t X- Factor but it was entertaining enough. The problem was that Jean Paul was on the absinthe rather than his usual discount wines delivered direct to his door. As the absinthe worked its way into his very being he’d slowly changed the set list until his performance had become more Crazy Horse than Neil Young. The leprechauns hadn’t minded. They were warm and reducing their home heating bills without switching their gas and electricity accounts to one supplier. Sartre liked a warm house. Thick carpets. No roll ends or off-cuts and definitely none of that wood  laminate flooring that had become so popular. This was an energy efficient home of the highest order. All was grand until Jean Paul had begun to think he was being heckled by a fairy sat on top of his piano. A green fairy. The green fairy that looked like Pierre reciting Yeats...

Malachy Leprechaun’s stomach rumbled. He looked around the room for some party nibbles. Even an Iceland prawn platter would do. It wasn’t Heston Blumenthal but for five pounds you couldn’t complain. Drinking always gave him an appetite. Too much of an appetite. He knew he needed to lose a few pounds but thoughts of joining a slimming club he just wouldn’t entertain. Malachy spotted Kierkegard talking to himself across the room, his mumbled words falling into an empty glass, his foppish quiff capitulated to the weight of its own existence and now dangling before his eyes, full of self-loathing. Kierkegard was probably boring himself with tales of his new celebrity. He’d gotten a mention in a TV ad for a Welsh vodka and had made sure everyone knew about it, telling them, texting them, even emailing on his Blackberry. Hume sat beside Kierkegard. Drinking tea as always and never saying anything - just watching you, studying you. Why did he come to these affairs if he was only going to drink tea? Not even Yorkshire tea but that french piss that Sartre insisted on buying.

The Man with the Nuclear Button

Last night i stumbled across something frightening on the internet. Obviously the most powerful man in the world is feeling left out, and has decided to produce his own Jihad video just like Osama Bin Laden. Only this is scary on a whole different level.

If you've yet to see this cinematic masterpiece, you can watch it here courtesy of the BBC:

Barney's Christmas Message
(people of a nervous disposition may find some scenes distressing)

While you're watching, hold this thought; This man is in control of an estimated 9,938 nuclear weapons. And just when you thought it couldnt get any worse, you see this:



That's Bush's Lap Dog. Ironically playing second fiddle to Bush's real Lap Dog.

I can't actually think of anything more to say on this subject, so I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions. I'm just off to paint myself white, brick up the windows and nail the doors up against the wall.