peter darbyshire

Shrapnel — February-March 2005

<No-whip, no-ideology latte please>

The last U.S. election was at least partially decided by what kind of coffee people drink (remember all the accusations about latte-swilling liberals driving their Volvos into parts of the country they're not welcome?). The battle rages on, only now it's down to the level of the coffee cup itself. (From Starbucks Gossip)

<No, it's not a turtle>

Can you see the hidden symbol in the FedEx logo?

It's easier if people infect themselves. Now buy my book. It's good.

Over the July 4 weekend last summer, at cookouts up and down the East Coast and into the Midwest, guests arrived with packages of Al Fresco chicken sausage for their hosts to throw on the grill. At a family gathering in Kingsley, Mich. At a small barbecue in Sag Harbor, N.Y. At a 60-guest picnic in Philadelphia.

We know that this happened, and we even know how various party guests reacted to their first exposure to Al Fresco, because the Great Sausage Fanout of 2004 did not happen by chance. The sausage-bearers were not official representatives of Al Fresco, showing up in uniforms to hand out samples. They were invited guests, friends or relatives of whoever organized the get-togethers, but they were also -- unknown to most all the other attendees -- ''agents,'' and they filed reports. ''People could not believe they weren't pork!'' one agent related. ''I told everyone that they were low in fat and so much better than pork sausages.'' Another wrote, ''I handed out discount coupons to several people and made sure they knew which grocery stores carried them.'' Another noted that ''my dad will most likely buy the garlic'' flavor, before closing, ''I'll keep you posted.''

A culture of consumption requires beautiful products to sell. Can those same products remain beautiful when they're disposed of? (From Wood s Lot)

The male geisha business is thriving in Japan. But it comes with certain occupational hazards.

With his Versace suit, Rolex watch and hair gelled up 5cm, Hara is a 21st-century Japanese geisha.Ê

Much like the legendary female hostesses, Hara and hundreds of other men known as "hosts" have devoted themselves to indulging every fancy of moneyed customers -- but for these male geishas the clients are women.Ê

The hosts can be called to duty at any time of any day to be an escort on a shopping spree, a date for dinner or, more discreetly, a warm body for what would otherwise be a lonely night.Ê

It was just a matter of time. (From Memepool)

Eerie. (From Wood s Lot)

The U.S. may have ghost towns, and the U.K. may have ghost industries, but Japan has both in the form of ghost islands.

I was twenty-two when I first visited the island I had dreamed about ever since childhood. Much like a fortress built upon the sea, surrounded by high walls,the island possessed an air of a small kingdom, where its denizens boasted "There is nothing we don't have here." They were right. They did have everything within their miniature kingdom - except a cemetery. But, the irony of it was proven by the passag e of time. Already, the island had been doomed to turn into an enormous graveyard.

Eventually, the mines faced an end, and in 1974 the world's once most densely populated island become totally deserted. The island, after all its inhabitants departed leaving behind their belongings, became an empty shell of a city where all its peopl disappeared overnight, as if by some mysterious act of God.

(From Things)

Turns out a lot of the clients aren't even interested in the sex part of things.

"Why don't you tell me what's on your mind and we'll take it from there?" I say. Turns out he has a high-paying job in an affluent East Coast neighborhood. His fantasy is to lose that job and suffer the humiliation of working for the socialites and snobs who are currently his friends. I listen to him enjoy his money and his status: "What if you were my trophy wife?" he asks. "Would you just sit by the pool in your swimsuit and hat while our servants tended to your every need?" Then I listen to him contemplate losing everything--his wife, his kids, his career, his dignity. While he seems to be aroused by this fictionalized turn of events, the call is much more conversational than sexual. He could easily be calling me from his office--no one would have any idea who he was talking to.

There's a pause. "I like the authors you list on your profile," he says. So we talk about books. Then we talk about The West Wing. Then we talk about his experience working with the Kerry campaign. My caller confesses to relishing the moment that Bush was elected over Kerry. Clearly, he enjoys humiliation.

From the Obscure Store, of course.

Everything you ever wanted to know about love hotels. (From eye weekly, located in love-hotel-free Toronto.)

Sure, Zen gardens, sushi and the Sony Walkman are great, but the greatest Japanese invention of all time has to be the love hotel. In the concrete wasteland of the modern Japanese city, the love hotel stands out as a refreshingly off-the-wallÊ escape from conformity, a monument to hedonism, and a libertine's paradise.Ê It's also a godsend when you're tired of taking your girlfriend back to your gaijin apartment with its half-inch plywood walls and nosy neighbours. Nearly every foreigner in Japan has a love hotel story to tell and number of Japanese people who were conceived in one must be enormous.

A little while ago, a commercial of a dancing Transformer Citroen delighted viewers across the Web. It's just the latest in a series of innovative car commercials, both funny and arty. But now VW is suing over an unauthorized commerical for the VW Polo that is proliferating through cyberspace. The problem? The ad features a suicide bomber trying to blow up some innocents, only to be stopped by superior German engineering. Funny? Offensive? Both? You decide.

With the right combination of pharmaceuticals, you too can have spontaneous orgasms while shopping.

Two weeks later, Susan called from her cellphone to say that the antidote was working. While shopping, she said, she spontaneously had an orgasm that had lasted on and off for nearly two hours . She was more delighted than alarmed, but I was stunned. I have had my share of therapeutic surprises, but this was hard to believe.

Was this a medical emergency or unrepeatable fluke that Susan needn't worry about? When I saw her the next day in my office, she was calm and somewhat amused by my concern. After all, since when is an orgasm a cause for alarm?