Electronic Nose Hair Trimmer? I thought that was the turn signal!



Photo by Xavigiva

Everyone loves to have a few nice features in their car. However, some people have clearly gone well past fifth gear on their journey to luxurydom.
For example, the 2011 BMW 750i has something called "The Gentleman Function." I know what you're thinking:

"It's a long journey, but I don't have to stop to go to the restroom. I've got the 'Gentleman Function!'" (cue rock-n-roll music, fade in toilet flush)

Actually though, it's just a device that allows you to adjust the front passenger seat from the drivers side. It only sounds like an in-vehicle, port-a-potty for guys.

My favorite of the features listed was the $1.7 million 2011 Bugatti Veyron's "Top Speed Key." Turning this little key allows the Veyron to adjust so that it can reach its top speed of 253 mph.

Yes, 253 miles per hour. Don't believe it? Ask James May of BBC's Top Gear. He actually did it on a Volkswagen test track. I'm not even a fan of Top Gear or an auto gearhead, and I was weeping into my tortilla chips and salsa verde at the end of the amazing clip. The Veyron is faster than Formula One cars. He could have blown past Japanese bullet trains like Superman after 50 cups of espresso.

(Incidentally, I believe this will spawn a new game, similar to the "VW Punch Dub" game. Only in this version, whenever someone sees a Bugatti Veyron, they will knock you through a wall with a sledgehammer.)

The way I see it though, even with all the exotic features out there, the auto companies are still coming up short. It takes real imagination to come up with the truly useful and/or bizarre* functions that will entice people into a really upscale model vehicle.

Fortunately, that's why we're here. So, take note auto manufacturers, and be sure to contact us about the royalties for these, once they revitalize the moribund luxury auto industry.

**********

• The Caboose Massusse - No doubt you've all seen the seat covers that cab drivers use to comfort their back, and many of you have spent time in an electronic massage chair. Why can't we combine those ideas into one auto feature that everyone will need: An electronic keister massager!
  
  If your butt is anything like mine (and it probably isn't, because hey, I work out), after a trip of several hundred miles it feels like someone has stapled warm slabs of pine to the back of your pelvic girdle. It makes travel a massive gluteal chore (and by "massive," I mean time, not the size of my posterior).  Why can't we make that journey a refreshing, invigorating asset (no pun intended) instead?
  
  There would be a variety of models, with various settings that would mold your overstressed buns into various states of relaxation, from "mildly taut" to "bags of warm jello."
  
• Dashboard Secretary - You stick-in-the-mud, hung up, straight-laced, inflexible, cash-obsessed, workaholic (all right, I'll stop now) business types are always trying to get extra work done during your morning commutes. And who can blame you?!
  
  Unfortunately, the preferred methods these days are either weird looking (the earpiece phone - don't get me started) or dangerous (word processing on a laptop on the Autobahn, while steering with your feet). Wouldn't it be easier to have someone do that for you, while you take care of the important business of driving?
  
  The Dashboard Secretary would be a built-in computer that could recognize your voice, take dictation, manage phone calls - including rerouting threatening phone calls from recession-obsessed creditors who are wondering how you could afford a car with this kind of functionality. It would also make and serve coffee, donuts, frappuccino, omelets, Raisin Bran, toast with Marmite, and other sundry breakfast items. Finally, on long trips, it would be programmed to talk to you in a soothing voice and explain why you really are a dynamic and attractive person and not the simpering wimp your CEO claims you are during board meetings.
  
• Avatar Windshield - No, this wouldn't be a cobalt blue windshield made out of "unobtanium," whatever the heck that crap is. Instead, it would be a windshield that digitally replaces you in the car with the celebrity of your choice.
  
  Imagine the look on your neighbors faces when Angelina Jolie or Orlando Bloom pull up into your driveway. Befuddle the kiddies in school buses, as they stare in wonder at SpongeBob Squarepants driving the sedan behind them. Does your commute take you through dangerous neighborhoods? Opt for the Clint Eastwood "Dirty Harry" setting, complete with digital 44 Magnum, ostentatiously holstered inside an open jacket.
  
  Lonely singles can use the "companion" feature, which puts the celebrity in the seat next to you, making affectionate gestures and in various states of undress.
  
• Theater Seating - Let's put on a show! Even the most proletarian of vehicles comes with a built-in video player and monitor. This little feature would take that up a notch or three by placing a fully functional stage just in front of the rear passenger seating. Depending on the size of your vehicle, you could host everything from an off-Broadway one-man act (Prius) to Cats (Humvee).
  
  The stage would come with lights, curtains, wings, a small dressing room, and for special performances, an orchestra pit under the seats. A small bar would be available for between act drinks (drivers, please abstain).
  
• The Bond Package - No, no, no, I'm NOT referring to Sean Connery's anatomy. This package would contain the various weapons, features, and devices featured on every Bond vehicle from Dr. No to Quantum of Solace (including the Jimmy Bond devices from the original Casino Royale)!
  
  What better way to slice through morning traffic than to playfully lob a few heat seeking missles into the gridlock in front of you. And don't fret about any nasty legal repercussions. This package also comes with a licence to kill.**

*Yes, yes, bizarre is the preferred route on this blog. Hush now, we're getting to the meaty stuff.
** May only be valid in United Kingdom, or couldn't you tell that from the spelling?

Vim, Vigor, Vitality, Voom!

Many of you have been wondering about the dearth of posts on this site lately. (All right, only one of you, and he hasn't bothered to write; so, it's just a guess on my part.) While I can't personally speak for Stew (ed. note: golf and incessant RVing in parts of the country where Deliverance could have been filmed) or Nuffy (ed. note: planning the next big Disney holiday) my own seeming insouciance comes from my utter committment to the exercise program I described here back in February.

That's right, instead of blogging, (ed. note: cue dime store Forrest Gump impression) I... was... run - ning!

Unlike Forrest, I've not run consistently from the very moment I posted in Februrary until now. I've slept, eaten, gone to work, etc. in-between runs... erm, jogs. (Well, running will sometimes give you the runs or jogs, but that's not what I'm on about.)(ed. note: Enough with the parentheticals already! Oops!)

Anyway, I can imagine the three or four faithful readers of this blog chuckling a bit at the thought of me out on the road, maintaining something so wholesome and consistent as an exercise program since February. Well, I understand the scepticism, especially given my diet of mostly bacon, beef, cheese, chips, and salsa.

However, I should quickly add that I'm 30 pounds lighter than then. So, and I mean this in the most convivial way: "HA!!!"

Please allow me to add to that churlish outburst: "Double HA!" and a, "So there!!!!"

The running has been much more interesting since I stopped working out at the track. The track was comfortable but monotonous. After a few weeks I started leaning strongly to the left whilst walking about at work. Oh sure, I would right myself eventually, but 100 metres later there I was leaning left again, like a communist NASCAR driver.

Strange simile, I know.

Running on the road offers more variety. First, and ironically given the above simile, there's the constant fear of being hit by cars. I mostly avoid this by running through people's yards, open doors, patios, kitchens, bedrooms, lavatories and so on. (I usually have to do a small loop through the loos.) However, one must find their way back to the road eventually, if only to drown out the cries of "Help! Police!" and "Would you hand me my towel, please!" So, I stick to the side streets and always, always look both ways before crossing roads, in case Stew is in town driving at his customary 130 MPH. (The man parks at 45 MPH.)

Dogs are another interesting challenge. Many of them are harmless, looking for a little friendship, someone to slobber on, or whileing away the time until they can savage the local mailman again. Others are a bit more threatening.

One downside is that they're faster than I am. (Of course, at my age, small children on tricycles are often faster than I am, the smug little brats.) They'll also follow you into homes, so the only real choices for escape are up trees or steep playground equipment. Slides won't do as determined hounds will claw their way up and absolutely ruin the finish on the metal.

All of this really cuts down on the running time. Practical as I am though, I get a lot of stretching and dynamic tension exercises done in the branches.

There is much more to see running through the streets. Early morning jogs make for a fascinating sociological study. For example, you probably have no idea how many people walk out for their morning paper in the nude... and how quickly the national section of a thin local periodical can be converted into an impromptu pair of knickers at the words, "Beautiful morning, isn't it?"

One of the most unexpected challenges with running is heat rash. After a run on a particularly humid day in a sweat-soaked t-shirt my nipples are often bleeding like Jack Palance at the end of Shane.

I also like to pray as I run. There's nothing particularly funny about it. I just thought I'd mention it. I recommend it.*

The weight loss has been brilliant. I played footy this evening and whilst some of the younger chaps were still a bit faster than me I was able to keep up with some of the stouter lads, albeit mostly the ones with smoking habits.

It's being able to turn around and run hard again a few seconds later without throwing up all over myself that I enjoy. (In my fitter state, I'm able to vomit much further.) In the back of my mind I imagine some of the other players asking themselves, "I wonder how fast he must've been 20 years ago?" Well, not particularly so, but to paraphrase a line the Monty Python sketch on penguins, (broad Australian accent) and this is the point, I was faster than I am now!

It's been a real blessing, but I have had the problem of most of my trousers suddenly being too large for me. Without a belt, I'd be half-naked much of the day. Even with one, there's quite a bit of trouser-wrinkle at the waistline, as I have to pull back the front of them to keep the latch from coming undone. Belt or no, if people see you walking around with the front of your trousers undone they tend to think you're up to no good.

Since my day job requires me to maintain a wellness regime, I fully intend to keep up the jogging, football, and occasional beatings on the golf course from Stew (along with continuing to lose the rounds to him). It's good, hard fun. I heartly recommend it to all, with the usual warnings to consult a doctor before beginning your own program, and also, possibly, to bring along a taser if you live in a particularly doggy neighborhood.

*For those disappointed with this moment of pious solemnity, feel free to add the line, "Hard on the knees, though."

Model Mayhem

There was mayhem Saturday (thus the title of this post) at the casting call for the latest series of America's Next Top Model when an overheating car prompted fears of a bomb.

This outcome reminds us of two enduring truths:

1. Models don't know a thing about cars.*

2. Models aren't particulalry bright.

If you're watching the programme this year and wondering why so many of the contestants have footprint-shaped scars on different parts of their bodies, now you know why. The puncture wounds are from the stilettos.

In related news, the programme has changed the format at bit to keep up with the times. Instead of one-at-a-time walkoffs, the models will all compete simultaneously on stage in a "mob-off."

*I sympathize, but I can still change the air filter on mine.