relax outside!

Yesterday we posted about the world’s most expensive cruises and today, we talk about how they sneakily become even more so.

As most of you know, cruise ships tend to be all inclusive. In my book, that means everything is free, and that is a very, very good thing.

Unfortunately, this is not exactly true according to The Cost of Cruising by Jane Archer. Archer fills us is in on those items and services which are not included in an all inclusive.

As I’ve routinely expressed, I’ve never been on a cruise so I was a bit surprised at the additional bills which add up very quickly. For those of you who are cruise veterans, the following list of charges will come as no surprise. But for those considering a cruise for the first time and are trying to manage a budget, spare a moment to look over what’s not included–according to Archer, it can bump up your bill on a seven day cruise upwards of $120 minimum.

Drinks
Ice cream
Spa services
All gratuities (this can really add up)
Specialty restaurants

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Cultures, North America, South America, Cuba, United States

Paging through the August 2007 issue of the Smithsonian Magazine, I found an article about Ernest Hemingway’s impact on Havana. It is written by Hemingway’s last personal secretary, Valerie Hemingway, who later married his youngest son Gregory (hence the same last name.) Hemingway lived in Cuba before 1960, when the US Ambassador advised it would no longer be safe for him to live there. He kept a presence there for 30 years.

Apparently, the Hemingway image–Bohemian, with a cigar–has become a Cuban export. Havana has museums dedicated to him and anything from soccer teams to cocktails named after him. A part of the America vs. Cuba rivalry, she suggests.

Although Valerie made me cringe with her use of “city of contrasts“, possibly the worst travel expression cliche there is, I still found the article about Hemingway’s life in Cuba and his current presence fascinating. It made me want to pack my bags and go there right away. Not being a US citizen, I actually can!

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Photos, Turkey, Photo of the Day

This photo “watching the world” by benny jewell reminds me of what travel feels like sometimes–still and whirling. Right now I’m traveling out of my element and routine between Seattle, Washington and Philipsburg, Montana. In the midst of visiting friends, I’m searching out places with WiFi, making sure my kids are entertained and taking in new sites. It’s a glorious time, but, like this photo, can make me feel relaxed and dizzy at the same time.

I’m curious about the image right above the person’s feet. Is it a statue? Is the green caused by trees? Turkey is mentioned on the tag list. Where in Turkey is this? This photo was recently posted on July 24 and I wonder what benny jewell is shooting now.

***To have your photo considered for the Gadling Photo of the Day, go over to the Gadling Flickr site and post it.***

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Where on Earth

Yes, both lines are for the same McDonald’s. The second photo was taken around the corner from the beginning of the line in the first photo. It took my friends and me 45 minutes to simply get in the front door.

So, Where on Earth was this photo taken? There is one thing to take into consideration, however. I took this photo in 1991. If you were to go to this same location today, the line would not stretch out the door.

Think you know where it is? Take a guess in the comments section below and check back on Friday for the answer.

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Photo of the Day

Since I now live in Brooklyn, and since I love to take and admire panoramic photos, I couldn’t well ignore his photo put up recently on our Gadling Flckr site. Taken by MarkHout the shot is a lively one showing the beginning of the bat viewing tour in Prospect Park, quite close to my apartment, actually. (and TBO, I didn’t even know there WAS bat viewing at the Park.)

And once again, dear readers, if you have some col shots you’d like to show off, please feel free to post them over at Flickr.

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Stories, Thailand

Most of us have gone a bit overboard on the local beer or spirits when in another country. My worst experience was in Sydney, where my two friends and I found ourselves with a 4L box of wine that we bought for $10 and refused to haul around on our way up the coast. We had one night to drink it, and it just happened to be Mardi Gras.We finished it all right. But most of my share ended up coming up the way it went in, if you get my drift. Running through the halls of the hostel, trying desperately to get my key card to open the door to the communal bathrooms before spewing up last night’s ill-advised double serving of fries rates up there as one of the worst days of my life. Make that two days.

Here’s what I consider to be the worst places to be hungover. Feel free to add your own in the comments:

• On a boat off the coast of … well … anywhere: After one tequila-fueled night in Puerto Vallarta, my friends and I had to take a booze cruise or forfeit our deposit. So we went and oh my goodness, I’ve never been so seasick in my life. Actually, I’ve never been seasick period, besides that day. The Great Barrier Reef off the coast of Cairns is also notoriously choppy — one girl on a boat trip I went on had to be air-lifted back to shore!

• In a Tuk Tuk: Bangkok is beautiful but it’s also hot and polluted and I can see why people splurge on cabs — breathing in the exhaust is enough to make anyone hurl, whether they’re already feeling a bit queasy or not.
• In transit: Not only will exhaustion make you prone to missing your bus/flight/train/ferry but the motion/turbulence/rocking is bound to make you feel a bit ill. Plus, those miniature bathrooms leave something to be desired when you’re feeling ill.
• Locked out of your hostel: Many hostels have lock-out rules during the day so while you want nothing more than to sleep it off, you’ll have to do it elsewhere. I recommend a nearby park if it’s nice out. If it’s not, you might be outta luck.
• Outside when it’s hot: Laying on the beach with a bunch of water is an okay way to recover, but there’s a fine line between being tolerably hot and being unbearably hot. Insane heat is uncomfortable when you’re feeling your best, so it’s really, really brutal when you’re feeling your worst.

So while we don’t ever really plan to be hungover, next time you’re tempted to say ‘cheers’ a few too many times, look at your surroundings. Must-haves for the hangover are air-conditioning, a decent bed that you can crash in for as long as you want, a supply of water and aspirin, and good friends who will bring you greasy food when you’re too sick to move.

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: History, Blogs, North America, Canada, Band on the Run

I just got back from a weekend in Wakefield, Quebec. I’m at home for one day between tours and as I’m typing this, the train whistle is calling me from across the fields through my open windows. Whenever I hear it, and provided I’m not completely indisposed, I go to the window and watch the train pass. I love watching it flicker through the trees, emerge along the neighbouring fields and then disappear into the distance.

The country is beautiful out here.

Trains are also amazing pieces of machinery. In Wakefield, they have a century-old steam train - one of the few remaining working steam engines in Canada - that runs up and down the Gatineau Hills. It is a tourist attraction and I was right in there too, snapping pictures and smiling. I especially loved the sounds it makes. It really sounds just like a cartoon train with its “choo choo” and “chug-a-chug-a.” You can almost hear it whispering “I think I can, I think I can” as it gathers speed and rolls away.

Wakefield is its turning point (i.e. it actually turns around in Wakefield), which is a sight to behold.

The train gets turned around on what is called a train turntable. When the engine is pointing back the other way again, caboose taking up the rear, it chugs on back to whence it came.

The people working on the train helped to push it around, including the musicians. I couldn’t resist the punny jokes about musicians being turntablists on the side. Imagine being employed to strum your guitar on a train with the caveat that you had to be on the “train turning” crew at half time! Such a mixed list of workplace expectations! It made me smile.

My friend works at CN and talks regularly about the environmental impact of planes and automobiles versus the lighter footprint of rail travel. Trains use up to 70% less energy and cause up to 85% less air pollution when compared to a jet. They use 17 times less fuel versus a jet and 5 times less than a car per passenger kilometre. (source.) Think of how many tractor-trailers we could take off the road if we were to put more of our tax dollars into repairing rail lines and renewing efforts to promote rail transport! It boggles the mind.

I was walking alongside of this tourist train with my friend Virginia and her son, Rowan. Virginia is my drummer Cheryl’s partner and together they have this perfect three-year old whose little voice saying “choo choo” was enough to melt me into a puddle of goo right there. He was so excited about the train, (which he was correctly calling a “steam engine,”) that we had to walk its length so we could see it all as it was preparing to roll away. He kept saying “Look Mommy! It’s the conductor!” or “Look Mommy! Look at the steam!”

I followed them slowly, snapping photographs and feeling wistful. My friend’s father drove trains for a living and he passed away a few years ago now. She’s told me stories about getting to ride with him when she was a kid and I wondered if she was as excited as Rowan was right now, exclaiming the whole time to her “Papa” about what she was seeing around her. What a thrill it is for a kid to just see a train up close, let alone get to ride with the conductor! I made a mental note to ask her about those experiences the next time I see her.

When we got to the engine it was giving off shimmering rays of heat, so much so that I had to stand back a bit out of its aura. The conductor, wearing the requisite overalls, sat in his little area in the engine car equipped with a window opening large enough for him to lean out of, one summer-tanned arm dangling over the edge like the train were his personal roadster. He tipped his striped blue and a white cap for the tourists and pulled the whistle from a string above his head, just like in the cartoons, and the steam billowed upwards with a woosh. It was all so storybook-like that I just stood there gaping at the thing, captivated.

As it pulled away, we waved to all the strangers who smiled and waved back. Each face looked happy to be waved at, as though they were the only ones we were seeing and bidding farewell to. The illusion was perfect; everyone could feel special when we were waving from the platform because (separated by the tall seats) they couldn’t see their fellow passengers waving back as well. Though regardless, the smiles were genuine. I think the charm of the experience reflected in everyone’s eyes. How could it not?

When the caboose finally passed by us it was like the flop of a dragon’s tail before it disappeared into the ocean. The sound of the train moving into the distance bounced off the river water - the perfect reverb on the fade-out to a perfect evening scene. We watched it weave around the angles of the river and leave Wakefield behind. Rowan was sad to see it go and wanted to follow it, but his Mommy reminded him that there’d be another one the next day and we could see it again. He perked up quickly. Not much keeps that little voice from sounding sunny.

And now as I’m writing this, I’m wistful again. There’s something about having been around the new joy of a three-year old that can remind a grown-up exactly how beautiful everything really is. Well, that’s what it did for me.

As I leaned out my upstairs window today and watched the train, I thought about how every moment can be complete if we just give it the space to be filled. Watching the train pass by at my house takes about two or three minutes, but they were the best three minutes I have spent all day.

I’m glad I took the time.

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: North America, United States

During a recent trip up the Hudson river (Carmel, NY to be precise,) friends took me to The Chuang Yen Monastery, home of the largest indoor Buddha statue in the Western hemisphere. I must say the complex of buildings is quite impressive, especially the one that houses the 37-foot tall Buddha Vairocana and 10,000 small Buddha statues. The hall can accommodate 2,000 people.

For those advanced in Buddhism, this is what they say about him: “Vairocana is regarded as the highest form, a god of light whose reflection throughout the universe is represented as endless. His wisdom is the Wisdom of the Dharmadhatu. The Dharmadhatu is the Realm of Truth is which all things exist as they really are. Vairocana’s wisdom is also referred to as the All-Pervading Wisdom of the Dharmakaya, the absolute Buddha nature.”

There you have it. Almost as mind-boggling as Heidegger.

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Gear, Camping

If you’ve ever traipsed through the woods at night, you’ll know how difficult it can be to shine a pathway ahead and keep from tripping over twigs and branches at the same time. This “Nightlighter” flashlight is unique in that beams of light shoot out in two directions — one at the pathway in front of you, and the other aimed at your feet so you can see “where you are at, as well as, where you are going.”

The design is probably a bit too big for backpacking, but it’s perfect for your next camping trip. Dad, if you’re reading this — don’t buy one. This may be your Christmas present.

$29.95 from firstSTREET. [via]

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Stories, North America, United States, Airlines

The afternoon before our Skybus flight from Columbus to Seattle last Thursday, I checked us in on-line. This included checking our luggage-four bags. (Our allowable allowance was eight– two bags each.) The on-line check-in involved following a series of simple prompts before getting out my credit card to pay for the luggage, $5 a bag. I thought four bags would be plenty.

We had four airline tickets, all purchased at the same time as a bundle. Even though it looked like I had a choice as to who I wanted to check in (each of us had a box by our names) I checked us all in at the same time and added two bags in the box next to my name and two bags next to my husband’s, leaving the boxes next to my son’s and daughter’s names blank. (Keep this detail in mind, it comes up later.)

Next step-print out the boarding passes. Each of us got our own with our names, the flight info, including the departure gate, and a large bold-face number 1. I had paid for priority boarding ($10) per ticket not long after I bought the tickets to make sure we were in the first group to get on the plane.

Ooops! My husband’s nickname was on the boarding pass. One letter was missing. Now what? Since there was no one to call at the airline to fix my mistake (Skybus doesn’t operate customer service), I called the airport to ask a security officer what to do. She said bring something with his nickname on it. Since his nickname is common for his full name, I was assured it wasn’t something to be concerned about.

Then, as we were packing I thought, I wonder if we should add just one more bag? Back on-line I went. No can do. Since I had bought the tickets as a bundle, it was all for one and one for all. I would have had to uncheck us in, check us back in to add a bag. This meant we would have lost our place in the check-in line.

Here’s the thing, I had paid for priority boarding which guaranteed us a spot in the first group so I really could have added the bag come to think of it. But, being that it was late at night, when the warning came up in red letters with an exclamation point, I hedged and said forget it.

Here is an option that would have worked. When I was checking us in, I could have only checked in three of us and left one of us not checked in. This would have allowed baggage flexibility, I assume. It’s not a huge thing, but the checked bag non-flexibility took me by surprise. If you’re an obsessive deliberator like me, going on a long trip and not too sure what to bring, it’s good to know the policies beforehand. I had assumed I could go back to add a bag since I went back to add priority boarding a couple weeks after I purchased our tickets. Now, I know.

About the extra bag, my daughter carried her bag on the plane, plus a cloth bag with snacks. Snacks are another issue. See at the airport post.

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

>>>>

One of the most vivid, horrific memories I have from traveling is when I discovered leeches all over my legs while trekking in Nepal.

Leeches are not fun to find on your body and let me tell you, a sense of panic sets in almost immediately–especially when you can actually watch them swell with your blood.

My trekking partner and I would periodically check each other’s arms and legs for hitchhiking leeches and when discovered, we would burn them off with a small lighter we carried with us.

Watching them lift their heads and silently scream is an image now firmly burned in my head.

There are other ways to remove the bloodsuckers that don’t involve sticking a lighter to your leg; the video above illustrates just one of these methods using nothing but water and salt. And, as far as I can tell, there is no screaming involved.

Strangely enough, I’ve actually gained a new appreciation for leeches after reading a fascinating article in the New Yorker (abstract here) detailing just how marvelous these disgusting creatures actually are. Did you know, for example, that the anesthetic they inject when biting is a powerful pain killer and anti-coagulate that modern science can’t replicate?

There is a whole lot about these bloodsuckers I did not know while traveling in Nepal. But even armed with this knowledge today, I wouldn’t hesitate to burn them off my body as quickly as humanly possible. Ugh!

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Food

Oh how I love SkyMall. I’ve never purchased anything from the magazine, of course, but it provides literally minutes of entertainment on a long, boring flight. For some reason, I can never resist flipping through the pages at least once, even though I’m absolutely certain I will never purchase a single thing found inside.

The folks over at YumSugar.com skimmed through the pages and picked out the wackiest food-related products, including one of my favorites: the Fiesta Station Buffet. Nothing says “authentic” like a lime-green cart built specifically for housing the contents required to build a taco. I always picture a dinner party: Husband and wife walk into the kitchen. Husband: “Honey, are we at a Mexican restau–oh, no, it’s one of those taco stations from SkyMall. How authentic! I thought we were at a Mexican restaurant!”

YumSugar did a great job picking out the idiotic items, but they forgot one — another personal favorite of mine: the Pop-up Hot Dog Cooker. The description reads: “Operating much like a pop-up toaster, this unique kitchen appliance lets you easily prepare two hot dogs (complete with toasted buns) in minutes.” You know, as opposed to the hours and hours normally required to cook a hot dog.

Foodie Stuff Found in the SkyMall Catalog at YumSugar

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

After expressing my dislike for cruise ships last week, I couldn’t resist reading about the world’s most expensive ones over at Forbes Traveler.

Frankly, I was a bit surprised to learn that “expensive” cruises really aren’t all that much more per night than a very nice hotel room. Many of the cruises listed run about $600-800 per night. Of course, that price is per person, which means you’ll have to double the rate if you want to compare it to a hotel room. Nonetheless, I still imagined it would be a lot more for the World’s Most Expensive Cruises.

Just like in a hotel, one can always opt for the premium cabins that run more than $2000 per night. Ouch! And, of course, there are more expensive cruises on smaller, more intimate boats. Forbes Traveler limited their list to only those boats with 30 passengers or more.

So, does glancing through the slide show of the World’s Most Expensive Cruises change my mind about cruising? Nope. I still think there are better, more exciting ways to spend your money while on vacation. But, boy do those boats look nice!

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Blogs, Airlines

There might soon be a new way to get around, and it’s something you would expect to see on the pages of a comic book from the 1960s — the flying saucer. Okay, it’s not really a flying saucer like the one that belonged to that little martian guy on the Flintstones. It just looks like one. It’s actually an eco-friendly plane of sorts, developed under the CleanEra Project at Delft University. It cuts down the environmental impact in a few ways, including:

• Using propellers rather than fuel-hungry jets, though this creates a concern because it makes for longer flight times. And, as you’ll know if you’ve ever flown in a prop plane, it is freakin’ loud.
• Using composite materials, which make the body of the plane weigh less and therefore use less fuel
• Using a ergonomic design, which also decreases the amount of fuel needed.
• Accommodating more passengers. One of these flying saucers could potentially hold up to 800 passengers.

It’s just in the planning stages right now, so we’ll have to sit tight and see if anything comes of it.

(Via Autoblog Green)

Read | Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Food

Candy is another one of those items you come across while traveling that is uniquely different than what you’re used to at home. I’ll often pop into a grocery or convenience store wherever I may be to check out the strange candies. Like I said about police cars, they “seem so familiar yet remain absolutely different and strangely interesting.” They make great gifts, too — they’re cheap, and small enough to pack plenty for your friends back home. Here’s a collection of different candies found from every corner of the globe: from Mexico (above) to South Korea and beyond. Check it out!

Turkey (the country, not the bird).

Guess where this one is from?

These are from Iceland!

Spain.

South Korea.

Sorry ladies.

Israel.

Vegan gummies from Germany. Vampire themed!

From Finland.

NEXT >>

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Food, Stories, North America, Canada, Band on the Run

So, in between touring and festival weekends in the summer months, what does a musician do with herself? Well, there are lots of answers to that question, but lately I have had red fingers, aching knees and scratches all over my skin. What have I been doing?

Berry picking.

(That’s what you were thinking, right? Right.)

This is the time of year when wild berries are all in season. Not to mention strawberries, which are farmed around where I live and readily available. I have picked my share of organic strawberries and now they lie bagged and frozen in my freezer ready for winter smoothies. Recently, I have also gathered gooseberries, blackberries and currants (both red and black).

For me, activities like berry picking are just a means to writing lyrics. I find long bike rides are the same; they each give space and time in my head to just get into a zone and piece words together. Picking berries is not the most inspirational of activities, but it’s the repetition and the quiet that inspires me. I can kneel in the shady overhang of a berry bush for hours and come out with a bowl (and a belly) full of sweet goodness, not to mention a brain full of new ideas to scrawl down on the first piece of paper I can get a hold of once I return home.

I’ve also been out with my neighbours in this endeavour. Getting to know the women in this area has been great. Despite living around here for three years, touring can sometimes keep a person from developing fast friendships with neighbours and I’m glad to say that this is starting to change. All of us neighbours are so different and from so many different places, but together we find ourselves having landed in this same community and then crouched under the same currant bush gossiping about the town and the culture here.

We talked about how we (as outsiders: i.e. those who didn’t grow up here but were drawn here) will always be the “transplants” according to the heritage farmer families. There is definitely a divide going on and we all hoped to build more bridges rather than widening that gap. And, it’s true really. We will always be transplants, but we’re here and we love it here too; we’re all part of this colourful whole that makes up this wee place nestled in the farthest eastern counties of Ontario.

Our town, the town of Dalkeith, has about fifty inhabitants and I am not technically one of them. Living three and a half kilometres out of town makes me a “surrounding area” resident. There are about two hundred people in total if you count all the in-towners and out-of-towners. So, there’s a lot more animals and square footage than there are humans, if you know what I’m sayin’.

Dalkeith has a little general store at its centre. This store is also the post office, the animal feed supply store, the local nursery (seeds, plants and fertilizer), the video store, the butcher, the baker and the heart attack maker. By the latter, I mean it is also the greasy spoon restaurant that specializes in a big farm breakfast.

Every morning, the farmers gather for breakfast at around seven o’clock and the place is hopping until about eight thirty or nine a.m. The owner of the store, Jenny, is also the cook and she is usually the only woman in there until the breakfast crowd clears out.

Once, last fall when we were leaving early in the morning for the airport (en route to a gig far away), I stopped into the store with a letter to mail at about eight o’clock in the morning. The place was packed and clanging when I opened the door, but when I stepped in through the threshold it all died out to an eerie silence. A hush literally fell on the place and it felt as though all movement froze with its weight. Thinking of it now, I think I saw an overflowing fork in midair and a farmer’s open mouth, all locked up like a statue. All the men, scruffy-faced and wrapped in bulging plaid flannel shirts and dusty denim jeans, turned and stared at me like I was an intruder.

Jenny was in the back in the kitchen in her apron and she called a greeting to me over her shoulder from behind the butcher counter. Seeing the letter in my hand, she told me to just put the mail next to the cash and said she’d collect from me later. I thanked her because I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. As the door swung behind me, I heard the action resume. Talk about a men’s club!

(And they say men don’t gossip.)

Well, there I was picking berries with three other women in the community, two of whom have young families and husbands and longer histories here than I have, and I asked them about the General Store breakfasts. They laughed knowingly and recounted similar tales of the hush and the feeling of intruding on a secret society. They just shook their heads in amusement.

That’s when I got a great idea. “Let’s go!” I said, standing up. “Let’s gather a bunch of women together and go for breakfast!” Everyone stopped picking berries and looked up at me. “Okay,” said my one neighbour Diane after that momentary puase, and then everyone started talking at once.

So, we’ve got plans to go. And don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about it. I’m sure it’ll be the talk of the town!

I came home buzzing with words in my head with images of gender chaos in Dalkeith, which makes me laugh out loud even now. My new lyrics may not amount to any new song, but the smear of berry juice on the page where they were scrawled will always remind me of the day I spent gathering. Gathering food. Gathering ideas.

Gathering courage to shake it up in a small town.

Without getting on stage.

Sweet.

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: North America, United States

Anyone nostalgic for a slice of Americana, MSN published a list of the Most Iconic US Brands:

1. Louisville Slugger Baseball Bats
2. Wonder Bread
3. Harley-Davidson
4. Benjamin Moore Paint
5. The Frye Co Leather Boots
6. Gibson Guitars
7. Crayola Crayons
8. Stetson Hats
9. KitchenAid Mixer
10. Lodge Cast Iron Skillets
11. Ford Pick Up Trucks
12. Woolrich Blankets

It would be interesting to see how foreigners would vote on the most iconic US brand. Something tells me we would see Coca-Cola and Campbell Soup on the list, too. As a European, I say that Wonder Bread would not make that list. I am sorry but Wonder Bread is simply not bread. Bread is not supposed to be stored in a fridge and last for weeks!

My vote goes, no question, to Harley Davidson. That is the single best American product, period. But that’s coming from a biker chick who likes real, fresh bread.

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Business, Gear

Reading the magazines of people you visit is a great way to learn new things. The last time I did this I was at my son’s friends grandparents’ house for a birthday party and found out about the Life Straw. I recently was visiting friends in Seattle, Washington and read about new swim suits designed for Muslim women. According to the Time magazine article (July 30) by Lisa Fitzpatrick, the Burqinis (cross between burqa) and a bikini) are stretchy, lightweight, UV resistant and follow the edicts of Islamic law. They go from wrist to ankle and cover the head. Think scuba gear, but more roomy.

As it turns out, more women are interested in them than just Muslims. Burn victims, people with sensitive skin, women who want to avoid skin cancer, people who aren’t comfortable beaching it with traditional swimsuits etc, are buying them. The customers are world-wide. The two Muslim women who designed them are pleased with their success. Here’s another story about this beach wear that allows for summer fun for everyone who wants and needs it.

Read | Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Video

What’s especially funny is Zero Hour! wasn’t just inspiration for Airplane!, but an almost scene-by-scene remake. How could I have not known this? Fortunately, someone has done the legwork and compared the two movies side-by-side so it’s easy to see the similarities. Check out the first part above, and the second after the jump.

[via]

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)

Filed under: Russian Federation

While everyone else in the sporting world is focusing their attention on perhaps the most famous race on this planet, the Tour de France, others in the Russian city of St. Petersburg are paying perhaps a little too much attention to a local race of their own.

If you were lucky enough to be in this fine city last week, you would have witnessed a rather bizarre sporting event in the center of town: a race in high heels.

The rules were simple: heels must not be less than 3.5 inches.

And that’s it.

As you can tell by the above photograph, the St. Petersburg High Heels Sprint has all the excitement and spills of the Tour de France, plus sex appeal!

I’m sure we can all look forward to this spectacle becoming an annual event. Be sure to book your tickets now for next year!

For more exciting photos, click here.

Permalink | Email this | Linking Blogs | Comments

(original article)