Apparently the average is only $225.82 per hour. Strangely, this is quite a lot more than most of the prostitutes I know earn, but then I do live here.
Stolen from Stiletto
Hmmm, looks to be quite a lot more lucrative than mommyblogging. Being an agoraphobic, chubby, monitor-tanned old Goth must be more enticing than I’d ever imagined!
I ask, not for the first nor the last time, Does anyone have Steve Jobs‘s number handy?
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But a very amusing one.
Now, I like British newspapers. I particularly like British newspaper websites; sure, the design is horrifically clunky and it’s impossible to find what you want, but you often find what you actually need (hey, is that a British informatics archetype? I seem to have heard it somewhere before). Compared to the CBC, for instance, the layout of the Guardian Online is an impeccable nested article-delivery device. Why the CBC prefers to present no more than a dozen stories on one subject area at one time, no matter how many clicks you may give it, is a mystery to all but the mandarins in Ottawa and they all get the news from their servants. But that is a communications failure rant for another time.
This time, we’re talking about (aboot?) those slight idiosyncratic variations in phrasing and meaning from one continent to the next. You know, how the British sports writing is only seemingly written in English and how we in The Americas still use the word “gotten” and that sort of thing. We’re talking about the truck/lorry issue, really.
Or if we’re not, Britain must be much more lively than I’ve always heard.
We are talking about this harmless-looking article on good places for beach and snorkling holidays with good access to clubs and nightlife. Demanding people, they are. Probably expect to get Newcastle Brown there as well, but that’s beside the point.
The point is that on the front page of The Esteemed Guardian, this article is tagged with the drop-down descriptor:
Can you answer reader questions on water sports holidays?
Well, can you? I’ll start.
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We all have one, and sometimes we find it in the strangest place:
via SeismicTwitch
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How Irish. It was either post about sex and death
In news sure to warm the rapidly-cooling cockles of convenience-minded necrophiliacs and suicidal sex addicts alike, the Swiss self-offing rights group Dignitas has opened a sort of members-only Hotel California
From the Guardian:
Dignitas had launched a mobile service after being forced to leave its Zurich flat. It admitted last November that it had dispatched four people – including two in public car parks in Swiss beauty spots.
The country’s law insists that agencies that help arrange assisted deaths do it for ‘honourable reasons’ and do not profit from death, apart from charging basic fees. Dignitas claims that the cost of organising suicides is £5,000.
Karl Rütsche, a spokesman for Schwerzenbach council, said it was not happy when it heard Dignitas had settled in its community but was powerless to act. ‘Of course, as a council we tried to stop them moving here and we fought the Dignitas decision tooth and nail. We didn’t want the country’s biggest sex club and largest death factory side-by-side on our doorstep.’ He added: ‘Having lost the battle to keep them away at least we can say that – on a positive note – everyone now knows where Schwerzenbach is.”
True, dat. Too bad they won’t exactly become regular visitors. In related Irresistible Metaphor News, both the cat house and the death house are in the soul-killing confines of an industrial park. And Dignitas lost its earlier location because of some kerfuffle about corpses in the elevators. How undignified!
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raincoaster 