Dave Fox's Outbursts!

Norway's Scandal-Free Royalty

Strange things have been happening to me lately. Case in point: I received a phone call a couple of months ago asking if I would like to be the opening speaker for the Princess of Norway.

"The Princess of Norway?!" I said. "The Princess of Norway?"

"Yes," said the person making this request. "Honestly, I didn't even know Norway had a royal family."

Many Americans do not know Norway has a royal family. That is because Norway's royal family is intelligent enough to avoid the sorts of messes that get other royal families massive exposure in the American tabloids. Norway's royalty are loved by Norwegians in part because they are humble and do not run around with their noses in the air, trying to have scandals. The Norwegian royal family are humble people.

Case in point: the energy crisis of 1972. Norway's government asked everybody to please use public transportation to conserve fuel. King Olaf woke up one morning and decided he wanted to go cross-country skiing. So he grabbed his skis, wandered down the hill from the palace to the tram stop, and hopped on a public tram to get up into the hills that surround Oslo. The ticket collector, as you can imagine, was pretty damn surprised to see the king hanging out on the tram. He told the king he could ride for free, but Olaf insisted on paying for a ticket.

That's the kind of people the Norwegian royals are. They are good, down-to-earth people, the kind of people you might like to buy a beer and have a chat with.

Flashback to 1986: I go bopping off to Norway to be an exchange student. I see Princess Märtha Louise on television. "Hey," I think, "she's kind of cute."

I forget all about her until four years later, when I return to Norway to study. I see her on TV again, and I think, "Oh yeah. There's that cute princess again." But I decide she would never be interested in me. I am a mere commoner. And, to make matters worse, a writer.

Fast forward to 2002: Princess Märtha Louise announces she is getting married. To a commoner. And a writer.

Doh!

Alas, my crush on the princess of Norway has long since faded; nevertheless, in spite of her down-to-earthiness, she is still royalty. I'm not really sure how to behave in the presence of royalty. It's been a while. My original goal for the day was to buy her a beer after our presentation, but it appears that cannot happen since she has other princessly duties to attend to after our event.

I will be giving my usual slide presentation about travel in Scandinavia. Yes, I am going to talk about Norway in front of the Princess of Norway... and likely a big crowd of Norwegians. No pressure there.

So far, 350 people have signed up to attend the event, in a theater that holds 250 people. If you are going, get there early. (I'll be speaking at 10 a.m. at the Edmonds Theater, just north of Seattle. The princess is on at 11:15. You'll find full details at ricksteves.com.)

Hey Kids: Stay Away from Mr. Meaty!

You want to know why kids are so screwed up? I'll tell you why. It's television's fault!

But I'm not talking about all the wholesome sex and violence that always gets a bad rap. I'm talking about so-called "children's programming." In a recent scan of kids shows on my TiVo listings, I came up with more than 20 programs with names that are downright creepy.

For starters, there is a cartoon called "Hi Hi Puffy AmiYumi" about a Japanese rock band -- most certainly the biggest rock band to come out of Japan since... since... since, oh, that other really huge Japanese rock band that I've never heard of.

"Yu-Gi-Oh" is another Japanese production. I can't figure out from the website what it's about, but it appears to be a cartoon about creatures who look like they have been crossbred between humans and cockroaches.

There's another program called Yoko! Jakamoko! Toto! which, from the name, I assumed was Japanese, but it is apparently a British production. According to the program's website, it has a "Spanish and African beat." Ummm, okay. I have never known a Spaniard named Yoko, but I guess this is life in the globalization age. According to Wikipedia, the three characters "communicate only by use of each other's names."

Ahem... that is not how I like to be communicated with. "Dave! Dave? DAAAAAAVE!!!!!"

Other programs with weird names fall into a couple of categories. There are several others with equally meaningless names. There's "Peep," "Zoboomafoo," "Doodlebops," "Boohbah," "Pinky Dinky Doo," "Rolie Polie Olie," and the most staggeringly weird name of all, "Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo."

Where I come from (Planet Earth), if I told my friends I was going home to watch a show called "Pinky Dinky Doo," I would have had my ass kicked. Repeatedly.

As far as "Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo" goes, it turns out it too is from Japan. I don't speak Japanese. Apparently neither does the person who came up with the name of the show.  It is based on a video series in the genre known as manga. AnimeNewsNetwork.com warns the program may contain "bloody violence, bad language, (and) nudity." The website goes on to say the TV show is aimed at teenagers.

What is "Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo" about? Here's the description on the aforementioned anime site:

"In the year 300X, Earth is terrorized by the evil Margarita Empire, which will stop at nothing to rid the entire population of their hair. But now, one afro-wearing man stands his way. He has the ability to communicate with other people's hair and use his own nasal hair to defeat the Margarita Empire's bald henchmen." [sic]

Uhhh... yeah. The name of that bald henchman is, you guessed it, Bobobo-bo Bo-bobo. (Or for the benefit of my faithful readers in Japan, that's ボボボーボ・ボーボボ.)

I found numerous other programs with names that kind of mean something. Names like "Peep" and "Peppa Pig", "Bloopie's Buddies," "Ed, Edd, and Eddy," "Pahappahooey Island," and "Coconut Fred's Fruit Salad Island."

And then, there were four shows with names that were downright disturbing: "Feeling Good with Jojo," "Mr. Dressup," "Mr. Meaty," and -- I swear this is a real television show -- "Gerald McBoingBoing."

When I was growing up, we had wholesome programs like "Super Mega Action Power Killers" or some such thing. My parents taught me to stay away from people with names like Gerald McBoingBoing and Mr. Meaty.

It turns out "Mr. Meaty" is a production of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. The show's website urges kids to "Head on down to Mr. Meaty for good times, good friends, and well, MEAT!"

Stop right there. Please. I don't want to know anymore.

The Netherlands: Honest Politicians and a New Way to Brand Sheep

Dutch Prime Minister Jan Peter Balkenende has confessed to the ANP news agency that he is, "maybe a bit boring."

The confession came after Balkenende refused to campaign for his Christian Democrat party in discotheques as a way of wooing younger voters.

Now if only a certain US leader would admit that he is, "maybe a bit stupid...."

Meanwhile, also in the Netherlands, their leader may be boring but the sheep certainly are not. The Dutch website, Hotels.nl, reports a significant upswing in business since it has started advertising on sheep. Sheep have been outfitted with waterproof blankets that sport the website's logo.

Hotels.nl CEO Miechel Nagel says he is looking for more prospective sheep to wear his advertising -- preferably in areas that experience frequent traffic jams.

"As a company in modern times, you have to take some risks," Nagel told the New York Times.

Huh? Yes, that is true, but since when were sheep on the cutting edge of technology.

Ice Cream Haters, Chill Out!

People! We have important political issues happening in the world! Ben and Jerry are not the enemy!

Okay, so they screwed up. The coolest, most politically sensitive ice cream makers on the planet made a mistake. They're human.

But some people don't see it that way.

Ben and Jerry -- the good people who have brought us creative ice cream flavors such as Neapolitan Dynamite, Karamel Sutra, Cherry Garcia, and Jamaican Me Crazy -- unveiled a new flavor just before Saint Patrick's Day called Black & Tan. Now, ice cream hating radicals in Ireland (I stress these people are radicals, not mainstream Irishmen) are in a tizzy because the Black and Tans, officially called the Royal Irish Constabulary Reserve Force, were a group of pro-British soldiers recruited in Ireland in the early 20th century to help squash (sometimes through violent means) anti-British sentiments. They were considered by many to be an occupying army in Ireland.

That some people consider the name "Black & Tan" offensive as an ice cream flavor is understandable. Yeah, it's an offensive thing to joke about, but if you're going to scream about insensitivity, don't scream at Ben and Jerry. They, with innocent intent, took the name from a drink, also called a Black and Tan -- a mixture of Guinness Stout and Bass Ale, which is sold at half the Irish pubs in America.

One commenter on junkfoodblog.com wrote, "I can't believe that Ben and Jerry's would be so insensitive to call an ice cream such a name and to launch it as a celebration of Irishness ...it's an insult!"

Another wrote, "What next 'Nuts & Nazis'?"

No, dude. That's not what's next.

Ben and Jerry made a mistake. They made this mistake because they were trying to name their ice cream after a mix of beers, not because they were trying to promote a defunct group of political thugs. Ben and Jerry's is a company with a long history of promoting peace and environmental awareness. They didn't know where the beer mixture got its insensitive name. 

Was their choice of names ignorant? Should they have known better? I'm not sure, but how about educating them in a sane way instead of trying to put a pro-Nazi spin on their business?

A few people have gone off on the cliched rant that this is more proof all Americans are ignorant. Are some Americans ignorant? Hell yeah. So are some Irishmen. I'll tell you what: I'm a Scandinavian-American. If you can tell me specifically what the Stockholm Bloodbath was, when it happened, and who caused it (no cheating and looking it up on Google) then you win. But if you're not an expert on every repressive political episode in world history yourself, quit whining that some people in other countries have not been educated on every detail of your country's history.

Ben and Jerry make ice cream. Ice cream is a good thing. (Well, except for people like me who are lactose intolerant, but I digress.)

What ruffles my feathers about this issue is I don't see the people who are screaming at Ben and Jerry going out and screaming at the pubs who have been serving the drink for decades. I also haven't heard anyone complain about another drink -- the Irish Car Bomb. (It's a half pint of Guinness with a shot of Bailey's Irish Cream and whiskey... a tasty mix, which I never order in bars because I can't bring myself to ask for a drink by that name.)

Ben and Jerry have learned. They have apologized. They have admitted they screwed up. If the term "Black and Tan" offends you, boycott the pubs. (I dare you.) They're the ones who started this mess, and I don't see Guinness launching any campaigns to stop it.

With all the real injustice in the world, it boggles the mind that anyone would equate Ben and Jerry with Nazis. We've got real problems to contend with, people. Go confront them. Or go have some ice cream. Stick to vanilla if you must, but if you consider Ben and Jerry a serious threat to social justice, perhaps your brain has frozen.

Volunteers Wanted

On any given day as I sit at home working on my writing, I am faced with a tough decision: Get more work done or clean up the mess in my condo. My decision is usually based on this question: When I am dead, do I want my tombstone to say I was a brilliant and prolific writer, or do I want it to say I always had a really clean kitchen?

I'm a guy. I live alone. You can figure out the answer I always come to.

But I read in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer today that a group of 400 volunteers is spending their morning walking through Seattle's Sodo district, picking up trash from 10 to noon.

Hey, if any of you volunteers aren't busy when you're done in Sodo....

A Boring Machine

Engineers are digging a tunnel under Seattle's Beacon Hill to accommodate the light rail system that's being built to alleviate our transportation woes.

Pat Gould is helping dig the tunnel. He drives the so-called "Emerald Mole" -- the machine that is boring the giant hole underneath the city.

In an interview with the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, Gould says he considers it a productive work day when he can get his machine to move forward at the rate of one foot per minute.

I know what he means. During rush hour, he's got the fastest vehicle in the city.

Soap for the Sexually Frustrated?

It's Marketing Flop Week here at Outbursts headquarters.

I was just walking through my neighborhood grocery store when I spotted a soap I had never seen before. Irish Spring has a new scent they call "Icy Blast."

When I step into the shower in the morning, an icy blast is not what I want to experience.

Blãk Out

It's been a good couple of weeks since the fine people at Coca-Cola have come up with another marketing flop, but if you were getting impatient, your wait is over.

Announcing Coca-Cola Blãk: The latest chapter in the never-ending saga of idiotic beverages.

Just what is Coca-Cola Blãk? According to the bottle, it's a "carbonated fusion beverage."

Huh? When I think of fusion, I think of two things: nuclear explosions, and painful jazz. But allow me to break down Coke's formula for a "carbonated fusion beverage" so we can all understand the advanced science that has gone into creating this new libation:

They've taken Coke and dumped coffee into it.

"But Dave," you are thinking, "it can't be that simple. There must be more to it than that."

Oh yes. There is more to it. They have also misspelled "Black," put a squiggle over the "a" that vaguely resembles a Nike swoosh, and put it in eight-ounce bottles with a $1.50 price tag.

Coke is apparently trying to compete with the ever-growing array of so-called "energy drinks." Why not put their product in snooty packaging and charge crazy prices? Everybody else is doing it.

I tried Coca-Cola Blãk, not because I enjoy paying exorbitant prices for gross-sounding beverages, but because my local grocery store was running a promotional deal -- two bucks for a four-pack -- and I said to myself, "If I don't take advantage of this incredible offer right away, I will never be able to afford to ridicule this carbonated fusion beverage on my blog later."

How does Coca-Cola Blãk taste? Honestly, it's not as disgusting as I feared it might be. And unlike Red Bull, I can drink eight ounces of the stuff without going into caffeine-induced convulsions. But $1.50 a bottle? Bring me some regular Coke and a cup of coffee and I'll mix them together myself for much cheaper.

On second thought, no, I won't.

Forking Ridiculous

Changing planes at Chicago's O'Hare Airport a couple of weeks ago, I ducked into Chili's for a Caesar's Salad. Tracy, my waitress, brought me my salad with a plastic knife and fork.

It is very difficult to eat croutons with a plastic fork.

I asked Tracy if the plastic utensils were for security reasons. She confirmed my suspicions.

"For six months after 9/11," she said, "we still used metal knives, but then we found out the airlines didn't allow them so we had to switch."

First they had to use plastic knives. Now forks. And I'm thinking they're going to take away metal spoons as soon as some air-raging three-year-old discovers he can bonk flight attendants on the head with them.

Rules are rules and Chili's has to follow them, Nevertheless, as I attempted to poke my plastic fork through a crouton, and a prong snapped off, narrowly missing my cornea, I had to wonder if the US government's plan to thwart Osama bin Laden with plastic forks is necessary. I have a hard time buying the idea that somewhere in rural Afghanistan, terrorists are sitting in a secret bunker, planning to destroy freedom with a fork attack.

Humor hasn't been this easy since Dan Quayle

Vice President Dick Cheney drew a mixed response of cheers and boos when he threw out the ceremonial first pitch at a Washington Nationals baseball game on Tuesday.

I was starting to write a punch line -- something about who Cheney hit when he threw the ball. But I can't write that. It's just too easy.