Looking for a little oneupsmanship with the boys in the golf foursome? Ever thought about owning your own private plane? Well, have I got a deal for you – a low hours Airbus A320 that can be yours for little more than salvage costs! Of course, you’ll have to clean the mud and goose guts out of it, and assembly is definitely required …

As you may have guessed, the plane in question is N106US, the Airbus A320-214 airliner skillfully landed in the Hudson River last year by Chesley Sullenberger.  When last we saw it, it was on a barge headed down to river to parts unknown.  Now we know that unknown destination is a salvage yard and a sale being managed by Chartis Insurance.  But before you whip out your checkbook, you may want to read the terms and conditions …

Sale of the listed aircraft is “AS IS/WHERE IS.” We make no expressed nor implied warranties for the condition, fitness for purpose, value, airworthiness or operation of performance of any kind whatsoever, whether in contract or tort in respect to the sale of any aircraft salvage. The buyer acknowledges that they have had the opportunity to inspect and evaluate the aircraft before submitting their bid.

OK, so maybe it’ll cost a little to haul it back to the mansion, but what a conversation piece! Imagine a desk chair made from Sully’s captains seat, or a multimedia room made from the fuselage … why the possibilities are endless!

Don’t wait … operators are standing by …

Chances are, you don’t know who Steve Phillips is. If you a baseball fan you might recognize him as an analyst for ESPN, and if your favorite team is the Mets you may remember his as your former general manager. But the average person likely had no clue who Phillips is – until the New York Post splashed the details of his infidelity across their front page today.

Phillips, it seems, had an affair this summer with a 22-yr-old intern with whom he worked at ESPN. Those sort of things have a way of getting found out, and his bosses at the network disciplined him and he ended the relationship. I’m sure Phillips thought that was going to be the end of things, but he found out this week it’s not gonna be that easy. Stealing a page from the “Fatal Attraction” playbook, Brooke Hundley decided that she would not be ignored, making bizarre phone calls, leaving a letter at Phillips’ house and reportedly contacting one of his children on Facebook.

In retaliation, the jilted young woman repeatedly phoned Phillips’ wife, Marni, saying, “We both can’t have him!” an explosive police report claims.

Hundley’s desperate actions — including accidentally smashing her car into a stone column while speeding away from the Phillips’ home after leaving the letter — terrified the family, according to the Wilton, Conn., police report.

“I have extreme concerns about the health and safety of my kids and myself,” Steve Phillips said in a police statement, adding that the woman became “obsessive and delusional” after he dumped her.

As a single guy, there are certain things in this world with which I have no experience – like being a married guy in an affair. But I’d like to think I’d do a better job of vetting my partner than Phillips did. This one’s clearly a few bricks short of a load, which isn’t entirely surprising for someone that age. But beyond that, if you’re going to put your personal and professional lives on the line, why would you do it with a girl who – how can I put this delicately – reminds me of the players on the college women’s softball team who always wanted to arm-wrestle the men. Erin Andrews this girl is not. Somewhere, Bill Clinton is letting out a sigh of relief because Phillips just took his title of “Worst Pick of Intern to Nail”. I just don’t get it. I understand loveless marriages and desperation, but this one escapes even me.

Phillips took a leave of absense from ESPN to deal with the problem. I would assume that Hundley – whose antics outside Phillips’ house led to the police call that ultimately blew the whistle on the whole deal – has some legal issues of her own. Here’s hoping the collateral damage avoids the innocent parties and the whole thing can be resolved in private – and out of the media.

It’s been a while since we heard from Nadya Suleman, the famewhore with 14 kids and a tummy stretched to next Tuesday. This might be just the thing to get you back into the news, babe …

Umm ... ewwww!

An outfit called [re]design, whose motto is “for designers who don’t want to make landfill,” has an exhibition touring England called “Doing It For The Kids“. The goal of the show is to highlight various examples of sustainable play design, but I’m pretty sure that one example is going to garner the lion’s share of the media attention. I refer to, of course, the … wait for it … placenta teddy bear! That’s right – now, thanks to designer Alex Green and his “Teddy Twin Kit,” you can take what would otherwise be deemed biowaste and turn it into a unique if less than cuddly buddy for your baby – and a perfect genetic match, too!

Green’s ‘Twin Teddy Kit’ ‘celebrates the unity of the infant, the mother and the placenta,’ and enables preparation of the placenta so it may be transformed into a teddy bear. The placenta must be cut in half and rubbed with sea salt to cure it. After it is dried out, it is treated with an emulsifying mixture of tannin and egg yolk to make it soft and pliable. Then, you craft it into a teddy bear.

Yeah … and not want to eat for a week. This one might be a little much for your average seamstress.  Judging from the pictures, our little friend is only a couple of inches high, but hey – there’s a rather limited supply of raw materials.  Of course, Octomom and her nemesis Kate Gosselin could probably sew a full-sized teddy from their leftovers … and Michelle Duggar could probably stitch up a life-sized bear – one that’s still growing as we speak … :-0

Ready to take the plunge, Mr. Prime Minister?

Once in a while, I’ll catch some heat over the age of some of the Eye Candy selections we post here at the MB.  I mean, it’s not like I’m posting pictures of Miley Cyrus or something, but unless I’m in a particularly milfy mood there’s a decade – or generation – in age between myself and most of the models.  But I’ve got nothing on Silvio Berlusconi.

Berlusconi, the 72-yr-old Prime Minister of Italy, is a rich and powerful man.  Beyond the political clout afforded the senior leader of the G8 nations, Berlusconi owns several media outlets as well as the AC Milan football club.  This is a guy who knows what he wants, and has the power to get it.

Right now, what he apparently wants is shown at right jumping off a boat in Sardinia.  Noemi Letizia is an 18-yr old aspiring model in whom Berlusconi has taken an unnaturally active interest.  All parties – the PM, the model and the model’s family – claim everything is innocent, but Berlusconi’s wife recently filed for divorce, making the statement at the time: “I cannot be with a man who spends time with under-age women.” Around the same time, Berlusconi attended Noemi’s 18th birthday party, presenting her with a gold and diamond necklace and a book inscribed:

“To my little Noemi, my little graphic artist, your little daddy teacher.”

Even taking into consideration the roughness of the translation, it’s not exactly “Happy Birthday, Princess”. Italians are a tolerant lot, but I’m not sure they’re this tolerant.

Personally, I blame French President Nicolas Sarkozy. Ever since he bagged model Carla Bruni, the bar’s been set pretty high for European Leaders. It certainly gives the term “keeping up with the Joneses” a whole new meaning.

And I even managed to work water in one more time …

They’re at it again.

Our Lady of Perpetual Pregnancy, Michelle Duggar, is once again with child.  For those of you keeping count, this’ll be spawn #19 – conceived a scant 5 months after the birth of the last one.  You’d think that’s barely enough time to let the system reset, but I guess she’s had a lot of practice.

The Duggars – husband Jim-Bob and wife Michelle – have become famous through their cable reality show, “18 Kids & Counting.”  As you might guess from the title, what makes them famous is the size of their brood – you know how America loves their reality freak shows.  Much like John and Kate Gosselin and Nadia Suleman, people love to peek at the perceived chaos of trying to raise a whole flock of children.

The Duggars story goes something like this:  Michelle moved from Ohio to Arkansas where she had a religious conversion, and Jim-Bob was one of the churchmembers sent to “counsel” her.  Soon, counseling had turned to courting, and in 1984 the pair married.  After the birth of their first child, Michelle suffered a miscarriage that the couple attributed to a temporary use of birth control pills; after that, they decided against further birth control efforts and would “allow God to determine the number of children they would have.”  Apparently, God has been busy elsewhere and forgot to send the “whoa” signal to Jim-Bob and Michelle.

Michelle Duggar is 42, and will have spent nearly 14 years pregnant by the time this round is done.  After two Caesarians, you’d think her uterus couldn’t take the strain, but apparently they were able to patch her up like a steel-belted radial and send her out for another lap.  But I guess that’s to be expected – baby-making is the Duggar family business.  Oldest son Josh is about to bring the first second-generation Duggar into the world, and Jim-Bob and Michelle went on the Today show to announce her pregnancy.  Think they’d care what the Duggars were up to – or sponsors would roll up to the house with truckloads of product – if Michelle weren’t with child?  I doubt it …

The Duggars like to point out that, in spite of raising 18 kids in a 7,000-sq-ft home, they live “debt-free.”  Jim-Bob attributes this to a frugal lifestyle and wise financial planning, but I’m sure those checks from the network don’t hurt much either, eh J-B?  They’ve made the decision to subject their lives – and those of their children – to the scrutiny and judgement of the public, all in the name of money.  Maybe that’ll work and maybe it won’t – perhaps they might want to check with the folks at “Jon & Kate Plus Eight” to see how that can turn out.

I’m a Christian, and I respect the Duggars’ right to their beliefs.  I also believe in the right of an individual to do what they want in the world.  But, as the old saying goes, your personal rights end where mine begin.  Sure, they might not be sponging off the government for subsistence, but how about the impact of bringing so many new bodies into the world?  Maybe they haven’t gotten the word yet in Arkansas, but there’s a population crisis in the world, and this doesn’t help.  The world needs responsible decisions, not blind obedience, and it sure doesn’t need another Duggar kid.

Here’s a thought, Jim-Bob – next time you get the urge, try hand-firing one …

The NAACP likes to remind us that “a mind is a terrible thing to waste,” and others tell us simply “a mind is a terrible thing”. Today’s blog is all about what happens when you allow your mind to wander a little too aimlessly …

If you can't hit this target ...

For the last three days, I’ve been in a workshop at a Boeing facility in Long Beach. As you might imagine, there’s a lot of coffee consumed in these kind of all-day meetings, and that means you spend some quality time using the facilities. One of the first things I noticed was the massive size of the urinals in the bathrooms. At first, I assumed it was just a really old bathroom with outdated plumbing, but these are all relatively new. And when I say huge, I’m not kidding – these things stretch nearly two feet from the wall, and are larger than a standard toilet. They were so large that they were intimidating to use, as you practically needed to straddle the unit to remain between the privacy barriers.

After using the mega urinals for a couple of days, I started wondering what on earth the designers were thinking in designing them. The only thing I could think of was … unisex urinal? Unable to resist the temptation, I Googled it …

The first thing I found was that it’s not unisex – just really, really big. And discontinued – which I guess makes sense, considering what a water hog it must be. The next thing I learned was that Kohler makes some really cool urinals (note to self: add “really cool urinals” to list of phrases I never thought I’d utter). They have artistic models and waterless models and touchless models – they have everything short of one that shakes it for you and tucks it back in your pants … and I’m sure they’re working on that one.

I also learned that in certain circles, the idea of a unisex urinal is a really big deal, because it goes back to the idea of … dum-DUM-dum … women peeing while standing up. Now, anyone who’s ever been to a concert with crowded bathrooms already knows that women can pee just fine without having to take a seat. It might be ungainly, unladylike or inaccurate, but it’d definitely doable.  There are tools to let women pee standing up, wikis to teach you how, and even a survey on their results (for the record, in a survey of 600 women who tried techniques to stand and urinate 70% were successful in their first attempt, 30% failed initially but were able to master the concept, and only 9% totally failed).

The real issue, though, has nothing to do with plumbing and everything to do with gender equity. Seems those same folks see the way we’re taught to pee as some kind of enslavement of women – a way to force them to not be able to use the same facilities as men, and, therefore, be seen as somehow … inferior. My first thought was that some people have way too much time on their hands, until I learned that someone actually did a master’s thesis in 1992 on the subject of women’s ability to stand while urinating and the social implications!

Some things that caught my attention as I surfed:  one study showed that in families with mixed gender offspring, the younger sister of an older brother will tend to naturally learn to pee standing up – just like big brother – until forced to change by their parents.  As is often pointed out in the research, from a sanitary perspective, society would be much better off if everyone sat to pee – men and women alike – since men have notoriously bad aim.  And there’s a legal ramification to this as well, because men’s bathrooms give men a choice of facilities to use, whereas the ladies’ room does not (I’m not counting the sink … *smile*).

Probably the most interesting fact might not even be news to anyone who grew up with sisters.  One theory on why men stand and women sit dates back  to the days of the neanderthals.  This theory goes that everyone initially stood to pee, until the males began to use their strength advantage to force women to squat instead.  The reason?  Women can pee further than men, and it was bothering their caveman egos!

Like I said, when you let the mind wander, it’s amazing where it goes …  :D

There are things in this world I understand … roses, marlin fishing, the internet … and there are things I don’t. Among those I don’t? Fake breasts. More on after yet another example of the misplaced priorities in society today.

Chantal Marshall is a British homemaker. The 50-yr-old mother of 9 seems normal enough, yet her family proudly holds an English record – the most breast augmentations within a single family. Between Marshall and 4 of her daughters, they’ve received 9 pairs of implants.

One short of a silicone six-pack

Ripley, 18, Tara, 22, Terri, 25, Emma, 28, and mum-of-nine Chantal, of Kirkby-in-Ashfield, Notts, now boast chest sizes ranging from 34DD to 32GG.

On one occasion, Emma and Ripley even ended up having breast enhancement surgery on the same day and at the same clinic as their mum.

Tara had booked her consultation aged 17 so she could have the op as soon as she reached the age of 18.

The sisters – all with matching blonde hair just like their mum – say that like most siblings they have always copied each other.

But they insist that when it comes their chest sizes, they aren’t at all competitive.

They reckon their desire for bigger boobs was inspired by Chantal – who is often mistaken by strangers for their sister.

They don’t mention the husband/father of this clan; I’m wondering if he’s present or if his departure led to the mother’s initial need to “improve” herself. Nor do they mention the other four five children; it would be interesting to learn the thoughts of those.

As a single guy, I have a vested interest in breasts; I’m among their biggest fans. I’ve dated women with implants, and I had one girlfriend get implants and another opt for a reduction, both while I was dating them. I’ve experienced a pretty good spectrum of what both natural and non-natural sources can provide.

Two comments I’ll make on this story, and the topic of breast augmentation in general, based on my experiences. First, while it’s true that some of the aftermarket boobies out there can look pretty damned nice in a sweater or bikini top, I’ve never seen a set that doesn’t disappoint once forced to stand on their own, as it were. The illusion ends the moment the bra drops, and anyone telling you otherwise is wrong. That’s particularly true as the cup size goes up – a cruel little fact; the better they look in clothes, the worse they’ll look later on. Now, if you don’t mind having that little reality check stare you in the face every time your girlfriend gets naked for you, go right ahead. But to me, it’s just another form of bait-and-switch.

My second comment goes beyond the breasts themselves to the motivation behind them.  There are certain circumstances when breast augmentation fills a legitimate medical need – post-mastectomy, for example, or cases where the breasts are mis-sized or effectively non-existent. An intelligently planned and executed augmentation can help achieve or regain a sense of “normalcy,” and that’s not a bad thing.

But that’s a far cry from what we see way too much of today. The article mentions the “Baywatch” influence, pneumatic breasts bouncing along like a pair of beach balls in the bleachers at Dodger Stadium. But what Pamela Anderson and Carmen Electra – not to mention the entire constituency of “Porn Valley” – have chosen to do is a business decision, one made based strictly on dollars and sense. Unless your goal is to be a porn star or a stripper, it’s the wrong path to go down.

There’s one common trait I see among the women I’ve known who opted to make changes. Whether for larger implants, smaller implants or decreased natural breasts, in each case they were looking for a surgeon to cure on their chests an issue that truly existed between their ears.  I understand better than most what it’s like to go through life without a lot of self-confidence, but to think that by stapling a pair of silicone balloons to your ribcage, effectively lowering the gaze of every man from your eyes to your chest, you will somehow become a better person is sad. Worse still, to hear an 18-yr-old girl talk of her need to increase from a 34C to DD is criminal.

"Hi, I'm a dumbass ... "

With the demise of Michael Jackson, there’s been a renewed look at the world of pop music, particularly back to a time when it was, well, relevant.  You remember – back when people had to actually sing, and didn’t have machines to clean up their sketchy voices and producers to surround them with so much noise that you can’t tell anyway?

That’s certainly not the case today.  For every solid singer who makes it to the big stage today – whether the hard way or the quick (read: AI) way – there’s a dozen performers who are cashing checks based on nothing more than image.  Leading the way is the queen of Yonkers, NY, Lady Gaga, who’s modern spin on electronic synth-pop is all over the charts these days.  I enjoy a decent dance tune as much as the next guy, but to hear her stuff you quickly realize the talent is the guy producing the tunes – her voice is just one more synthesized instrument to mix into the tune.  And to look at her … well, I just dare you!

Now, I don’t have anything against New York, or New Yorkers – although they do make me chuckle from time to time – but I do have an issue with anyone who tries to pass themselves off as “cutting edge” or “next wave” when in fact they’re just trend trash. That’s certainly the case with Gaga, who has convinced herself – and her fans – that somehow, she represents fashion and risk and the future, and anyone who doesn’t get it just doesn’t understand.  Count me among those who don’t understand, but that could be because I’m too busy doubled over in laughter to consider the cultural impact of her idiotic views.  I’ll give her credit, though, at least her latest getup covers most of her face, and her ass isn’t even hanging out.

To look at her is to consider her silly, but to listen to her is to recognize the basic delusion of it all.  Take this quote of hers from the latest issue of Esquire:

My concerts are about me being very private in public, but I’m very protective. My apartment is my stage, and my bedroom is my stage—they’re just not stages you’re allowed to see. When you let a bunch of people in there, they f*** with that energy and it becomes a circus. Put it another way: Everybody wants me to show my vagina to the world all the time. And the truth is, I don’t have to.

What the hell?  The pretentiousness of it all.  Look, it’s not like she’s the first person to play the ridiculous card all the way to fortune and fame. Pop music and reality TV are littered with the carcasses of her predecessors, bled dry and tossed aside, and I certainly expect her to be on the pile sooner rather than later.  Who knows – maybe she can follow in the footsteps of MC Hammer and burn out as a pop star and a reality star – now there’s something for her to aspire to!

Unless you’ve been unconscious for the last 24 hours, you now know that Michael Jackson, the one-time “King of Pop,” has died. It’s a sad tale, of course, whenever anyone dies young, and Jackson was only 50. I’ll leave it to others to eulogize him, and to chronicle the worldwide mourning. I’d like to focus on a slightly different angle …

I’m not a conspiracy theorist by nature, but I can’t help thinking: Didn’t he die at just the perfect time?

Think about it – here’s a guy who’s a very frail 50, a full twenty years beyond the end of his relevant period as a pop star. He’s gotten backing from Philip Anschutz and company for a big comeback tour – fifty shows at Anschutz’s O2 Arena in London. It’s claimed that he’s working out like a madman, but at the same time has appeared to be one bad surgical experience away from the Great Beyond. They’ve already postponed the start of the concerts once, and now we’re only a couple of weeks away from finding out if he can really capture the magic. Hundreds of thousands of fans are ready to be enthralled – or reimbursed.

Ever see the movie “Capricorn One“? It was a cynically intriguing flick, and not just because they cast O. J. Simpson as an astronaut. The premise was the first manned mission to Mars – three astronauts in an Apollo capsule ready for the multiple-month journey. Problem is, it dawns on someone that since they went with the lowest bidder, the life-support system won’t survive the journey – and, therefore, neither will the crew. Rather than cancel the mission – and risk NASA’s funding being cancelled – they stage a huge charade, mimicking the landings and Mars-walks in a soundstage in the desert. That worked right up to the point where the now-unmanned capsule was destroyed during re-entry, making it a little difficult to explain the presence of three still-living astronauts. Cue the marksmen …

I don’t know. I don’t know if Jackson still had what it would take to moon walk his way through two months of shows, nor do I know if he could come close to achieving the glory he once had. All I know is that there’s a mystery doctor injecting him daily, and now it looks suspiciously like one of those shots – supposedly to help with the pain of performing – may have instead hastened his death.

I’m just sayin’ …

The guy always marched to the beat of his own drummer … or is it flutist? Somehow, it’s no surprise his death would be shrouded in mystery.

David Carradine, who originally came to fame in the “Kung Fu” TV series and was known better to the current generation as “Bill” in the “Kill Bill” movies, was found dead this morning his Bangkok, Thailand hotel room. He was 72.

Carradine was always something of an odd duck, and you never really know if it was his role as Kung Fu’s Caine that changed him or if his own quirks drove the character. He very literally lived that role, reprising it for not one but two different sequels. It wasn’t until he was plucked from relative obscurity by Quentin Tarantino to play Bill that we saw him in a different role, albeit one equally strange.

Perhaps in keeping with his unusual nature, his death comes with it’s own unique trappings. The initial reports out of Thailand were of a death from natural causes, certainly not unusual for a man of 72. But the good folks at BBC had a few details the others left out:

Thai police told the BBC the 72-year-old was found by a hotel maid sitting in a wardrobe with a rope around his neck and genitals on Thursday morning.

Now, it should be noted that later in the day, the online article was amended to replace “and genitals” with “and other parts of his body,” but I think we can smell what’s cooking, and it smells a lot like sexual hypoxia. Well, not literally, of course, but you know what I mean …

In any case, an unfortunate and tragic end to an heir to the Carradine acting legend.