gor[b] Paul Gorbould: Words and Pictures

Cutting edge

Have you noticed how much the grille of a Ford Fusion looks like the grille of a Gillette Fusion?

I thought this was a gimmick to make the car look distinctive and, er, "sharp." But it looks like Ford is rolling out the gimmick to the rest of the line. Witness the new Ford Edge (see, now they're actually naming the car after a razor):

Why razors? Sexy, smooth and dangerous? (Not really. T-shaped razors like these are known as "safety razors" and are decidedly un-dangerous.) Still, I suppose it's sexier than designing a car to look like a toothbrush or Q-Tip.

It goes beyond safety razors, though. If you want the luxury of power, you'll have to upgrade to an SUV. The GMC Envoy's face looks a lot like that of a single-foil electric shaver:

Those seeking even more comfort can look to the Range Rover, the Remington Microscreen of the car world:

And in case you are wondering, Dodge also has a concept car called the Dodge Razor. You might notice it's the same colour as the Gillette Fusion razor.

Oddly, the razor/car theme isn't a two-way deal; there are no razors designed to look like car mufflers or windshield wipers, and I couldn't think of any razors named after cars (though there is the Mach 3 Turbo.) Too bad - I'd probably buy a Schick Mustang or a Gillette Stingray.

Sadly, I'd probably buy anything they associated with something cool. Last year, when my trusty Philishave finally died, I went razor shopping. They all looked the same, except you add $50 for every piece that wiggles.

But the salesman sealed the deal on a new Philishave 8894 by casually mentioning that it was known in the industry as the "James Bond razor." Seems 007 was seen using one in one of the recent Bond flicks (dunno which one, but who cares?) Sold!

Here's the appalling description that Amazon is using to sell the James Bond Razor:

Licensed to shave closely and painlessly, this cord/cordless electric shaver is designated Norelco's James Bond model not only because it's high-tech but also because its heads can be adjusted to suit the sensitivity of 00-anyone's skin. The shaver has a comfort-control dial that varies the spring and pressure of the three floating heads through nine settings. Roger Moore might opt for a gentle setting, while Sean Connery surely would choose a firmer setting--and novices to grizzled veterans can please their faces as well.

I’m so very, very ashamed. But smoooooooth, ladies!

I’m so uncool

One of the great advantages of having an uncommon surname is that it's pretty simple to promote yourself.

I've been blogging for seven months now, and I own all but two of the first 20 Google search results for "Gorbould".

Yay me. But now I've discovered there's someone with almost my name, who is way, way cooler than I'll ever be. In fact, Paul Corbould is living the life of my dreams.

Turns out that Paul Corbould is the special effects supervisor for the film Children of Men, as well as just about everything else that is awesome about Hollywood [hat tip to Sue, who highly recommends the movie.] Corbould also did V for Vendetta, King Arthur, Saving Private Ryan, and Amadeus. (Well... he also did a Superman movie, but it was the dreaded #3. Making Richard Pryor fly isn't nearly as cool as doing General Zod's laser eyes!)

And it's not just Paul... Corbould's whole family is cooler than mine. His brothers both do SFX too: Chris Corbould does all the Bond flicks, and Neil Corbould won an Oscar for Gladiator.

I suppose I can take some consolation in the fact that some genealogy sites say that Gorbould (and Gorbold) are related to Corbould.

Records of that name dates back to 1395 in Suffolk, England. Best I can find of Gorbould is bloke named Ebenezer, who ran a pub in Roydon.

And I thought I was uncool.

Inside my mind

Like many at CBC, I've developed an unexpected paranoia about CTV.

The most recent, and craziest example: This poster for The Phantom of the Opera, coming to the Princess of Wales Theatre.

It's just me that sees it down there at the bottom, right? I think I've been listening to too much music of the night.

Spent!

My holidays are finally, successfully over.

A good time was had by all, with the notable exception of my wallet (left).

I'm normally not much of a shopper, but this holiday season I actually wore out both my wallet (ripped and worn, and I've yet to find a proper replacement - I'll be stuck with it forever, so I'm very particular about the compartments and leather) and my debit card (which now works in only about 50 per cent of locations, probably due to the white patch on the magnetic strip.)

Here's a photo of the offending item. You'll notice it is bristling with receipts and instabank statements, but bereft of cash. It does, however, contain $1.80 in Canadian Tire money and almost $8 in small change. So I can jingle all the way back to work.

Foot in mouth

I managed one of the great verbal gaffes of the holidays on Christmas Eve.

We were opening presents with my in-laws. My brother-in-law gave us some new king size pillows, a welcomed gift since we recently bought a couple of sets of bedding without buying anything to put in the new pillow cases or shams.

My wife and I were debating whether to put the new pillows in the cases or shams, and which set. My domestic prowess made my father-in-law chuckle, prompting me to explain:

Until I married your daughter, I didn’t know the meaning of the word “sham”.

Ahem.

That’s a pretty bad (and completely accidental) double entendre, but it pales in comparison to two other blunders I’ve been privy to. For some reason, both are race-related, though not in a Michael Richards/Mel Gibson sort of way. These were just very poorly chosen words.

1) At a party a few summers ago, a friend was telling the group about a great bit of music she had heard that day down at Harborfront. It was performed by an Andean busker, who played panpipes and had brightly-coloured marionettes on a string from his foot, which he moved to make them dance about to the music. But she’d had a few drinks, and what she said to the group was how much she enjoyed “those dancing coloured people.”

2) Friend of a coworker, in South Africa. He’d taken several rolls of film on his trip, and couldn’t wait to get back to Canada to have them developed. Of course, he told the mixed crowd, he wanted to get them developed properly, at a trustworthy photo place. “So you can bet I won’t take them to Black’s!”

Again, these were not racially-motivated – they simply came out wrong. No knock on the poor sods who spoke them (and were both met with deathly, bewildered silence.) Also no knock on Black’s Photography or Andean buskers – I enjoy both. Still, they make me feel less bad about my own “sham”.

So, dare to own up to your own worst-ever gaffes?

Uranium Ore: Fun for the whole family!

I seldom do blog posts that are just stuff I found on the web, but you've got to check this out: Radar Magazine's "The 10 most dangerous play things of all time."

(Hat tip to Jayne Bingler for finding this. Jayne fondly remembers item #1, Lawn Darts, while I spent many a fine playdate choking on #9, those little red Battlestar Galactica missiles.)

Be sure to read the comments under each post, and play the video for the Johnny Reb Cannon.

I have a bit of a Christmas theme going here, no? I've already mentioned Don't Shoot Your Eye Out... Any other dangerous toys (store-bought or home-made) that your remaining eye gets misty over? At my house, it was always a race to see whether model rockets or an Easy Bake Oven could burn down Casa Gorbould first. Good times.

Help, I’m an elf!

I just elfed myself.

(It takes a minute or two to load. Try it yourself! The voice record function didn't work for me, but it's still pretty funny.)

More worn-out elbows

Morris Peterson isn't the only one with elbow issues.

All my shirts are worn out on the left elbow. Why?

OK, not all of them, but I have at least five or six shirts with bare patches or holes in the left elbow, while the right elbows are pristine.

It must be something to do with the way I sit in my office chair. My left arm spends more time on the arm rest than my right, which is usually reaching for the mouse.

The left arm rest of my chair does have a rip in it, but I think it's too far back to be the culprit. I guess I should consider myself lucky that it's just my clothes, and not my elbows or wrists. Perhaps I should bring in a single rollerblading elbow pad.

Has anyone else had this strange problem?

I think I need an ergonomist. And a tailor.

*** UPDATE! I found an ergonomist, and he fixed my problem. See the full story here. ***