I recently flew on US Airways to and from the Cayman Islands. Each way, the flight was about seven hours total; but with layovers and early airport arrival times, I was traveling for over twelve hours. During those twelve hours, I set a new goal for my life: I decided that someday I want to do 100% of my non-grocery shopping via SkyMall™.
SkyMall™ is amazing. Tell me, with what other venue can a person wake up in New York, go to sleep in Fiji, and purchase a sumo wrestler garden gnome (user ranking=5 stars!) along the way? Not at Anthropologie™, that’s for dadgum sure.
SkyMall™ products are completely worthless, aren’t they? I don’t know how people come up with so much unnecessary garbage—do they think just because people can afford a plane ticket, they are rich enough to blow scads of cash on ridiculous trifles? How foolish.
Image from here.
Take this portable beach cabana, for example. Sure, it provides easy access to shade on any beach with sand, but only enough shade for one person. Seriously? I cannot fathom a time when any woman would wake up one day and say to herself, “I think I’ll go to the beach today to catch some rays. Only, I don’t actually want to catch any rays at all, so I must remember to bring along my SkyMall™ portable beach cabana, which provides just enough shade for exactly one person—heaven forbid I actually go to the beach with someone else.” The real irony is that once seated within the confines of the beach cabana, its walls block not only the sun, but also the view and the breeze, which are the main reasons for going to the beach in the first place, in my opinion. Worthless.
The beach cabana is bad, but not as absurd as the entire air travel section of the brocure. Without doubt, the air travel products of the SkyMall™ magazine are the most worthless trinkets of all. In the ubiquitous air travel magazine, it seems like anyone who can afford a patent is allowed to submit science-fair-projects-turned-overpriced-merchandise in an attempt to sucker innocent passengers into buying their wares. I feel like I’m saying this a lot, but…seriously? Come on, people. Raise your hand if you have ever bought a Skyrest™ Inflatable Travel Pillow. No one? No takers? Hmm… I wonder why… Oh! Of course! Because they are completely worthless:
As soon as the gassy grandpa in the seat in front of you decides to recline his chair for a short snooze, that inflatable pillow won’t even fit on the tray table. Plus, you’d think they could get a new photo shoot to match the new century, wouldn’t you? Worthless. Image from here.
Image from here.
Interestingly enough, I could hardly find any negative reviews of the ludicrous SkyRest™ Travel Pillow. My theory is that the inventors of the SkyRest™ went online, created twenty different usernames, and gave themselves five gleaming stars twenty times in a row. That’s what I would do if I was trying to market my own worthless invention.
Electronic travel games are also totally useless—anyone who flies on a regular basis already owns an iPod™, which is completely capable of holding digital versions of solitaire, sudoku, hangman, and more. For heaven’s sake—I’m aghast. Who in their right mind would ever tote around an iPod™ and laptop and cell phone and chargers and oh yeah—the electronic sudoku! Lame.
Everyone together now—Seriously? WORTHLESS. Image from here.
So, if I’m going off on how silly the SkyMall™ institution is, why exactly do I aspire to shop there someday? Status. Naturally.
You know how, back in the day, double chins were a status symbol representing wealth, on account of anyone chubby probably had enough money to get fat by paying for ample food and hired help? Well, SkyMall™ purchases are like the double chins of yore—anyone with enough money to waste on outlandish trinkets is rich enough for me to strive toward.
And when I am rich enough to do all my shopping through SkyMall™, I will only buy the cool stuff (nothing lame), like this digital camera swim mask…
…which would come in so handy for snorkeling off the coast of our own private beach…
…or perhaps this super-duper spy pen…
…or maybe even this motor-powered bumper boat…
Unfortunately, Poor Kyle and I are called Mr. and Mrs. Poor Kyle for a reason—it’s not because we’re poor, but it’s certainly not because we’re rich, either. So all these things will have to wait, either for me to write a best-selling novel, or for Poor Kyle to invent a brilliant new website, or for the two of us to magically fall into mysterious riches…
…or maybe just for Christmas.