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YUM! YUM! Feedback’s stomach is aflutter at the thought of the latest
innovation from the American fast-food industry. A company called BreakAway
Foods of Columbus, Ohio, has developed a way to freeze and package macaroni
cheese so it’s ready to eat after a minute in the microwave. Better still, you
can eat it like an ice lolly.

The “IncrEdibles” are packed into a cardboard cylinder and frozen, so they’re
ready to pop into the microwave whenever the urge strikes. Insert a stick into
the heated package, and you can push it up to eat as you wander about—you
don’t even need to put it on a plate. If macaroni cheese isn’t your thing, the
company also has three varieties of scrambled eggs.

Oddly, our American colleagues tell us they have yet to spot any IncrEdibles
on sale, although the company website says they were introduced in selected
areas in November 1999 after consumer testing predicted that Americans of all
ages would “love” them.

THERE IS a startling observation in the section on testicular pain in the
advice website www.webmd.lycos.com. It says: “Note: There may be other causes of
testicle pain. This list is not all inclusive, and the causes are not presented
in order of likelihood. The causes of this symptom can include unlikely diseases
and medications. Furthermore, the causes may vary based on age and gender of the
affected person. . .”

DOES YOUR computer password reveal your innermost secrets? It seems that many
people regard choosing their password as a kind of personality test, and give
everything about themselves away in the words they use when they log on.

A poll of 1200 people by the Internet domain name registry CentralNic
suggests there are four distinct categories of passwords. Most users (47 per
cent) fall into the “Family” group, choosing their own name or nickname, or the
names of their partners, children or pets. According to psychologist Helen
Petrie, who was asked to comment on the findings, these are people who have
strong family ties. They choose passwords which symbolise people or events that
have emotional value to them.

The “Fan” type (32 per cent) choose the names of sports stars, cartoon
characters, pop stars or film stars. Most popular passwords include variations
of Homer Simpson, Darth Vader, Madonna and Keanu Reeves. Fans make a “lifestyle
choice” when they decide on a password, Petrie says. They choose famous people
who will be readily identifiable to their peers.

The “Fantasist” category (11 per cent) are “self-obsessed people” who pick
words like Sexy, Stud and Goddess. Fantasists, Petrie comments, are the kind of
people who always manage to get the subject round to sex. “Traditionally these
have tended to be male, but these results would suggest that quite a few in this
category are female.”

The smallest group—the “Cryptics”, with just 9 per cent of the
total—are the most security-conscious. They select passwords that mix
lower and upper-case letters, numbers and punctuation to create intricate,
cryptic passwords. “The Cryptics are most likely to be what we what would regard
as ‘geeks’,” says Petrie. “These people opt for ‘clinical’ non-guessable
passwords. They are the least interesting but the safest.”

Petrie concludes: “The computer password has become a kind of 21st Century
Rorschach inkblot test.” And Stephen Dyer of CentralNic adds: “Many people tend
to subconsciously believe that their password has to sum up the very essence of
their being in one word.”

So if your computer password is something like “smellysocks”, start
worrying.

AS FEEDBACK was browsing on the Net the other day among a listing of magazine
and newspaper titles, one leapt out: The Dismal Scientist. What could
it feature? Stories about dead dogfish and leaking tanks of formaldehyde, told
by those who are forced to labour in dull laboratories for life? Papers about
the ageing process, entropy and the inevitability of decay?

No. A glance at www.dismal.com showed that the magazine is about
economics—”the dismal science”, as Thomas Carlyle called it. A sample
paper from the current issue is David Ingram on “The Merits of Vulture
Capitalism”. Enjoy.

THERE’S NO such thing as privacy with the BT R70 answerphone in reader
Anthony McCulloch’s office. When a call comes in, the phone’s recorded voice
states that no one is available to take it and invites the caller to leave a
message. This and the message left by the caller can be heard by anyone in the
office. At the end of the message, after the caller has hung up, there’s a
continuous tone indicating the dialogue has finished.

Then comes the creepy bit. “Thank you for calling,” intones the still-audible
recorded voice.

Who is it talking to?

THE WRAPPING on the lemon cake sold in the cafe opposite New Scientist’s
office states: “Contains no animal fats–only natural ingredients”

IF YOU want an online quote for car insurance from Norwich Union, you have to
fill in the form on its website. At one point this offers you the following
options in regard to your marital status: “Married with children/Married no
󾱱/Ѳ.”

A tricky one to answer.

In similar vein, Feedback’s local post office has three post boxes outside
it. These are labelled: “First class/Second class/London.”

So if you want to post a first class letter to a London address. . . ?

FINALLY, The Sydney Morning Herald printed the following correction last
month: “In the Herald’s Marketing pages on Thursday, a story about Mr Don
Chipp’s election campaign for the Melbourne City Council named his running
partner as Ms Leaky Warbling. Mr Chipp’s running partner is Melbourne
businesswoman Ms Rilka Warbanoff. The mistake was caused by a spell-checker
error.” You won’t find that kind of mistake here in Ardour Street.