Sky high shopping

I have no idea who Northwest Airlines' SkyMall catalog is for. Presumably, it's targeted at either people who have so much money they can afford to drop $300 on a pair of loafers while they're in the air somewhere over Topeka or people who shop so compulsively they can't go the length of a redeye to Cleveland without making some kind of purchase, even if it's something as seemingly unnecessary as the world's largest write-on map mural or the snow flurry projector, an outdoor lamp that shines what the catalog claims is "the illusion of gently falling snow" (in the picture, it looks more look like "the illusion of giant, mutant fireflies") on the front of your house.
It's hard to pin down a target audience here. The catalog I picked up on my recent flight back from California has everything from shoes and clothes to lawn furniture to stuff to help you organize your garage. It's a catalog for the well-dressed handyman who likes to entertain people in the backyard after showing off his color-coded garden tools, I guess.
Pet convenience is a big thing here. The catalog has a ramp to help your dog get into your van and two separate options for people who want to provide stairs to help their tiny dogs get up onto their couches. Presumably if you're the kind of person who believes your dog's comfort is important enough it shouldn't have to go through the strain of jumping, like, ever, you're also not the type who believes maybe the dog shouldn't be on the couch in the first place. Although the catalog also offers an electronic device to keep your pets off of furniture and counter tops. Talk about mixed messages.
There are $600 watches in the catalog, perfect for people wondering when the damn beverage cart is going to come by. There are video goggles you can plug into your iPod. There's a $300 heart monitor but, so far as I can tell, no defibrillator.
There's even an $800 crystal chandelier. Let me tell you, nothing says "high society" like buying showy light fixtures with some guy's seatback wedged against your knees and a baby crying in your ear.
There's luggage, which makes a certain amount of sense. And there is a carpet steamer, which really doesn't. A travel outlet adapter, which does. And a $200 chrome tool set. If you buy it on a plane, shouldn't you be able to carry it on? You think you can get a hammer and a hacksaw through security? We couldn't even make it to the plane with a tub of sea salt and brown sugar body scrub. Apparently airborne exfoliation is an issue.
There is a wine cooler and a hot dog cooker. There's a fish finder and a bird feeder. There are drink dispensers shaped like fire hydrants and orange traffic cones that read "Caution, party zone: Beware of falling guests." I assume these are for people who like to throw parties but don't have any friends.
The catalog has all manner of overpriced toys. A radio controlled hovercraft and a remote control "reconnaissance plane," complete with removable spy camera. Use the plane's 1,000 foot range to snap top secret, really grainy photos of, um, the neighbor's patio. Although the neighbors might get suspicious when the big silver plane keeps flying by 50 feet over their heads. So, maybe secret is an overstatement.
My favorite, though, is the $100 radio-controlled shark, with a battery that, according to the description, runs for 15 minutes on a one-hour charge. Not since the invention of Sudoku has the effort-to-payoff balance been so lopsided.
Basically, SkyMall is all of the useless junk you find in the Sharper Image and Hammacher Schlemmer collected in one, high-altitude place. With patio furniture. And plasma TVs.
Oh, and really trashy dresses.
So, you know, it's not all bad.