I'M NOT LOOKING FOR A NEW ENGLAND
Today's big question a-buzzing about the office like a fly who can't figure out that it's just busting into a window:

What are people from Connecticut called?

Connecticutites? Connecticutians? Connecticutters?
Connectors? Cons? Yankees?

Is there a website for these things that I just haven't found? Because I have looked so very, very hard. [Note: I have barely looked at all.] Some of them I know, just because they get used. There's Pennsylvanians and Rhode Islanders, Quebecois and Nunavutters, Dallasites and and Louisvillains, Truth or Consequencers and Toad Suckers, Idahoes, Texasians and Wyominglers, Cape Townies and Addis Ababans, Hong Kongas, Dahomies, Ecuadorations, innocent Uzbekistanders, Burma Shavers, Grenada Televisions and all the other Antillionaires, both Lesser and Greater. But then there's Connecticut.

I remember an episode of Taxi where Reverend Jim Ignatowski works a series of 36-hour shifts in the cab so he can afford a satellite so he can see hundreds of TV channels (which at the time was still a crazy concept to people, unlike today where any ole schmoe can wander home from work, plop down in their ratty old dumpster-bargoon half-couch, flip on the telescreen and watch, in succession, a South Amerrican minor league cricket match, a rather riveting documentary on the history of traffic signs, the final round of the 1959 British Open Golf Tournament (don't tell me - Nicklaus, right? Damn), then switch over and catch some morning show live from somewhere in (I'm guessing) Sicily before switching to the all-Tejano music channel to wind down a little, all of which really happened last night, with no stops on any of the 28,400 showings of Dolores Claiborne or Battlefield Earth starting every eight minutes across the other 791 channels of the digital spectrum, cos hey, I'm eclectic and shit, but there's a limit), but no one else knows why Rev. Jim's working so hard, and theyget all worried about him and finally they follow him home to this horrible apartment beside the airport and there's nothing in the place but this big screen TV, and Jim sits there, transfixed, watching, of all things... a sitting of the Delaware State Legislature as they debate whether to call themselves "Delawarians" or "Delawarites." Alex Rieger gets to deliver one of his little homilies about the dangers of subsuming one's life to the dangers of television, and then at the end of the episode, after he convinces Jim to bring all the equipment back, they're all leaving and you can hear the legislature deicde to go with "Delawarians" and Rieger freaks out - "Dammit, that sounds so dumb! I can't believe they didn't pick 'Delawarites!'"

The torrent of technological advancement has now brought us to the point where such an episode is a quaint little joke. The intricacies of a human genome, the transparency of government, the inner machinations of media and modern psychology, all have advanced so far up the evolutionary scale that there is an office full of already-overburdened people in the busiest city on the planet who still have enough mindspace free, even on a deadline-strewn day like today, to have had an active and heated discussion about the proper designation for the people from Connecticut.

And the web, the world god damned wide freaking web, the Babel-glorious next evolutionary step bringing humanity closer together, has no repository for this valuable and necessary corner of the world's knowledge?

Pah. I refuse to believe this. And if they're called "Connecticutians," I'm gonna have to write me a fiery letter to someone else's Congressperson.