Survivor Scares Me

I try to avoid reality shows. Not easy to do, because they suck you in with their crazy gimmicks, and it’s hard not to feel for those poor contestants. After all, there but for the Grace of God . . . and well maybe but for some common sense and a bit of dignity. Also, I like fast-paced game shows like Jeopardy, and enjoy a good documentary, and a reality show does have some elements of both formats.
But the content of many of them scares me. I fear that our society is gradually becoming more Dickensian, not in the sense of being like the good Charles’s ideals, but in the sense of becoming like the Victorian horrors of his day. Dog fights, bull fights, half-naked women beating each other half to death for a pittance of money, men engaging in deadly bare-knuckle boxing for same. Reality shows have that same element of playing the lower classes for fools for a sucker’s chest of coins, while the promoters get wealthy and laugh over how far people will sink for a dime.
And it’s not just the humiliation people are willing to endure. If a full-grown adult wants to debase him or herself in public for a buck, and other adults want to watch, fine. But lately the shows are adding an element of real danger that scares me. For instance, on Survivor, the people come back skeletally thin and covered in cuts and bruises. That can’t be healthy. Not to mention the more serious accidents that plague these shows. I also wonder about the environmental damage wreaked on the host country. People breaking off pieces of coral on the Great Barrier Reef? Are these locales ready to have a group of untrained klutzes traipsing around drecking for food?
This week I couldn’t help but notice the ad for nest week’s episode of Survivor. Since they air every ten minutes on all channels. The people are going to be forced to eat entire baby turtles, and something that looks like a monkey head and arm. Is this legal? Is this sanctified by any kind of board of health? Or committee for the status of endangered animals?
And should children be allowed to watch these shows? What does it say to our children if we consider watching people engage in these disgusting and exploitive behaviors entertainment? Not to mention the reality shows that include children. To me, putting children on a reality show, like Family Fear Factor, should be a violation of child labor laws. They’re not old to enough to consent to such ridicule themselves, and I don't think their parents should have the right to consent for them in such a matter. I think putting your child on a show like that constitutes a form of child abuse.
Where will all this lead? Are we finally going to sicken of it, or are we going to slide further downhill into bare-breasted bare-knuckle boxing and bear fights?

The First World?

I’m tired of hearing North America referred to as the first world. This is a new error that has crept into our language of late, and it stems from an ignorance of the original coinage of the term third world. Here’s the story:
In the beginning, there was one known world, comprised of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Then the new world was “discovered” by Columbus, and so the previously known world become the old world, and North and South America become the new world. There was no distinction as to how rich or poor a country was. Technically speaking then, Europe, Africa, and Asia formed the first world, and North and South America formed the second world.
Then sometime in the middle of the previous century, some wit, I'm not sure who because I didn’t feel like doing the research this, but I bet is the author of Future Shock, came up with the term third world to describe those countries that were being left out of the general economic prosperity the world was then experiencing. Third meaning left out, forgotten, overlooked, as in the third wheel on a date. Thus countries previously part of both the first and second worlds became third world nations, a term describing economic circumstances and not locations on a map.I suppose, then, that describing North America now as the first world in reference to our economic status is not entirely unfitting, but it does lead to some confusion as to what exactly is the second world then, and I just thought people should know.

Paralyzed Kittens

I foster pregnant cats and their kittens for the local Humane society, which means I provide them with a loving home until the kittens are ready to be adopted. Unfortunately, the kind of owner who neglects to have their animal spayed is also the kind of owner who neglects to get their animal vaccinated, and so often the mothers and kittens are ill.
This was the case with my most recent batch of kittens. (I have fostered 8 families for far). The mother seemed healthy, but apparently she had suffered a case of distemper while she was pregnant with the kittens. One of the five died shortly after birth, and of the remaining four, three were paralyzed and could not walk. Although otherwise healthy, they could not look after themselves, and had to be compassionately euthanized. It was quite heartbreaking for me, as they were so loving and fluffy and adorable. (What kitten isn’t?)I'm not sure what my point is with this tale, other than to share my sadness with you, and to chime in with Bob Barker, “have your cat or dog neutered.” Please!

On The Moon There Are No Dogs

On the Moon, there are no dogs.
So how did a fresh dog turd get into my closet?
I knew what it was. Most Moon kids wouldn’t, but I’d just returned from a trip to Earth to visit my dad. He moved there after the divorce, and he has a dog, an Irish setter named Molly.
This was not a good way to start my first day back to school. I wanted to see my friends again, and I was eager to start lessons, but I still felt a bit shaky. Like I’d been split between two worlds, the one here on the Moon with Mom, and the one with Dad back on Earth. I did not need to deal with mysterious feces.
I called Mom.
She blamed me for the mess. “Isadora, what have you done?” she shrieked, holding her nose.
“I didn’t!”
“You crapped in your closet!” She didn’t say crap; she said something I’m not allowed to repeat. “Why would a twelve-year-old girl crap in her closet?” Mom stood in my bedroom, all one hundred fifty-nine centimeters and sixty-two kilos of her, with her hands clasped over her mouth. She stared at me like she’d never seen me before. “What is the matter with you, Isadora?”
She didn’t wait for my answer. “It’s your father’s fault. What are they teaching children on Earth?”
Did she think all Earth kids crapped in their closets? I quit listening and went to the kitchen to get a baggie.

Dog Weather

I know a dog named Monte,
Who I take every day to Bronte
Provincial Park,
But not in the dark.
He likes to go for a walk,
While I like to stop and talk,
To the other dog owners,
Some of whom are moaners.
In the summer they say,
“It’s too hot out today.”
In the winter they’re cold,
And complain their bones have grown old.
The dogs never care,
What the weather is out there.
Wind, rain, sleet, or snow,
They’re ready to go.
I think Monte is wise,
Because he never sighs.
He takes joy in each day,
And remembers to play!

Amy Poops and Poops

Amy is a beagle.
She wears a coat when she goes for her walk.
Her coat has an opening for her tail.
Kathy is Amy’s friend. She takes Amy for her walks.
She wears a coat, too.
Her coat does not have an opening, because Kathy does not have a tail.
When Amy goes for her walk, she poops and poops.
Kathy scoops and scoops.
Amy poops in her front yard. Kathy scoops it up.
Amy poops in Mrs. Lemon’s flower bed.
Kathy scoops it up.
Mrs. Lemon frowns at Kathy and Amy.
Kathy frowns back. Amy barks.
Amy poops beside the playground.
The children in the playground laugh.
Kathy laughs too.
The children want to pet Amy.
Kathy lets them. Amy likes children.
Amy poops on the walking path.
Kathy scoops it up.
Amy poops on the walking path again.
Kathy scoops it up again.
Kathy has to bring a lot of scoop bags when she walks Amy.
Amy poops in Molly’s yard. Molly is a black lab.
She sniffs Amy’s poop. Then she poops.
Amy sniffs Molly's poop.
Then Kathy scoops up all the poop.
When Amy is all done pooping, Kathy walks her home.
Kathy throws away all the poop scoop bags.
She takes off Amy’s coat, and gives her a doggy treat.
Then Amy has to poop again.

Pharmacists and OHIP

I live in Ontario, Canada, where we have public health insurance through OHIP. During recent years, our government has cut back on the services covered by OHIP, claiming that the system is short of money. One of the cutbacks included visits to the optometrist. For someone whose entire family is nearsighted that was a big ouch.
However, it then turned out that our government had a surplus budget. What was one of the things they did with this largesse? Provided free half hour consultations with pharmacists, covered by OHIP. That's right. Now we can go to our local pharmacist, and talk to them for free.
I am aghast. I once trained to be pharmacist but quit when I discovered that the job is primarily one of shopkeeper. Around here pharmacists get paid upward of $12 per prescription filled. Plus the money they earn from their stores. And they need more? At taxpayer expense?
As it is, I find it hard to get out of the store with my anti-depressant medication without being assaulted by a chatty pharmacist, brimming with questions such as “Have you used this medication before?” I can’t imagine paying them extra for their time. Isn’t that what the $12 fee already covers, or is counting pills really that difficult?
We have a newly-elected government in Ontario now, and the first thing I’d like to see them do is remove this silliness from the OHIP program, and restore our eye care coverage.