“Baby on board.” Idiot at the wheel

You can add the following to the list of things that piss me off.

I am driving along minding my own business when one of those infernal SUV’s cuts me off, as is its wont. There is something about an SUV (four wheel drive vehicle by its other name) that rubs me up the wrong way.

Let’s be honest, it’s not the vehicle so much as the attitude of the driver of an SUV. It takes an especially annoying sort of person to drive an SUV in the middle of a big city.

I know that this vehicle never leaves a bitumen road to climb a crag in the outback. It never ventures far from the cafes and shopping malls of Melbourne and it usually double parks outside a school at drop-off and pickup times.

Drivers of these cars rarely glance in the rear view mirror or have second thoughts about doing a U-turn in the middle of heavy traffic.

So that’s why I have concluded that people who drive SUV’s are not considerate, courteous or intelligent. And that’s putting it mildly.

So you can imagine my reaction when I read on the rear window of an SUV that there is a “Baby on Board.”

What is that notice meant to signify? Does it mean “Please don’t hit me because I am special because I have a baby in the car.”

or

“Be aware of my great contribution to overpopulation and applaud my achievement in producing an offspring.”

I have to admit that my initial response is to mutter “Who gives a stuff?” and then I’m tempted to toot my horn very deliberately in acknowledgement of such information. After all, the message has been received and duly noted. “Baby on Board. Idiot at the wheel!”

Yesterday’s krill post amended

Yesterday’s post about krill supplements might have looked incomplete because I ran into a bit of trouble. What happened was I originally had a different title for my post. It contained a word which I cannot repeat for fear of having my post stolen from me and included in a site which I do not support.

The way it works is as follows. A robot searches for key words and when it finds them the article is taken to a web site that has some agenda.

By the way, I used an ordinary English word which should not have attracted anyone’s attention. It was neither offensive nor unusual.

This happened to me and I found myself on a site about aquatic animals.

Since this was not my wish I had to copy my article again and change the title so that it would not be picked up by this robot. In doing so some of my article was omitted making it incomplete.

Shades of 1984!

I now have the post on my site and invite you to read it. See below…

The Thrill of Krill

Who would have thought that a teeny weeny crustacean would become a panacea (allegedly) for all ills in this world? You can’t go shopping without being confronted by Wild Krill, Red Krill, Super Krill, and Sooper Dooper Krill which is the King of Krills (allegedly).

So what does krill oil promise? I googled it and apparently it does it all. It raises the I.Q of children. It helps your circulation, gets rid of joint pain, improves memory. You name it, it does it.

Or does it really?

Well, not quite. The actual blurb about any supplement is that it “may” help if you are deficient in fish oil or omega 3 fatty acids or whatever. And krill oil capsules deliver more benefits that those other outdated supplements such as fish oil or the good old cod liver oil. Yummmmm….

In fact you would have to take 14 fish oil capsules every day for arthritis when one tiny krill capsule could do the trick (allegedly).

So this is pretty impressive isn’t it? When you think that in one year seven million fish oil products were sold in Australia.

Aren’t we a very lucky country to be able to afford all these capsules?

But when you think that a couple of fish meals a week would serve you better than swallowing all these capsules every day it does make you wonder about our attitude to everything. Don’t bother preparing a fish meal. Don’t even bother opening a tin of sardines.

Just pop a few pills which are expensive and probably useless.

And just when you think that swallowing krill for the rest of your life will cure it all, along comes Golden Calamari.

Yep, there’s a new kid on the block. Krill is out and calamari is the way to go. Why is that? you ask…or not (if you have any sense)

Well, it’s because Golden Calamari has even more omega 3 oil than fish oil and krill oil combined.

Gosh, does that mean that the mavens were wrong about krill oil being the best thing ever discovered?

You know something? I’m beginning to suspect that we have not plumbed the depths of this potential. In fact, I’m even beginning to suspect that this miraculous Golden Calamari is going to be superseded by some other form of marine life as soon as our bathroom cabinets are bursting with the stuff.

Is it possible that Golden Calamari oil is going to make us live forever so that our world will be overcrowded and smelling of fish?

And with all this brain food, will we realise perhaps that there’s something fishy about the supplements industry?

I don’t think so.

Sleeping with homeless people

There are two million homeless people in India. These people have nowhere to sleep, don’t know whether they will still be alive tomorrow and where their next meal is coming from should they survive the night on the streets.

Life is grim for them.

So a bunch of middle and upper class Indian do-gooders decided to do something for the homeless.

The idea they came up with was to spend a night in the open–al fresco, so to speak, to demonstrate their support for the poor unfortunates. It made them feel good to perform this generous gesture for their ‘fellow men’. After all, it was only for one night and they could always breakfast at some posh hotel the next morning.

Not for one moment could these rich people experience the stress and deprivation of being genuinely homeless. Not for one moment could they possible understand what it feels like to be insecure.

What hypocrisy!

The rich Indians had slept rough “shabby chic style” the way that Prince William of Buckingham Palace did a while back to show his support for the homeless in Britain.

When I say “rough” I mean minus the duvet, the fluffy pillows and the lavender-scented sheets. William was protected, of course, by the Secret Service and was never in mortal danger of being stabbed overnight as he slept. Nor was he concerned about where his kippers and coddled eggs would come from in the morning. We can assume that he felt pretty safe.

This was a gesture and as far as gestures go, the publicity shots were pretty successful.

I mean what more could the popular royal do, you ask?

Well, he could have invited a few of the homeless people to sleep on his turf in the palace. Offer them some shelter.

And that’s what those well-off Indians should have done. After all, they had homes, beds, food and safety.

They should have provided some decent sleeping quarters for the homeless, if they were genuinely concerned. That would have demonstrated that they really cared instead of taking part in a pointless stunt of tasteless and fruitless condescension.

Million Dollar Listings TV shows treat viewers as fools

They call themselves “Hot Listings” or” Million Dollar Listings” but these American TV shows make me squirm. While British TV shows about real estate treat the audience with respect, the American ones are embarrassingly phoney.

Why? Well, it’s because they follow a formula of females in very high heels and strident voices dragging some individual around a mansion worth several million with 6 bedrooms and 8 bathrooms which cater for the most incontinent of residents.

And, of course, there’s the kitchen which will never be used but which has to contain every appliance that has ever been invented. It’s to die for don’t ya know with the marble on the bench top which comes from the underbelly of a crag in Africa and costs an arm and a leg. It was shipped in bits and pieces and then stuck together in situ because of its Gargantuan weight.

Are you impressed yet?

Mustn’t forget the cellar filled with wine that’s too good to drink. And so we exit this stately pleasure dome in Xanadu and admire the infinity pool filled with mineral water from Evian.

Okay, so you’re impressed by now. And that would be perfectly understandable, but apparently, according to the producers, it wasn’t enough for the viewers. The producers wanted to add some spice, some tension, some “human interest”. So they concocted pseudo rivalries between the realtors.

They hate each other. They are bitchy, they gossip, they compete.

And then one of them experiences a major personal catastrophe. His dog dies and his friends attend a canine wake. Will the rival realtor turn up or will he really behave badly? Ho hum…

As if that’s not enough drama we have to endure the private musings of another realtor. He is gay and his partner wants to adopt a baby. Alas, he is not sure whether he is ready for such a commitment.

Is this silly soap really necessary?

Quite frankly, I love looking at real estate. I love interior design ideas. I love interesting architecture. That is why I used to enjoy such programmes when they first appeared on TV.

But no longer…

I have been totally turned off by the stupid scripts which pad the shows with personal issues about dead dogs and jealousies and relationships and who cares?

What should have been an interesting insight into the property market in the U.S has turned into a collection of puerile and petulant rivalries along the lines of “Toddlers and Tiaras.”

Thank goodness for the British and Australian versions of real estate shows. May they never emulate their ridiculous American counterparts.