Some product genius somewhere in the world clearly had a serious case of cabin fever, likely having forgone his or her vacation due to the cost of gas and the airlines' recent favorite pastime of "I'll see your second checked bag fee, and raise you a first bag money-grab while bleeding economy passengers dry for half a glass of water." That's the only thing that can possibly explain BERRY SCENTED RAZORS. Because we all like to raise sharp blades to our nostrils while inhaling deeply to fully absorb that sweet aromatherapy meant to transport us to a far off berry patch Utopia, where we can imagine ourselves languishing in the sun sipping pomegranate margaritas while, you know, not paying attention to the actual act of razor to skin. Huh. Must've missed that part of Hygiene 101.
It's not like you can draw with a razor, like you can with Mr. Sketch scented markers. And you can't really light a razor like a scented candle, because last I checked, burning rubber anything was just a bad idea. I suppose you could use berry scented razors as a substitute air freshener. Not recommended if you have small children or pets, and on that note, thank you for the advent of another small object that to my dog, probably smells good enough to eat. Not that I plan to keep razors anywhere he could possibly get ahold of him, but never underestimate dogs and adventurous toddlers. My Shih Tzu can pull tea towels off the kitchen counter and for him, that's an Olympic-worthy high jump.
And so I remain entirely perplexed. And I'll say it right now, that if Liquid Paper comes out with berry scented white out, I'm going to be just a little bit concerned. ;)
You can take the girl out of Canada, but you can't take the innate Canadian-born need to watch the Stanley Cup finals out of the girl...
Or, "An Open Letter to the CBC," that would begin something like this:
Dear CBC.ca:
Look. I *know* it was probably prompted by the laws of the land, but c'mon. Since when does the Internet have borders? You know what I'm talking about. That... ugh... f-word. Dare I even say it? That firewall, magical filter you have detecting IP addresses, that would let your scripts-o-video-player-on-high know when someone outside of Canada would try to be accessing the live video stream of Stanley Cup playoff games on CBC Sports.
And as I try to load the video stream in the player, I can sense your scripts laughing and pointing, saying "Look! Isn't that cute? An ex-pat trying to watch the playoffs. Hahahaha. I don't think so, cos if you're not here suffering through 6 months of winter followed by the equally brutal season of Canadian Idol like the rest of us, then you clearly have not earned the right to watch the final moments of the quest for Lord Stanley's cup on a Crown corporation's video player. Should have thought of that BEFORE you left, chickie!" Bugger.
And so on it would go, but I'm going to stop here, and give you a little bit of back story. Here in the U.S., the Stanley Cup playoffs were being broadcast on NBC, and yes, normally on any given day, I'd have NBC. However, I moved over the weekend, and somehow when I scheduled a satellite re-hook-up for the coming weekend, I didn't factor the playoffs into the equation. While ABC, CBS, and even the CW are all part of California's equivalent to Canadian "farmervision" (don't require cable or satellite), apparently NBC deems itself above all that jazz and does not make an appearance in the free TV lineup. Bugger.
So two nights ago, during the triple overtime game, I found another TV to watch the game on. Tonight though, was a different story. I tried more ways to get access to a broadcast than I should probably admit to in writing. Well, desperate times call for creative search engine queries. And at last, the result I was looking for, courtesy a kind group of folks posting over at Yahoo!Xtra (New Zealand) Answers. Third period, and YES, I could watch the rest of the game! Crisis averted. Where there's a will, and the help of kind folks sharing information across the globe, there is a way to watch the final game of the Stanley Cup playoffs. Let us all bless the Internet.
Time spent researching ways to access the game broadcast online: 2 hours at home, plus another half hour at lunch, plus an hour or so last night. (Um. A lot. What? See my post title.) Getting to watch the final game of the Stanley Cup playoffs? Worth every second.
A good way of shooting yourself in the foot, or, how to destroy the airline industry, one user fee at a time
It could be because I'm rundown, fighting a cold and fever, and therefore have less patience and zero mind-to-keyboard filter. Or, it could be because this is one of the more messed up lines of thinking and business plans that I've ever come across. Either way, what I'd like to know is what in the name of actually getting people to travel is the airline industry thinking?
Yes, I realize the ever-skyrocketing cost of fuel has hurt the industry badly. It's hurt just about every industry. But in an economy where the ripple effect of fuel costs has been less disposable income because of it costing more to fill up your car, higher heating costs (if you use gas heat), higher food prices probably because of transportation costs (and, of course, droughts), higher public transportation costs, and other current economic factors such as the number of people having to sell or foreclose on their homes, do they honestly think adding yet ANOTHER fee on top of all the others is really going to ENCOURAGE people to fly?
Admittedly, I'm far from a number cruncher, so I could be speaking out of turn. Still, in the long run, don't you think this will just discourage people from travelling? Already, there's so much that can't be taken in a carry-on bag. And hey, they've reduced the number of those that can be taken on board too. Maybe we should just start sending our luggage to our travel destinations by overnight courier. Eventually, I'm sure it will be a cheaper alternative.
So let's think about the effect of discouraging people from travelling, shall we? While the business travellers will still travel, how about the leisure travellers? How about family vacations? Not only could the ever-mounting fees piling up dissaude families from travelling, or cause them to travel less, but they could also prevent those who do travel from partaking in what goes hand-in-hand with tourist attractions: buying memorabilia. Why? Because they're going to need to add a whole lot more to the sticker price of souvenirs just to get them back home.
So there we have one ripple effect: less people travelling to tourist destinations, so less $$ for the airlines, less $$ for the hotel, restaurant, and related services industry, less $$ spent in these cities, and there we go, another dig at the economy.
How about at the airlines themselves? Already the number of flights are being reduced. Less office staff, less ticket counter staff, less airport staff, less ground crew, and so on we go, down the line. With less people booking flights, what about travel agents?
You can probably see where I'm going with this. And sure, maybe my outlook is a little extreme. But before we start offloading more user fees onto people and sing its praises because it's not actually a tax (coughahemshadesofCanadacoughahem), let's think this through. Do you want people travelling, or do you want a whole lot of empty seats on the flights you're still offering?
So I'm going to issue a challenge to the rest of the airlines remaining out there. Don't be sheep in the barnyard parade that seems to inevitably happen whenever one airline comes up with some way of extracting more cash from a vein tapped so often it's just about ready to collapse. Otherwise, you might find that the rest of us are perfectly happy to stay right here at home.
The few, the proud... the government-censored. Congratulations jenniferfarwell.com!
Sometimes my blog just writes itself. So here's the FUNNY story I promised everyone.
Yesterday morning as I was getting ready for work, I checked my email as I usually do. And, as I often do, I had an email from a good friend back in Canadialand. They'd remembered that my other website, jenniferfarwell.com, had a section of links that they were looking for, so clicked through from the link on my jennalala.com navigation bar to go to the site.
They were met with this:
Yes, my friends, Health Canada is blocking my website. So what's this "questionable subject matter" of which they speak? I had to do a bit of poking around my site and my old blog archives (most of my archives dating back to 2003 are housed over there), but I think I have some answers.
Top five reasons jenniferfarwell.com is considered "questionable subject matter" by a Canadian federal government department:
As a former public servant who's now a willing and active participant in Canada's "Brain Drain," I'm clearly a bad influence on, well... anyone north of the 49th parallel. Particularly at the beginning of March when Canadians -- especially those in Ottawa and other parts of Ontario -- are so sick of winter that they'd do almost anything to leave it behind. LET'S NOT GIVE THEM IDEAS.
Related to #1, my bio page begins with the declaration "Dream big." It was a little too much for the Web filter to take.
Years ago, I once made very brief and vague mention of the "Unnamed and Totally Random Content Management System," which was a project of this department from way back when. Someone saw this post and figured out what it was in reference to. My website was probably deemed a public health and safety concern when they found this person curled up in the fetal position on the floor of their cube.
Someone finally caught on that I've been making fun of Ben Mulroney for years.
I often reference or link to Rick Mercer, who just this week wrote about the Harper government, tax credits for Canadian movies and TV shows, and censorship of the arts. Coincidence? Absolutely. But I had to include that somehow because you need to read this post, it's hilarious, and I'm sure it's not a huge hit with the federal government. Just like my website isn't a hit with the Web filter of a federal government department.
Given all of this, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before jennalala.com also goes down in a ball of Web filtering flames. To which I say, bring it. In a way, I'm kind of honored to be among the few, the proud... the government-censored. It's kind of like being almost famous.
Tonight I started on a quest to answer the ultimate of all ultimate questions. The question that could either unite Canadians and Americans from coast-to-coast in borderless harmony, or conquer and divide across provincial and state lines. The question that could single-handedly bring down the cellular networks as families texted in their votes. The question that goes back to a time before MySpace (really). And that question is...
Who's more annoying: Ryan Seacrest1 or Ben Mulroney2?
_______________________________
Footnotes: 1 Host of American Idol and seemingly America's Voice of Entertainment. 2 Host of Canadian Idol and officially Canada's Voice of Entertainment, although how this came about, no one can be sure.
_______________________________
For awhile, I thought they might just be the same person. That is, until I took The Ultimate Of All Ultimate Questions to the search engines and discovered that Ben had actually once interviewed Ryan on Canadian television. The thought of the both of them on my TV screen at the same time and engaged in conversation with one another was a little more than my brain and the hair gel supply of continental North America could handle, so I investigated no further. They always say it's best to leave the past in the past, right?
I skipped past that result, got a good chuckle over something someone had posted in Television Without Pity's "'Pop That Ego!' Character Assassination and Redemption Game" forum, and stumbled across an item on YouTube that derailed my quest for the night and made me laugh and laugh -- a series titled The Ugly Canadians. (Hey, it even mentions Corey Haim.) Here is episode 3, for your viewing pleasure. Around 1 minute in, it gets pretty good. If you like it and make it to the closing credits, it turns out they have a website too.
Judging by my news feed on Facebook, it's getting to be that time of year again. Lead-up to wedding time. And for my friends in Ontario, Canada, that means one thing: stag and doe / shag season is upon you. And by "shag", no, I don't mean in the Austin Powers sense (somewhat unfortunately for some of you, I'm sure), although given the situation and amount of alcohol consumed, maybe I do.
If you're one of my friends here in California, I'll bet you're asking yourself, "What is a stag and doe or a shag, what does it have to do with weddings, and is there a nature hike or hunting trip involved?" How do I know you're asking this? Recent experience of shutting down an entire conversation about karaoke, with my off-handed reference to the Skÿy/"Baby One More Time," / grad school friends' "Do They Know Its Christmas" (in July) incident at my friend Kevin's stag and doe a year and a half ago in Ottawa.
Me: "Blah blah blah blah blah blah stag and doe blah blah blah blah blah... oh wait, are they called a 'stag and doe' here? Because where I grew up they call them a 'shag' and--"
Friends #1, 2 and 3: Baffled silence.
Friend #1: "What's a stag and doe?"
Me: "Blah blah blah explanation blah blah blah." Replace the "blah blah blahs' with something about a kind of party the bride and groom have to help raise money for their wedding.
Friends #2 and 3: "Is this another Canada thing?" Turns out there's a lot of Canada things, and that my stories can run akin to "So this one time, at band camp in Canada..." Who knew?
Friend #1: "They have this to raise money for their wedding?"
Me: "Yeah..."
Friend #1: "Seriously? Why don't they just charge admission to the wedding?"
As you may have guessed, the stag and doe / shag trend doesn't seem to have caught on this far south. I decided it was time to turn to the ultimate source of truth. That's right, Wikipedia. It gave me the following:
A stag and doe party, also known as a hen and stag party, is the equivalent of a combined bachelor and bachelorette party.
In Canada, a stag and doe, or buck and doe, is a wedding tradition popular in rural Southern Ontario. The event is held by a bride and groom before they are married, similar to a combined bachelor party and bachelorette party, but acting as a fundraiser for the wedding. Guests purchase entrance tickets and are entertained.
I've bolded "Southern Ontario" for a reason. Clearly, this means responsibility for the whole darn thing rests with the GTA (Greater Toronto Area for those new to Canadian geographical acronyms). Rural, yes, but close enough. When it comes right down to it, this means we can somehow, some way, blame Toronto. That's right, my friends -- it's a bonafide Canadian Heritage Minute.
Not that I personally have anything against Toronto. Except for that part where I wouldn't want to live there. Let's put it this way: I grew up in Thunder Bay, which, being separated from southern Ontario by a good many kilometers and most of a Great Lakes system, has at times given to lamenting for the region to become its own province. Simply put, for all intents and purposes, Toronto usually seems to think anything west of the Great Lakes IS its own province and therefore, politically, matters less than Stephane Dion. (And for my American friends who will have no idea who that is, don't worry. Most of Canada doesn't either.)
After hockey and -- from what I learned growing up -- lacrosse, blaming Toronto could probably be considered the national sport. Canada is not a melting pot, it is a cultural mosaic, and playing the geographical game of "Whose fault is it, anyway?" is the Canadian way of exercising this right to a unique identity. In sharing this discovery, I'm really just fulfilling my former Northwestern Ontarian / one-time Eastern-Ontario-transplant duty. Not that Toronto is the sole target here. Running in a close second is blaming Ottawa (federal politics), which at times is neck-in-neck with blaming Quebec (the favorite pastime for parts of Western Canada and anglophone government workers about to go for language training or testing) or blaming the West (see: the Maritimes). Like all the functional dysfunction of your typical family reunion, it's how we get along.
I don't personally have anything against stag and doe parties. The ones I've been to have been a blast. But don't you feel much more educated now? And, better still, next time five of your friends are getting married in the same summer -- multiplying to 12 or 14 couples in your extended "stag and doe invite" network -- and you're recovering from the blinding hangover of a month-long pre-wedding-parties bender as you fend off 7 more invites on Facebook, just remember, you can blame Toronto. And for some parts of Canada, that's the best over-the-counter hangover remedy there is.
Since moving here to the Bay area, there's something I've been a little mystified by. No, not that. Or that. Not even "STORM WATCH!!!!" (™ Jen B.) or the sheer pandemonium that takes hold of the roads when it rains. (Sidenote -- I am the happiest girl in the world here. Rain is the height of inclement weather! That would have any Canadian doing cartwheels of sheer joy.) So what then, you ask? Mainly, that most times you could turn on the radio -- not just one station, but at least 3 or 4 -- and think you were in 1997. So you check your iPhone for the date. Then remind yourself that if this was 1997, you wouldn't be checking your iPhone. Unless... you came back from the future. Hmmm. Or maybe the music of 1997 was 11 years ahead of its time?
I'm perplexed. And apparently can't decide whether to speak about myself in the first or second person. That's usually the giveaway.
It's not that I don't have appreciation for Semisonic, Fastball, Tonic, Sugar Ray, Paula Cole, Chumbawamba, the debut albums of Third Eye Blind and Matchbox Twenty, and some vintage Sarah McLachlan... and when they feel like goin' a little more mod, taking a brief jump forward to 1998 and Edwin McCain. I do. In fact, I think I own most of those CDs. But when the only time I hear SIXX:A.M. is on my MySpace, MTV (if I happen to have it on during a time I can catch the whole three or so videos it shows every day) or my iPhone/iPod, my inner music junkie tends to feel that this could potentially be a mini current pop culture crisis in the making.
And no, said stations playing Timbaland's "Apologize" 32508108608208582 times a day doesn't really solve this for me. But hey, I know. They tried. Snaps for everyone! I also realize that it could be demographics. There's a lot of young people here, and maybe we just want to revel in high school/university good time nostalgia.
Still, this is California. L.A. is the industry city. San Francisco by all rights should have a scene (but not an arms race... although Fall Out Boy may disagree). I may have been expecting all the latest and the greatest to hit the airwaves here, and hints of who you just know is going to break out with that smash hit -- before they do.
Until that happens, I'll be hitting the Internet airwaves instead, fulfilling my musical needs by perusing what's new at the iTunes Store and at Yahoo! Music, keeping a finger on the MySpace pulse, and checking in with what other stations across the U.S., Canada, and Australia have on listening offer.
Music for me tends to become a soundtrack of life as it is lived. Certain songs will always remind me of big moments, of where I was and what I was doing when it was there in the background. So I'm asking for the fresh and new, the yet-to-be-discovered and the blockbusters of the moment. Because personally? While 1997 was a good year, where I really like living is 2008.
To kick off Jenn-a-lala Land: The Blog in style, I thought I'd pull a couple of favorite posts from the archives, back from the life-in-Ottawa days. We're going to rock it, tangent-style.
First posted on July 29, 2006
She says pardon? (Moment no. 235083608)
There's a story my parents sometimes tell, of something I said when I was very small -- I think around age 2 or thereabouts. A friend of theirs had come over, and was going down the stairs as I was climbing up them, deep in concentration. They said hello to me, to which I looked up and replied, very seriously and emphatically, "Don't BUG me," then continued on my way. This might be verification of the general suspicion I read somewhere that girls come out of the womb already prepubescent in attitude, but I'm told it was highly amusing.
There are times when it would be useful to have a t-shirt or small sign adorned with that very same phrase. Friday afternoon after a week with very little sleep and waning ability for coherent communication would be one of them.
After work, I had traded in my "librarian look" for the half-librarian look -- now minus my red-framed glasses which had been replaced by my sunglasses -- and had just arrived at the university library. (Yes, even though I'm no longer a student, I am still continuing with research for articles. The university library is your friend.) Some unsuspecting soul -- unaware of how tired and fuzzy brained insomniac me was right at that moment -- walked in behind me as I was pushing my sunglasses up to perch atop my head. The following ensued:
"Is it really that sunny outside?" they ask me, as I'm checking to make sure my cell phone is turned off.
She says pardon? I look up, probably with a half-puzzled, half-pained expression on my face.
"The sunglasses," they continue. "Do you think it's that sunny outside, to be wearing them?"
I check behind my shoulder at the world outside the entrance doors, to make sure I haven't been hallucinating for the last half-hour since I left work. Yup, just as previously noted and experienced. Blue sky, sunshine out to play in all its full glory. Hmmm. Strangely enough, I do believe that this is the very type of day sunglasses were invented for.
Oh, but they continue. "Or are they the 'in' fashion thing right now?"
Exercises in tired self-restraint #1: Refrain from giving mini info-session on weather and appropriate accessories, along with the merits of protecting your eyes from the UV rays and preventing premature crow's feet that can be caused from too much squinting, as one might do when faced with bright sunlight.
Exercises in tired self-restraint #2: Resist sarcastic agreeance that most definitely, it's just a fashion thing, because who doesn't know that sunglasses are just a passing trend? They'll never last past the next issue of Vogue.
It went on from there until I escaped to the sanctuary of the fifth floor of the building, where I had been headed to get a few books for some background research I'm doing about Buddhism in Sri Lanka. As I left, I saw the same person sitting outside, and opted for the tunnel route to get back to my car, heading off any potential for graduation from inquiries about my sunglasses to a full out summer footwear inquisition. I could just picture it:
"Do you really think it's that warm here in Canada?"
"???"
"To wear sandals."
"Umm..."
I am still just mystified.
First posted on January 19, 2005
Mid-January update, aka "Januaryitis"
* Jenn-a-lala's note: Now that I live in California, reading this helps me to even further appreciate the weather here, in case I'd forgotten!!!
Welcome to the middle-slowly-nearing-end-oh-will-we-ever-get-there-is-it-over-yet of January. This is a month that really should be sectioned off that way, because it's just that long and it's just that cold. Hmmm. Submitted for your approval, the stages of Januaryitis in this land called Canada:
Stage 1: January 1. This is a stage unto itself. Actually, the day itself could probably be divided into two sub-stages:
Sub-stage b):
A-little-more-realistic-once-we-wake-up-with-a-blinding-headache-and-trudge-out-to-our-car-
which-we-now-must-unearth-from-the-12-foot-snowdrift-that-Mother-Nature-created-while-
doing-her-version-of-blowing-a-meteorological-noisemaker-the-night-before-shivering-fiercely-
as-we-dig-and-dig-and-sweep. But the optimism of the new year and goodwill towards all is still present within us here, and thus, the month is still approached with some cheer.
Stage 2. January 2-15, or roughly thereabouts. This stage is actually known as two things at once. The first of these is something to the effect of where-in-blazes-did-all-the-world's-colour-go-
and-what-genius-decided-upon-the-lie-that-white-is-all-colours-and-black-is-the-absence-of-
it-please-someone-even-show-me-just-a-blue-sky-and-unearth-a-pine-tree-from-its-white-
cocoon-all-I-want-is-colour-and-sunshine-and-sunshine-and-colour-someone-give-me-yellow-
cellophane-or-a-pack-of-Crayolas-so-I-can-colour-the-windows-because-I-am-going-to-climb-
a-%@*(@%!-frozen-tree-if-I-don't-see-something-other-than-white-soon. The second and slightly less polite title of this stage is grumble-mutter-curse-grumble-mutter-%#*(@%()*@%)(@()@!!!-
freezing-rain-%*(@%*()@%()-just-pick-one-already-would-you-%(%@(*%@-snow-or-
@)*@%)*@%)*@-rain-hockey-players-are-meant-to-skate-not-cars-on-roads-or-pedestrians-
on-sidewalks. AKA lawsuit season, as our kind city has seemingly decided against salt on the sidewalks of residential streets. Stores selling golf cleats should really be advertising.
Stage 3. January 16-20. Simply known as "Why? Why, dear God, why?" Alternately known as "It's effing cold."
Stage 4. January 20-30. This is sometimes called "Whine, whine, whine." It can also be referred to as "Bitch, moan and complain." Why? Because we are going to do all of these things, all day long, every day, until this blasted month is over. And at this point we really don't believe it ever will be over. There is only so much -90398729835728937598°C (although I'm sure this is about on par in °F) that the people of this fine country can take. We miss our humidex, UV index, and even our mosquitos. Yes, this title offering is valid in Quebec, but void in the GTA and coastal British Columbia.
Stage 5. January 31. Like January 1, this stage can also be divided into two sub-stages:
Sub-stage b):
"What the @%()@%()*@! are we celebrating for? It's February tomorrow."
February is when the heating bill arrives. Due to the extremely sensitive nature of this topic and the rage-inducing effect the words "gas company" have on a vast majority of Canadians during this time, it's really best that we don't talk about it.
It's Sunday, so that probably means it's just about time for me to go off the deep end. Having just been at the grocery store, this could get interesting. First, because the grocery store is far from my favorite place on Earth. Given the choice between sticking their finger in a light socket and an outing to the grocery store, 9 out of 10 young urban professionals such as myself would probably choose the funky new hairdo over shopping cart bumper car rage in Aisle 12. And yes, I know Safeway delivers. Ask me if I'm that organized to actually plan these things ahead of time.
Second, I will be the first to admit that grocery shopping with me is enough to make you wait in the car. To start with, although my memory is usually very good, I seem to have selective memorization skills when it comes to the list I typed into my iPhone just 20 minutes prior, and will take said device out about 52 times while in the store. This also means I will be criss-crossing the store making return trips to aisles I've likely already been down. What? See paragraph one, last sentence. And for goodness sake, it's not like this is IKEA where they put arrows on the floor. Not that I heed those much attention either, but I think I posted about that in 2003. Carrying on.
Most of my questionable grocery store navigation probably comes from my being distracted by picking something up, reading the label, and putting it back. Lather, rinse, repeat. In all fairness, I'm reading the label because I have a coconut / coconut by-product allergy -- in the "have been told to get an epi pen" sense, but didn't feel like waiting 2357275 (multiplied by the square root of Pi) years in Canada for a referral to an allergist and just haven't gotten on top of it yet here in Cali (Bubble, you didn't read that) -- and am usually deciphering the cryptic code used by the Unintelligable Ingredient Naming Secret Society to figure out if consuming said product currently in my hands will have me auditioning to be Benadryl's biggest fan. I would, however, like to add a side note here that a coconut allergy is actually a blessing in disguise, beacause it makes you incredibly aware of what's in your food, and helps resist a lot of temptation at Hallowe'en, Christmas, Valentine's Day and Easter.
Which does actually bring me to my point. Yes, gentle readers, I do have one. Sometimes it just takes me awhile to get there. And that point is?
What is up with the Pop-Tarts?
By that, I mean... what's up with the frosting? I realize I'm running the risk of being labelled and dismissed as "trapped in the 80s, get with the grocery store times girlie," but for real. As I was scanning the boxes of granola and cereal bars, it came to my attention that not a single variety of Pop-Tarts in the store came without frosting. Which, come on. It's already not exactly the breakfast of champions, but when did we, in our moment of breakfast-on-the-go weakness, lose our option of exercising the right to a frosting-free toaster pastry? Inquiring minds want to know.
(I am going to add here that no, I don't eat Pop-Tarts for breakfast. I was just in that aisle. And no, I'm not picking on Kellogg's... there is a greater point than this coming. Honest. Eventually I will stop rambling. XOXOXO.)
So, not having anywhere I needed to be just then, I decided I could take some time out for a few minutes and investigate some of the other products that I usually ignore in favor of my more usual "just-get-the-produce-and-poultry-and-run" style of grocery shopping. Onward to Special K bars. Which have some sort of frosting on top. The box boasts that it's only 90 calories per serving, but if we're going to start talking about calorie consumption and make it a marketing tool, then why not leave off the frosting altogether and make it an even more appealing snack?
In a society that's declared a battle against obesity, why on earth does so much stuff have even more completely unnecessary sugar added? And returning to Pop-Tarts for a moment -- which quite frankly, I do recall at one time being frosting-free, back in ye olden days of my childhood -- is it that the ones with frosting far outsold those without? Was it a decision prompted by consumer choice, grocery store sales, and greater profitability? Hard to say, but when you think of what it represents, kind of disturbing all the same.
I know -- just don't eat the Pop-Tarts. As a girl who rarely consumes fast food, who prefers apples to chocolate, who usually all but avoids soda and has fairly low-fat eating habits to begin with, this isn't really what I'm getting at. It's not really about the Pop-Tarts, but about the food choices available out there when you're not looking to eliminate absolutely everything bad for you out of your diet altogether, but simply seeking the balance of all things in moderation. So why is it that these "extras" are necessary? And is this merely but one example of the overlying problem?
