Fear sells, but why does the food industry use anxiety to sell products? I mean, if there’s one thing the seven billion people on this planet agree on, it’s that we need food. (And Baby Yoda is adorable. That’s universally accepted.)
When COVID hit last spring, I heard we’d run out of beef by autumn. My husband lost his mind. Someone told me canned vegetables would be as valuable as gold, which is good because I’d rather wear a can of peas on a chain around my neck than have to eat them.
Experts tell us food is plentiful and cheaper than ever before. Just the food leftover from Las Vegas buffets could feed several third-world countries for generations. They’d all develop diabetes and heart disease, but they’d have plenty of food.
And that’s the other fear; the idea that the food we eat, even broccoli and kale, has no nutritional value because the soil’s been depleted of nutrients and we’re consuming the dietary equivalent of Rice Krispies for each meal.
So, we hear companies proclaiming to have discovered new, perfect foods. Not just foods – Super Foods (with a heartbreaking origin story). They ask questions like, Do you poop every day at noon? Are you often irritable? Well, you’re eating the wrong food!
Social media is awash in these types of ads. “Buy our product made of 300 superfoods found only in caves along the Ganges River!” “Learn the secret of Cleopatra’s radiant skin, Helen of Troy’s weight loss supplement and Queen Elizabeth’s longevity.” (Spoiler alert: it’s never having to clean your own toilet.)
Companies tell us fans are “raving” about their green juice. False news. No one raves about green juice. The recipes have unknown ingredients like chlorella (a dried sea vegetable) and rhodiola, a cold-climate plant used by Vikings. Mmmmm. Yummy. (Sidenote: Vikings are dead. Did rhodiola kill them?)
Mushrooms are the new meat. The reishi mushroom is called the Queen of the Mushrooms because . . . um . . . it has a crown? I guess psilocybin mushrooms would be King of the Mushrooms, or at least the laid-back, hippie brother-in-law of the mushrooms.
Pretend meat is also the new meat. Impossible Meat might be better for the planet, but with its soy, wheat, and vegetable ingredients shaped and colored to look like chicken nuggets, it’s definitely not health food.
And don’t think it’s safe to drink water. No, sir! You can’t drink tap water, bottled water, well water, river water, toilet water or any other water unless it’s gone through an expensive, artesian reverse osmosis process. I used to drink water out of the hose in my front yard. I’m sure I’ll die full of mercury, lead, and chlorine.
Spinach and romaine lettuce routinely try to kill us, and don’t get me started on GMO conspiracy theories. I don’t have that kind of time. Are apples still good for us? Can we eat corn without worrying about growing a third arm? Does everything have to be organic, farm-fresh and certified because according to Facebook, we’re all doomed!
I know Americans don’t have the best diets but throw me a grass-fed bone. We’re assaulted on all sides and just trying not to dive headfirst into a bucket of chicken for a morning snack.
Originally published in the Davis Journal
“If you’re watching ‘The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City’ you can expect hysteria at the highest levels. There will be screeching, low cut gowns, pygmy goats directing traffic, Aquanet toothpaste, a jewelry heist, several cans of Pillsbury pizza crust, a lusty affair with a diesel mechanic, Spam, cabana boys with cowboy hats, Golden Retrievers wearing red pumps and a gala at Salt Lake’s newest club, Spork.”
One element of Halloween remained a mystery to me. When did we think dressing dogs in tutus was a good idea? I assumed the whole pet costume fiasco was started by rich, white girls with too much time and money. Turns out, in the 19th century, dog costumery was a thing – with the animal fashion industry churning out traveling cloaks, silk jackets, tea gowns and . . . wait for it . . . dog bikinis.
I’m stating right up front I hate vaccinations. I’m not an anti-vaxxer, I’m just more afraid of getting a tetanus shot than dying a horribly painful death.
One weekend, the hubby and I got in the car, girded our loins (I think that means we buckled our seat belts) and drove to the gargantuan furniture/appliance store where we were immediately attacked by suit-coated salespeople.
Life on this beautiful blue marble (or beautiful blue dinner plate if you’re a flat-Earther) has had a good run. We’ve evolved from being hunters/gatherers to being couch potatoes while creating technology that is certain to bring about our impending doom. Do we really need a talking fridge?
There will be a team working on communications so we can keep up with our favorite Netflix shows and hopefully someone will open a really good Mexican restaurant.
A real Christmas tree has always been the center of my holiday decorating. Growing up, we’d hang stockings, put out Advent calendars and display nativity scenes, but the season didn’t officially start until the tree was plunked into a bucket of boiling Mountain Dew. We had the only caffeine-addicted tree on the street.
Once the tree arrives safely home, we discover the 10-foot tree won’t fit into our 8-foot living room. We attack it with dull handsaws and scissors until it fits, and then, in a flurry of Christmas chaos, we adorn it with lights and ornaments, and top it with a rickety angel, balanced precariously on the highest branch.
Life and Laughter 