Who hasn't snorted tea up their nose whilst reading a snippet on what the latest scientific research has uncovered? Parents of teenagers don't need a laboratory to tell them that teenagers spend more time playing computer games than doing homework. How many of us are kept awake at night figuring out why a cookie crumbles or how to make the perfect cup of tea?
Karma being what it is, I gave birth to a scientist so have spent many hours listening to his excited chatter about discoveries and expanded knowledge. My cynicism covers a reasonable amount of interest and acknowledgement that all discoveries have a value somewhere along the planetary plane, but I admit to having had a tremble of trepidation at the prospect of sitting through the description of 38 PhD theses at Junior's graduation.
However, I'm delighted to eat my fears and report that these clever scientists rock! Each and every one has produced a thesis that not only could I understand what they had worked on, I could also see an everyday and immediate use for this valuable research. Kudos to one and all for tackling solutions to problems such as malaria, cancer, pest control, fish breeding, water pollution, food security, forest governance, water service delivery, rural livelihoods, African horse sickness, computing infrastructure for rural schools, invasive plant control, fish ecology and so on and so forth.
Returning home, wrapped in a fuzzy warm cloud of feel-good energy, I checked Twitter to catch up with the outside world. "A 2012 study found that shoppers who use coupons are more relaxed and happier than shoppers who don’t use coupons," screamed an Uber Facts headline, ignoring the fact that we are now in 2017 and this research isn't cutting edge by any means.
Even overlooking the fact that 5 year old research doesn't deserve space on a social media outlet dedicated to breaking news, Uber Facts has ducked my optimistic bubble deep into the witching pond. For the love of all I hold dear, please explain:
1. who on earth thought this was a topic worthy of investigation and how did they get funding?
2. was anyone really surprised by the outcome? After all, it takes time to cut out and present a coupon at check out (tick 'relaxed' for that) and yeah, saving money makes most people happy (second boxed ticked.)
3. as for the non-coupon shoppers, many of whom will be in the queue waiting while a supervisor is called to authorise the coupon, watching their lunch hour minutes tick away, what have they got to be happy about? Firstly, they don't have a coupon and are paying full price. Secondly, for reasons not of their doing, they are condemned to spend an extra few minutes in the supermarket queue.
Having, without expending a fraction of the time, energy or expense no doubt spent on the above study, drawn the identical conclusion, do you think I'm eligible for a subsidy? A generous coupon, perhaps? I'm always happy to put my hand up and help science, particularly if a study grant is in the offing.
After all, I'm the woman who housed glass jars containing dead insects for her offspring's entomology projects in her freezer. Funny how he hasn't remembered this now that he has a bursary. I'm sure I'm due some rent...
Sunday, 4 June 2017
Friday, 19 May 2017
96 Billion to 1
This week's blog is neither a rant nor a funny, so if you tuned in to either raise or lower your blood pressure I'm afraid this isn't the space for that today.
Instead of providing a chuckle, I need to unravel a mystery triggered by a skincare advert I saw on the telly last night.
Scientists employed by one of the globe's largest skincare and cosmetic companies (I honestly can't remember which one, it could have been LÓreal but it doesn't matter, the only difference between one brand and the other in terms of advertising is the name and livery) have made another amazing breakthrough and voila, user trials prove that "78% of women saw a difference" after slapping this stuff on their faces.
Yawn. "So what?" you ask "Your point is?"
My point is the small print insisted by consumer bodies and advertising standards boards. By law, these multi billion $ giants have to reveal their sample size and there it was, tucked away at the bottom of the screen. In this particular case, 44 women were sampled.
Read that again. FORTY FOUR, out of a possible 3.5 billion women on the planet.
Google tells me that the worth of the cosmetics and skincare industry is projected to reach $675 billion in 2017. My rusty maths turns that into a spend of $96 billion per PERSON on planet Earth. Phew!
An industry that gigantic uses state of the art laboratories and top scientists and specialists, spending millions of dollars in their research race to produce the holy grail - eternal youth. Well, at least until you pop your clogs cos immortality hasn't been cracked yet. But the drive to be the youngest looking corpse is worth $675 billion and the big guns want the lion's share of that boodle.
Yet they have so little faith in their own product that they test on a minuscule sample of potential customers? We have school classes bigger than that sample! The average McDonalds, a take away restaurant, can seat more than 44. A sample of 44 people has less than no value in proving the efficacy of this goop.
Think of the multi millions spent on the research and development, the packaging and marketing - it's eye-watering. To shout about what 78% of FORTY FOUR women reported? Pathetic!
If I was marketing director of any of these industry giants, I'd send the product to the furthest flung, most desolate regions in the world. Women in the Aussie outback, Sahara desert, jungles of South East Asia and South America and yes, even women scientists in Antarctica, would be trying my cream. I'd pick women who had never had the opportunity to slap lotion on their faces ever, which is guaranteed to show positive results after a few weeks and give me the statistics I want - 100% improvement.
Of course, that's a suspect figure so I'd round up a group of my brand's most loyal, first world customers and let them at the new miracle cream. Naturally, as they are using my current miracle worker, I don't expect amazing results from this batch (after all, my product is the best on the market and delivers what my substantial marketing budget promises, right?!) But that's perfect. If I make this sample less than 10% of my group, that gives me a realistic statistic to report - 90% of 6000 women saw an improvement...
Instead of providing a chuckle, I need to unravel a mystery triggered by a skincare advert I saw on the telly last night.
Scientists employed by one of the globe's largest skincare and cosmetic companies (I honestly can't remember which one, it could have been LÓreal but it doesn't matter, the only difference between one brand and the other in terms of advertising is the name and livery) have made another amazing breakthrough and voila, user trials prove that "78% of women saw a difference" after slapping this stuff on their faces.
Yawn. "So what?" you ask "Your point is?"
My point is the small print insisted by consumer bodies and advertising standards boards. By law, these multi billion $ giants have to reveal their sample size and there it was, tucked away at the bottom of the screen. In this particular case, 44 women were sampled.
Read that again. FORTY FOUR, out of a possible 3.5 billion women on the planet.
Google tells me that the worth of the cosmetics and skincare industry is projected to reach $675 billion in 2017. My rusty maths turns that into a spend of $96 billion per PERSON on planet Earth. Phew!
An industry that gigantic uses state of the art laboratories and top scientists and specialists, spending millions of dollars in their research race to produce the holy grail - eternal youth. Well, at least until you pop your clogs cos immortality hasn't been cracked yet. But the drive to be the youngest looking corpse is worth $675 billion and the big guns want the lion's share of that boodle.
Yet they have so little faith in their own product that they test on a minuscule sample of potential customers? We have school classes bigger than that sample! The average McDonalds, a take away restaurant, can seat more than 44. A sample of 44 people has less than no value in proving the efficacy of this goop.
Think of the multi millions spent on the research and development, the packaging and marketing - it's eye-watering. To shout about what 78% of FORTY FOUR women reported? Pathetic!
If I was marketing director of any of these industry giants, I'd send the product to the furthest flung, most desolate regions in the world. Women in the Aussie outback, Sahara desert, jungles of South East Asia and South America and yes, even women scientists in Antarctica, would be trying my cream. I'd pick women who had never had the opportunity to slap lotion on their faces ever, which is guaranteed to show positive results after a few weeks and give me the statistics I want - 100% improvement.
Of course, that's a suspect figure so I'd round up a group of my brand's most loyal, first world customers and let them at the new miracle cream. Naturally, as they are using my current miracle worker, I don't expect amazing results from this batch (after all, my product is the best on the market and delivers what my substantial marketing budget promises, right?!) But that's perfect. If I make this sample less than 10% of my group, that gives me a realistic statistic to report - 90% of 6000 women saw an improvement...
Saturday, 13 May 2017
Eagle Eyed Birdies
I've never spent much time (any at all, actually) considering the supposed supersonic eyesight of birds. 'Eagle eyed' and 'birds-eye view' roll effortlessly off the tongue without using a single kilojoule of brain energy considering the factual basis of the idioms.
We do enjoy feeding our feathered garden aviators, however, and installed a smart penthouse feeder well out of cat paw reach. The local feed merchant makes a fortune out of the seed I buy from him because one thing is for sure about birds, when they find an easy source of food they call a friend. Or several dozen.
You can tell when my mind is having an 'off this planet' moment because the things that engage my thoughts at times.... For instance, how do the birds know the pantry is open today?
Picture the scene. I've been away for several months and the fly-through diner closed. The diner is a wooden platform with four pillars bearing a roof, so a bird's eye view doesn't come into play here, it's impossible to see from overhead whether the buffet is stocked or not.
Fickle friends as they are, the birds have absconded from our garden during the famine and not a single one is to be seen when I pile a jug of seed onto the table. One thing I did notice is that the price of birdseed has increased by 30% during my absence, so the recipients of this largess had better up their entertainment game accordingly.
It took 20 minutes, then first the Bronze Mannikins pulled in en masse,
followed by the African Doves and a Pin Tailed Whydah all in a'flutter.
How? How did they know lunch was served? Do they have a freakish sense of smell to rival a hyena? Or X-Ray vision like some feathered Superhero? For months there was nothing on the table and I thought they'd left the 'hood. Perhaps they left a sentinel to keep a lookout for the feast?
It's a mystery to me and I hope that some knowledgeable twitcher can enlighten me.
In a different vein, but reminded by the 'eagle eye' thing, do you remember your child's first 'dirty' joke? We all recall where we were when Mandela walked free, Princess Diana died and the Twin Towers sank into dust, and most good parents remember the moments of first teeth, first steps and so on. I have notes in the baby books to tell me those things, the dates and moments escape me. Big blush, bad mother.
Being a working mum, the first step moments in our house were witnessed by Francina Twala, beloved second mum to both boys and the person who kept it all together in our home. I was met at the front door by a beaming face and excited chatter about how No 1, and then No 2, had passed the milestone. Like all mothers do, I burst into tears but unlike good mothers, my tears weren't about missing those first steps but the twang as yet another apron string was cut.
No, in my upside down motherly role, I remember their first naughty jokes. Is that normal? No 1 confronted me one evening while I wallowed in a hot bubble bath, clutching a book and a glass of wine. Oh, for those pre-reading glass days when reading in the bath was possible! A treat lost indeed.
The joke was about a jungle warrior wounded in battle. He'd lost an eye, his right arm, his left leg and the appendage men are most concerned with. The witchdoctor replaced his missing bits with the eye of an eagle, the arm of a gorilla, a cheetah's leg and yes, an elephant's trunk. Checking progress during the follow up consultation, the warrior reported he could see very, very far, throw his spear very, very far, outrun all his enemies but oh, dear, his trunk kept picking grass and stuffing it up his you-know-where.
Caught between wanting to be a correct mum and enjoying the joke as much as for the acting and accents No 1 adopted in the telling, I roared with laughter and sank deep into the bubbles.
And that, my friends, is what runs through my head when 'eye of an eagle' is mentioned. Except now, the 'eye of a Bronze Mannikin' is mystifying me!
We do enjoy feeding our feathered garden aviators, however, and installed a smart penthouse feeder well out of cat paw reach. The local feed merchant makes a fortune out of the seed I buy from him because one thing is for sure about birds, when they find an easy source of food they call a friend. Or several dozen.
You can tell when my mind is having an 'off this planet' moment because the things that engage my thoughts at times.... For instance, how do the birds know the pantry is open today?
Picture the scene. I've been away for several months and the fly-through diner closed. The diner is a wooden platform with four pillars bearing a roof, so a bird's eye view doesn't come into play here, it's impossible to see from overhead whether the buffet is stocked or not.
Fickle friends as they are, the birds have absconded from our garden during the famine and not a single one is to be seen when I pile a jug of seed onto the table. One thing I did notice is that the price of birdseed has increased by 30% during my absence, so the recipients of this largess had better up their entertainment game accordingly.
 |
| Just add oranges then grub's up! |
followed by the African Doves and a Pin Tailed Whydah all in a'flutter.
How? How did they know lunch was served? Do they have a freakish sense of smell to rival a hyena? Or X-Ray vision like some feathered Superhero? For months there was nothing on the table and I thought they'd left the 'hood. Perhaps they left a sentinel to keep a lookout for the feast?
It's a mystery to me and I hope that some knowledgeable twitcher can enlighten me.
 |
| 20 minutes later |
Being a working mum, the first step moments in our house were witnessed by Francina Twala, beloved second mum to both boys and the person who kept it all together in our home. I was met at the front door by a beaming face and excited chatter about how No 1, and then No 2, had passed the milestone. Like all mothers do, I burst into tears but unlike good mothers, my tears weren't about missing those first steps but the twang as yet another apron string was cut.
No, in my upside down motherly role, I remember their first naughty jokes. Is that normal? No 1 confronted me one evening while I wallowed in a hot bubble bath, clutching a book and a glass of wine. Oh, for those pre-reading glass days when reading in the bath was possible! A treat lost indeed.
The joke was about a jungle warrior wounded in battle. He'd lost an eye, his right arm, his left leg and the appendage men are most concerned with. The witchdoctor replaced his missing bits with the eye of an eagle, the arm of a gorilla, a cheetah's leg and yes, an elephant's trunk. Checking progress during the follow up consultation, the warrior reported he could see very, very far, throw his spear very, very far, outrun all his enemies but oh, dear, his trunk kept picking grass and stuffing it up his you-know-where.
Caught between wanting to be a correct mum and enjoying the joke as much as for the acting and accents No 1 adopted in the telling, I roared with laughter and sank deep into the bubbles.
And that, my friends, is what runs through my head when 'eye of an eagle' is mentioned. Except now, the 'eye of a Bronze Mannikin' is mystifying me!
Thursday, 27 April 2017
Travelling Heavy
Today, Freedom Day, is a most inappropriate occasion for a rant, especially because if I had my way in this matter, people's freedom to drag copious amounts of large sized luggage on board a short flight would be rescinded!
Last week I embarked on a short (90 minute) domestic flight, on a 737-800, packed to capacity with 189 passengers. Seated in 1C, the first aisle seat on the plane was strategic for a quick disembark later. Knowing that I didn't have to fight my way along the aisle to my seat, I delayed boarding until the plane was about 50% boarded.
Wow, what a shock to step through the main door and halt for several minutes, unable to reach the very first seat on the plane - a mouse couldn't have squeezed down the overburdened aisle stacked to the gills with passengers trying desperately to stow unwieldy items into the bulging overhead bins. And another 90 or so pax still to join the fray!
Really guys, it's 90 minutes. The weather at both ends was fine, so no heavy outer garments were cluttering up the space. All you need close to hand - a book or whatever your preferred form of onboard entertainment, your wallet for the snack service and a friendly attitude. Everything else (valuables, laptop and cameras excepted) could be safely checked in and collected less than two hours later.
The large, dreadlocked middle-aged dude in the middle seat next to me, very put out to discover the aisle seat he'd claimed as his own was actually mine, needed FOUR trips up and down that stagnant passage to find niches for his extended hand luggage. The chaos caused by this repeated traverse was mindboggling, and my eyes, level with the luggage piling on board as the rest of the mutts climbed on, popped open wider and wider.
According to the regulations, hand luggage is limited to one piece each (+ a handbag for ladies, goodie for us) of a restricted size. I watched HANDBAGS bigger than the regulated carry on bag dimensions lugged past me. Every single passenger had a minimum of two pieces, and very few of the pieces were less than a roll on bag size.
The overhead bins couldn't cope; the pilot repeatedly requested people find their seats and strap in so that we could leave; the poor cabin crew, squashed between seats, irritated standing people and mountains of baggage, were taking pieces off people and handing them overhead to ground crew to put into the hold.
Yes, we left and arrived late, solely due to the selfish idiocy of the passengers. Besides the 'I couldn't give a damn about what they say, I don't want to check my bag in and have to wait for it on arrival' arrogance, what about the inconvenience to your fellow travellers? And safety?
Guys, those limits are there for a reason and I object to your endangering my life so you can step off and go hell for leather to the terminal exit rather than hang around the carousel. It would really screw my day up to crash land, so please please please can you act like a responsible, considerate adult and think of the well being of the larger body of passengers rather than solely your own?
The airlines deserve a severe smack on the chops as well. You make the rules, damn well enforce them. On the ground. At check in. It's unfair and impractical to leave controlling hand luggage to the minimally staffed cabin crew minutes before take off.
Last week I embarked on a short (90 minute) domestic flight, on a 737-800, packed to capacity with 189 passengers. Seated in 1C, the first aisle seat on the plane was strategic for a quick disembark later. Knowing that I didn't have to fight my way along the aisle to my seat, I delayed boarding until the plane was about 50% boarded.
Wow, what a shock to step through the main door and halt for several minutes, unable to reach the very first seat on the plane - a mouse couldn't have squeezed down the overburdened aisle stacked to the gills with passengers trying desperately to stow unwieldy items into the bulging overhead bins. And another 90 or so pax still to join the fray!
Really guys, it's 90 minutes. The weather at both ends was fine, so no heavy outer garments were cluttering up the space. All you need close to hand - a book or whatever your preferred form of onboard entertainment, your wallet for the snack service and a friendly attitude. Everything else (valuables, laptop and cameras excepted) could be safely checked in and collected less than two hours later.
The large, dreadlocked middle-aged dude in the middle seat next to me, very put out to discover the aisle seat he'd claimed as his own was actually mine, needed FOUR trips up and down that stagnant passage to find niches for his extended hand luggage. The chaos caused by this repeated traverse was mindboggling, and my eyes, level with the luggage piling on board as the rest of the mutts climbed on, popped open wider and wider.
According to the regulations, hand luggage is limited to one piece each (+ a handbag for ladies, goodie for us) of a restricted size. I watched HANDBAGS bigger than the regulated carry on bag dimensions lugged past me. Every single passenger had a minimum of two pieces, and very few of the pieces were less than a roll on bag size.
The overhead bins couldn't cope; the pilot repeatedly requested people find their seats and strap in so that we could leave; the poor cabin crew, squashed between seats, irritated standing people and mountains of baggage, were taking pieces off people and handing them overhead to ground crew to put into the hold.
Yes, we left and arrived late, solely due to the selfish idiocy of the passengers. Besides the 'I couldn't give a damn about what they say, I don't want to check my bag in and have to wait for it on arrival' arrogance, what about the inconvenience to your fellow travellers? And safety?
Guys, those limits are there for a reason and I object to your endangering my life so you can step off and go hell for leather to the terminal exit rather than hang around the carousel. It would really screw my day up to crash land, so please please please can you act like a responsible, considerate adult and think of the well being of the larger body of passengers rather than solely your own?
The airlines deserve a severe smack on the chops as well. You make the rules, damn well enforce them. On the ground. At check in. It's unfair and impractical to leave controlling hand luggage to the minimally staffed cabin crew minutes before take off.
Wednesday, 19 April 2017
We're A Tough Lot in Africa
“Africa
is not for sissies”, “ ‘n Boek maak
‘n plan” and my new personal favourite “In
America it’s called survivor, in Africa we call it camping.”
Gotta love the
gungho arrogance of South Africans but in truth, there is an underlying ring of
veracity to these oft quoted axioms and T shirt graffiti. We love our bakkies (utility vehicles, to foreign readers) tough; no self
respecting vehicle brand would dream of marketing their double cab as anything
less than a vehicle which can climb mountains and ford the deepest rivers. I heard of someone who left her double cab somewhat
lower on a Mozambican beach than she should have, returning to see her Toyota’s
remarkable island impression with the Indian Ocean at full high tide lapping at
the windows. And yes, she drove it home
once the tide had turned.
Bolstered by our bravado and indestructible
vehicles, Saffers can take on the world but is it all about human steel and
grit? Two recent trips to the Kruger
National Park demonstrated how resilient nature in this part of the world is
too. Strangled by the devastating
drought, the landscape in the south eastern part of Kruger was nothing less
than a wasteland of such bleakness it was the perfect set for a nuclear
holocaust movie. Red earth, the
scattered remains of bleached carcasses, blighted and blackened trees reaching
towards the white hot sky in supplication with the mighty Crocodile River
reduced to a string of puddles in a broad swathe of glinting sand too searing
to look at.
Less than four months and buckets of rain later, this area is a different realm. Every causeway crosses water, the bridges span busy rivers and 50 (or more) shades of green envelope tar and gravel roads.
But it’s the animals that really take the biscuit. Their absolute delight in having water to spare is enchanting. Family groups of ellies stand belly deep in the rivers, splashing and squirting with abandon. A chorus of contented rumbling carries across to the audience, continuing as the herds emerge onto the bank and follow the wash with an intense body dusting of sand. Such bliss.
And I swear I could hear giggles from three
zebra up to their knees in a small pool, gulping greedily then flicking their
noses and hooves to share their watery joy in a shower of rainbows.
There’s not much between the tip of Africa
and the frozen Antarctic landmass so perhaps Mother Nature works extra hard
here to ensure our environment recuperates from severe climate damage but the intensity
and speed of this turnaround is staggering.
Nature’s recovery from a seemingly dead and buried landscape to one of
abundance and happiness is proof of the astounding toughness of Africa.
No sissies here.
This was published on the backpage of Skyways magazine, April 2017.
Friday, 24 March 2017
Magic Mirrors
It's always interesting to catch a glimpse of what Him Outdoors thinks makes a woman happy. Bless him, he's a special soul but sometimes the only thing to do is to shake my head and reach for the wine.
I recently went to visit him at his temporary headquarters, a rather basic little cottage. He disappeared early on day 1, reappearing bearing a proud grin and a mirror. "This will make it more homely and comfortable for you" he explained his capture. Really? We don't have an abundance of mirrors at home and nothing full length at that but still, his heart was in the right place.
Naturally, the job got as far as hunting down the prize, installation is for another month. Or year. So the mirror remains leaning where it was set down two weeks ago.
It took a few days before I took any note of what the mirror was reflecting and needed a double take. Who did that skinny image belong to? Most certainly, not me in my anytime body, let alone the post holiday one.
But every glance stubbornly revealed a most attractive slender figure and despite myself, I believed it. I strode out each morning feeling on top of the world, several inches taller and ready to take on anything the day could throw at me. The change in demeanor and confidence was remarkable - I was Hercules, Claudia Schiffer and Maggie Thatcher all in one. Splendid!
Needless to say, to an inveterate over-analyser, the matter couldn't stay there. An old blog I wrote several years ago, Through the Looking Glass of a Friend's Eyes, https://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1547294594687469261#editor/target=post;postID=4687494867563818917;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=15;src=postname, swooped in for a lengthy internal debate.
It's always puzzled me that our self images and the way we are viewed by our friends are so far apart. After all, we check ourselves out and have a clear picture in our heads of what we look like, so why my besties (bright, visually unimpaired women) can't see my awful legs and wobbly tum is peculiar.
Perhaps the answer lies in the mirrors we install. If one mirror can so obviously reflect a different image to the one I'm used to, who is to say the regular looking glass is right? What if by some wicked twist of fate, mirror manufacturers have got it wrong? And millions of women are tormented by a picture of themselves which isn't true?
So much for wishful thinking but lets turn this issue on it's head. What if every single mirror ever produced had to under-reflect and remove inches, like Him Outdoor's magic one?
Would the diet, fashion, women's mag, cosmetic treatments and surgeries go out of business? Would the fastest growth industries in the world be those which enable women to be the strongest, fastest, most capable, confident versions of themselves, leading richly fulfilling lives not dependent upon self esteem and feeling good about themselves? Would world economies be led by women and wars be a thing of the past?
After all, women are more than capable of running the world and if a group of 2X-ers gathered around a table to discuss human rights, trade and industry, the environment, national boundaries, oil and whatever else happens in the global power echelons, I'm confident that time, money, energy and lives wouldn't be squandered in power struggles, egos and the like.
Ask your average working mother how efficiently she manages a workload equaling 48 hours in less than 24, and gets up to do it all again the next day.
I recently went to visit him at his temporary headquarters, a rather basic little cottage. He disappeared early on day 1, reappearing bearing a proud grin and a mirror. "This will make it more homely and comfortable for you" he explained his capture. Really? We don't have an abundance of mirrors at home and nothing full length at that but still, his heart was in the right place.
Naturally, the job got as far as hunting down the prize, installation is for another month. Or year. So the mirror remains leaning where it was set down two weeks ago.
It took a few days before I took any note of what the mirror was reflecting and needed a double take. Who did that skinny image belong to? Most certainly, not me in my anytime body, let alone the post holiday one.
But every glance stubbornly revealed a most attractive slender figure and despite myself, I believed it. I strode out each morning feeling on top of the world, several inches taller and ready to take on anything the day could throw at me. The change in demeanor and confidence was remarkable - I was Hercules, Claudia Schiffer and Maggie Thatcher all in one. Splendid!
Needless to say, to an inveterate over-analyser, the matter couldn't stay there. An old blog I wrote several years ago, Through the Looking Glass of a Friend's Eyes, https://draft.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=1547294594687469261#editor/target=post;postID=4687494867563818917;onPublishedMenu=allposts;onClosedMenu=allposts;postNum=15;src=postname, swooped in for a lengthy internal debate.
It's always puzzled me that our self images and the way we are viewed by our friends are so far apart. After all, we check ourselves out and have a clear picture in our heads of what we look like, so why my besties (bright, visually unimpaired women) can't see my awful legs and wobbly tum is peculiar.
Perhaps the answer lies in the mirrors we install. If one mirror can so obviously reflect a different image to the one I'm used to, who is to say the regular looking glass is right? What if by some wicked twist of fate, mirror manufacturers have got it wrong? And millions of women are tormented by a picture of themselves which isn't true?
So much for wishful thinking but lets turn this issue on it's head. What if every single mirror ever produced had to under-reflect and remove inches, like Him Outdoor's magic one?
Would the diet, fashion, women's mag, cosmetic treatments and surgeries go out of business? Would the fastest growth industries in the world be those which enable women to be the strongest, fastest, most capable, confident versions of themselves, leading richly fulfilling lives not dependent upon self esteem and feeling good about themselves? Would world economies be led by women and wars be a thing of the past?
After all, women are more than capable of running the world and if a group of 2X-ers gathered around a table to discuss human rights, trade and industry, the environment, national boundaries, oil and whatever else happens in the global power echelons, I'm confident that time, money, energy and lives wouldn't be squandered in power struggles, egos and the like.
Ask your average working mother how efficiently she manages a workload equaling 48 hours in less than 24, and gets up to do it all again the next day.
 |
| The Magic Mirror - never mind removing inches, I've lost a couple of feet from my hips! |
Tuesday, 21 March 2017
Updating Proverbs
An antique uncle gave pause for thought
in his response to news of a family disappointment. “Poor old Rob,” he said. “As one door closes,
another slams shut.”
I had to read that twice, then guffawed
aloud. Seriously, who expected a bit of millennium cynicism from an 80 year old?
But what fun to rewrite old saws for modern living and I immediately set
to work.
First to go is ‘it’s an ill wind that blows
nobody any good.’ What sort of an
oxymoron is that? Duh, of course an ill
wind blows misfortune. How much better
is ‘an ill wind blows the stench of uncollected trash your way’?
‘There’s a lid for every pot’ was my well
meaning father’s assurance after my divorce.
Frankly, ‘there’s a handyman listed in the Yellow Pages’ is far more
useful.
‘Tomorrow’s another day’. Err, yes.
But how that wipes out today’s crisis / humiliation / disaster I don’t
know. ‘Tomorrow nothing will be
different, you’ll continue batting away at the same old drama’ may be less soothing
but more realistic.
‘Good things come to those who wait’ must
be a South African classic. Because after several hours in the vehicle license
renewal queue you reach the desk only to be slapped with a hefty bill for
traffic fines you weren’t expecting.
Damn those sneaky cameras. ‘Big surprises come to those who queue’ is
much more likely.
‘When the going gets tough, the tough get
going’. This is Africa, what tough
going? We have 4x4’s for that. ‘When the
going gets tough, put the Hilux into low range’ or ‘Avoiding potholes is for
sissies’ are perfect bumper sticker slogans.
‘Fortune favours the bold’ sounds like a
sales pitch motto for the Lotto. ‘Boldly
fling enough money at buying Lotto tickets you’ll increase your chances’ is a life lesson in statistics.
‘A little learning is a dangerous thing’ –
try explaining that to the keyboard warriors on Facebook and Twitter. They are the lie behind ‘Ignorance is bliss’
– raging anger rather than bliss boosts screeds of ignorance spewed into the ether. Perhaps a Buddhist author could write a best seller - Zen and the Keyboard Warrior and bring some calm to social media.
You can, apparently, lead a horse to water but
forcing him to drink is impossible, proving that it’s all in the offering,
darling. I can lead a posse of
girlfriends to water and they’ll immediately add scotch and down it.
Some of these proverbs date back nearly 2000 years, surely it's time to retire them and develop more pertinent maxims? They've certainly outlived their reference and relevance.
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