Taking a Measure of Society's Maturity - Part Deux: Nearly Edible Crap

You would think that by the time we are old enough to own and operate a dishwasher of our own that we could distinguish between candies and blobs of soap; after all, the functioning of our society's systems - financial, political, transportation - are counting on at least that level of discernment.

Yet one need only look at the current trend in the dishwasher soap tablets field (didn't know that existed? CUT TO: bright room full of lab-coated scientists with glasses pretending to jot down notes on clipboards. Trust me, it exists.) to spot a blatant clue that those affluent enough to own and operate a machine to wash their dishes are also childish and gullible enough to fall under the spell of a shiny morsel of multi-coloured detergent as if it were a bon-bon in a glass jar at a confectioner's shop. Now, I realize that one needs to cut these marketeers a bit of slack. You try selling something that's about as sexy as a compost bag - you'll quickly find yourself lying awake at night, desperately scrolling through a mental Rolodex of dancing dogs, inane jingles, and ivory-toothed supermodels in vain attempts to conjure up an irresistible message. The more mundane, the more the pain - be it soap, toothpaste, toilet paper, it doesn't matter. One thing's for certain, though: the road to becoming a Walmart Greeter is littered with the ground up souls of ad execs looking for The Angle, that one special hook to catch the consumer prey right in their weak spot.

Exhibit A:

Found left on our doorstep - for sure a more socially-acceptable form of anonymous abandonment than, say, a flaming paper bag of dog poo, but still something that I had misgivings about bringing inside. Nevertheless, being that it was a Friday night, and that I was on my second glass of Beaujolais, I brought in these freakish cleanser pouches, holding their gaudily-coloured package out from my body the way one might carry a dead o'possum from one side of a road to another.

Any advantage? You be the judge.

All I know is that the runaway popularity of these convenient, no mess wads of stuff shows us they are popular. Then again, that's as telling as looking at a film's Box Office Totals to judge its quality.

According to news agency Reuters, the manufacturer, Proctor & Gamble, is quoted as boasting that it took "eight years of research, with 75 technical staff working on the project full-time, to come up with [these suckers]." Kinda makes it worth bending over, now doesn't it?

The trouble is, kids have been mistaking them for candy, and "the American Association of Poison Control Centers (AAPCC) issued a warning last week that people should keep highly concentrated, single-dose packs of detergent high up and out of the reach of children... According to the AAPCC, some young children who swallowed the small packets required hospitalization."

This sort of nonsense is pervasive enough in this culture to, I think, qualify it as yet another sign of the impending Apocalypse. Overreaction on my part? Take a glance at your pet's food dish first and then get back to me. Time to take a deep breath and embrace your adulthood before you reach for your wallet, folks.

Burlington's 2013 Chilly Half Marathon - new PB time & Cambodian adventure!

1:33:41 - chip time

22/216 - AG

227/2836 - OA

While staking out a spot in the crowd of runners gathering in the cold (-7C & breezy!) outside of Burlington's City Hall, a few things occurred to me (beyond the usual thoughts that occur to me just before the start of any race, like, What was I thinking when I signed up for this?)

* there's the remarkable rise in humans' insulative properties if they are wedged together tightly enough; it was so cozy waiting for the start I would have been content to just stand there in the middle of the swarm for an hour and a half and then the starter's air horn could signal us all to go home. We really should try that some time; the actual racing part of running is highly overrated as it is. 

* how unfair a race corral can be to shorter, socially-connected runners looking to meet up with their mates. Case in point: my 5' 2" tri club friend, Erin, appeared, bobbing up and down, trying to find her S.O. and various friends seeded throughout the throng. She and countless others of her stature spend their crucial final moments craning their heads up like prairie dogs, looking over the sea of shoulders, searching in vain for some individual somewhere else swallowed up in the Main Street mosh pit, when they could be focussing on more pressing matters, like, What was I thinking when I signed up for this?. Race directors could really endear themselves to participants by rigging up some ladders on nearby lampposts, à la the Victoran gas light era, so folks could more readily find one another in crowds.

* I realized I have a prejudice against runners faster than me who can talk out loud through the entire event. It's not like I feel rageful toward them or anything - on my better days I don't even think I'd be inclined to try to trip them - I think it is really just a type of envy. Here I am, slogging along, practically coughing up blood as I try to keep my form and my rhythmic gasping under control, barely able to wheeze out the words, "ELoad - thanks!" at the aid station, and you and your buddies are actually hauling me in while you discuss a) who you've got doing your taxes this year, and why he's so much better than that last crook; b) why your recent races sucked so badly because you didn't realize you had a celiac response every time you drank more than three pints of beer X whereas now that you're back to downing your old standby beer Y everything seems copacetic; c) how Monica never quite appreciated your notion of "flexible" schedule and all it entails. 

And always, always, it is at a volume better suited to a middle-of-the-lake discussion aboard a power boat at full throttle.

Go ahead and pass me, guys. So you're faster than me - I get that. But do you have to make it look so easy?

As for post-race recovery, I say screw the compression socks - how about pogo pants for descending steep school bus shuttle stairs after sitting for 25 minutes right after a thrashing good run? Here's where I got to experience life as a tourist, but without the airport lineups and Gravol: When it came time to disembark it felt like descending the precarious steps of the Angkor Wat Temple. I nearly fell from the bus - it practically spit me out - but I grabbed the handrail just one step from disaster, hoping it looked as though my cat-like reflexes spared me, but suspicious I just looked like yet another old geezer who got lucky this one time.

I'm getting too old for this... Photo by C.Hong

The race was well run as always, the shuttles (steep stairs notwithstanding!) a brilliant idea to save on crowding, great volunteers, the cowbells made us feel like champs, I went flat out - couldn't squeeze out any more in final kms, still managing to peg it but no more. Improvement: from 1:34:33 to 1:33:41. Note to self: divvy out the improvements like a miser so you can keep getting faster for longer.