Reality Limbo - How Low Can We Go?

“Dutch broadcaster BNN plans to air a television show next week in which a terminally ill woman will decide which of three young patients will get her kidney.
Viewers will send text messages to the 37-year-old woman, known as Lisa, advising her which of the candidates to pick.”

Post-apocalyptic fantasy? No. Scene from a Lindsay Anderson film? Good guess, but again no. Report from this morning’s broadsheet? Haha, yeah, right! Yeah – RIGHT.

I’m sure I won’t be the only blogger to pick up on this, but just how far down the trail of appalling taste do we have to go before the concept of “reality television” gets the mass consumer rejection it deserves?

At best, (and I’m struggling here), reality TV is entertainment which caters for people’s desires to see others in challenging situations outside their comfort zones. I’m thinking especially of examples where people were put “back in time” to experience domestic life without mod cons, or in wartime London, or living as a pioneer family. These at least had some sociological and historical interest, despite being difficult at times for the participants. The one or two series I saw very early on also seemed to feature a degree of sensitivity in their editing.

At worst though, reality TV programmes are the humiliating, demeaning and downright psychologically dangerous inventions of people whose quest for ratings overcomes any sense of human decency. Think “Big Brother”, which recently surpassed previous excesses by introducing a sensory-depriving “White Room”, in which potential participants had to outlast their peers in order to gain access to the house. Similar experiments conducted with volunteers years ago proved this to be hugely traumatic for the subjects involved, leaving them suffering disturbing symptoms up to ten years after the event. Yep, that’s entertainment.

Humiliation is a key ingredient. Being “voted out” by peers or public poll, being subjected to demeaning tasks, public exposure at moments of great vulnerability – it's all good stuff for the cameras. Oddly, the proliferation of these free-to-air obscenities comes at a time where schools are making genuine inroads towards tackling bullying, ostracisation and social isolation in our schools. As the Americans would say, go figure.

And now we are reduced to this; public pitching for the right to live. I feel sickened, but more than that; I feel ashamed to be part of a society which feels this is by any measure something to be sold as “entertainment”.

This way to the Coliseum ladies and gentlemen.

Wish you were here ...

One of my many strange but more fulfilling habits is trolling through second-hand book shops. Much of my library has its origins in flea-markets, school fairs and op shops (that's charity shops to English readers, and probably something else again to others), and I love it. However, this post is not about the pleasures of foxed pages and first editions, but about a bookmark..

This morning a postcard fell out of a book I bought a few weeks ago. It's the standard view, and I'm guessing the postcard is circa 1975. The image is copyright (so acknowlegements to Nucolorvue and everyone's happy), but the real gem is in the prose. It's written to an address in Mildura, which is in regional country Victoria near the NSW border.

I now present for your edification a snapshot of how a young country student of the seventies, given an opportunity to continue her education in the Big Smoke, wrote home:

Dear Kay,

I'm buggered!! The kids up here are deads...s!! Got up at 3am Sunday, got here at 6.15am. Had a bit too (sic) drink last night. Went on a pub crawl today & we sang on the way back here in the bus. Sobered up for tea & we're drinking again. Going to Macquarie Uni to meet a friend tomorrow. Bet I get lost!! The lectures are pretty boring. Indonesian restaurant tomorrow night. See ya next term. Phyl.

I wonder where Phyl is now?

Vinegar Eggs

Now that the comments on my last post have evolved into discussions of cockroaches, flat frogs, leeches and barefoot mice squashing, it might be time for something less disgusting. I'm not sure if you'll agree the following actually IS less disgusting, but humour me anyway.

I had one of my cravings this morning. Not the usual, run-of-the-mill predictable stuff like chocolate or jujubes or rogan josh, but an old favourite of my Dad's: vinegar eggs. Having just eaten them in gastromomic rapture, I would now like to, as they say, share the love.

I think I gave this recipe on much-missed Neil's blog a while ago, but it's so fabulous I'm going to give it space here too (because I'd never put anything here that wasn't utterly brilliant, would I coff coff).

Right. Enough preamble. Vinegar Eggs.

Have everything ready before you start: a small, heavy frying pan, two eggs, butter, toast ready to go (sourdough is especially good here), vinegar (malt is best but you could use white and work up to the heavy stuff gradually as your taste buds develop haha), and a lid for the pan.

Heat pan and add a good knob of butter. When it's light golden brown, crack two free-range, preferably organic eggs into it, yolks intact.

Quickly slosh over a good measure of vinegar, (maybe two or three tablespoons, but guess) and put the lid on straight away. The eggs should half fry / half steam in the pan. Take the lid off after a minute or so to check the eggs are done as you like them. Ideally whites should be set and yolks runny.

Lift out the eggs from the poaching liquid and onto your toast, grind a little black pepper over it all, and eat accompanied by copious quantities of hot tea.

I know it sounds vile, but you have to trust me - and my Dad - on this one. Mind you, some of you may remember that this is the same culinary dynamic duo who brought you the arguable delights of Vegemite and chutney on toast, so I'll understand if my cred here is not as high as it might be.

Still ... go on ... live dangerously, eh?

Toads!

A bit of unnatural history for you today. Feeling comfy?

Good. Then we'll begin:

Although we're pretty vigilant now, in the past Australia has had an odd habit of introducing animals and plants which, frankly, were absent from this huge island continent for a reason. These include rabbits and foxes (brought over by early settlers for food and "sport", respectively), camels (for desert transport), water buffalo (for meat), and prickly pear, which was brought out with the first fleet together with the cochineal insects which feed off it and were used to create fabric dyes. All these things are now feral and in plague proportions, and do immeasurable harm to native flora and fauna.

One of the worst, however, is the Cane Toad. This handsome beastie was introduced to the Australian food chain in 1935 to control two insects which were devastating the important Northern sugar cane crops. Probably seemed like a good idea at the time. Unfortunately, these guys, unlike the vast majority of frogs and toads, are really hardy little buggers. They thrive and breed with an enthusiasm and efficiency which is truly awe-inspiring. They also like to travel. Intended for far Northern Australia, they have now come almost right down the Eastern coastline and are travelling inland.

This morning's paper carried the news that one has just been found in a suburban back-yard in Melbourne where I live (it's in Victoria; the little funny-shaped state above the island state of Tasmania on the map I pinched from a Government environmental info site well I pay my taxes so I figure I'm entitled). This is not good.

The problem with cane toads (besides the fact that they make a terrible mess when you squash them) is that they eat almost anything they can fit into their mouths; small lizards and snakes, marsupials, native frogs and their tadpoles, insects - even pet food that's left out. In addition, although some birds and animals have learned not to eat them, many are a bit slower on the uptake, and these guys are seriously toxic. Poison-secreting glands on their shoulders guarantee a nasty death through heart failure for any creature who fancies them as lunch. We lose many native animals and also domestic pets this way - even a few licks or an exploratory nibble can be enough to kill. Children living in cane toad country are taught early on that the only way to deal with them involves a blunt object or a stout pair of boots.

Apart from these one-meal martyrs, (some species of which are now threatened), the cane toad has no natural predators - at least any that can come back for seconds. People are encouraged to clobber any cane toads they see, collect and destroy their tadpoles (unfortunately many native taddies are culled in the process if it's done by well-meaning amateurs), and even bundle them into freezer bags and put them on ice til they lose consciousness and die humanely (you reckon?).

Apart from that, what's the plan? Introduce another predator? Well, yes, but in viral form this time. Scientists are serching for a cane-toad-specific virus which will take them out like some sort of biological neutron bomb and leave all other creatures unaffected. Hmmm. I think we've been down this path before ...

Perhaps a community-driven eradiacation campaign is what's really needed. I'm already working on lyrics for the jingle:

If you see a knobbly toad

Run it over on the road

If it's sitting on the mat

Bash it with a cricket bat

If it's swimming in your pool

Hold it under (though it's cruel)

If it's basking in the yard

Close your eyes and stomp real hard

If you are a farmer / grower

Run it over with the mower

If your doggie tries to tease it

Whack it in a bag and freeze it

Do it nicely, please be kind,

And if it's quick the toad won't mind.

What do you think - a winner?