Archive for 2008

The Detox

Tuesday, November 25th, 2008


Last week, in a moment of madness, I decided to do a detox. I researched and found one that I thought would work. Maybe I missed the small print, but it turned out to be a no food diet. 

 

Everything was to be in liquid form. I could drink water. Lots of it. I could drink water with this green formula mixed into it. And water with an antioxidant berry formula mixed in. I could have homemade vegetable soup and I could juice vegetables at lunch time. I don’t know if you’ve ever juiced vegetables, but let me tell you, it doesn’t matter what combination of vegetation you pick to blend together, they all taste like ass. 
This particular detox was supposed to be for 21 days. I realised in my preparations, that there was no way I would last that long. There were seven day and two day options too. I picked the seven day and on monday morning, I started. I kicked my morning off with a glass of water, another glass of water with berry formula in it and some herbal tea. Surprisingly, it kept the hunger at bay. Then, every two hours, I had to have water and tea and either green formula or berry formula. Most of the day was fine, until about four thirty when my stomach began eating itself.
Watching my coworkers have an afternoon snack of chocolate chip cookies (my favourite!), made a single tear trickle down my cheek. I missed chewing. I revised my action plan and decided that for the safety of myself and others, I would now be doing the detox for two days. 
I left work and had to find ways to keep my mind off eating my own arm. Reading through the detox book, it said that detoxing was as much for the mind and the soul as it was for the body. I was reading all these testimonials from people who said they found this unprecedented level of mental clarity. I need some of that, I thought. Maybe I should focus on my mind, as opposed to what this was doing to my body. I decided to try some meditation. 
Now, given, I have not been trained in meditation and on the few occasions I have tried it, I have not been successful. I don’t get how people can just switch their brain off. But to stop my fantasies of tackling the first person on the street I saw with a hotdog, I thought I should try to connect with a higher power. 
Here’s how my meditation went:
ommmmmm. Do people say ‘ommm’ when they start meditating? Who knows? Anyway, peace and harmony, peace and harmony. Don’t think about food. Joy, happiness. Don’t think about food. Damn, I could murder a cookie right now. I could murder five cookies right now. I could murder myself for even attempting this detox. Oh, damn – peace and harmony and all that shit. Ommmm. Ahh, damnit, I forgot to do that thing at work. I’ll have to take care of that tomorrow. I could really use a new jacket. Like a really nice winter jacket. Not a down one. They all look the same. Every winter coat looks the same. Ugh. I bet Vivienne Westwood does a coat that is not the same. I don’t even know where they sell Vivienne Westwood in Toronto. I don’t even know what body part I would have to sell to afford a Vivienne Westwood coat. Maybe I could sell my liver. It’s gonna be mighty clean after this detox. Peace and harmony. Peace and harmony. Higher ground. I would love a cup of tea. Real tea. Not that herbal shit. Who the hell decided it was a good idea to make raspberry flavoured tea anyway? Crazy bastard. Earl grey should be the only kind of tea that exists. Maybe I could turn the TV on. I bet that’s frowned upon when you’re trying to meditate. Project Runway’s about to start though. Tim Gunn can make me reach a higher plain. Oh damnit, stop thinking! Peace and harmony. Happy happy joy joy. OK. Seriously. Stop thinking……………………………………………..Christ on a bike, how does the Dalai Lama do this shit every day? And does he ever wear anything but those robes? At least Catholic priests just get decked out for mass, the rest of the time they get to wear all black – very Karl Lagerfeld when you think about it. I bet the Dalai Lama chills at home in a wife beater and basketball shorts. Mmmm. Basketball. Tall men. Shorts. I need a massage. From a basketball player. In shorts. Or a short german woman who punches my back. Whichever’s cheaper. I’m guessing the german. I love Christmas lights. I’m gonna clean the bathroom after this. I’d like to have a few bonsai trees. Get all ‘Mr Miyagi’ up in here. Who could be my Daniel San? I need to defrost my freezer. Oh, I have that chicken in the freezer. I can make a mean stir fry with that. Shit! Not for the next 48 hours I can’t! Ahh, peace and harmony. Yada yada. Is Project Runway on yet? 

As you can see, meditation is not my forte. I lasted about seven minutes. I did get through my second day of detox however. But on wednesday morning, I woke up with the shakes. The backlash from my body. Let me tell you, cornflakes and my cup of Earl Grey (milk, one sugar) never tasted so good. 

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Miss Behaving

Monday, November 24th, 2008


Saturday. 5pm. The Yonge line going downtown. I get on and scramble to find the last remaining seat in the carriage. In this hub of three seats, I’m on the left, a little girl bundled up in her snowsuit is in the middle and her Jamaican mother is on the right. 

 

I got my book out, trying to get through a few pages before I got off. I knew it would be hard because the girl next to me was very determined to be a disruptive, annoying, irritating little brat. The snowsuit, hat, earmuffs and boots she was wearing made her look like the daughter of the Michelin Man. Maybe her brattiness was brought on by the discomfort of her get up. 
She was noisy, attempted to hit her mother a few times, wriggled in her seat so much I was a few seconds away from introducing her to the back of my hand, she stood on her seat, grinding her snow boot mess deep into it (I pity the fool who sat there next). But then she found the creme de la creme of annoyance. She hit a panel by the window and it made a loud bang. Her brother, sitting a few seats away, laughed. And that’s all a kid needs. If someone laughs at it, they will keep going. She hit that panel three more times before her mother calmly grabbed her hand and said;
‘Look at me and do that again and see wha’ ‘appen to you.’
God, I love Jamaican parents. 
The little girl piped down a little bit, but as with every child, she wanted to push it a little more to see how far this could go. She raised her hand one last time to bring it down on the panel. The mother just looked at her and said;
‘Do it. I dare you to do it. Just wait till we get home.’
The little girl retracted her hand. 
‘I’m not going home!’ she said. You got the right idea kid, ’cause she ain’t playing. She will whoop you and I was gonna ask permission to be second in line to whoop you myself. 
Something tells me that kid might be behaving herself next time she’s on a train. 

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One Year Strong

Sunday, November 23rd, 2008


I’m back bitches! And what better day to get back in the saddle than the one year anniversary of Bangs and a Bun? I’ve been here telling my stories, talking shit about people and giving fashion advice for one whole year babies and it feels so good! 

 

I started this here blog as my creative outlet. After working in music journalism then moving around a bit and landing in a city where I have no contacts (in terms of getting a writing job), I gotta get my work out there somehow, right? So here it is. It’s been trial and error. I’ve been using this to figure out what works and what doesn’t, what I can and can’t write about and the learning curve has been a great one. 
And while it hasn’t gotten me where I want to go just yet, if I work hard enough, I have no doubt that it will. What started out as just my parents and a couple of friends reading it, has grown to a network of at least seven people who read this shit daily. But seriously, it is kinda cool when you have people in random places in the world, whom you don’t even know, who stop by and read your stuff every day. So, I would like to take a moment to acknowledge those mysterious strangers. To the people in:
Pasadena, California
Vancouver, BC
Burlington, Vermont
Giza, Egypt
The Netherlands
Baden, Switzerland
Phoenix, Arizona
Breman, Germany
And some places I can’t even pronounce. I see you! And you read me often. So thank you. And hey, don’t be shy. Leave a comment every now and then, let me know you’re here. I know a lot of people in a lot of places, but I ain’t never been to Switzerland, so whoever you are and however you came across me, you rock.
 
And I can’t do this without acknowledging those who’ve been with me from the start: Jaded, One Man, Sid, T,  you guys were some of the first people to comment on here and I appreciate you coming back. 
Bangs and a Bun is definitely the best thing I’ve ever done for myself, creatively and otherwise. I love doing this and if I make at least one person smile every day, then my mission is accomplished. I don’t know what just happened there but I got all Oprah on yo ass. Sorry. 
Anyways, here’s to the first year of many. Oh, and if you’re reading this and you feel the need to offer me a newspaper column, my own TV show, radio show and a book deal, don’t fight the feeling. 
May the Bangs and a Bun be with you.

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In the Meantime…

Sunday, November 16th, 2008


I’m taking a blogging break this week, amigos. I have a couple of projects that I need to give my full attention. In the meantime, browse the archives, leave some comments and you can even read this questionnaire that came my way…till next time…

 

Three? feeli?ngs at the momen?t????
Tired – watching the Raps game live really takes it out of you.
Partially deaf in my left ear from the chick screaming ‘LET’S GO RAPTORS!’ next to me for an hour.
Excited about my upcoming projects.

 

What do you want to happe?n????
- for more people to read this blog and for those who already do to leave frikkin’ comments!
- for a great career opportunity to come my way
- for a man, any man in Toronto, to hit on me, just so I can be sure I don’t have three heads or something

 

Does anyth?ing hurt on your body????
See above – my left ear.?

 

Have you ever punch?ed a hole in the wall????
No. I punch mirrors, TVs and faces instead.

 

Where? were you at 1:???00am this morni?ng????
Tucked up in bed.

 

Do you wear glass?es????
Yes. For distance. But I’m too vain to wear them most of the time.

 

Is there? a frien?d you parti?cular?ly miss????
I’ve been away from home for three years. I frikkin’ miss everyone.?

 

What will you be doing? in half hour????
I haven’t pencilled anything in yet.?

 

Anywh?ere you’???d rathe?r be right? now?
Having dinner with my parents would be nice.

 

Last place? you hugge?d someo?ne????
Outside Union station.

 

What are you liste?ning to curre?ntly????
J Dilla

 

Do you prefe?r to take showe?rs at night? or in the morni?ng????
Morning, but if I got real dirty during the day, night too. Wait…that didn’t sound right.

 

Do you liste?n to love songs? when you’r?e down????
Hell no. I throw on some James Brown and dance my ass off.

 

Do you norma?lly sleep? with cloth?es on?
Nope. Who am I getting all dressed up for?

 

Do you alway?s answe?r your phone?????
No. Half the time I don’t hear it and it’s quite possible that I’ll never hear it again if I don’t regain hearing in my left ear after the Raptors game today. But I am also the queen of screening.

 

Do you have someo?ne of the oppos?ite sex you can tell every?thing? to?
Yup.

 

Are you liste?ning to music? right? now?
I always am. I’m a superstar DJ. My bedroom is the best club in Toronto.

 

Where? will you be 12 hours? from now?
Work.

 

Do you know what you are going? to wear tomor?row????
My oh so sexy uniform.

 

Are you likin?g how you look today?????
I am an absolute vision.

 

What’???s curre?ntly bothe?ring you?
How long have you got?

 

Does anyon?e hate you for no reaso?n????
I imagine so, yes.

 

How many hours? of sleep? did you get last night?????
About five and a half.

 

What are you doing? tomor?row????
Working and starting something pretty exciting.

 

Are you easil?y confu?sed????
I don’t understand the question.

 

What’???s your favor?ite kind of ice cream?????
Haagen Daaz Cookies and Cream

 

Is your curre?nt hair color? mostl?y your natur?al hair color????
Mmmm Haagen Daaz Cookies and Cream. Wait, what? Oh, I’m all natural, baby.

 

Is there? anybo?dy you wish you could? be with right? now?
Oooohhhhh yes.

 

Is there? somet?hing you wish you could? tell someo?ne but can’???t????
No. If I want to say something, I pretty much just say it.

 

When is the next time you will see the perso?n you like????
When all the planets in the universe align and allow it to happen.

 

When was the last time someo?ne told you you were prett?y????
A few weeks ago, an old man came into my workplace and told me I was ‘stunning’. I asked him to marry me.

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A Shopper's Guide to Abercrombie & Fitch

Tuesday, November 11th, 2008


The Yuletide season is fast approaching, bitches. I’m almost done with my Christmas shopping. But, if you’re not a wonder of organization like my good self, fear not, I’m here to help. As a seasoned shopper, I will guide you through the most difficult shops, so that you can take on those bad boys with no fear. Follow these step-by-step guides and you’ll be shopping like it’s a military operation in no time.

 

This week, we tackle Abercrombie & Fitch. Now granted, you have better taste than to step into this minefield of hormones and overpriced tank tops, but, doubtless that niece/little sister/first year college student in your life will throw a grade A bitch fit if you don’t get them something from here. If you’re over the age of 22, Abercrombie makes pretty much no sense. It’s like a secret society. So don’t worry if you feel out of place in there, you’ll see a bunch of other people over the legal drinking age, wandering around aimlessly, close to tears, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. But not you. Oh no. Thanks to this trusty Bangs and a Bun guide, you have got this thing on lock.

 

When approaching an Abercrombie store, you’ll notice there are no window displays. It’s just giant black venetian blinds. Don’t let this throw you off. They’re trying to mess with your head. There actually is a store behind those windows and it has stuff in it.

 

Upon entering, the first thing you’ll notice is a full on assault on your nostrils. That is some special brand of Abercrombie stench that they employ someone especially to spray every minute of the day. You may find that it triggers your gag reflex. I find it helps to throw on a surgical mask before going in. That way, you can bypass the smell and get right down to business without feeling lightheaded.

 

Once inside, you’ll see a couple of topless male models. They have tousled hair, they’re barefoot and their jeans are being held up by nothing more than hope. They are positioned there to remind people like you of your lost youth. I like to just flick their nipples a couple of times. Seriously, try it. It’s a little light hearted fun before you get down to the serious business of the power-browse. But don’t think about doing anything more than a flick of the nipple. If there is tongue-to-nipple contact, you may find yourself being escorted out by security. Just saying.

 

When you’ve finished manhandling the male models, take a deep breath, put your head down and charge in. There are only three things anyone ever wants from Abercrombie; a hoodie, a tank top and some sort of sweat pant with something random written across the ass. Find these things, pick the right colours, pay and get out. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Do not even attempt to try anything on. You’ll be waiting in line till next Christmas.

 

Additional tactics that may be employed under extreme duress; shin kicking, elbow to the ribs, swift poke of the eyeball, a punch to the windpipe. It’s Christmas, bitches. And you’ve got shopping to do. Don’t let them forget that.

 

*Next week we take on the giant drug store.

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Crash, Bang, Wallop

Monday, November 10th, 2008


I had my fair share of cuts and scrapes when I was a kid. Two of these incidents stand out more than the others; the arm breakage and the hit and run.

 

When I was about 10, I was practicing a dance routine, did a kick, hit my head, slipped and fell on my arm. Quite the sequence of events, I know. It hurt like hell. I ran downstairs, crying and my mum comforted me by sticking a pack of frozen peas on my arm, as she did with all my injuries. There wasn’t much time to do anything else. We had to be at a friend’s house for lunch that day. And so we went.

 

During the day my arm throbbed and became increasingly difficult to move. We were out all day, got back in the evening. Mama shoved frozen peas on it again to take the swelling down a bit. I went to bed, but by midnight, I could take the pain no longer. I woke up my parents and my mum took me to the hospital. We get to Accident and Emergency and I tell the nurse my arm hurts. She takes one look at it and says:

 

‘That would be because it’s broken sweetheart’

 

They sat us in the waiting room to wait for the doctor. With an arm that had been broken for about 15 hours now and it being the middle of the night, I was pretty exhausted. Five hours later, as the ass crack of dawn began to shine through, we were still waiting in that room. When they finally called my name and said I’d have to have surgery to manipulate my arm, I completely lost my shit. I was hysterical. They got me on a bed, I was kicking and screaming. They gave me something to sedate me, but it didn’t work too well, so they gave me some more.

 

Surgery commenced and my mum waited outside. Eventually, a doctor emerged from the room. My mum asked how I was doing. ‘She’s fine,’ said the doctor. ‘She’s just not waking up.’ Needless to say, this did not calm my mother down any. Due to that over-sedation, I was just enjoying some extra nap time. I came to a few hours later, cast on my arm, a little groggy, but good for the most part. I was more miffed that the frozen peas didn’t cure me – they seemed to work for everything else.

 

About a year after that, at the start of the summer, we were having a barbeque and I was going to run across the street to invite one of the neighbours. All was going well until half way across the street, I got hit by a car. I bounced right off the bumper and landed on my ass (if you’ve ever done that, you know it HURTS!). I let out a scream. The driver got out, my parents came running out of the house. Amid all the confusion, I tried to get up and walk it off, but my leg didn’t really want to cooperate with the program and I hit the deck again. My dad swiped me up, piled me in the car and drove like a bat out of hell down to the hospital. Luckily, nothing was broken and despite my dazed-like state since that day, I did not maintain any head injuries. My knee, however, did take the brunt of the fall and was pretty messed up. I was sent home on crutches.

 

That night, as we sat around, trying to take in the day’s events, there was a knock at the door. My dad opened it and it was the driver who hit me. They brought flowers and chocolates (for the record, an eleven year old could give a crap about flowers. Can a girl get a New Kids on the Block poster? A Vanilla Ice CD? Something?) They came over to apologise and see how I was doing. My parents told them I’d be on crutches for a bit, but for the most part, it was just shock. They were relieved. But then they got right down to the business of the day:

 

They asked for money to fix the dent I’d left in their car when they hit me.

 

Yeah, seriously.

 

True story.

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Things Which Must Stop – The Public Displays of Affection Edition

Wednesday, November 5th, 2008


Kung Fu Hand Holding


I get it, it’s all cutesy and shit. And it’s nice to show the world that this is your guy/girl. But do you think you could let go of your vice-like grip of each other when someone is trying to get past you on the sidewalk? You know that if you let go, that doesn’t necessarily mean your man is leaving you, right? It’ll just be for two seconds, I promise. Because while you’re all in love, on cloud nine and all that bollocks, the rest of us have shit to do. I don’t have time to tap dance around you, just because you’re desperate to prove that someone finds your lovable. Merry frikkin’ Christmas. That’s awesome. Now, move! Untangle your fingers, step a few centimetres away from each other, let regular, loveless, godless, busy humans get past you, then you can get right back to your love fest.

 

 

Snake Face


There’s a time and a place for full on facial suction. On a train platform during rush hour is not it. And really what’s the point? Licking each others faces is going to lead to some inappropriate touching of various body parts, which will only lead to one thing and since we don’t live in the red light district in Amsterdam, you need to cut that shit out. A peck is fine, but if it lasts longer than three seconds, it gets uncomfortable. If it last more than 20 seconds it’s just perverse. Especially if you’re ugly. I think I speak for everyone in society when I say, we’d appreciate it if you kept your ugly sex to yourselves. That kind of stuff should only happen behind closed doors. Now, with that said, go find a door and frikkin’ CLOSE IT!

 

 

Eating Each Other for Dinner


You made the decision to go out to dinner. Can you at least try to focus on the food? You’ll be out for an hour and a half, two hours, max, then you can rush right home and devour each other. But while at the restaurant, your insistence on feeling each other up, feeding each other food and sucking on the ends of spaghetti until you meet in the middle makes me want to punch the both of you in the face. Plus, I really did come out to eat and you’re making me lose my appetite. If his hand’s not around the back of her chair, her hand’s rubbing his thigh. If he’s not playing with her hair, she’s feeding him some of her ice cream, trying to look seductive. Jesus, people! Next time, please, do everyone a favour and order take out. Your love of the PDA is just nauseating.

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Dear America

Tuesday, November 4th, 2008

 

CONGRATU-FUCKING-LATIONS!!!!

 

I am proud of you, for voting, for caring, for making history, for fighting on, for proving people wrong, but most of all, for giving the biggest ever middle finger to the Republications. Job well done.

 

Now someone go get McCain some hot milk and a nice warm bath. The man’s a wreck. Eww wait, I just had a mental image of McCain in a bath and it’s ruining the moment for me. Back to the issue at hand; Obama, hope, change, yada, yada.

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Welcome to NAA (Non-Alcoholics Anonymous)

Monday, November 3rd, 2008

Me: Hi. My name’s Muireann and I don’t drink.

Crowd: Hi Muireann.

Me: So, what do I do here? I just explain myself?

Crowd: Well, how about starting with the reason you don’t drink.

Me: There isn’t one. I just don’t.

Crowd: Well, there has to be one. LIke, did you have a bad experience? Is someone in your family an alcoholic?

Me: Umm, no and no.

Crowd: So…why?

Me: OK, I guess, it all started when I was born. Back then, I was hooked on the milk. As I grew older, I was introduced to juice and the occasional Coca Cola. Mmmm, that was good shit. When I hit my teens, I was going to house parties where everyone was getting wasted. I was only 13, but I was mature enough to recognize that perhaps I wasn’t old enough to be making that decision just yet. Besides, I was having an awful lot of fun watching people make complete fools of themselves and reminding them of it at school on Monday mornings.

Crowd: But when you got into your later teens, you’d have a tipple then, wouldn’t you?

Me: No. Then I was in the club scene. I never really saw the point in going to a club to stand around drinking. And I don’t need anything to loosen me up before getting on the dance floor. I make a B-line for that bitch as soon as I get in there. The more time went on, the more drinking became a non-issue to me. I had never done it and I saw no reason to start.

Crowd: Oh, but you will eventually.

Me: Why? Because you do? I’ve never been one to do things just because others do it. I’m living my life just fine without alcohol it in. I can’t see what it would add to my life at this point.

Crowd: Oh, it’ll add plenty! *laughs*

Me: Yeah, see, that’s the typical reaction. Clearly, I don’t know what I’m doing because I’ve made a choice that is slightly against the grain. Tell me something, why does my decision to not drink make you drinkers so uncomfortable?

Crowd: *silence*

Me: And furthermore, why do you give a shit? Every time I go out and meet new people, when they find out I don’t drink, it turns into an hour long debate about why. They treat me like I’m some sort of social studies research project. When I see people drinking, I don’t hurl twenty questions at them; did your uncle fiddle with you when you were little and you drink to hide the pain? Do you drink because you have zero personality and you need the assistance of some sort of substance to give you some? Do you do it because you can’t stand to be the one person in your circle who isn’t doing something? Seriously, some of the shit I get asked is just straight up offensive.

Crowd: Well, if you don’t drink, what do you do? Do you do drugs? Do you have sex?

Me: Yes, that! See, what kind of stupid shit is that? I said I don’t drink. I never said I was a nun. But in the interest of full disclosure, no I don’t do drugs and the sex part is none of your damn business. I find it an interesting leap of logic though, that because I choose to not drink alcohol, I must have skipped straight to the hard stuff and have some sort of hardcore heroin addiction.

Crowd: So, you’ve like, never been drunk?

Me: No. Well, except that one time in Ireland when I downed a hot toddy to cure my cold, without realising there was alcohol in it. But, me never being drunk isn’t for lack of other people trying. I’ve had my drinks spiked, I had people buy me shots and refuse to start drinking until I down one (for the record, they always cave after about 3 minutes), and various other unsuccessful attempts to be the one who finally gets me to give in.

Crowd: So when you go out, what do you do?

Me: Well, I can hold a mean conversation. See, I have plenty of fun when I go out. I’m just like you (minus the intense need to fit in). I talk, I laugh, I dance. I do all of that and have the added bonus of remembering my own name at the end of the night and not puking all over myself and waking up next to someone I’ve never seen before. Not to mention, I probably have the sexiest liver you’ve ever seen.

Crowd: Hmm, that actually doesn’t sound so bad.

Me: It’s good times, amigo! You should try it sometime, except you can’t imagine, for one second, being the one in your circle who doesn’t drink. You couldn’t stand all the questions. You probably don’t have the balls to stand behind a decision like that. Yeah, I bet you’d cave after the third person asked you whether you’re having a Slippery Nipple or a Sex on the Beach.

Crowd: Yeah, you’re probably right.

Me: I know I am. Plus, everyone would really miss all your Facebook status updates on Monday mornings about how wasted you were on the weekend. Because, that’s not lame at all.

Crowd: I do like doing those updates.

Me: Don’t I know it. Some people might say it’s a bit sad that you’re in your late twenties and you’re still drinking to get drunk like some silly teenager. Those same people might say, you should probably know your limits by now, know when to call it a night. Or that, over the years, you might have learned how to engage with people on a social level without needing to be off your face. But that’s just some people. Not me. No judgement here at all.

Crowd: Hey, there’s no reason we can’t all just get along.

Me: Absolutely, you drunkard.

Crowd: You wanna go out for a drink?

Me: Sure. I feel like pushing the boat out tonight. Order me up a Diet Coke. Hold onto your hats, it’s about to get wild.

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Man Vs Wild

Sunday, November 2nd, 2008


Channel surfing on saturday morning, I came across a lovely little gem called ‘Man Vs Wild’. A chap called Bear Grylls (yeah, seriously) presents this how-to guide as to how to survive in extreme situations.

 

In this particular episode, he was in the desert and I tuned in at the exact moment that he was carving up a dead camel. To be specific, he was cutting a chunk of fat out of the hump, waxing poetic about how nutritious it is, before biting into it. He chewed it for a couple of seconds before spitting it out. Nutritious is may be, but tasty, it is not.

 

What do you do about a tasty beverage when stranded in the desert, I hear you cry? Well, if you happen to be close to a dead camel, cut it open and slice into the stomach lining. The moisture from digested camel food – ie, camel shit, will quench your thirst. If it tastes like shit, that’s because it is.

 

So, after he was finished nourishing himself, he cut out the guts of the camel and dragged them a couple of hundred feet away, so that no scavengers would attack his new home (which was around the back of the camel). He then came back to the carcass and peed around it, again, to keep those pesky scavengers away. Apparently, this only works with male urine. Aww shucks. You mean, I don’t get to pee in a big circle around the putrid remains of an ugly hump-backed animal? Man, the wilderness is so sexist.

 

The show then followed Bear Grylls as he took on whatever the desert threw at him. Clearly, this guy is a professional who’s spent many years figuring out how to survive in ridiculous circumstances. But what of the camera man and the sound guy? Those poor fools probably thought they were signing up as the crew on the Miley Cyrus show and next thing they know, they’re in the sweltering heat of the desert, filming this crazy bastard chowing down on camel carcass.

 

While I respect Bear Grylls’ expertise, I would say the best way to survive in the desert, is to not end up there in the first place.

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