Shitty Parenting?

So I received this sms today: “Woman changing dirty nappy at the next table in our restaurant.”

“Change your kid’s nappy over there”

What is it with some parents? I repeat some parents. At the risk of encouraging a “shit-in” in the lobby of the randomswill corporate HQ, since when is it ok to change a nappy in the middle of a restaurant? *crickets* *tumbleweeds* Exactly.

Do these people lose their minds when they have children, or were they always like that? Did they always have an I-can-do-whatever-the-f-I-want mentality or is just because they have bred?

Remember that recent-ish breastfeeding brouhaha? Australian television personality David Koch was virtually pitchforked for giving his opinion on a story that a nursing mother should be more “classy” in public. The torrent of abuse (obviously not all from mothers) resulted in a “nurse-in” and outraged comments from “lactivists” — you really hope whoever came up with that one had a smile on their face.

If the penis has not long been claimed, he may have to experience off-putting effects cialis viagra australia of the medication. This is not to say order cialis Going Here that beauty will provide happiness, make someone a kind person or maintain or repair a relationship. Chicago Bulls (16) – A strong week has the Chi at the top of their division, Tyrus Thomas is out for a while but Luol Deng is playing the best basketball of his life. canadian viagra sales The pills deactivate all those hormones and enzymes which are root cause of impotency. cost cialis Exactly when did parenting become so political? When did motherhood (and fatherhood) become so militant? When did “lactivist” and “nurse-in” creep into the vernacular? There was another recent case when burning torches were directed at a Sydney café owner — with threats to burn down the premises in response to a discussion she had with a breastfeeding customer. I’m not suggesting nursing mothers moonlight as arsonists, this was more the work of some bandwagon-jumping nutjobs.

I grappled with the whole breastfeeding thing a while ago, to summarise — nursing mothers should not be shamed into retreating anywhere, especially a disgusting toilet, but it might be nice if they showed a bit of discretion rather than boob.

That attitude I mentioned earlier seems to be getting worse — with increasing parenting fails — kids being allowed to run around screaming in cafés/ expensive resorts / hotels / wherever — all because mum and dad want some “me time”. Then there are those Mad Max-inspired strollers blockading doorways and footpaths, to today’s effort — nappy action in a restaurant.

Actually, I might need one of those, because it’s starting to give me the shits.

©Steve Williams 2013

Abscessed With Medical History

The chances are fairly slim, but if I were ever to have something named after me, I would prefer a star in a galaxy far, far away — or a postcard-inducing beach — rather than an abscess.

Doctor Strangelove demonstrates Alien Hand Syndrome (wthellokitty.tumblr.com)

I’m sure Sir Benjamin Collins Brodie was a rather pleasant chap who liked patting puppies and drawing unicorns — and by all reports was an outstanding surgeon and physiologist. However, it is an interesting way to be remembered — some poor buggers’ abscess sticking out of his shin being named after you.

Fascinating is it not? Learned medical practitioners devoting their life’s work to science, resulting in their name being solemnly invoked many years later by a poker-faced specialist diagnosing you with Schnitzler Syndrome. Sadly nothing to do with crumbed chicken, this is a rare disease characterised by chronic hives first scratched away by a French dermatologist (according to Wikipedia, so it must be true).

The honour roll of eponymously named medical conditions is rather enlightening.

Bright’s Disease sounds actually rather cheerful, named after one Richard Bright — turns out it is a not overly tremendous chronic nephritis of the kidneys — that was suffered by the author of Dracula, Bram Stoker (there’s one for your next lull in conversation).
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Speaking of those blood-filtering organs (note seamless Dracula segue), Brewer Kidney has nothing to do with drinking copious amounts of amber fluid; George Emerson Brewer knocked the top off that one.

Alliteration buffs will applaud Horton’s Headache, though sufferers of those bastard cluster headaches named after Bayard Taylor Horton will no doubt ask them to keep it down a bit.

In closing, Doctor Strangelove Syndrome is rather gripping — for the fact that it is named after a fictitious fanatical doctor in a classic film, and is otherwise known as Alien Hand Syndrome — where your mind believes it has a hand of its own — or something.

That could come in handy drawing unicorns.

©Steve Williams 2013

America — land of the free, home of the loud

Dear people of America…

I love your country. It has given us so much: wardrobe malfunctions, the Ferris Wheel, the pop-up toaster, chocolate chip cookies, Elvis, windscreen wipers and cheese-in-a-can.

But one question, why are you so f’ing loud when you travel?

By “loud”, I’m not talking about the blinding-white sandshoes, mismatched migraine-inducing clothes, stupid hats and mandatory “fanny pack”.

No, I’m talking about loud as in volume.

Is it really necessary for entirely unsuspecting, innocent people in a hotel lobby / restaurant / bus / train / plane / cafe / whatever / wherever to hear absolutely EVERY SINGLE WORD OF YOUR CONVERSATION? Really?

I realise it’s a well-worn, overused, hackneyed, clichéd stereotype, but seriously, you people are living it — loud and unfortunately very clear.

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In closing, I hope the star spangled banner continues to wave o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave et al, but can you just keep it down a bit?

Thanks.

PS, If you’re travelling to a country where English isn’t the first language, speaking at restaurant staff at the top of your voice won’t instantly make them fluent in “your language”.

PPS, The “h” in the word “herb” doesn’t need to be silent.

PPPS, The word “fanny” has a somewhat different meaning in other parts of the world.

©Steve Williams 2013

Subway – A Case of Foot in Mouth?

I think everyone needs to calm the hell down.

A firestorm was unleashed on the good burghers at Subway after they suggested that the word “foot” in their famous “Footlong” sub is “not intended to be a measurement of length” and is merely a “descriptive name”.

The one on the left may or may not be the foot in question

Fair enough. Which bit of that don’t you get? Who would reasonably expect that something called a “Footlong” would actually be twelve inches in length? That’s just being pedantic.
Maybe they should also clarify that a “sub” isn’t a naval vessel designed to operate underwater.

Subwaygate” — I’m surprised the usual adding of the prefix “gate” to any controversy hasn’t been done in this case — fired up when some smartarse Australian kid actually measured his sub and discovered that it allegedly pulled up an inch or so short. Who takes a tape measure to a sandwich shop?

It all depends on how you define the word “foot”. Surely assuming that his lunch should actually be twelve inches or thirty point something centimetres is a bit of a stretch. Maybe they were inferring a human foot size. That would give them a bit of scope —  “a foot” could mean anything from an NBA size gazillion to one of those unfortunate victims of foot binding.
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Do you seriously expect to believe everything that an advertiser or company tells you?
Next you’ll automatically assume that something “made in Australia” actually is, rather than in a foreign Victorian style sweatshop (the era, not the state), or a “low fat” product isn’t chockfull of sugar.

Seriously, haven’t you realised that an asterisk at the bottom of a newspaper ad or the words “conditions apply” in a radio commercial translates to “everything you just read or heard is complete bullshit?”

No onion on mine thanks…

*This article may or may not contain false indignation.

©Steve Williams 2012