This Halloween in addition to witches, goblins and Ted Cruze, we can add tricks by Monsanto to our list of things to scare us to death. Under the guise of improving the quality of life and eliminating hunger, Monsanto obtained seed patents monopolizing a large portion of our farm crops. The American consumer unwittingly joined the ranks of lab rats.
Many Halloween’s ago the concept of a chemical manufacturer having a patent on seeds would have been material for a grade B science fiction movie plot. But wait; there was a 1973 movie about food sources “Soylent Green”. If I remember correctly the plot goes something like this:
The movie is set in the year 2022, unemployment and homelessness abound. Unemployed people are scraping to get by. Earth is overpopulated and polluted. Natural food like fruits, vegetables, and meat among others are now extinct. Natural resources have been exhausted and the nourishment of the population is provided by Soylent Industries. The Soylent Corporation produces food rations, which consist of a green wafer said to contain plankton from the ocean. Eventually, we discover the composition of the green wafer; it ain’t plankton.
Here we are in 2014: Monsanto Corporation holds over 11,000 patents on seeds, animals, human genetics and body parts. Not content to stop there, they are tinkering with fish.
If the GMO’s are harmless why are agribusinesses fighting to prohibit labeling? Monsanto, DuPont Pioneer, Coca-Cola and Kellogg Company have pushed combined fundraising to opponents of labeling genetically modified foods to over $22 million. That’s a lot of fruit loops to prevent consumers from knowing what they are eating. The science behind GMO’s is mind numbing and way beyond my comprehension, but does not escape my ability to feel victimized and frightened.
Genetically engineered Salmon don’t have to swim upstream to procreate.Top heavy chickens look like a sumo on steroids. Giant prawns have suspect ancestry. These species of fish and fowl are foul.
One wonders if Monsanto used the fictitious Soylent Green Corporation as a business model.This Halloween, perhaps Monsanto bigwigs should kick back and watch “Rise of the Planet of the Apes”. The uprising by genetically altered apes should be an eyeopener. Being mauled by an oversized chicken and bitch slapped by a ginormous salmon deprived of doing what comes naturally to procreate might be something to consider.
Science is scary when it backfires.
Mary Margaret is a foodie and hopping mad. She has an earful for Monsanto.
In spite of comments from others, I described my weird habits as eccentricities until someone commented that an eccentricity requires a level of savior faire that I have yet to acquire.
Whether they are eccentricities or weird; I find it much simpler to acknowledge my oddities and bypass the shrink.
I get uneasy if there is unequal and dim lighting in a room. I require a minimum of three lamps in every room. At the first hint of dusk, lamps must be on, mid-level lighting on all three lamps. Improper lighting is as irritating as nails on a chalkboard. The lamps must have some degree of relationship to the décor and each other, but cannot match; can’t stand lamp “sets”.
I am not a health nut who eats certain foods together for improved digestion, however I eat one category of food at a time i.e. meat, vegetables, potatoes. I was not aware of my eccentricity until someone pointed it out in a restaurant loud enough for the valet parking attendant to hear. I’d like to believe it lends an aura of mystique to my persona, but was informed “odd” is not mysterious.
Unorganized shelves anywhere make me nuts. Glassware enjoys residing by similar receptacles as do plates, cups and saucers. Spices would never feel comfortable sharing space with canned goods. It’s probably best I not mention the requirements for the bookcase.
My desk lamp has to be slightly higher than the computer monitor that sits slightly to the left, tchotchkes and extra pens on the right.
I have label maker issues. I get antsy when the tape begins to run out. I cannot be certain, but I believe I overheard someone mutter something about the #$%& label maker and dumpster.
One final minor oddity is I must have bedside reading material. I may not stay awake long enough to read more than one page, but got to have that page.
I believe this strangeness may be due to the fact that my second toe is longer than my great toe. I’m turning a deaf ear to Mary Margaret’s suggestion that I change the tin foil in my hat.
With all the fright going around with ISIS and talking heads making-it-up-as-they-go-along-Ebola experts, thought I’d give myself a break from the scary stuff.
I am working on my family genealogy chart. Due to diligent family recordkeeping I was able to reach far back in history. My break from the scary stuff was short lived.
As I scan the aging photos of my DNA predecessors, it becomes obvious why the term “descend” is apt. A long line of unattractive people make up my gene pool. The men don’t look so bad, but some of the women look like they missed the casting call for “Transparent”.
A friend recently commented that women of a certain age, age more attractively in the city than their counterparts who inhabit the hinterlands. If she is correct, this has been going on for a long time. Believe you me; the myth about the beauty of southern women is exaggerated. There are few Scarlett O’Hara beauties in my family tree. Not only are some of them extremely unattractive, they look mean as rattlesnakes. I wondered why.
The reason for their unpleasant countenance became clear as I noted the number of kids these women had. Can you imagine living in a rural area in the 1800’s and having ten or eleven kids running around the cabin? There was no Mothers’ Day Out program. There was no electricity or running water. There was no pinot grigio to take the edge off; well maybe a little moonshine every now and then. There was no Fratelli’s pizza delivery on the days they didn’t feel like killing or skinning something for dinner.
These women probably thought chopping cotton was the equivalent of a spa day. A mani or pedi was unheard of which is why they wore gloves and ugly shoes when they left home. The men looked mean too and with good reason. Can you imagine the reception they got at the end of the day? (Workday fatigue must have been short lived as evidenced by the large number of children).
Had I been in their place I wouldn’t “smile for the camera” either.
I’ll take my oversized proboscis and generous backside that my forebears thrust upon me and be thankful for the here and now.
Mary Margaret has a different solution to her genealogy situation.