Everything I like is bad for me

This past week has been a bit depressing. Reports have come out about iced coffee drinks, sun tanning booths and talking on cell phones while driving.

I kinda like doing those things, and now I feel like a bad person. Or a yuppie ditz.

I'm addicted to iced coffee drinks.

There isn't a Starbucks in my town (can you believe it?) and I don't particularly like coffee (I've never had a cup of the black goo in my life), but chocolate and coffee create a perfect, harmonious union of yummy in my mouth.

A guy named Tim is the dealer of such delicacies in 100 Mile, and I'm both grateful and bitter toward his shop.

At first it was Iced Capps, a delicious blend of cream, coffee and heaven; and now, thinking it might be a more calorie-conscious approach, I'm on to the Iced Lattés.

Not having cable in my modest basement suite, I didn't realize the evening news did a report on how horrible these drinks really are for you.

Innocently grabbing my treat from the local TimmyHo, I arrived at work yesterday to a chorus of "Do you now how bad those are?"

So I looked it up: according to the Tim Hortons website, one medium Iced Capp made with chocolate milk has 230 calories and one gram of fat, with 52 grams of sugar. (At least I had never opted for a brownie supreme capp, from which I would ingest 330 calories and 16 grams of fat — from a small.)

OK, so what about those lattés I've been drinking religiously, thinking I've been saving calories?

It looks like I was right, with a medium holding only 160 calories, but what about fat?

Well I've been taking in six more grams of fat than an Iced Capp, but with less sugar. Now I can't figure out what's better (or worse) for me.

Now, to tanning beds, something I've only occasionally dabbled in but used nonetheless.

International cancer experts moved tanning beds from a possible carcinogen to the top risk category, up there with smoking and mustard gas.

I think that's a bit of an embarrassment for all those orange-skinned bleached blondes out there, but what if I only go once in a while, like in the dead of a -30 C winter where the only warmth get is from those lamps?

100 Mile House has at least three tanning shops, strange because less than 2,000 people live here.

So if and when I stop by one of these establishments to darken my skin's hue, will I be frowned upon by people on the sidewalk? Will there be a sticker on the bed that warns of UV light exposure, complete with grotesque photos of light-deformed skin and eyes like on cigarette packages?

Perhaps I will have to stop by back alley, unlicenced establishments in a trench coat and glasses to get my light fix.

Besides killing myself with sweets and artificial sunlight, I'm also trying to murder others — not intentionally, though.

I live four minutes from my office. (Now, before you ask why I don't just walk, that is four minutes of highway driving time on a road with no sidewalk. )

During my drive home after a long day, I sometimes call my out-of-town family to check up on things because, once I get home, there are a host of chores, etc., to do and it's sometimes the only way to fit a quick call into the day.

Reports are non-stop this week that the BC Medical Association, along with top cop brass and a supposed nine-out-of-10 British Columbians, support a ban on cell phone use while driving.

This is something I don't 100 per cent agree with. Say I was on a traffic jam, late for work and not going anywhere: must I really pull over to say "I'm late"? (Not that I ever am, mind you.)

Here's another scenario: A drunk driver cuts into my lane and turns left at an intersection. I follow — but must I stop and lose the driver to make a 9-1-1 call?

As a female who is regularly driving long stretches of highway alone, do I want to pull onto the shoulder to use the phone at night? Perhaps, if instituted, the ban could begin a rash of car thefts and assaults on the legions of drivers forced to pull off the road for the phone.

Now I think I know how a smoker in the 1960s felt; all these things I enjoyed were obviously wrong but, without having an agency telling me so, I enjoyed them, guilt-free. Ignorance truly is bliss.

Jackson memorial reflected lifestyle

Michael Jackson is 2009's global warming. Everywhere you look, he's all you see: "Billie Jean" has replaced public service announcements on climate change; we may yet see the price at the pumps go up for a provincial "Jackson Tax" to increase on an annual babsis for every year that he stays dead (you know fans are hoping he comes back a la "Thriller"-style).
In the past few weeks he has eclipsed Canadian soldiers' deaths, the hostilities in Iran and the G8 summit. Hour-long network coverage of his memorial service was offered on television stations while play-by-play blog and Twitter feeds told cyber fans what was going down.
I did not follow the circus in real time, but from what I can tell from the zillions of articles, TV specials and photos that followed, it looked more like a gathering of celebrities trying to one-up each other than a time to reflect and mourn the single-gloved singer.
Still photos show performers, wide-mouthed and gazing to the heavens, belting out tunes in their Academy Award-worthy outfits. Reality TV stars saw the event as a chance to be seen, the Kardashians sitting together in matching black dresses, sending sultry smiles to the cameras and showing more collective leg than a bus load of giraffes.
The Jackson family was there, of course, but so were some you wouldn't expect if you didn't follow MJ's crazy saga: I had no idea Brooke Shields and Michael were so close; and Queen Latifa? She has friends?
Eighties child star Corey Feldman DRESSED as the iconic character during the ceremony; now THAT is weird.
On a strange tangent, Feldman was once "very close" with Michael as a teen. — but I'm not going to go there.
The event seemed more like a chance for B-List stars to take a desperate grab for the spotlight than a memorial, but that's just par for the course for Jackson — he received a sendoff that mirrored his life: weird.