in the mid-90s, i was something of a news junkie. this was back in the glory days of cnn, when judy fortin and chuck roberts and kathleen kennedy and my beloved don harrison were anchoring. every morning from 1992-1999, i'd get up, get my yogurt from the fridge, climb into my parents bed and watch the last 10 minutes of the 6:30 a.m. headline news and the first 10 minutes of the 7 a.m. headline news. so i ultimately wound up getting sports and entertainment and then also news, while handily avoiding the boring business junk that came in the middle.
so you'll understanding where i'm coming from, it would behoove you to watch this.
i mean, RIGHT?! look at his "computer." and his glasses. and their work space (which, i swear, must have been created by the makers of the set for buns of steel). you guys, that was the good old days. back when news was real.
it was also the days of mad cow. do you remember mad cow? it was a huge big deal right at the time that my parents were going on an anniversary antiquing tour of england, so i remember it very well.
EAT YE NOT BRITISH BEEF!!!
except that's kind of over now. british beef has, allegedly, been safe to eat since 2006. we're in the clear. we can eat british beef until the cows come home.
so why am i so afraid of british beef?
mind you, there was lots o' coverage of mad cow and enough footage of dying, demented cattle to scar anyone for life. i think this also combined, in my mind, with the ensuing foot-and-mouth disease epidemic to form this beef-related super disease that affected hands, feet, mouths, and minds, and rendered british cattle one of the great villains of the 90s.
but i think it's also something to do with the reputation of british cows. american cows have a pretty awesome rep. they're happy and incredibly eager to share their milk and cheese. british cows seem dickensian in contrast. and that's a pretty tough stigma to correct.
and so i find myself irrationally afraid of contracting mad cow. but, more than that, i fear not just contracting it, but how i will contract it (because, in my mind, there's no chance that i won't). i'm slowly making peace with the fact that, given my recent diet and the general unaffordability of restaurants here, my mad cow will not be transmitted through The Burger of My Life, but is, instead, more likely to come via reduced calorie supermarket prepared food- a.k.a. the british equivalent of lean cuisine.