As a child, I secretly dreamed of becoming the pink Power Ranger. We had a lot in common. Her name was Kimberly, and she fought off evil clad in a pink pleather jumpsuit. I liked pink. When she wasn’t fighting crime, Kimberly practiced and perfected complicated gymnastic tricks. I, too, was a gymnast, a level four out of something like 12 levels total. I never made it to level five. Clearly, pink pleather was my destiny. I could envision my face flashing across the TV screen to the theme song, “Go, go Power Rangers!”
Despite my fond childhood memories of Kimberly, a recent study concluded that my superhero idol is not fit for young children. University of Washington researchers found that children age 3 and under who watch violent TV shows like Power Rangers are more likely to have attention problems in the future. The study defined violence as fighting, hitting, threats or other violence central to the plot or main character.
Along this line of thought, the Power Rangers aren’t the only heroes who researchers say must go, go. Scooby Dooby Doo, where are you? Banished. Same with Simba and the rest of his Lion King gang. Hakuna matata? Not if you’re 3.
The study doesn’t stop there. Researchers advise parents not to let toddlers watch any show that isn’t explicitly educational. Goodbye Rugrats, so long Flinstones, hello…Barney?
Yes, that’s right. Researchers said the big purple dinosaur who wants to give everyone a “great big hug and a kiss from me to you,” is a better influence than kick-butt Kimberly. Sure, the squeezable dinosaur can sing. Sure, he isn’t afraid to hold hands or show his true feelings. But the real question that I think researchers neglected—can Barney fight off villains in skin-tight pink pleather? I think not.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Friday, November 9, 2007
Never too old for a fieldtrip!
Fieldtrips are a pain in the butt—and I don’t mean figuratively—I mean my butt actually hurts.
My health and fitness writing class (shout out!) traveled to IMG Academies yesterday, which is basically an athlete boarding school in Sarasota. From the moment our 20ish-person class boarded a monster 56-passenger charter bus instead of the mini bus we requested (we all had our own row), I knew it was going to be an awesome trip. Our bus driver, also known as Vin Diesel, told us to “Holla” at him if we needed anything. Right on.
Like any good fieldtrip, we popped in a DVD, Love Actually, and half the class promptly fell asleep. Time flies when you’re sleeping, that and when your gigantic bus is weaving through traffic like a souped-up Mustang GT in the Fast and Furious. We made good time for a car—a little over two hours. For a charter bus—we flew.
After getting lost for about half an hour (another hallmark of a true fieldtrip), we rolled up to IMGA and piled out in our sweats in tennis shoes as if, just maybe, we were athletes and not journalists. If anyone made this mistake at first, we definitely straightened them out later.
IMGA is one a complete alternate world. This place breeds super athletes. From age 12 to graduating high school senior, students live on the resort-like campus, and their life seemingly has two focuses: First (and I do mean first priority), their sport. Second, school.
When students aren’t in class at one of the four schools on campus, they are on the tennis court, the soccer field, IMGA’s impressive gym, or wherever else their specific sport may demand. IMGA specializes in tennis, basketball, baseball, soccer and golf. Aside from being coached by some of the best in their individual sports, these student-athletes receive other training. They hone mental skills and concentration with special exercises to condition the mind. They take acting and improve classes to learn communication skills—critical to athletes often interviewed by the press. They have an individualized eating regimen and sometimes report their daily diet to a nutritionist for evaluation.
Athletic excellence is almost down to a science at IMGA, one that cranks out powerful results. The number of college-bound IMGA graduates that leave with an athletic scholarship—85 percent.
Perhaps I too could have been a collegiate athlete had I attended IMGA, I thought. Then our class got the chance to participate in an IMGA warm-up. Never before have I felt so out of shape and uncoordinated. The 36-year-old (could have been 25-year-old) trainer with blond highlights and curly surfer-bum hair lined our class along a strip of rubber track and directed us in various hopping, lunging, and arm-waving exercises. He even threw in some ballet moves. Hence the butt pain. Then Mr. Athletic told us to skip. This is when I realized that I may very well have been an IMGA dropout. I cannot skip, at least without looking like I’m having a seizure while running. Where would my IMGA class standing be—the bottom 15 percent.
My health and fitness writing class (shout out!) traveled to IMG Academies yesterday, which is basically an athlete boarding school in Sarasota. From the moment our 20ish-person class boarded a monster 56-passenger charter bus instead of the mini bus we requested (we all had our own row), I knew it was going to be an awesome trip. Our bus driver, also known as Vin Diesel, told us to “Holla” at him if we needed anything. Right on.
Like any good fieldtrip, we popped in a DVD, Love Actually, and half the class promptly fell asleep. Time flies when you’re sleeping, that and when your gigantic bus is weaving through traffic like a souped-up Mustang GT in the Fast and Furious. We made good time for a car—a little over two hours. For a charter bus—we flew.
After getting lost for about half an hour (another hallmark of a true fieldtrip), we rolled up to IMGA and piled out in our sweats in tennis shoes as if, just maybe, we were athletes and not journalists. If anyone made this mistake at first, we definitely straightened them out later.
IMGA is one a complete alternate world. This place breeds super athletes. From age 12 to graduating high school senior, students live on the resort-like campus, and their life seemingly has two focuses: First (and I do mean first priority), their sport. Second, school.
When students aren’t in class at one of the four schools on campus, they are on the tennis court, the soccer field, IMGA’s impressive gym, or wherever else their specific sport may demand. IMGA specializes in tennis, basketball, baseball, soccer and golf. Aside from being coached by some of the best in their individual sports, these student-athletes receive other training. They hone mental skills and concentration with special exercises to condition the mind. They take acting and improve classes to learn communication skills—critical to athletes often interviewed by the press. They have an individualized eating regimen and sometimes report their daily diet to a nutritionist for evaluation.
Athletic excellence is almost down to a science at IMGA, one that cranks out powerful results. The number of college-bound IMGA graduates that leave with an athletic scholarship—85 percent.
Perhaps I too could have been a collegiate athlete had I attended IMGA, I thought. Then our class got the chance to participate in an IMGA warm-up. Never before have I felt so out of shape and uncoordinated. The 36-year-old (could have been 25-year-old) trainer with blond highlights and curly surfer-bum hair lined our class along a strip of rubber track and directed us in various hopping, lunging, and arm-waving exercises. He even threw in some ballet moves. Hence the butt pain. Then Mr. Athletic told us to skip. This is when I realized that I may very well have been an IMGA dropout. I cannot skip, at least without looking like I’m having a seizure while running. Where would my IMGA class standing be—the bottom 15 percent.
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Forgetting is Forgiven
For my fifth grade science project, I attempted to prove the grade-school girl mantra: Girls rule, boys drool. How? A battle of short-term memories.
After actually going to the library (gasp!) and checking out several books on short-term memory, I devised a test to score my classmates’ memories. The exam consisted of several exercises which tested their ability to recall long numbers, pictures and other random information shown to them briefly. All in all, this was a step-up from the previous years’ science project: Which brand of popcorn pops the most kernels? I ate a lot of popcorn that year. And for those wondering, Orville Redenbacher is your man.
Despite my scientific aspirations, the project didn’t win any awards (My best friend, however, won first place. She tested which brand of nail polish stayed on her fingers the longest without chipping—riveting). I don’t remember my specific results, although instinct and 21 years of interaction with boys lead me to believe that girls won.
Regardless, an article in the October issue of the American Scientist suggests that the winners of my fifth grade project might actually be the losers. According to two recent studies, forgetting is a good thing.
First—forgetting conserves energy. A study of students at Sanford showed that students who forgot irrelevant facts needed less effort to remember information that actually mattered. Efficient or just lazy?
Second—forgetting improves short-term memory of important details. For this finding, researchers impaired the long-term memory of mice and tossed them in a maze (If PETA only knew). They found that mice with weakened long-term memory had exceptional short-term memory and better chances of finding their way out of the maze. When one type of memory shut down, the other excelled.
In humans, the article equated this concept to forgetting someone’s name. Blanking on this long-term memory fact simply makes room for a more vital short-term memory fact, like where you left your car keys. This is great, unless maybe you’re on a date. Wait—I take that back—the scenario is actually perfect. As soon as you do mix up your date’s name with another girl, you might need those car keys for a quick getaway.
So there you have it. Someone actually came up with a scientifically based excuse for being absent-minded. Maybe it’s the fifth grader in me, but I have a sneaking suspicion these studies were authored by men. The good news—two can play this game. Oh, you don’t like romantic comedies? Must have slipped my mind.
After actually going to the library (gasp!) and checking out several books on short-term memory, I devised a test to score my classmates’ memories. The exam consisted of several exercises which tested their ability to recall long numbers, pictures and other random information shown to them briefly. All in all, this was a step-up from the previous years’ science project: Which brand of popcorn pops the most kernels? I ate a lot of popcorn that year. And for those wondering, Orville Redenbacher is your man.
Despite my scientific aspirations, the project didn’t win any awards (My best friend, however, won first place. She tested which brand of nail polish stayed on her fingers the longest without chipping—riveting). I don’t remember my specific results, although instinct and 21 years of interaction with boys lead me to believe that girls won.
Regardless, an article in the October issue of the American Scientist suggests that the winners of my fifth grade project might actually be the losers. According to two recent studies, forgetting is a good thing.
First—forgetting conserves energy. A study of students at Sanford showed that students who forgot irrelevant facts needed less effort to remember information that actually mattered. Efficient or just lazy?
Second—forgetting improves short-term memory of important details. For this finding, researchers impaired the long-term memory of mice and tossed them in a maze (If PETA only knew). They found that mice with weakened long-term memory had exceptional short-term memory and better chances of finding their way out of the maze. When one type of memory shut down, the other excelled.
In humans, the article equated this concept to forgetting someone’s name. Blanking on this long-term memory fact simply makes room for a more vital short-term memory fact, like where you left your car keys. This is great, unless maybe you’re on a date. Wait—I take that back—the scenario is actually perfect. As soon as you do mix up your date’s name with another girl, you might need those car keys for a quick getaway.
So there you have it. Someone actually came up with a scientifically based excuse for being absent-minded. Maybe it’s the fifth grader in me, but I have a sneaking suspicion these studies were authored by men. The good news—two can play this game. Oh, you don’t like romantic comedies? Must have slipped my mind.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Feel the burn! Or maybe not...
At the mention of chili peppers, several images/fragmented thoughts flash into my mind.
I see red.
I see a group of long haired guys with guitars singing “Hey Oh” They want me to listen to what they say oh.
I see little dancing peppers with faces singing about baby back ribs…and barbeque sauce (In my mind, this last line is sung in deep bass)
I see flames erupting from my mouth. Water makes it worse. Must eat bread.
I see doctors and nurses in a hospital about to perform knee replacement surgery.
OK, so I lied about that last image. I’ve never associated chili peppers with hospitals, unless maybe I’m there to treat third-degree burns on my tongue. But according to an AP article, doctors are experimenting with these spicy specimens as possible painkillers in agonizing surgeries like knee replacements. Doctors drip the fiery chemical in chili peppers, called capsaicin, directly into a patient’s open wound. What do I say-oh to that? Ouch.
If salt in an open wound is cliché for intensifying pain, instincts tell me that chili-pepper juice on broken flesh is cruel and unusual. Disclaimer for reader at home wanting to test this theory—don’t. Doctors use an ultra-purified form of capsaicin in their experiments. In a controlled environment, doctors suggest that drenching exposed nerves with chili-pepper serum provides a numbing effect similar to the sensation in your mouth after the initial burning of biting a chili pepper wears off. The benefit of this alternative pain reliever—patients would need less of the effective yet dangerously addictive narcotic painkillers.
Despite my hesitations to treating wounds with the same vegetable that cooks are advised to handle with gloves, early studies suggest that these doctors are on to something. In a study of people undergoing knee replacement surgery, the half treated with capsaicin used less morphine in the 48 hours after surgery and experienced less pain for two weeks after the surgery. Chili peppers the new Valium? Wouldn’t be the first time my instincts lost to a PhD.
I see red.
I see a group of long haired guys with guitars singing “Hey Oh” They want me to listen to what they say oh.
I see little dancing peppers with faces singing about baby back ribs…and barbeque sauce (In my mind, this last line is sung in deep bass)
I see flames erupting from my mouth. Water makes it worse. Must eat bread.
I see doctors and nurses in a hospital about to perform knee replacement surgery.
OK, so I lied about that last image. I’ve never associated chili peppers with hospitals, unless maybe I’m there to treat third-degree burns on my tongue. But according to an AP article, doctors are experimenting with these spicy specimens as possible painkillers in agonizing surgeries like knee replacements. Doctors drip the fiery chemical in chili peppers, called capsaicin, directly into a patient’s open wound. What do I say-oh to that? Ouch.
If salt in an open wound is cliché for intensifying pain, instincts tell me that chili-pepper juice on broken flesh is cruel and unusual. Disclaimer for reader at home wanting to test this theory—don’t. Doctors use an ultra-purified form of capsaicin in their experiments. In a controlled environment, doctors suggest that drenching exposed nerves with chili-pepper serum provides a numbing effect similar to the sensation in your mouth after the initial burning of biting a chili pepper wears off. The benefit of this alternative pain reliever—patients would need less of the effective yet dangerously addictive narcotic painkillers.
Despite my hesitations to treating wounds with the same vegetable that cooks are advised to handle with gloves, early studies suggest that these doctors are on to something. In a study of people undergoing knee replacement surgery, the half treated with capsaicin used less morphine in the 48 hours after surgery and experienced less pain for two weeks after the surgery. Chili peppers the new Valium? Wouldn’t be the first time my instincts lost to a PhD.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Put your spices to the test!
Tonight, I took the McCormick Spice Check Challenge. Nutmeg, cinnamon, cumin, ginger, bay leaves, chili powder—I put it all on the line. Their challenger: Father Time.
If you’re like me, you didn’t know that spices expired. Ground spices last for two or three years, but whole spices and extracts can last up to four years. I always assumed spices were like wine, better with age. Perhaps this is because at my home in Melbourne, there’s a cupboard stocked with spices I distinctly remember using as a child. I just turned 21, but I’ve been cooking since I was too little to see over the counter. I’d drag a chair across our tile floors (which produced a sound similar to fingernails on chalkboard), and stand on it to cook.
But the McCormick Spice Check Challenge isn’t just for the ignorant. Even the spice savvy probably have a few senior citizen spices lurking in the cabinet. Here’s how you can tell. If your spice was made in Baltimore, Maryland, it’s at least 15 years old (a.k.a. - expired). Spices in tin containers, expect black pepper, are at least 15 as well. Still no luck—check for a “Best by” date on the bottom of the container (Duh). Sometimes, instead of a date, there is a code. Fear not. A Fresh Tester on McCormick’s Web site lets you search for spice age by code also.
As for my challenge results, I was 5 and 1. A perfect record thwarted by a 2002 bottle of ground cumin. Of course, this tested my spice supply in Gainesville, which consists mostly of Publix-brand spices (Publix=cheaper than McCormick). As for the Melbourne pantry, spices are definitely the underdog.
If you’re like me, you didn’t know that spices expired. Ground spices last for two or three years, but whole spices and extracts can last up to four years. I always assumed spices were like wine, better with age. Perhaps this is because at my home in Melbourne, there’s a cupboard stocked with spices I distinctly remember using as a child. I just turned 21, but I’ve been cooking since I was too little to see over the counter. I’d drag a chair across our tile floors (which produced a sound similar to fingernails on chalkboard), and stand on it to cook.
But the McCormick Spice Check Challenge isn’t just for the ignorant. Even the spice savvy probably have a few senior citizen spices lurking in the cabinet. Here’s how you can tell. If your spice was made in Baltimore, Maryland, it’s at least 15 years old (a.k.a. - expired). Spices in tin containers, expect black pepper, are at least 15 as well. Still no luck—check for a “Best by” date on the bottom of the container (Duh). Sometimes, instead of a date, there is a code. Fear not. A Fresh Tester on McCormick’s Web site lets you search for spice age by code also.
As for my challenge results, I was 5 and 1. A perfect record thwarted by a 2002 bottle of ground cumin. Of course, this tested my spice supply in Gainesville, which consists mostly of Publix-brand spices (Publix=cheaper than McCormick). As for the Melbourne pantry, spices are definitely the underdog.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Airborne's reputation may be decieving...
Some little girls ask Santa for Barbie dolls. Me? I wanted the Dr. Dreadful Freaky Food Lab. Commercials on TV had me hooked. Kids in white lab coats mixed bubbling green concoctions in beakers and drank out of skull-head cups. Forget Easy Bake Ovens, with Dr. Dreadful’s lab I could make slimy gummy spiders and a goop called monster skin.
On Christmas morning, Santa came through, but I can’t say the same for the wild, white-haired Dr. Dreadful. “Looks gross tastes great!” he promised. Never trust a mad scientist. My homemade sludge look gross alright—tasted worse.
Airborne, a popular supplement and supposed immune system booster, reminds me of my Freaky Food Lab. Maybe it’s the way the tablet fizzes and bubbles in water as if some complicated chemical reaction is going on. Or maybe it’s the sour expression that involuntary comes over my face as I choke down the potent liquid. Lemon-lime, zesty orange—don’t let these tutti-frutti flavors fool you. I suspect the second-grade school teacher that created Airborne shares Dr. Dreadful’s definition for “tastes great.”
But perhaps the most striking similarity between the trendy cold medicine and my childhood food lab are the empty promises. Despite Airborne’s reputation as the miracle-cold reliever, a little research uncovers a surprising lack of scientific support.
As a dietary supplement and not a drug, Airborne is not regulated by the FDA. True, Airborne gives a detailed ingredient list (which is better than some supplements), but the accuracy of these numbers and the safety of the ingredients overall is not regulated by any governing body.
This may be forgivable if I was confident in the integrity of the company. Here’s the real roadblock. Airborne endorsed a bogus study by GNG Pharmaceutical Services to make their product look better. According to Airborne, GNG conducted a professional, double-blind placebo-controlled study on Airborne. Their findings—Airborne works. The catch—turns out GNG is actually a two-man operation (one without a college degree) created solely for the purposed of the study. There were no tests, clinics, etc., just good old-fashioned lies.
If this isn’t enough to make you think twice about Airborne, consider the extreme dosages of vitamins. Airborne is packed with Vitamins C and A—both vital to a healthy human—but too much of a good thing can be dangerous. Excess Vitamin C can cause nausea and diarrhea, and an overload of Vitamin A could lead to Hypervitaminosis A, a condition with side effects including, birth defects, liver abnormalities, reduced bone mineral density (putting women at risk for osteoporosis) and central nervous system disorders. Get rid of the sniffles or continue to have dense bones. Not a tough one in my book.
To be fair, one dose of Airborne does not exceed the Vitamin C and A levels per day. However, if taken once every 3 hours and up to 3 times a day as directed on the box, you could easily triple the daily values. The maximum Vitamin A a person should ingest in one day is 10,000 IUs. There are 5,000 IU of Vitamin A in one caplet of Airborne alone. As for Vitamin C, it’s safe to intake about 2,000 mg a day. The amount of Vitamin C in one Airborne caplet—1,000 mg.
And even if you were willing to risk bogus studies and ODing on vitamins, there’s still no proof that Airborne actually works. No legitimate studies back this claim up, and many doctors are indifferent or even negative toward the product.
As for me, my personal testimony on the supplement disproves arguments on both sides. Last week when fighting a cold, I averaged about four doses a day of an Airborne-copycat (a generic CVS brand of the same supplement that costs less!). In one weekend, I polished off an entire tube of the supplement. The results—I still had a stuffy nose and headache even after my Airborne binge. Has my liver become abnormal, my bones more frail or my central nervous system compromised? Not that I’m aware.
One thing I do know. The experience of zesty orange liquid burning down my throat—dreadful.
On Christmas morning, Santa came through, but I can’t say the same for the wild, white-haired Dr. Dreadful. “Looks gross tastes great!” he promised. Never trust a mad scientist. My homemade sludge look gross alright—tasted worse.
Airborne, a popular supplement and supposed immune system booster, reminds me of my Freaky Food Lab. Maybe it’s the way the tablet fizzes and bubbles in water as if some complicated chemical reaction is going on. Or maybe it’s the sour expression that involuntary comes over my face as I choke down the potent liquid. Lemon-lime, zesty orange—don’t let these tutti-frutti flavors fool you. I suspect the second-grade school teacher that created Airborne shares Dr. Dreadful’s definition for “tastes great.”
But perhaps the most striking similarity between the trendy cold medicine and my childhood food lab are the empty promises. Despite Airborne’s reputation as the miracle-cold reliever, a little research uncovers a surprising lack of scientific support.
As a dietary supplement and not a drug, Airborne is not regulated by the FDA. True, Airborne gives a detailed ingredient list (which is better than some supplements), but the accuracy of these numbers and the safety of the ingredients overall is not regulated by any governing body.
This may be forgivable if I was confident in the integrity of the company. Here’s the real roadblock. Airborne endorsed a bogus study by GNG Pharmaceutical Services to make their product look better. According to Airborne, GNG conducted a professional, double-blind placebo-controlled study on Airborne. Their findings—Airborne works. The catch—turns out GNG is actually a two-man operation (one without a college degree) created solely for the purposed of the study. There were no tests, clinics, etc., just good old-fashioned lies.
If this isn’t enough to make you think twice about Airborne, consider the extreme dosages of vitamins. Airborne is packed with Vitamins C and A—both vital to a healthy human—but too much of a good thing can be dangerous. Excess Vitamin C can cause nausea and diarrhea, and an overload of Vitamin A could lead to Hypervitaminosis A, a condition with side effects including, birth defects, liver abnormalities, reduced bone mineral density (putting women at risk for osteoporosis) and central nervous system disorders. Get rid of the sniffles or continue to have dense bones. Not a tough one in my book.
To be fair, one dose of Airborne does not exceed the Vitamin C and A levels per day. However, if taken once every 3 hours and up to 3 times a day as directed on the box, you could easily triple the daily values. The maximum Vitamin A a person should ingest in one day is 10,000 IUs. There are 5,000 IU of Vitamin A in one caplet of Airborne alone. As for Vitamin C, it’s safe to intake about 2,000 mg a day. The amount of Vitamin C in one Airborne caplet—1,000 mg.
And even if you were willing to risk bogus studies and ODing on vitamins, there’s still no proof that Airborne actually works. No legitimate studies back this claim up, and many doctors are indifferent or even negative toward the product.
As for me, my personal testimony on the supplement disproves arguments on both sides. Last week when fighting a cold, I averaged about four doses a day of an Airborne-copycat (a generic CVS brand of the same supplement that costs less!). In one weekend, I polished off an entire tube of the supplement. The results—I still had a stuffy nose and headache even after my Airborne binge. Has my liver become abnormal, my bones more frail or my central nervous system compromised? Not that I’m aware.
One thing I do know. The experience of zesty orange liquid burning down my throat—dreadful.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
12 places that make you wish you were bubble boy
Antibacterial gels out. Disinfectant wipes ready. Germ-a-phobes beware. We’re about to tackle the 12 grimiest places in our daily lives and needless to say, it could get dirty.
At No. 12 on the list and weighing in at a whopping .04 killograms—the hotel room remote. Not only is this little device the portal to mind-numbing entertainment, but turns out it’s haunted by the ghosts of hotel guests past—sickly hotel guests that left their virus germs behind.
No. 11: Your office phone. That receiver tucked between your cheek and chin is packed with 25,000 germs per square inch.
No. 10: Your bath tub. Need a bubble bath after a long day of work—try bacteria bath. A typical tub is festering with 100,000 bacteria per square inch.
No. 9: Mats and machines at the gym. Shed a few pounds, catch a few germs. At least they don’t weigh much.
No. 8: Playgrounds. Large groups of small children + running, climbing, swinging, chasing, touching, poking, tickling, fighting, etc. = play day for germs.
No. 7: Your purse, especially the bottom. OK, I can vogue for this one. My bags have seen better days. Guys—you’re off the hook. Or are you? Man-purse?
No. 6: ATM machine buttons. Transferring funds and germs! Sadly, the number of germs on an ATM button most likely one-ups your checking balance. These keypads are grimier than most public bathroom doorknobs.
No. 5: Shopping cart handles. Think of all the children that sit in carts while Mom shops, and this one makes a lot of since. Where children are, filth follows.
No. 4: Drinking fountains, especially at schools. These instant thirst-quenchers are also bacteria spigots, some covered with 62,000 to 27 million bacteria.
No. 3: A load of wet laundry. Don’t be fooled by the mountain fresh scent, many soaked loads are tinged with dirty underwear cooties, a.k.a. E. coli.
No. 2: Airplane bathrooms. Not extremely surprising, although the article does mention that the “volcanic flush” in these bathrooms often leads to an eruption of bacteria and germs.
And now, drum roll please…
The No. 1 most disgusting place you encounter on a daily basis…your kitchen sink. Perfect. The place where we wash food before ingesting and dishes before eating. Mmm. The number of bacteria on the drain alone—500,000.
At No. 12 on the list and weighing in at a whopping .04 killograms—the hotel room remote. Not only is this little device the portal to mind-numbing entertainment, but turns out it’s haunted by the ghosts of hotel guests past—sickly hotel guests that left their virus germs behind.
No. 11: Your office phone. That receiver tucked between your cheek and chin is packed with 25,000 germs per square inch.
No. 10: Your bath tub. Need a bubble bath after a long day of work—try bacteria bath. A typical tub is festering with 100,000 bacteria per square inch.
No. 9: Mats and machines at the gym. Shed a few pounds, catch a few germs. At least they don’t weigh much.
No. 8: Playgrounds. Large groups of small children + running, climbing, swinging, chasing, touching, poking, tickling, fighting, etc. = play day for germs.
No. 7: Your purse, especially the bottom. OK, I can vogue for this one. My bags have seen better days. Guys—you’re off the hook. Or are you? Man-purse?
No. 6: ATM machine buttons. Transferring funds and germs! Sadly, the number of germs on an ATM button most likely one-ups your checking balance. These keypads are grimier than most public bathroom doorknobs.
No. 5: Shopping cart handles. Think of all the children that sit in carts while Mom shops, and this one makes a lot of since. Where children are, filth follows.
No. 4: Drinking fountains, especially at schools. These instant thirst-quenchers are also bacteria spigots, some covered with 62,000 to 27 million bacteria.
No. 3: A load of wet laundry. Don’t be fooled by the mountain fresh scent, many soaked loads are tinged with dirty underwear cooties, a.k.a. E. coli.
No. 2: Airplane bathrooms. Not extremely surprising, although the article does mention that the “volcanic flush” in these bathrooms often leads to an eruption of bacteria and germs.
And now, drum roll please…
The No. 1 most disgusting place you encounter on a daily basis…your kitchen sink. Perfect. The place where we wash food before ingesting and dishes before eating. Mmm. The number of bacteria on the drain alone—500,000.
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