Something Rich and Strange

Last week one of the contestants – I mean co-stars – on a D.C.-based reality TV show revealed that her marriage had ended because of the program. Apparently hubby was none too keen about being followed around constantly by a camera crew. He was, he admits, embarrassed by the whole thing (I’m taking this as proof that the universe might not be coming to an end as quickly as I had anticipated).

That said, should anyone be surprised that the unreality of putting your life on display, and exposing parts of it that would normally remain private, might be too much for any relationship to bear? Reality TV is certainly littered with evidence that this is the norm, not the exception.

But what is really troubling is that while adults can decide when to walk away from circumstances that will likely characterize them as scenery-chewing egomaniacs, the children who are dragged onto this improbable stage have no say. They are ancillary victims of their parents’ poor judgment (the parents themselves being the primary casualties, though one could hardly apply the term victim here).

So instead of the home movies that innocently chronicled summer vacations and birthday parties, the kids of reality TV will now be able to watch their parent’s marriages unravel before their eyes (pause and rewind), if not “live” as a participant under the lens of a ubiquitous camera, then later when the show airs. This can be particularly painful given that these programs often air months after filming wraps only to open newly healed wounds. Even worse, the sorry examples of adult role models that inhabit reality TV are likely to pass along their shameless quest for attention to their children. Thus is reality TV propagated and populated.

Unfortunately, we won’t know the effect it has had on children for a while. In the meantime viewers will hopefully have the sense to tune out and turn away. Unfortunately, averting your eyes from a train wreck might be easier.

For the elderly, research has shown that intergenerational contact can have a positive effect on the quality and length of life. If so, the residents of Bhaktapur, Nepal, should lead fulfilling and long lives. Although age-integrated communities, where several generations live, work and play together, are not unique to Nepal, Bhaktapur provided a great visual example of how older inhabitants, thought sometimes looking a little cranky or taking impromptu naps, remain a vital part of the community.

For more pictures of Bhaktapur and other places in Nepal, Jordan and India, visit my Flickr site at right.

First let me say that Belgium is a lovely place; it epitomizes the charm long associated with Europe. The cities and country towns are picturesque, from the grandeur of Brussels with its palace-lined cobblestone streets to the villages nestled in the verdant rolling hills, stately church spires visible for miles. Down country lanes dappled cows graze lazily in flower-bordered meadows alongside rustic inns that welcome weary travelers out of the damp (and believe me, it is always damp) into fire-warmed parlors. Rippling streams meander . . .

Hey, speaking of rippling streams, I have never had to avert my eyes more often to avoid watching males of all ages brazenly urinating outdoors than I did in Belgium (and I’ve even been to a NASCAR race!). What is with that?

It must be the Manneken Pis influence. Said by some to be the top-tourist attraction in Brussels, the Manneken Pis is a fountain featuring a little boy, well, urinating. Outdoors. The statue is so popular that replicas of it abound in gift shops throughout the city. For instance, who wouldn’t be thrilled to receive a box of chocolates with candies in the shape of the little pisser? Or how about a mouse pad featuring the kid (partially) dressed as a musketeer? C'est mignon!

And nothing says “I Love Brussels” (actually, that’s exactly what is says) like a Manneken Pis refrigerator magnet. I’d call this bathroom humor, but there was nary one in sight.

Post script: In the continuation of a theme, I should mention that the rapper R. Kelly was on my flight home from Brussels.

Having always had a penchant for consuming foods and beverages in their eponymous locales (think hot dogs in Frankfurt and Manhattans in guess where), I could hardly go to Belgium without experiencing its version of the waffle.

For those of you not up on the provenance of your breakfast confections, the Belgian waffle’s popularity caught fire, like a Pop-Tart left too long in the toaster, during the 1964 New York World’s Fair. According to Wikipedia, it was introduced to fair-goers as the “Brussels” waffle. But its Belgian promoter, after “observing” that Americans were geographically illiterate, began marketing the product by its current nom de pastry.

As it turns out, this was a rather optimistic ploy to put Belgium on the map.

In a National Geographic poll, nearly half of young adults in the U.S. couldn’t find India on a map of Asia (hint, kids: it’s really, really big). It is likely that if they were asked where Belgium is they would say IHOP.