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McDonalds just launched a very aggressive marketing campaign in Israel. It would seem that McDonalds is trying everything to overcome the devastating impact of the Super Size Me movie. And they should. Watching that movie made me sick to my stomach, for various reasons. One is that I have been struggling with overweight for years. Two is that I have children who love McDonalds for the food and for the tiny, little, worthless gifts that they get for eating this stuff.
Super Size Me opened my eyes to the fact that a Big Mac meal should actually take care of my entire calorie intake for a day. And I wasn’t even talking about the fat and sugar content.
However, once my eyes were open, I felt that I should and must practice personal responsibility. For myself and for my children. In terms of civil liberties, I would fight for McDonalds right to serve their fatty, possibly addictive, fattening foods to whoever likes to come between the golden arches. By the same token, I would fight for my right not to eat it and not to feed it to my children.
Back to the Israeli campaign. The Israeli campaign suggests the following:
Whole brown rice cakes with 3% cream cheese yields 157 calories per 100 grams. Mac Royal (which I think maps to Big Mac in the US) yields 154 calories per 100 grams.
Whole brown rice cakes with 5% cream cheese yields 171 calories per 100 grams. A Mac Royal meal with regular fries yields 185 calories per 100 grams.
It gives a few more examples, all on half page ads on the weekend edition of Yediot Aharonot, the largest newspaper in Israel.
According to the official Israeli McDonalds site, a Mac Royal alone yields 495 calories. This number suggests that it weighs roughly 320 grams (154*3.2). According to the official Israeli McDonalds site, a Double Mac Royal, Super Sized Fries, a Large Coke, and a Chocolate Ice Cream Sundae yields 1676 calories
Now, I took the time to seek out the calorie content of whole brown rice cakes (374 calories/100 gr), 3% cream cheese (81 calories per 100 grams), and 5% cream cheese (100 calories per 100 grams). In addition, I found that a rice cake weighs roughly 8 grams (18 units per a 140 gram package).
Here’s how to get the true comparison.
In order to stay within the parameters McDonalds itself set in the advertising campaign, I would want to calculate how many rice cakes with how much cheese would I have to consume in order to get the 495 calories in the Mac Royal, and the 777 calories in the Mac Royal meal with regular fries. You can find similar McDonalds nutrition data in many web sites, here’s one: McDonald’s USA Nutrition Facts for Popular Menu Items.
We could take a few routes.
Lets start with 200 grams of 3% cream cheese (162 calories) and about 12 rice cakes (336 calories) . Or we could go with 200 grams of 5% cream cheese (200 calories) and 10.5 rice cakes (294 calories).
We could take the same route for the 777 calories found in the Mac Royal Meal with regular fries.
We could start with 500 grams of 3% cream cheese (405 calories) on top of about 13 rice cakes. Or we could go with 500 grams of 5% cream cheese (500 calories) on top of 10 rice cakes.
Another example would be the Fruit Trix Cereal which offers 394 per 100 grams, and 3% fat milk, which offers 57 calories per 100 milliliter. A box of Trix has 480 grams (a little over 1 lb). Three quarters of a box of Trix (360 grams) yields 1418 calories. One would have to eat that with a pint of milk to get to the Double Mac Royal, Super Sized Fries, a Large Coke, and a Chocolate Ice Cream Sundae calorie content.
Let me ask you a simple question: would you actually sit down to a meal of over a pound of cream cheese and 10 rice cakes? Would you watch you child eat it without saying a word? But let me top it off with the following: go figure how many containers of cream cheese (no matter 3% or 5%) and how many packs of rice cakes would you (or your teenager kid) need to eat in order to cover the 1676 calories found in a Double Mac Royal, Super Sized Fries, a Large Coke, and a Chocolate Ice Cream Sundae?
It all started with a bad case of guilt feelings and an email. A couple of weeks ago we received and email from Guy’s teacher stating that “Friday’s activities will be done on bicycles”, and that “all children should report to school with bicycles and helmets”. We raised the Threat Advisory Level of the household to four (five is reserved for special relatives visiting…). The Joint Chief of Staff (namely my wife Dorit) sent an email to the teacher suggesting that Guy doesn’t know how to ride a bicycle, nor does he own a bike. The teacher replied that Guy wasn’t alone and that the activity was off. She was apologetic, but the damage was already done. In my opinion a seven year old child who can’t ride a bike is simply a poor reflection on his father. Very poor. It’s the reflection of an impossible combination of a workaholic and a couch potato. A couchapolic. That’s me.
The tradition of the family is to first throw some money on the problem. In the same manner when trying to lose weight we first get a year’s subscription for the best gym and the most expensive personal trainer. We end up seeing none nor the money. In any case, a few days later, off we go to buy a pair of bicycle. That solved, we realized that we didn’t get the means to lock the bike outside. We ended up keeping it home. And then the first set of headaches came. Foe a few days Dorit was walking around the house complaining about a new odor that gives her headaches. Turned out it was the bike. We needed to get that lock.
Saturday morning, May 8, at the opening bell, Dorit and I were both at the local Ace DIY store in Zichron Yaacov. Fifteen minuets later we were the proud owners of a brand new bicycle lock. We got back into the car, out of the parking space, made a left to exit the mall, and then Dorit remembers one thing, I only remember being hit on the left side of the car, driving a few yards more and coming to a stop.
 Dorit says that I saw the guy starting on my left, spat out a “Holy crap, this guy is going to hit us”, and turned to the right to avoid the impact. She says that my scream alerted her to hold on tight to her seat. As I said, I only remember being hit hard on the left, my head hitting the top left of the car, right above the driver’s side window, and driving a few meters till the car came to a stop.
We both got out. My door was pretty much rearranged and had a deep impact. The guy who drove into us, the owner of the old and beaten Fiat, lost the license plate, but the damage was clearly less than our Ranault Megane. There was some screaming and yelling on the Fiat’s driver part, enough for my wife to call the police. The police refused to show up. They said that if there’s no bodily injury, no Emergency Services on the scene, then all we need to do is exchange insurance policy numbers and go home. Which we ended up doing.
At that point, my head felt sore at the point of impact. Right above my left ear. My right shoulder was also sore. I was happy to be alive.
I looked up on the web the nature of side impact accidents, and the following was the best description I could dig up: “A side impact collision occurs when the front of an oncoming vehicle strikes the side of your vehicle. This is also known as being t-boned. Most of these incidents occur at intersections as the result of a failure to yield at a stop sign or red light”. Also, “The seriousness of side impact collisions depends on several factors, including the speed and weight of the oncoming vehicle, and where that oncoming vehicle collides with yours” (side-impact-collisions).
A few hours later, apparently as expected, the headache became more general, and wasn’t restricted to the left side where the impact was. My right shoulder started throbbing, and so was the right side of my back. It was time for the ER. My wife insisted, I complied, and we went to Hillel Yaffe Trauma Center. A surgeon checked for open wounds (I would have known if I had any, but he checked nonetheless), and an orthopaedist sent me to get X Rays, which turned out OK. For the whiplashes effects, the headaches and the backaches, I was promptly asked to rest for three days.
Friends, acquaintances, anybody. Please pay attention when you drive. You may be the best driver in the world, you may have dozens of years of experience. You still have only one pair of eyes, one brain, and two hands. Drive safe, drive carefully, Live Long and Prosper!
Last night, my wife and I and a couple of friends went to see “The Blind Side”. For one, I must confess that when I was younger, I used to be a lot more tuned to the motion picture industry. I would go see all new films on opening nights. I admit further, that the actual film was only part of the reason for going to the movies. Living in the US for so many years, the bucket of popcorn and the barrel of diet coke were important parts of the viewing experience. On a side note, I never understood the logic of letting an average person drink a half a gallon of soft drink to wash down two pounds of popcorn without a chance to get rid of it for two whole hours. In Israel, in most places, intermission is an integral part of the viewing experience, where people are allowed to go empty themselves, while getting a second chance at the concession stand…
“The Blind Side” is an amazing film. The best I’ve seen in many years. Indeed, Avatar was outstanding, but not from a straight plot, thought generating and reflection viewpoint. No special effects, no 3D, no elaborate costumes. Although I have to admit, Ms. Bullock at the age of 46 looks a hundred times better than the Sandra Bullock of twenty years ago, regardless of costume or its absence. “The Blind Side” is a story, a touching story, based on a true story. A story that makes you think of human behavior in general, and of your own in particular.
It’s a story about the extremely unfortunate, and the outstandingly fortunate, and how they meet. Lets face it. In all societies, there are the successful, wealthy, educated, handsome people. These people were given a starting point in life, which helped them advance even more, and in turn, they could get their children an even better starting point in life than the one they had. This process is endless, and it moves on from generation to generation. On the other hand, in all societies, there are the failing, poor, homeless, uneducated people, who manage to give their children an even worse starting point than the miserable one they had. On occasion, but not necessarily, crime, drugs and other behaviors are involved.
This story is about a family of the first kind meeting a representative of the other, and rather than running away to hide in their two acre home, they embrace him and do nothing but give him a better starting point. Slowly but surely the film describes how Michael Oher, who won a second chance in life, uses it successfully.
I have to admit that I wish I brought a handkerchief with me. Or Kleenex. My eyes were wet most of the time, and I could swear that some sobbing took place too. I will deny of course, so this stays between us. But why was I sobbing? I was contemplating that throughout the movie, and hours after that. I’m not sure I have the answer yet, but I have some thoughts. Am I a good person? It’s not for me to answer. Are you? What are you willing to do to better someone else’s life? Will you be willing to get a stranger under your roof, buy him clothes, feed him, invest in his or her education? Only to give someone a better chance at life? And then strikes the more universal thought: are we aware that resources are enough for everyone if they are shared in a more even way? Do we care? Do we care enough to do more than just donate money to some organizations that (at least supposedly) distribute food to the unfortunate? Is it enough?
The old saying: “Give a man a fish; you have fed him for today. Teach a man to fish; and you have fed him for a lifetime”. Leigh Ann and Sean Tuohy gave Michael Oher a lot more than a fishing rod and fishing lessons. They gave him a fresh start. It was touching to see how they gave and how he accepted. But it was touching on a different level altogether. It was touching on a question I must ask myself, and I’m asking you: how far are you ready to go in order to give a complete stranger a better start? I must figure it out because I feel than the answer will somehow make me a better person. I believe strongly, that everyone who considers himself or herself fortunate, must take the time to think about this question, figure it out for themselves, and then, right away and with all determination, go execute on it. Better someone else’s life. Trust me, bettering someone’s life will better yours tenfold…
It was a Thursday night. I came home from work, exhausted, as I do every Thursday night. The routine took me over. Kisses to all, walking over to the computer corner, unpacking it, and setting it up for the weekend. Let me take a small step back and explain how when we bought the house, we had big plans for a study, with lots of book cases, a desk, a small television set. Everything a grown man needs in order to complete the sixteen hour workdays… What we have today is the study, Dorit’s computer, a large TV set hooked to a surround system, an XBox, a DVD player. In short, everything children need in order to entertain themselves and their friends. As for me, I moved my laptop to the living room. I have a small corner with power and a cellular phone recharger. That’s my study these days. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind that much…
Anyhow, Thursday night, routine, everything seems to be in order. Suddenly, I hear a yelp, a scream, and I see Guy, our seven year old son, hardly getting himself off the opened dishwasher. His eyes showed panic, and he was holding his rear end. I took off his pants and underwear, put him on the sofa on his stomach and what I saw made me say right away: “Dorit, pack whatever you think we need, we’re heading to the Emergency Room”. I then added “he will need some stitches”. What I was looking at is a 3 centimeters long gash, on one of his buttocks.
Guy was hysterical at first. He wasn’t worried about the pain that much. He was more worried about going to the hospital, and being stitched. We gave him a pain killer for children and headed to the hospital. The children ER directed us to the large ER, where a surgeon was already waiting for us. One look at the gash, and the verdict was out: 2-3 stitches. Guy became frantic. He asked my if they were actually going to stitch him up. I said yes, they must, otherwise, the cut will not heal. And then frenzy changed into curiosity, and through the tears Guy asked: “you mean like clothes?”. I laughed and said yes, like clothes, with a needle and thread.
Then he remembered the pain, and went back to whimpering. I held him throughout our time in the Emergency. The doctor, a very kind and professional one, prepared the sewing kit, and injected Guy with local anaesthesia. Once Guy understood that no pain will be inflicted on him, he relaxed completely, and became fully curious. He wanted to see what was going on. I discouraged that successfully. But I couldn’t look away. The doctor was poking at the wound explaining to us that he wanted to make sure that the muscle was not penetrated. Luckily, it wasn’t. Three stitches later, and an anti-Tetanus injection to the upper hand muscle, we were ready to go. We knew Guy was back when he went to the vending machine and asked for potato chips. Guy was back.
We went back to the car and drove home. Guy was exhausted, and frankly, so was I. What a day. What an end.
And when everything quieted down, I did what I do always. Reflection.
Did we do anything wrong to help this home accident happen? The answer was unequivocally no. Dinner was over, the dishes were placed in the dishwasher. It was opened shortly before, and it was opened with reason. It was an accident. Guy tripped and fell on it. It could happen to anyone, and thankfully, gratefully, there was nobody to blame.
I always worry how should one know whether or not to go to seek medical help right away. And the answer I came up with is as follows. When you see it, you’d know right away. Twice I had to take Guy to the ER, and in both times I knew right away it was the right thing to do. The first time was Urticaria http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urticaria, a severe allergic reaction to some agent (still unknown). The second one was on Thursday. My advice: don’t rush to the ER. But if your gut feeling tells you to be there, don’t hesitate.
The strong unexplainable (and obviously impossible) need of a parent to take the pain away from a suffering child is extremely strong. The physical pain I experienced when Guy was in pain is also inexplicable. The calm I presented while he was frantic, was a requirement by reality, but was very difficult to hold.
And lastly, the overwhelming sense of relief when it was over and Guy was safely sleeping in his bed, the tears that came streaming down my cheeks reliving the incident. I understood. This is part of life. Kids will be kids. They will get in trouble, and we, the parent, will get them out of trouble. They will collect enough experience to stay out of trouble as they grow up, an enough experience to get their own children out of trouble when the times comes.
Parents, while it’s impossible to secure the house entirely against accidents, be cautious. Children show amazing ingenuity when it comes to getting in trouble. I keep telling my children to be careful every day. I tell them that and I use a lot of prayer and hope…
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