My day usually starts off well. I have Plans. Hopes. Dreams. A lot of shit to get done before I collapse on the sofa to watch reruns of “My 600 Pound Life.”
Then … something small, inconsequential, of no interest to anyone but me suddenly pops into my head and I lose focus. And before I know it, it’s time to take a double dose of melatonin and hit the sack.
This morning it was the milk label. I try to buy organic food products, which is only possible when I’m swimming in cash — which I never am — so there was only a jug of “regular” 2% milk in the fridge. I had to have a glass of milk with my peanut butter cookies, so I carefully scanned the label to make sure there was no propyl parabens, phthalates, human toenails or udder phlegm in my milk.
“From cows not treated with rsBT,” it read. Good. No one wants to drink rsBT, whatever the heck that is. Then the manufacturers went on to say that “no significant difference has been shown between milk derived from rbST-treated and non-rsBT treated cows.”
This is like Monsanto saying “Well, sure, we paid out pay more than $10 billion to settle tens of thousands of claims that our Roundup herbicide causes cancer, but there’s no significant difference between our herbicide causing non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma cancer and an organic, glyphosate-free weed killer causing activism and unrest to bring about social change.”
So, of course I spend the entire afternoon researching rsBT. Turns out it stands for recombinant bovine somatotropin, which is a type of artificial growth hormone that increases milk production in cows. It is illegal for use in Canada, but not in the U.S. Studies have shown a link between rsBT and an increased risk of breast, colon and prostate cancer.
I dump the milk. Eat my cookies with a cup of fair trade coffee. Plop down in the recliner. Give up on the world. And, watch Dr. Now give Steven Assanti hell for being a 600-pound, adult brat.