Not an ice guy

I must confess that I have begun to dread logging into Facebook. I am afraid there’s going to be another tagging epidemic, egging me to do something crazy in order to do some good: Go to work dressed like Barbie and promote your local Kho Kho team. If getting doused by a bucket of ice water can promote awareness of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, then what’s stopping an enterprising fund raiser from suggesting that you drink coffee while hopping, without spilling a drop, and then make out a cheque to repair the hole in the ozone layer? I’m all for jazzing up charity, and yay to the ALS folks for transforming the act of altruism into something that makes you look less like Mother Teresa and more like Mel Brooks. Now, if I don’t take up the challenge and douse myself with ice water, but nevertheless write out a cheque for a lakh, I still end up looking like the kind of grouch Dickens would write a Christmas-time story on, while all those hi-fiving dudes who posed happily for videos while emptying buckets over themselves come off looking like people who’ll go on to save the rainforest, while simultaneously eradicating poverty and giving hope to gay teens.