Salt Rock Lamps Are Dumb As Hell And I Would Very Much Like One
If, like me, you spend your days toiling away in an office building, chances are your routine has been thrown off recently by glowing pink rocks appearing on the desks of your colleagues. Where did these exotic stones come from? There’s a chance one co-worker simply parceled off chunks of their piece of the Aggro Crag after winning Nickelodeon GUTS as a child. Perhaps he or she (let’s be honest—it’s ‘she’) spent vacation scaling the mountains of Nepal in search of the purest hunk of salt imaginable. Most likely, they purchased this Himalayan salt lamp from Bed Bath & Beyond in hopes that it would cure all their ailments.
Per one of the many sketchy "healing" websites with a pea soup-green color scheme, some benefits of Himalayan salt include: reducing the common signs of aging, promoting cellular hydroelectric energy creation (?), supporting healthy respiratory function, reducing cramps, increasing bone strength, naturally promoting healthy sleep patterns, and creating a healthy libido. Who wouldn’t want that magic rock on their desk?
I once paid $30 for a rubber band with two hologram stickers embedded in it. Don’t want to name names, but I was under the impression wearing the band would make me more powerful and give me better balance. It provided neither, because it was a common rubber band. So I threw it in the garbage, ashamed to have been duped by infomercial quackery.
Salt rock lamps, of course, are equally ineffective. No matter the size of the salt or length of time you spend losing yourself in it's mysterious glow (spoiler alert: it's a 15W light bulb), your crow's feet will not disappear.
That said, I would very much like one of these dumb things. And by 'one' I mean enough to build a throne and matching crown so that I may one day serve as the inspiration for a mid-level video game boss. How much might such a throne cost, you ask? That's where consumer advocacy groups need to step in.
While all Himalayan salt rock lamps are indeed hunks of salt with a light bulb inside, the salt rock lamp industry seems to be hellbent on creating confusion in the marketplace. This lamp is $30 (standard scam pricing), while this one will run you close $300. What's the difference? You tell me. I'm just a man who wants to pretend to reduce cramps and increase the bone strength of everyone in my office building while bathing myself in a pinkish-orange glow at all waking hours. |ES|