Ellen
Goodman worked out with Jennifer.
It's nice to have something good to put
on the page.
This
morning I'm just staring at the screen.
I can barely concentrate. I've been in a
CNN/MSNBC/KPFA
trance for a few days. The rest of the time
I'm on the Internet trying to find out what's
reallygoing
on.
Meanwhile,
I have to go to class tonight and care about
writing.
I
feel like I'm in a stupor.
Sometimes
if I do my morning blog crawl, I snap out
of it and think of something to write. It's
not working today.
When
I was three months old, my mother and father
separated and mom & I moved in with
her parents. Mom had to get a job. I lived
with the constant injunction, don't bother
grandmom & poppop or they won't let
us live here. And don't bother me, I'm tired
from work. Don't bother anyone.
Well,
I'm not trying to be a bother, but I'm just
...not OK.
A 21-year old US Citizen, Suraida Saleh, is gunned down by Israeli soldiers in
Ramallah, with her 9 month old baby on her lap. The state department knows,
but does nothing. Her father buries her in the hospital parking lot, because
the morgue is overflowing and under the state of siege no one can get to the
cemetery.
Amy
Goodman interviewed Suraida's father and
you could hear the baby crying in the background.
It just cut into my heart. I couldn't stop
crying.
I
couldn't blog it yesterday, since there
was no news about it. Today there's a mention
in the NYT's.
The State Department has yet to contact
the family.
I
remember, in the days after 9/11, it seemed
difficult to concentrate or speak. When
I went to Green
Gulch it was beautiful, peaceful. And
I felt better. But I thought about the fact
that while I stood there in all that peace
and beauty, horror and brutality were occurring
all over the world. It doesn't serve anyone
for me to be in a state of misery. In fact
I think the world is served by me finding
a way to stay centered and peaceful. But
there are days when I just don't have the
emotional reserves. My own problems and
the larger problems of the world seem to
melt together and it's all too much. I feel
helpless and hopeless.
Yesterday
was like that. I
got calls and e-mails and comments from my lovely friends. Thank
you. I'm lucky to know you all.
Fingertips
on ledge. Elbow up. Knee swings over. She's
almost there ladies and gentlemen. Having
plummeted into the valley of darkness
I am inching my way back up onto the ledge.
From there...well...one step at a time.
Many
calls, e-mails and comments warming my heart.
Thank you.
I
can't really turn it all off. It's not as
simple as wanting to be informed, it's like
the time I spend learning about it all,
is the least I can do. Having said that...I
know I need to limit how much time I spend
watching CNN. And even ...listening to KPFA.
Although, yesterday was Caroline
Casey day. And she can be pretty fun.
I
keep forgetting to mention that there is
a new poem on the MFA
page. Now it's Kristina, Christine and
me. And you can comment there too.
1. What are the first things that you do in the morning to start your
day? Make coffee. Get some Cherrios. Turn on the computer. Read my favorite
blogs. Write my own page. Publish. 2. What are the last things that you do at night before
going to bed? Brush my teeth. Read (from a book). 3. What daily
routine have you recently added to your day? I drank a bottle of water before
anything else. But I forgot to do it today.
So much for routine. 4. What routine do you
wish you get rid of? I don't really have routines, other than the morning
reading/writing thing. And I like that one. 5. What's the one thing that makes you feel like something is
missing if you don't do it some point within your day? Read.
20/20
did an advertisement
for the gastric bypass surgery. Nothing
but pro voices. One of the things that I
always marvel at is how the after surgery
life is shown. People are always working
out. So why can't they work out before they
submit to this risky surgery?
The
woman had a food addiction. She didn't deal
with it. Instead she submitted to this
costly and risky surgery.
"Long-term risks include stomach ulcers, problems with the connection between
the stomach and intestine. And then there are the whole series of nutritional
problems as well."
That's
aquote from the doctor that does
the surgery. Ultimately he says people have
to change their lifestyle. Uhhuh. So...then...why
not...change your life style?
Here's
what I think. I think that fat hatred is
so virulent and discouraging that fat people
live in a constant state of depression and
rage and they blame themselves for how bad
they feel. Some choose to self medicate and some
use food to do that. I wish I thought doughnuts
would cure my depression. I don't. But people,
who do eat doughnuts, in an attempt to feel
better about life, accept the idea that they are bad people
and they
need to endure something punitive. This surgery
is punitive. It is painful and risky. They
lose weight because if they eat too much
their bodies punish them. They puke. Punitive.
I've mentioned hearing about a woman who
had the surgery and vomited so much, for
so long, that now she has esophageal cancer.
If you were going to do something on a "news"
show...wouldn't you mention that side of
the story?
And
guess what. Some people, who have the surgery,
manage to eat doughnuts, puking and all,
and they gain back the weight.
"After undergoing gastric bypass surgery,
people need to have
support systems, and need long-term follow-up and annual visits for the rest of
their life."
The
good doctor again. How brilliant. People
need support. Oh...and I wonder who benefits
from the need for annual visits? They lose
weight because they can't eat and they exercise
and they get support. Why not get support,
work on your food addictions, eat for health
and pleasure, and work out?
I
was depressed this week. You know what helped?
I have people in my life that love me. Many
have noticed I'm fat.
Fatshadow Reading Waiting For the good doctor that fat
get_comment_link 126 comment
Kinda
weird. And yet...
I took Caltrain
to visit Kristina. She told me what stop
to get off at but I forgot. I only knew
it had a funny rhythmic sounding name. So
I was planning on getting off at Tamien,
until I heard the conductor say Diridon.
The minute I heard Di-ri-don, I knew I was
wrong about Tamien. I jumped up and
got off the train. And there was Kristina. Phew.
I
released
my first book. I had an extra copy because
Kristina had purchased me one the same day
I got my own copy. I left it in the Diridon
station. My worse fear is that it'll end
up in the lost n found. We'll see.
We
went to a beach and walked around.
And then she took me out to lunch. (Thank
you) When
I got up from the table, something in the
back of my knee was just speaking to me.
And it was not saying nice things. I hobbled
to the car and took three Advil. It got
better. I musta pulled something at the
beach.
It
was great to get out of the city and hangout
with Kristina.
I
forget I live in a city. SF has a small
town feel to it sometimes. You travel on
the same streets, day after day. But sitting
on a train watching the skyline disappear,
and then reappear, I remembered. It felt
like a vacation. Being in motion is good
for me. I remember that the
world is big.
I
was reading Mike
Golby yesterday morning. I only read
him when I have time to concentrate. He's
an amazing writer and I love his perspective.
He was angry/hurt about a comment that someone
had left him. And he wrote a brilliant response.
And then, there was a wave of comments in
response to what he wrote, some of which
took shots at the person who attacked him.
At
first I was bugged. The person who attacked
him has one of those blogs that is mostly
fun, simple, personal. I've passed by it
a few times and never book marked it. Mike's,
on the other hand, I read often. But it
bugged me that people were slamming this
person.
One
of the things I love about the net is the
diversity. I love the mommy blogs, and the
endless cat stories, and the goofy what-thus-n-such-character-are-you tests.
I go to different blogs and journals for
different reasons. And I didn't want this
person to be jumped on by the "bigger,smarter
kids."
Shit.
I don't even like saying it that way, but
that's kinda how it felt.
But...Jeneane...added
this comment. "Don't throw slurs around half-heartedly, and if you do, expect to be challenged."
Sigh.
It's true. The person was careless with
language. Mike is prolific and eloquent
and care full.
We have leaders who
put
things in your either with us or against
us terms. Lines are drawn everywhere.
Sometimes I want to be in the debate and
sometimes I want it all to stop.
I
don't even know these people. I got caught
up in a moment of their lives because of
their language. When people ask me why I
do my page and spend time reading blogs,
I think about things like this. There is
passion and humanity in abundance. This
is a blog by a twelve year old. This
is a story by Jeneane. And this...
...was
fun.
4
9
2002 9:33
AM
I went to bed early. Woke up at 11 and could
not sleep. Read until ... oh I don't know.
I kept trying to sleep and when I couldn't
I'd read some more. It drives me crazy when
I can't sleep.
I may have emerged from this last bout of
darkness with some new verve. It almost
spooks me to write that - as if the minute
I do I'll plummet again. But, I did some
work on a writing project that I've had
in the back of my mind for a while now,
and did some writing for school.
It
may also be owing to the fact that I'm reading
a lot. I hadn't been able to concentrate
on anything except the stuff that I read
on line. Aaron told me to read The Song
Linesand mentioned that he loved In
Patagoniaas well. Kristina bought me
a copy of Winding Paths, a book of
Chatwin photos. So, I've
been wondering the earth with Mr. Chatwin.
He writes some lovely sentences. In one
section of In Patagonia, he write
about the Yaghan language. Their word for
depression was the same as the one used
to describe the vulnerable phase in a crab's
seasonal cycle. Works for me.
But
I am trying to stay balanced. And,
in my never ending attempt to eat more tofu,
I made miso, tofu, kale soup and ate two big
bowls of it. And drank water. And took my
flax seed oil.
If
I think about it too much I'll be curled
up in a dark knot again.
I
wanted to like The
Court. The first two shows were OK,
despite a scene in which Ms. Field has a
laughing fit that sounds like she's choking.
It seemed like it might be a good show to
wind down with after school. But last night
they did a show on the death penalty. They
seemed to be saying that yeah, innocent
people are murdered by the state, but who
we should feel sorry for is the poor folks
in the legal system, the judges who follow
the letter of the law and ignore the heart
of the law. Yuck.
But
I'm eating my tofu and burying my head in
a book. Jeneane
blogged this
article on Blogsisters
and it stirred up a bunch of thought for
me. The central concept, for me, was that
these women identify as deaf.
A
few years ago I heard something about a
poll in which folks were given a list of
potential "problems" that their
baby might be born with and asked if they
knew ahead of time about the "problems"
would they choose to abort. The poll tallied
the numbers of - if your child had ____
and you knew, would you abort. One
of the _____'s was fat. Many people would
choose to abort their babied if they knew
they would be fat.
I'm
not a statistician and this is my web journal
not a thesis, so I can't site it and I don't
remember the numbers. I just remember the
feeling I had when I heard it.
If
you were born deaf you've never known what
life without sound is like. How can those
of us who can hear say that our experience
is better? It seems arrogant. Obviously,
I love my hearing, damaged as it is from
my days in rock-n-roll. But I do not presume
that my experience as a hearing person is
better.
It
brings up the debate in my own life - if
I could be thin would I? My position on
this is clear. No.
I've
always been fat. The thinnest I've ever
been was still fat. I've been thinner
than I am now but I've always been fat.
And since I live in a culture that hates
fatness I've lived as a person with an attribute
of physicality that the culture tried to
convince me I should be ashamed of and try
to change.
And
belive me, I tried.
Much
of who I am has been shaped (pun intended)
by that experience. So, why would I want
to work to reject that? If I knew my kids
would be fat would I chose not to have them?
And my kids would be fat, like my mother
and her mother and her grandmother were
fat.
I've
learned a bit about deaf politics from my
friend's Karen and Ari-Asha. Both are hearing
women who do translation. I've seen many
parallels in deaf political identity and
fat political identity.
It
seems to me that any individual life experience
has its specific gifts. I don't know the
gift of a deaf life, but I know the gift
of a fat life.
Drat! Comments were down yesterday. I really
can't feel mad about it. The guy that runs
YACCS does it for nothing. But I wanted
to read what people thought about deafness
as identity. Comments were back up when I returned
from school and I got a few.
The
conversation morphed a bit.
I
remember when I read She's
Come UndoneI was struck by the
way the character refereed to her fat, as
if it was something separate, not really
her body. It's like women (and more and
more men) have these mental exacto knives
that they use to slice of the parts of their
bodies that extend beyond a perceived line
of acceptability. People do talk about their
fat as if it's a separate thing.
For
me, fat is an attribute of who I am. Being
fat has influenced the way I am received
in the world and so it has influenced the
formation of my identity. I think it has
given me the experience of being seen as
"an other." Not normal.
I
argue for a broader sense of what is considered
normal, not because I think normal is that
great of an idea, but because if things
like fatness, or deafness, were read as
normal expressions of diversity then we
wouldn't look for ways to avoid or change
them. We'd celebrate the experiences that
they engender.
If
you have a deaf friend you have to become
more aware of how to communicate. You can't
assume that they hear what is going on around
them. If you are with them you notice the
ways in which your experience is shaped
by your hearing. You begin to hear with
consciousness. That would be a gift
of having a deaf friend.
When
I was nineteen I was in an accident
in which my foot was pulled under the
wheel of a truck. It was pretty bad and
I have a huge scar, but the doctor
said that, perhaps, because I was fat, my
foot was protected and not damaged to the
extent that it could have been. That's a
tangible gift of being fat. Other gifts
are gifts of experience and a bit more difficult
to describe. But they are about consciousness.
I
think there is a way in which you can protect
diversity and enjoy diversity but not read
it as ... not normal. I'm all for throwing
out the word normal all together.
I'm
worried that all this sounds very abstract.
It is about language and how we talk and
think about things. But, for me, these women
choosing to have a child who shared an attribute
of their identity was not necessarily ...
wrong. If they had been a deaf man and a
deaf women choosing to have a baby who would
likely be deaf I'm not sure they would get
as much notice. Although, they might get
some people telling them not to have a baby.
I don't know. But these women had to get
sperm from some where and they made a choice
to get the sperm from someone in their community
of identity.
It
is complicated.
Speaking
of comments, I added them to the refrigerator
door and the MFA
page. Heh.
I was dusting. I have a collection of perfume
bottles. Not as big as my salt-n-pepper
shaker collection, but there are a few. And as
much as I like all my little things...they
are dust gathers. Anyway, I was dusting
and I noticed the little perfume bottle
that I bought for my mother when I was a
kid.
It
was Christmas and a department store (maybe
Gimbals or Kaufmens) did a thing for kids. It was a
little elf factory kinda thing and you went
in and picked out the present that you wanted
to buy for your parents. I found the perfume
bottle and I was so excited. It's blue crystal,
three sided, very sweet. I didn't have enough
money and I went to ask my grandmother for
more. She tried to talk me out of it and
was all mad because they were selling a
perfume bottle with no perfume. She didn't
see the beauty. After much fussing, she did give me the money.
My mom said she liked it, but I don't think
she really understood a perfume bottle with
no perfume. I come from practical
women.
It
wasn't a big trauma but I do remember it.
I remember the feeling of wanting to get
this beautiful treasure for my mom, and
my grandmother's irritation with the store
for selling a kid a high priced bottle,
and mom trying to be happy about the gift.
I was visiting her a few years ago and she
gave it to me. She wasn't mean about it.
She knows I have these perfume bottles and
that I like that sort of thing.
It's
not a big therapy moment. It was just a
muse of the day.
My
heart is blown open. I did a Day
Pop search on Michael Lerner and Cornel West
because I wanted to write about their demonstration in front of the State department.
The only thing I had been able to find was
this insulting Salon
article. And I saw Mike Golby's page in
the links. I wanted to see what Mike had
to say about it so I clicked and ...there
is my
name and my words. Pow. I bit my lip.
Felt a wave of worry that I had written
badly and said something that Mike might
have taken in an unkind way. But no. He
writes about me in a way that I only hope
I am.
Oh
yeah...and Lerner
and West
did a demonstration
in front of the state department. I'm still
in a swoon from seeing my name on Mike's
blog so I'm not even going to try to write
much more except to say, in response to
the salon article, who needs a microphone
when you have a blog.
Peace.
1. What is your favorite restaurant and why? Da
Flora It's close. It's sweet. The food
is great. Flora and Mary Beth are the coolest.
2. What
fast food restaurant are you partial to? None. 3. What are your standards and rules for tipping?
Twenty to twenty-five percent. 4. Do you usually
order an appetizer and/or dessert? Of course. (pun intended.) 5. What do you usually order to drink at a restaurant?
Water, wine, Bombay
Sapphire martini up with a twist, coffee.
bobbi is celebrating her site
birthday. Celebrating by giving us her amazing
art. Thank you, bobbi!
I've been negligent. I shoulda talked about
this earlier in the week in case anyone
might want to go. There was this
Examiner piece. I've been irritated by the
fact that I couldn't find the poster on
line. Big
Dance has a site, as does Big
Moves, but not with this
poster. I'm never sure my scans work, since
I don't take the time to understand pixel
counts. But I scanned the postcard so it
could be seen on line, even if only by the
folks that stop by for my silliness.
Some
of the comments about the poster, as read
in the article, made me cranky. "Oh
...they're really fat!" Gee da ya think?
Oprah
did a repeat of her whatit'sliketobefat
show, featuring the women from The
Size of It. I don't know why I watched
it since it pissed me off so much the first
time.
Can
I just say one thing? (Why yes Tish, it's
your page...you can say as many things as
you want.) If every women who had ever been
molested was fat...there would be many more
fat women. Women don't get fat because they
were molested. They get fat because 1, they
have a genetic predisposition to be fat
and 2,3,4,5 etc., there are a multitude of things that
happen in a body. No one knows why people
get fat. Diet and exercise are not the only
factors. Even Oprah says diets don't work.
If
you haven't read much of the health at any
size material and only hear the surgeon
general you may be scratching your head
thinking what is she ranting about?
I
just get so bugged with Oprah looking for
"the reason" people are fat in
their psychology. It may be a factor, but
fatness is an attribute of physicality.
People are tall and short. People are a
gender. People have nose shapes, skin colors,
eye colors, moles, toes that curl up in
different ways. People are fat.
And the show was
full of fat hatred that went unchallenged.
A mother buys kitchen chairs that her daughter
can't fit into and professes ignorance.
A "best friend" is honest enough
( I'm choking now) to admit that she is
embarrassed by her fat friend's weight. A mother
says she is embarrassed by her fat daughter
in public. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU.
I'm
going to see the fat dancers tonight. I'm
hoping it's going to be fat Xanadu. I'm
going to watch fat women do art in a way
that they have been told they can not do
it...with their bodies.
The Dancing
was great! The naked fat girl image
from the poster was from a piece in which
they strike a variety of poses and look
like a live sculpture
or a painting by Rubens
or Titian.
It was art.
Fat
Chance Belly Dance was great, as always.
And the group from Big
Moves were wonderful. Marilyn
was the cutest! I guess I could be
more descriptive but ... it was just great
to see fat bodies in motion.
Kara
and Kobi
and I went to Timo's
for dinner before the concert. Tom
Ammiano was there. I love Tom.
I
said, "Thank you for your work Tom."
He
smiled and said," Thank you."
Heh.
How
bout Venezuela?
They have the president they want. Not the
one chosen for them by the oil companies.
Hmmm.
Elaine
and Jeneane
both wrote about not wanting to write about
world affairs or take sides. I rarely feel
incompetent to opine on these things but I
do have strong feelings. When I came home
last night I clicked on CNN and heard about
Venezuela
and Powell's
visit with Arafat. I watched the video
of the suicide bomber. It all enters my
heart and I have strong visceral reactions.
I run to the places
I trust for insight, knowing that they
have their bias. I figure I get the other
bias on CNN. It doesn't seem as simple as
taking sides. It doesn't seem simple at
all.
It's
hard to write about Tapas and dancers and
not mention that while I have a lovely night
in SF with lovely friends, the world is
engaged in something large and horrifying
and fragile. Mentioning it doesn't do much.
It may be my way of reassuring myself. Imagining
that being aware of it all is enough.
Shelly
wrote about thinking about it all while
waiting to cross the Golden Gate bridge.
"With these thoughts in my mind, I look up and see that the fog still lingers at
the Bridge, but decide to hell with it -- if I wait for clear days I'll never
cross Golden Gate. As I start to cross, I am met with a totally unexpected view:
the fog has somehow formed a tunnel over and around the Bridge, but the road
itself is clear."
One
of the dancers from Big Dance, Terryl Atkins, went
swimming with us. It was great having a
chance to talk with her. She's very cool.
My
head has been full of thoughts about fat
identity. There is a moment in life when
a fat person decides that they aren't going
to go on a diet for the 800th time. They're
going to attempt to accept their bodies
and get on with life. But, generally, they
still want to be thin.
I've
talked about hearing the line "there
will come a time when you won't even be
ashamed if you are fat." in
a Frank Zappa song. I was fifteen and it
was thrilling. And there was Cass.
Hippie culture gave me these kooky ideas
about my body. My body was beautiful and
loveable at any size. I didn't really belive
them but I hoped they were true. But, I also
hoped I could be be thin.
I
had my rock-n-roll band, Fatshadow. I tried
to be bold and exude self acceptance. But,
I was still hoping I'd be thin.
I
worked out in gyms, lived on pineapple,
hiked though the mountains of India, shoved
cocaine up my nose. I processed my inner
pain. I wrote affirmations about loving
my body. I stayed fat.
At
a certain point hoping for a size positive
world and pretending I loved my fat body
became the louder voices and I started questioning
my desire to be thin. And there was this
inner click. It was decades in the making.
I am fat. It is an attribute of my physicality.
The reasons begin in my DNA and are layered
with the effects of my attempts to be thin.
I am not to blame. I am not ashamed. In
fact...I'm proud.
It's
an odd positioning when substantive parts
of your identity form around an attribute
of your physicality. Odd and essential for
those of us who are shunted to the margins.
We won't stay in those margins any more.
But
those of us who come out of the margins
bear a different kind of weight. The first
dance
company of fat dancers, the first fat Olympian,
the first fat aerobics
teacher. When people challenge the assumptions
of popular culture, especially those assumptions
that prop up a cash
cow, those people become icons. The
hopes of so many depend on their success.
Swimming
and having lunch took an inordinate amount
of time. I didn't really get much done when
I got home. So today I must write and write.
So....hours ago...I finished writing a
lovely little page... if I do say so myself.
And
then...my computer crashed.
I
don't think I can reconstruct the original.
I don't even know if I want to. I was writing
about writing, since that's what I did most
of yesterday and I was feeling pretty pleased
with myself. But it was a little hyper meta,
I suppose.
"When people are humiliated, and have no homes to return to because the homes
have been destroyed by the occupying army, When people are humiliated, and have
no family to hold them in their arms because they have been shot and unable to
get medical care, When people are humiliated, and have no hope for the future,
They see no alternative to violence."
"Nonviolence is also about not judging people as we perceive them to be – that
is, a murderer is not born a murderer; a terrorist is not born a terrorist.
People become murderers, robbers and terrorists because of circumstances and
experiences in life. Killing or confining murders, robbers, terrorists, or the
like is not going to rid this world of them. For every one we kill or confine we
create another hundred to take their place. What we need to do is
dispassionately analyze both the circumstances that create such monsters and how
we can help eliminate those circumstances. Focusing our efforts on the monsters,
rather than what creates the monsters, will not solve the problems of violence."
"How can working with the "dark side" help here? Again I submit that if you
believe darkness is a given part of our nature, then denying that is meant to be
a part of our lives can leave us unbalanced, less than whole. Everyone knows
someone who has gone to extremes in their lifestyle or belief system; the
pendulum swing from angel to devil -- from atheist to zealot. When all around us
is evidence of polarity in the wholeness of nature, denying our other half can
be neurotic folly."
All
this came together for me as I faced the
prospect of rewriting my page. One of my
responses to the misery of listening to
CNN
is to make some kind of attempt at understanding
my own violence. I'll let ya know how that
goes.
There may be a person, or two, who stop
by my page on Wednesday to see if I'll write
about the lockjaw expression on my face
from the night before. Or maybe they didn't
notice. Maybe I masked it well. There may
be a time when concealing your emotions
keeps you out of jail. Heh.
Kelly
Rock Hill sent some poems for the MFA
page. You can leave her some lovely
comments. Or send her e-mail to tell her
how wonderful her poems are. So far the
only people who send me stuff are the poets.
It's possible that I prattle on and on
about sustaining complexity. Oh well.
"This is what facile comparisons do--they nullify understanding the complexity of
the observed phenomena by a rush of outrage heating the throat and staining the
adversary with the vomit of borrowed or vicarious condemnation." - Breyten Breytenbach
In
class last night we were discussing The
Things They Carried. I found it difficult to jump into the conversation.
For the most part, I agreed with everything
people were saying. It's a well written
book that, for me, accomplishes one
thing. It sustains complexity. It neither
glorifies war nor does it take an anti war
position. It is an anti war book for me
but that's just my reaction to hearing about
young men with guns, far away from home,
trying to stay alive. But the book is about
telling a war story and the tenderness
of that task.
So,
how do we do this? How do I wake up and
check for news from the front and then write
about how annoying my bus ride to school
was? The only thing that I want to write
is the thing that makes it stop. But I'm
not that inspired.
I
support a two state solution. I support
the right of return. I support the existence
of the Jewish homeland. I can't imagine
how these two peoples are going to live
together after all they've done to each
other. But someone has to imagine something.
I
get nervous when things are divided by two.
You're either with us or against us. You're
pro Palestinian or pro Israeli. You're a
war blogger or a peace blogger.
I
was awake late reading The
Song Lines. I'd was just about bored with it
(which says more about my state of mind
than the book) and then in the middle of
the book Chatwin
is temporarily stranded in the middle of
Australia. He sits down at a desk and pulls
out his note books. Then a section of the
book is from those note books. It's pretty
amazing. It's about writing. It never says...this
is the way to write...but it shows the things
that Chatwin thought important enough to
make note of, and the ways in which he does
that.
Chatwin
is almost absent as the narrator in In
Patagonia and The
Song Lines. He's the one seeing and hearing
and asking the questions and through those
things you know a bit about how he feels.
But, really, you are just seeing though
his eyes and words and you are left
to your own responses.
So
entering into his notebooks is like entering
into his heart. His concerns are about being
perennially restless. He writes about being
on the move and the metaphysical implications
and the variety of things that one witnesses
and how that all adds up and feeds a personal
theology, or mythology, or pathology.
I've
moved around a bit. It always felt like
I was moving to avoid suicide. My helplessness
became overwhelming and I moved. I put all
my hope in the catalyst of movement. In
the first days of travelling I feel free.
I can feel the tension of who ever I have
been slipping away and I feel free to recreate
who I am.
But
who I am has consistent patterns some of
which I've deconstructed, some of which
still tyrannize my heart, some of which
I value.
Reading
the Chatwin notebooks settled me into deep
ruminations. And I noticed a synchronisity
in his reverence for walking and Wanderlust.
Since I don't drive I have always walked.
But as my knees deteriorate I walk less
and less. And I feel the loss. So I was
determined to walk this morning.
Then,
in the middle of the night, I rolled over
and my knee popped. Gawdfuckingdammit. It
hurt so bad. And I woke up having dreams
that I had moved back to New York.
KPFA
did a day
of reporting on the Middle East, featuring
reports from Jenin.
I sat in paralysis listening to it all.
After reading Mike's
blog and because of some discussion
in The
Song Lines of Aboriginal notions of the land, their rights
and song
lines, I am rethinking my support for the
two state solution. I think I just want
some acknowledgment of the rights of both
Jews and Palestinians to live where they
live. And, sometimes, I am foolish
enough to imagine that can be delineated
by the demarcation of land. Clearly
that does not work. I am still clear
about the right of return. So, then how
do that many people even fit in a small
amount of space with limited resources?
And how does the state encourage truth and
reconciliation?
What's your favorite TV show and why?
I like the West
Wing. I like to pretend that it's the
real White House. I like Dark
Angel, (a fact that confuses me). But
the truth is I mostly watch the
Supes all week and Book
TV on the weekend. I don't so much watch
it all as I have it on in the back ground
while I'm reading blogs. Heh. Who is your favorite television star?Camryn
Manheim. What was your favorite TV show as a child? I
watched movies on Saturday with Shirley
Temple. And then I would dance and sing
around the house. What show do you think should have been cancelled by now? Uh...I
don't have enough web space to start
that list. What new show do you hope escapes the axe this season? I...um...just
don't care.
Television
is a good drug. I'll be the first to admit
that I enjoy zoning out with a little shiny
story. And I often have the television on
in the back ground, a particularly bad habit.
I have the radio on in the morning and switch
to the TV in the afternoon and evening.
I do listen to many of those kooky
meetings
and C-SPAN.
But I have a few shows that I watch just
for fun.
I
don't know why I'm into the chicks who kick
ass shows, but I am. Dark
Angel occasionally does some interesting
things about genetic engineering. Max is
a person who perceives herself as a freak.
I can relate to that. Alias
... I dunno...there's some character development...I
guess. But I really do like watching these
women smacking down bad guys. So much for
my pacifism.
Sunday
nights is a TV night for me. I watch Sixty
Minutes, Max
Bickford, Alias
and The
Practice. There's really no other night
that I watch that many shows in a row and
I don't always get through them all and
I'm usually either at the computer, or I
have a book or magazine in my hand while
I watch. It's a tragically American thing
to do. Over stimulate.
But
it is a comfort sometimes.
And
I often find myself wincing from the bad
body politics pervasive on TV.
Will
and Grace is a great example. I watch
the show. I have laughed out loud at the
show. But they make fat jokes in almost
every episode. Every time I see one of those
Themoreyouknow
things I wonder if they will ever tell
the truth about fat bodies and not use fatness
for a quick laugh. Teach tolerance? My fat
ass!
I
remember the first time I saw Alley
Mc Beal. I had left a class early and
was in a terrible mood. I thought I'd watch
TV and chill out. I'd heard everyone raving
about Alley so...I watched.
Ally
is warned to
be ready for Harry Pippen, a lawyer that she will trying a case against in court.
Pippen is fat. Very fat. He has some kind
of collapse and Alley "saves"
him with mouth to mouth, only after she
grimaces at the thought of putting her mouth
on his. Pippen's fiancee Angela shows up to thank Ally for saving Pippen. He has angina
because he's nervous about their upcoming
nuptials. Angela is also fat. She cracks
Ally's back when she hugs her. Grrr.
Pippen confesses
to Alley that he's afraid he's marrying Angela, not because she is the one, but because
she's the only. Alley says something about keeping the promise you make to yourself
as a child to wait for true love. Pippen
calls off the wedding. Angela comes back
and tells Alley that "people like them...aren't
going to get true love", or something
like that. Ally tells Pippen that he should marry Angela because
the worst thing
for your heart is loneliness. Uhuh.
At
the wedding, as the couple gets into the
limo to drive off into wedded bliss, Pippen
gives Alley one last look of longing. Grrrrrrrrrrrr.
Maybe
the worst thing for your heart is believing
that because you are fat you should never
expect anyone to love you, or want you sexually,
unless it's because they are also someone
who can't expect to be loved.
By
the time I turned off the television I was
a full state of rage and despair. The show
is being cancelled. I could care less.
International
Action and Reclaim
the Streets organized demos yesterday
in solidarity with events in DC.
I tried to overcome my agoraphobia but...people
scare me. Right after 9/11, I went to a
few things. It was good to be with people
and yet...too quickly things de-evolve into
over simple bifurcation and rhetoric. Still,
I'm
glad there were folks out in the streets.
I
did something completely ridiculous instead.
I played with my SIMS.
It's been months. They have a new expansion
pack and I didn't run right out and get
it. I wondered if I was done. It is way
too much like life. You have to keep them
fed, clean, employed, and the worse part,
happy. There's always something going wrong.
Floods, fires, pestilence.
But
I knew I needed to space out.
It's
impossible to describe the obsessive inner
story telling that goes on when I play.
It's exactly the way it was when I played
with dolls.
The
family that I played with is named the Kahil's.
They are a combination of families. I made
a group of different people with the intention
of marrying them to other people in other
houses. At first there was Lee, an Asian
fellow. Aisha, a very pale white woman who
wears an Oriental print dress. And twin sisters,
Riz and Bertice, who are fat and black and wear sarongs.
(Bertice wears a turban!)
Riz
married and moved into the Hawaiian household. Bertice
married and moved into the Jones household.
Aisha
courted a woman, Tina who wears raver cloths and
has blue hair. She has a son, Lee. He's
Asian. She left her girl friend (don't worry
- she hooked up with one of the boys
in the loft.) and moved in with the Kahil's.
Lee married Mae Ling, an Asian
woman who used to live with the monks. They had a baby girl, Leah,
who
looks nothing like them. I dunno how that
happened.
See,
there are things you can control in the
game, and things
you can not.
Getting two people to fall
in love and get married is fun, but not
always easy. There's lots of flirting
and eating and playing chess or watching
TV. There's the proposal and the cute little
SIMS wedding. And then ...life goes on.
Work. Sleep. Eat. Poop. Watch TV. Try to
do some self improvement and have a relationship
or two.
After
all the moving around, the story became that
Aisha is Mae Ling's daughter and Tina is
Lee's. (you know...from their former marriages)
So, when Aisha married Tina, Tina and her
son (named Lee after his grandfather) moved
in, Lee met Aisha's mother, Mae Ling
and fell in love! So now they all live together.
Still
with me?
There
are things that happen that you can not
control. A bear comes in the middle of the
night, on tip toes, and digs in the trash,
which is so noisy that it wakes everyone
up. Then the bear tip toes away. So cute!
And
if you give a party, and you make enough
food, Drew Cary shows up!
OK,
so I'm talking about television and computer
games. Sigh. Does that make me a war blogger
or a peace blogger?
Over the past several weeks, I have heard Muslim intellectuals use the word
"humiliation" to describe how vast numbers of Muslims feel. Humiliation is a
deeply cultural construct that cuts far deeper than economic or political terms
like "impoverished" or "disenfranchised". To feel humiliated is to be denied
consideration or respect. -Jeremy
Rifkin
It's
Earth
Day. There's an interesting ecological
foot print test on this page.
I tried to take it but there were two questions
I just didn't know about (like square feet
of my apt) and there are two questions that
assume you have a car. I don't. Never have.
I've
heard Helen
Caldicott on the radio a few times lately.
She adds a layer of tension to the conversation
about war or peace.
"Now, with unprecedented
acts of terrorism fueling the American public's willingness to grant its
government broad power to wage war, the constant pressure from weapons makers to
use military force - and by extension, buy more of their weapons - poses the
very real threat of nuclear war. Enumerating, as a physician, the medical
consequences of such a war, Caldicott demonstrates conclusively that the notion
of nuclear survival is a complete fantasy, and that nuclear victory is an
oxymoron."
The
planets
are in a line. It feels like we're on a
brink. And I don't want to give in to dark
likelihood. But it's pretty scary.
There is
a group of bloggers who I read everyday.
They are listed on the Refrigerator
Door. I stumbled upon them trolling aroung the
Internet. Some of them seem to have
a history together. And they seem to be having problems.
All my war blogger/peace blooger references
are about things I've read on these blogs.
I don't think they actually read me that
often.But just in case any of them are reading
me today, I want to make a comment.
We
may need blogger therapy.
I'm
new in this particular corner of the blogging
school yard. And things seem to be getting
very fractious. I suspect that I don't know
all the details. And I don't want to know.
And I have noticed that the bloggers who
are drawing the war blogger/peace blogger
line are ones that I don't read.
Onacounta
I like the kids I do read better. Uhuh.
So
when I read something, on one of the blogs
by a kid that I like, that sounds like they
got hurt by something that another blogger
wrote, I get all pumped up and I go
and read the other blogger.
Recently
I did this and saw something about the people
in Arab countries not being allowed to elect
their leaders.
Yeah. It sucks when that happens.
So,
anyway. I get all pumped up and I go to
the other blogs and I read the offending
blogs and I want to jump in and start swinging.
The next thing I know I'm making my bed,
talking out loud, telling off someone who
I've never met. Someone who I don't even
read.
We're
on this little spinning ball of clay. We
only just figured out how to walk upright
a minute ago. Now we have to figure out
how to negotiate our own brutality.
I
don't give a fuck about Google or Daypop.
Most of the people who read me are my friends.
They read me because I say, "Did you
read me? Didja? Didja? Didja?" Heh.
Right about now they're shaking their heads
and thinking I've gone mad.
WE had meant to go to Europe this last summer, and Tish would have gone
anyhow, war or no war, if we had not switched her off onto something else.
"Submarines fiddlesticks!" she said. "Give me a good life preserver, with a
bottle of blackberry cordial fastened to it, and the sea has no terrors for me."
My
father named me. Patricia Ann. My mother
added Princess Priscilla Penelope Pamela.
Patricia Ann Princess Priscilla Penelope
Pamela Parmeley. It wasn't actually on the
birth certificate. She wanted to name me
Kenya. She wrote short stories about a girl
named Kenya. It had nothing to do with the
country of the same name. But dad picked
Patricia Ann. Patti for short.
Patti
Fatty.
It's
kinda like that Johnny Cash song in which
a father names his son Sue because he know
he won't be around to teach his son how
to fight and with the name Sue ... you get
the idea.
When
I was twelve, I changed it to Trish for
about a week and it morphed into Tish. There
was some resistance to the change. My mom
calls me Tisher Ann.
I
almost feel bad for Tammy.
But the first time I saw her I knew this
would happen. And that had nothing to do
with melatonin.
The war against war is going to be no holiday excursion or camping party. The
military feelings are too deeply grounded to abdicate their place among our
ideals until better substitutes are offered than the glory and shame that come
to nations as well as to individuals from the ups and downs of politics and the
vicissitudes of trade.
Sigh.
So far, war has been the only force that can discipline a whole community, and
until and equivalent discipline is organized, I believe that war must have its
way. But I have no serious doubt that the ordinary prides and shames of social
man, once developed to a certain intensity, are capable of organizing such a
moral equivalent as I have sketched, or some other just as effective for
preserving manliness of type. It is but a question of time, of skilful
propogandism, and of opinion-making men seizing historic opportunities.
I
was reading Jonathon
Delacour yesterday, as well. When I
was reading the James I thought back to
what Jonathon wrote about the Israeli
soldier.
"I am not yet sufficiently cynical to believe that, in taking such a long time
to formulate his answer, he was trying to recall a training lecture he'd
attended on how to handle foreign journalists. Rather I believe that he was
running through in his mind the catalogue of all the good and bad decisions he'd
made, of everything he'd learned during training and since, before attempting to
choose one fear out of a hundred or more. The interview could have been a setup
yet he came across to me as the kind of soldier who stands as a credit to any
army.
Strapping on explosives and blowing up yourself and others is pathetic when
measured against the willingness to accept total responsibility for the lives of
the men under your command while trying at the same time to minimize civilian
casualties."
I'm
not sure I agree. Because both the suicide
bomber and the young soldier are doing the
same thing, putting their lives into armed
struggle. A struggle over land use and water
rights and religious identity. One young
man is trained and armed by a state and
the other may or may not have training,
may have been supplied with his weapons,
or may have gathered them himself. And the
second is using his own body to make his
point.
I'm
not trying to compare the two in terms of
valour.
But
more than that, I thought about James and
the task of coming up with something to
unify people and Delacour and his argument
that blogging may not be the most honourable
place to take a stand.
"This privileging of words and feelings over meaningful action
most resembles a kind of emotional pornography; it constitutes the most grievous
insult to those who are suffering and dying on both sides."
And
the I thought about the variety of blogs
that I read and the ways in which they (
I ) struggle to make sense of it all on
our pages, not so much take a stand, but
rather struggle to engage with it all. Maybe
it is all an attempt to feel good about
ourselves.
I
don't really think Delacour was talking
about me, or many of the folks who write
about it all. He was specifically resonding
to something that was said by a few individuals. But it gave
me pause.
I
fall back again and again on trying to stay
awake, learn more and confront my own war
like nature.
I have a picture of a little girl from
a time when her parents were getting a divorce.
( No, this is not really about me.) She
has her arms around their necks and she's
pulling their heads together, as if the
force of her will, and her love, and her
need will keep them together. It didn't.
They had a relatively amicable divorce,
but they did split.
When
I look at that picture I think about how
much will there is in love. I mean the urge
to love is so intense. And the urge to live,
the will to live is so intense.
The Wild
Writing Women came to visit us last
night. They were nice enough women, doing
nice enough writing.
Aaron
asked them the essential question. Since
you are Americans, how do you deal with
your cultural imperialism? ( I'm sure that's
not Aaron's
precise language ... just the gist. ) The
first answer was disturbing. It was a quick,
"Easy." Then there was a small
flurry of equivocation about traveling stripping
away a person's prejudice. Uhhuh.
Most
difficult for me was one women who said
that when she travels it's as if she has
no skin or gender. See, here's the problem.
That isn't possible. The minute you enter
any space, anywhere, you bring with you
the meme
of our body. And, although I would have
to check with Cynthia on this, (she is my
science source) I imagine we bring with
us a host of bacterial and skin mites and
all kind of things that travel with our
bodies.
This
is the way I read white liberal racism.
You try to ignore the meaning that is embedded
in your skin. You imagine that if you ignore
it, it will go away.
But
they were nice enough women doing nice enough
writing. And some of them are involved in
doing great
works. I just wish that the first thing
one of them had said, in response to the
question of cultural imperialism, was something
about realizing that they are privileged.
Traveling into other cultures, for pleasure,
is a privilege. If you do something that
helps that culture, well, that's the least
you can do.
Speaking
of privilege and meaning.
I
have a friend, Lynn. She is a gifted acupuncturist.
I am her willing and happy pin cushion.
I have another friend, Barbara. She is a
gifted chiropractor. These two women have
kept my body from crumbling. I am eternally
grateful to them. Yesterday both my health
care friends left comments here. It seems
they both enjoyed something
that I linked to yesterday. Now...my question
is ...should I be worried?
The extreme and reckless pruning of this tree of life by a culture where
television, advertising, media, academia and politics pander to the least common
denominator; where people are not loved for their depth, but for their thinness,
has left our dreams damaged. -
Martin
Prectel
4
26
2002
9:41
AM
1.What are your hobbies? I've
tried to have hobbies. But I don't. 2.Do you collect
anything? Oh yeah. Salt and pepper shakers. Perfume bottles. Goofy
lights. 3.Is there a hobby you're
interested in, but just don't have the time/money to do? Not so much. I
want to draw more but I don't think of it
as a hobby. 4.Have you ever
turned a hobby into a moneymaking opportunity? Nope. 5.Besides web-related stuff, what
clubs do you belong to? None.
OK.
So sometimes I'm not so interesting when
I'm doing the Friday Five thing. I guess
I think the notion of a hobby is a way of
thinking about your life in parts. So, I'm
resistant to it. I do want to draw more.
I could say I collect books and CD's but
it doesn't feel like collecting. It feels
like nourishment.
And
clubs...see I'm just going through a weird
time. I'm needing to be alone...a lot. It's
partly because of this struggle to change
my life that I began six years ago.
I quit a job, went to college, had a little
coffee cart business. Had my heart broken
in seventeen places. And now...I'm just
trying to get my MFA so I can find some
little college and teach.
There
are things I want to write about and I'd
love it if I could make money as a writer.
But I don't want to think about that now.
Caroline Casey has a nice Vernal
strategy outlined on her site. She says
if we can make it through May...we may be
able to turn things around. She was interviewing
Martin Prectel on her show yesterday. I
was only half listening. I remembered reading
this interview with him in The Sun.
My
life has been in parts. I did music, but
I never really made money at it. I had to
pay the musicians. I cooked. And I loved
it. It was a great job for me. But not any
more. I thought I'd do something in Psychology.
I still wonder about that, all the reading
that I did to try to understand myself,
all the workshops and processes. I value
it all and there are ways in which it freed
me. But I'm up against some midlife, menopausal,
mind melt.
Who
am I going to be when I grow up?
In
so many ways, I just want to find a job,
teaching in a little college, maybe in a
little town, and read and write. And there
are ways in which that's because of the
hurt I feel right now. The a fore mentioned
broken heart. I want to withdraw from the
fray. So, that's not entirely good. I mean,
I feel myself contracting.
There
are new poems on the MFA
page. Still no essays, rants or short stories.
Hint.
And
I was talking to Jo Ann and found out that
she has two
new poems on the web.
Maureen,
on reenhead,
wrote about not finding the Friday Five
compelling. I understand and yet I like
the ritual of doing the Five. There are
more of these things out there. Monday
Mission, Tuesday
Two, there's one for every day. They're
content generators (for those of us who
come up dry) but they are also community
builders. I do the Five because it
was the first one I came across and I like
the down-to-earthness of the questions.
It's good for me to think in terms that
I don't usually consider. Paul did a funny
parody
of the Five. So, Maureen issued this challenge.
Complete this haiku:
Autumn's whitest mice creep along
the rows of grain
maybe
I should sweep
If you could add one card to the Tarot deck, what would it be, and what
would it mean? The Wand of Power. Upright it would mean: you are in control
of your destiny. The choices you make determine
how your life will go. Upside down it
would mean: all your choices are made in
the context of the culture in which you
live. Ask yourself why you make the choices
that you do and be aware that there are
people making choices that will intersect
with all of your intended actions.
Heh.
That was fun.
The
problem with writing about what I do everyday
is ...well...it would be easier to write
about what I don't do. For example, I didn't
write. Not for school. Not on any of the
projects I've had in my head. I didn't find
a job. ( I did inquire about one ) I wasn't
going to make the bed but just the fact
that I knew I was going to write about it
here kicked me into action. I'm so easy
to shame. I did read blogs and do my page
and check my e-mail twenty seven times and
check for comments eighteen times.
Actually,
there was a point yesterday when I turned
off the news, put on music, straightened
up the apartment, delt with some stuff.
I
had been reading wood
s lot, one of my favorites, but full
of big chunky reads about things like exact
uncertainty. He blogged about reenhead
and I went there (thinking to myself - just
this one more) and it was full of cool stuff,
like the Haiku challenge. I knew I had to
back away from the computer.
I
actually went out the door. Yep. I went
to Suzanne's
house. We ate Mexican food and sang a little.
I checked out my site on her computer and
obsessed with how bad everything looked.
OK.
It's true. Even when I went out of my house,
away from my computer, I found a way to
obsess about my site. Yes. Yes. Yes. I may
need an intervention.
Within its vital boundary, in the mind.
We say God and the imagination are one...
How high that highest candle lights the dark.
Out of this same light, out of the central mind,
We make a dwelling in the evening air,
In which being there together is enough.
It
started when I heard about The
Free Words Project. Sal Randolph is a Harvard University graduate who lives and works in New
York. She does
projects
In which she collects or produces objects that she gives
away. This hearkens back to Marcel
Mauss, the Situationists
and Abbie
Hoffman. It thrills my hippy chick heart.
The only thing I ever stole was Steal
This Book.
I
hear so many of my fellow students talking
in terms of writing that is selling. I know
it's important. I need
to find a way to make money. The reason
I went to school was to try and position
myself to make money in a way that used
my brain and not my brawn. And if I had written
a book I'd be trying to sell it.
But
I don't want that need, the need for cash,
to infect what I'm trying
to do with writing. I'm still trying
to understand what I'm trying to do with
writing. Needing money drives me crazy.
Of course I'm thinking about all this because
it's the end of the month.
But
I'm also thinking about it because I often
see, on the bottom web sites, threats about
stealing the persons stuff. So, I look at
the page for what can be stolen and I see
images and words. It could be about the
design. But it seems so hyper. If I took
a photo from someone's site and put it here
and said ...look what I did...that would
be stupid and wrong. But if I put the photo
here and link to the person's site and said
look at what they did...I don't know. I've
read flap when a person thinks their site
design is being copied. And I usually wonder
how man ways can you do a site design? My
design probably isn't cool enough to copy.
Maybe that's why I think it's so over the
top.
But
what would change in your life if you weren't
worried about money?
I
took the Myers-Briggs
test yesterday. You might wonder why I do
things like this when they drive me crazy.
But then I found out I was an iFNj
...well...maybe this test isn't so dumb.
Ahem.
Since
last weeks consideration of the relative
value the Friday
Five, I decided to do a week long tour
of all those other questions. So, this morning
I woke up and went to the Monday
Mission.
When was the last time you pampered yourself?
Uh...
When was the last time someone pampered you?
Hmmm
Describe the last time you recall really feeling loved
(other than from children or pets). When I read my comments.
Has your use of the computer ever caused any arguments? What's the
story there? No.
What's the most embarrassing thing your Mom ever did?
She bought a little soap holder thing
that was a frog. You know, the soap went
in the mouth and the sponge went in the
feet. Er somethin like that. But I was 15
and I we were in a hardware store. I was
standing at the end of a long table full
of sale stuff and two girls, standing next
to me, were talking about how weird the
frog soap holder thing was and asking who
would ever buy such a thing. That's when
my mom, at the other end of the table, held
it up and said, "Tisher, look! Isn't
this cute?"
I've met some adults who've never learned to swim, and others who
never learned how to ride a bike.. Is there anything that you never learned as a
child that you probably should have? Nope.
I have no idea who said it (and I spent all of two minutes trying
to research it), but "someone" once said, a picture is worth a thousand
words. Post an image that says more than words. Or instead, describe a picture
you recall which touched your heart. I guess this guy thinks we all have
digital cameras.
BONUS: What's love got to do with it?
Everything. Nothing.
Yeah.
I have the same problem with these that
I often do with the Five. I don't relate
to the idea of pampered. The questions are
all over the map aren't they? Onward to
Participation
Positives. This, it turns out, is not
questions, but a challenge to make a list
of ...positive things... so that you start
your week off on a ...positive note.
I
got nothin.
That's
probably not a good sign.
OK...so,
next is The
Monday Memory. Again, no questions,
just a content producing idea. And there
are mornings that I need a content producing
idea. There is a whole
blog devoted to this problem. The memory
idea is a nice enough one. How bout I remember
yesterday?
After
swimming, Marilyn took me to the grocery
store. Then we went to my apartment and
she played with my computer while I made
late lunch/early dinner. I made lamb chops,
risotto with asparagus and mushrooms and
fennel and apple salad with teleme toasts.
It was great! I love cooking. I forget how
much I love cooking. I do make myself meals
like that sometimes but it's just easier
when there is someone else to cook for.
Then we went to see The
Padded Lilies and some other syncro
swimmers. Very cute!
I'm
not sure how this question tour is going
to go. It's starting off a little rocky.
OK.
Continuing on the questions tour. Today's
are from Tuesday
Too
Tell us about your most frustrating experience in dealing with the
government, or some kind of authority and red tape. Gee, there all so
bad. I usually try to block the memory of
tings like that.
Tell us your crazy kitty or, crazy dog, or crazy whatever story.
This is tough. I have no animals. Oh,
wait I got one...my father had a ranch where
he raised quarter horses. I didn't really
know my dad that well but I was visiting
him one summer. I was standing beside a
fence and one of the horses came up beside
me and leaned into me. Well, I was a city
kid and I was a little afraid. The horse
moved closer and one hoof landed on my toe.
I tried to push it away but it wouldn't
move. I called out to my dad in a very calm
voice ( so as not to spook the horse) and
he came over and smacked the horse.
You've decided to buy a vanity license plate for your car. What does it say?
I
own no car. I do not know how to drive.
But I guess I would try to get fatshadow.
I
still do think these question things build
community and are cool. And if you read
the things folks write in answer to the
questions, they produce some fun content.
There was another Tuesday site that I saw
listed but when I arrived at the site it
was password protected. Oh well.
I
did laundry yesterday. It seems to take
all day. I got lucky in that Renee stopped
by at exactly the right moment and she carried
it all up the steps. Then we ate pizza and
watched TV.
"As the New England Journal of Medicine recently
editorialized: "The data linking overweight and death ... are limited,
fragmentary, and often ambiguous. Most of the evidence is either indirect or
derived from [studies with] serious methodologic flaws. Many studies fail to
consider confounding variables, which are extremely difficult to assess and
control — Thus, although some claim that every year 300,000 deaths — are caused
by obesity, that figure is by no means well established."
Fat
as a metaphor for unwell. Bugs me every
time. And when you really dig into the science,
you see the gapping holes in the reasoning.