January 2003
Great art is clear thinking about mixed feelings, said Auden. (from a slection of Edward Hoagland's diaries.)
I am home.
I love my home.
I love my desktop.
I love my web page.
I love my bed.
We arrived early and I succumbed to the sin of taking a taxi. Shuttles are so much cheaper but I just wanted to be HOME!
And I am.
I was (am) a little bit zonked from the day of air travel. I will write a full rant about this soon. And there was the time change. I lost three hours. But I was wired and tired. I ordered a pizza. Put on my beloved Board of Supervisors. Powered up my PC. Ahhhhhhh.
I'm home.
I called Mom. When we arrived at the airport a fellow pulled up beside us and told her she should check one of her tires. This started a bit of a row. Ken kept saying that if the tire blew out the car could roll. Mom didn't want to stop in a gas station and put in air because she'd never done it before. As I said goodbye I had visions of them with a flat tire in the middle of no where. I mean, it's crazy, because they have an emergency cell phone and some kind of AAA thing. So they would have been OK. But, shit. They drove back to Brevard and she took the car to some tire place and they found a roofing tack. All is well.
At the airport my Mom stood at the glass security wall and watched while they waved the metal detector over me and looked at my laptop case. I kept waving to her. My throat tight with tears.
The thing is Mom is in pretty good shape. Relatively speaking. She could be around for years. Ken is better. But, at 79, I think he's only ever going to get so much better. And I feel the need to be closer.
When I talked to Steve he sang the praises of Asheville. He thought it was a great place to live. (It is isn't it Susan?) It's close to M & K. I'm going to graduate in six months. And then I'm going to need a job. And I am thinking about where I want to position myself for that future.
But.
For today.
I am home.
KPFA is on the radio. I'm writing on my site. I'm drinking tea and eating toast in front of my computer.
I'm home.
And so happy to be here.
There was a point yesterday when I just wanted to order in expensive delivery food and play with my SIMS. I just wanted to zone. But I needed to go and get my mail. I swear I told them to deliver it today but yesterday they left a note saying come and get it. I needed to get the bills and write checks. My swollen credit cards need constant attention. I'm already getting THOSE phone calls.
And it was a beautiful sunny SF day. I've decided to pull away from the screen more and go ... out.
So, anticipating a months worth of catalogs and junk mail and bills, (oh my) I got my little grocery cart and walked up the hill to the PO office. Smiling at the hills. Got propositioned by a homeless guy. Ahhh. Life is good. I'm back in the city.
They had the pkg of books that Mom & I had mailed but not the mail. Or so they said. They gave me a phone # to call.
Here's the deal. One block from my apartment is the place where they sort the mail. One flat block. Up the hill, five blocks away from my house, is the PO office. So. I figured that the mail was at the sorting center. It had been there one other time. I walked back down the hill, knocked on the door and a guy comes and tells me that the mail is at the office. I hike back UP THE HILL and wait in line for ten minutes and ... oh...yes...they do have it. See, if I was my Mother I would have told the guy to call when I was there the first time. He woulda called and they would have told him to look a little harder and I wouldn't have made a second trip. Sweating. In the beautiful sun.
I got the bills. Wrote the checks. Groan.
I did play with my SIMS for a bit. I made a John Keats and an Emily Dickinson. They live in separate houses and they each have cat. I was going to try and hook them up. So far they haven't discovered each other.
Then I went to the store and got some tuna and apples and those already peeled carrots that that don't really taste very good. I mean really. If you can't peel your own carrots...what is that about? But I was really tired. I think the day of travel caught up with me. I was so thirsty the day I got to NC and I had the same experience yesterday. I could not drink enough water.
I spent a lovely long time reading blogs this morning. I couldn't sleep. Maybe I'm still feeling NC time. With my limited web time in NC I really noticed who I read and why. I like different blogs for different reasons. More about that later. Yesterday I read Dorothea, someone who I've been reading for a while, and Monica, a new friend, who were both pointing to a post by Shelly talking about comments.
I love comments. I check my own comment section manically and I love reading the comments on other people's sites. I love the way conversations happen in comment sections. And I've only had a few icky comments. Nothing too bad. But I've seen some really slings and arrows in comment sections. And the situation that Shelly was writing about (nasty comment bombers crashing a site) is an example of how loopy it can get.
But ohhhhhhh........I love comments.
It's funny. I get web shy. I don't always feel comfortable commenting. Or sending e-mail. But when I wsa in NC comments and e-mails kept me from crashing.
This public writing of personal riffing is interesting space. We become involved with one another in intimate ways and yet...there is distance. If I am listening to a friend say something I don't like they may be able to tell by looking at my face. Actually, my face is an easy read. But if I read a blogger friend saying something I find offensive, or dumb, they may never know. I can just click away. Or I can go back to my own blog and GO OFF. Which is usually how I handle it. If I really react to something I read on line, in a negative way, I usually use my own space to speak out. With a link. That way the blogger may see me in their referrers and check me out.
But ya know...I don't go looking for many fights.
And.
If one comes along I will square off. Not for the fun of the fight. I don't find fighting fun. But for the hope of evolution, education, growth...sumthin.
But I love my comments. Right now Bobbi has borked her MT and her comments are only there in her archives. I really want to be able to tell her how beautiful her stuff is and how much it helps me to go to her site and see beauty.
In case anyone is wondering...I never did buy any smokes. I thought about it yesterday but I was in too good a mood. A bit postal. But soooo happy to be home.
Yikes! I added to the bork on Bobbi's MT. Sheesh! She says I'm forgiven. Phew. But fa cryin out loud! All I did was leave a comment in one of her archived pages. Puts a whole new spin on the problem with comments.
MT gives me the heebie jeebies. There's no way I could do it alone. It just seems too hard unless you are a full tilt design head. The thing is I think I might like to be a design head. When I have time and brain cell function I actually read about design stuff. But...when I try to do something new with my page I sweat my limitations. And my limitations are many. Don't look under the hood. It's messy. And now I'm sweating someone else's design issues. Oh shit! (See Bobbi, swearing is OK here.) I'm so sorry!
The We Have Brains Topic is about football and feminism. I can't believe I have something to say about this. But M & K watch a lot of football. I would sit with them and read. I got pretty good at tuning out the roar and babble of the game. But Mom would yell and bang on her chair. "Go go go!" I dropped my book a few times.
The only time I was interested in football was when I had a crush on Gary Demblowski in seventh grade. He was on the team. I was in the bleachers. Swooning and yelling. "Go go go!"
The last Sunday I was in NC I walked into the living room when there was a game on between New York and Pittsburgh. I grew up in Pittsburgh. I was in seventh grade in Pittsburgh.
There was a turn around in the middle of the game and the end was really close and really dramatic. And then there was another game between SF and ...oh shit I forget...but, again, there was a mid game turn around and the end was really close and dramatic. I actually got caught up in the whole thing.
But in one of the games the players were fighting. You could feel the tension. And that is not about winning a game. It's about money.
The WHB questions are: Does your view of feminism skew your view of football, sports in general? Are you a fan, but a skeptical fan? Or do you just sit back & try to enjoy the game for the game's sake?
I'm not sure my view of feminism skews my view. I think my Marxist tendencies may either skew or clear my view. Depending on how ya wanna look at it. I'm not really interested in football but I think it's good for people to have things like football. I think it's good to be excited and involved and passionate. I mean life is fucking hard and the news is not good and the war looms and if people can forget about it all watch some guys run a ball back and forth ...hey...it's all good.
But there is SO MUCH MONEY involved in these games. And the spending begins in Jr high with special equipment and young boys are told not to worry if they can't read as long as they can get that ball down the field. And music and art programs fall apart for lack of funding. And money is spent on stadiums and superstar players and things I probably don't even want to know about. And the passion in those players is goaded with cash. And sportsmanship. Well.
One of the things I kept thinking when I was watching those HUGE men knock each other down and bang into each other with helmets and cleats was how people talk about fat people and our terrible health. (cough) Why isn't anybody worried about these guys and their health? It can not be good for your body to play that game. I knew a guy who had blown his knees playing football. We used to share knee pain stories. But I'm bad because my knees are fucked up because I'm fat (not) and he's cool because he fucked his up playing football. What is that about?
I have a VERY feminist friend. Who shall remain nameless. (But you know who you are.) When the big baseball game was being played here she was completely obsessed. COMPLETELY.
I saw the woman who kicked the football. I don't know if women should be in the game. I really can't muster up an opinion about it. Sure. Why not? What ever. I know there are women who are interested in the game. My 76 year old mother banging on the arms of her chair. "Go go go!" Me at thirteen swooning and yelling. "Go go go!" I remember the guys saying girls weren't interested in the game. It just made me want to know ALL about it. Early rebel nature. Feminist? I think so.
And if we hadn't moved away from Gary Demblowski I might have married him and had lots of kids and watched the game on Sundays.
Hmmm.
Uh.
Well.
All's well that ends.
I guess I'm taking my chances
Giving up the ring throwing in my gloves
I guess I'm taking my chances
Trading in my things
For a couple wings a little white dove
And one big love,
one big love
one big love
one big love
I think the whole travel thing hit me yesterday. I woke from seven straight hours of sleep, which is a lot for me, and then went back to sleep. Mom called and woke me up.
See. Ya can run but you can not hide.
She wanted to know how I did the roasted potatoes. Uh huh. Good gawd. I love her so much.
So I got out of bed and did the cereal, scone, tea, blog thing. Later I did a sushi, tangerine, blog thing. It was 2:00 before I took a shower. A really long shower. And, again, that's unusual for me unless I'm washing my hair or playing with my shower head. (Did I say that out loud?)
I just needed to be slow and spaced out and unresponsive.
My suitcase is on the floor in my bedroom. Mostly unpacked. I unpacked it in fifteen minutes at Mom's house.
Dru has an article in Hip Mama. Isn't that the coolest?
I think I said something about wanting to write more about the things I noticed about my blog roll while I was away and I had such a limited time to be on line. There are people on my blog roll who I feel really strongly about. Somehow a connection has been made that moves past the limitations of text. And there are people I read for information or inspiration. Like I love Harrumph. I love every thing Heather Champ does. But I don't feel .... uh ...connected. I'm not sure what all that's about. It isn't about whether or not a person writes about their life on line, or just links to cool stuff. I basically depend on George to find the stuff I oughta read.
There are people who I read every day and people who I read once a week and people who I forget to read and am happy when I remember and people who don't write every day. I have Bigger Hand on my blog role and he hasn't really posted for months. But I check every once in a while. Coz I miss Henry.
Shit. I shouldn't have started this. Now I feel like I need to do the whole list.
Any way the whole muse came back to me when I was reading Dru talk about how long her blog role is. I thought I had something really deep and insightful to say about it. But ... maybe not.
This guy is putting up a song a day for the whole year, just coz. So far my favorite is Understanding Marx.
I think my syntax was a bit off yesterday in my football rant. I was saying that my knees don't necessarily hurt because I'm fat. One of my knees was injured when a large restaurant mixing bowl was knocked off a shelf and hit me in the back of said knee. The cartilage was cracked. Being fat certainly puts more pressure on my knees and I am older. But I have thin friends with knee problems. Shit happens. And I don't know about the fatness of football players being a health issue. I mean fat people can be athletic. But having five very large men piled on top of you might not be healthy. One or two might be OK.
Heh.
Oh. I am tired. I'm rambling.
But since I am rambling. How am I gonna move to NC when I can't vote Green there and the new president of the SF Board of Supervisors is Matt Gonzalez ?
I had the best best best day. I had invited Kristina and Joe for dinner. Kristina came early and (because she so sweet and generous) brought me a book. (autographed no less) We went to City Lights and I bought a few more books. (truly fiscally irresponsible but now they are in such a lovely pile)
Then we had a coffee and then we shopped for a few more things I needed for dinner and some wine. And we went back to the apartment and I cooked and we drank wine and ate cheese. When Joe came he made martinis for he and I.
I made spelt crust pizzas. One with leeks smoked trout and creme fraiche and one with olives, balsamic red onions roasted red bells and mozzarella. And I made a raddichio, apple and fennel salad. I thought I might be sick of the apple fennel thing but the raddichio put a new spin on it and it was a nice crisp counter to all that creamy other stuff. And we had mango sorbet and coconut sorbetto and little lemon cookies.
And we talked and talked and talked. It was so much fun!
Then, just as the evening was winding down, Renee called and I talked to her for a lovely long time.
Best best best day.
I think the wounds from my airline experience have healed enough for me to write about it.
M & K had a bunch of frequent flyer miles that were about to expire. So they used them all to get me first class tickets. Mom was really hoping that the wider seats would be better for me. And so was I.
Not.
The seats are wider. But there is an arm rest in the middle that takes up room and so they aren't that much wider. And the arms are metal. I wasn't terribly uncomfortable at first but a four hour flight is a long time to have your ass squeezed. It was kinda painful. On the way out I was on a redeye so everyone slept and I tried to squirm from side to side, giving each side a break from the pain. When I got on the flight to Asheville the plane was pretty empty and the arm rests lifted and it was a short flight so I thought my trial was over.
But we know what happened then.
The plane I got on the next day was very small. No movable arm rest and I was practically sitting in some guys lap. When I realized that I was going to be sitting next to someone I panicked. I was trying to get off the plane, which was crazy. Finally I sat down, sort of sideways. I was uncomfortable. He seemed OK and he was very nice. He tried to make some small talk.
On the flight back the seats were made from a hard plastic, which kind of gave a little. Still painful but not as much. There was a white guy in the seat next to me.
OK. Let me be the first to say that I have attitude about white men. It is true that many of my favorite men are white. It is also true that many of the men of been in love with were white. I am the first to admit that I make gross overarching generalizations about white men. So I may offend some of you.
Sorry.
He was on the thin side of average. When I tried to open the overhead to put my computer case in it he said, "That one is already full." I turned to the one behind me and that one was more than half full as well. So I went one back. During the flight he was able to use his little table and his fold up TV screen and his earphones. Not me. The table wouldn't come up high enough to get over my belly. The earphones plugged in to the arm rest that my hip was squeezed against and so the screen was irrelevant. So he had a steak dinner and watched a movie and worked on his lap top. It was all good for him. I sat paralyzed in my narrow little band of area and read my book.
See the world is designed for him. All the people around us looked like him. If fat women of color were the CEO's of the world there would be couches on planes.
OK. I know. I'm being a little bit crazy. And I know the airlines companies are all going out of business. And I know they can't redesign the whole plane. But all it would take is an arm rest on the aisle that dropped. That's it. Is that so much? And if they wanted to be nice the tray table could be more adjustable.
Buying two seats isn't going to guarantee my comfort. If the arm rest doesn't move I'll be the proud owner of an empty seat and I'll still be squeezed.
I don't know. I just want to redesign the world. Can't we all be comfortable?
At the end of the flight the guy took his huge suitcase out of the overhead bin above us a smaller bag out of the bin across from us. He had been taking up three times as much luggage space as he was allotted. But he just put it all in a pile and waltzes off to his very important business. He can take up all the space he wants to. It's his world.
Usually I publish once a day. In the morning. And once in a while I get riled up by something I read and I post a second time. But I have a lot on my mind this morning. And, in truth, I wanted the fat girl flying story to stand alone. There is more than one reason for that. Some are dumb. Some are not.
I listened to the wonderful Governor Ryan speech yesterday. I never thought I'd wish I lived in Illinois instead of California. The governor in my state knows that the death penalty is a "threshold issue." What ever that means.
And there were two interesting blogs this morning. Kind of interesting counter points. Mike wrote about his use of pharmaceuticals and Chris wrote about realizing that so many folks he knew were on anti depressants.
I'm somewhere in the middle of the debate. I hate doctors. And I hate the idea that we need to medicate our pain. But I know that my own depression can wipe me out. I mean really. If money were no object I would never leave my house. I started taking herbs for depression last year and some of the shrill misery seemed to abate. I just added a new one. I'm determined to pull myself up enough to try and get some stuff done.
Maybe I can finish my book. Maybe I can work for Tom's campaign. Maybe I can get out the fucking door. It's not even about being happy. It's about being ... able. Er, sumthin.
Since I've been back I've been in a great mood. And it's made me wonder if I can sustain it. As the worries about money and the stress of what I'm not getting done begins to filter in and since I am not caught in the minute to minute need to respond to someone else's need and as the blood begins to flow back into my brain and I begin to think about IT ALL again, my mood begins to slip about.
So it's a thing to think about. And feel about.
I'M SO GLAD I'M HOME.
Marilyn & I went swimming and then to the Palace of Fine Food. Now I have a refrigerator full of beautiful veggies and a bowl full of apples and tangerines. And olives and bagels and tortillas and cheese and so much good stuff.
I did a pretty good job of cleaning out my refrigerator before I left but, for some inexplicable reason, I left a container full of red bell pepper pasta. I took the lid off yesterday and ... OH LORD. Not a good thing.
So I'm tucked in. Which I need to be because I need to do some writing before school starts.
I think I said something about needing to work on some writing. And I did. I’m working on a grant proposal for the org that my therapist works with. I think I might suck at grant writing. But … I’m doin what I can. The writing I want to be working on is THE BOOK. But after a few hours of doing the grant stuff I can’t switch into the MY WRITING mode. I have no idea what I mean by that and I suspect that it’s just me being afraid to look at THE BOOK because it’s been too long. And I need to do more work on the grant stuff. But I need a break.
So.
I’m gonna do the WHB topic. Does that make sense? I didn’t think so.
Heh.
I have written about this before. Because I think it's an issue for the
fat revolution. When fat girls do porn it seems like using the tools of the
master's house. And there’s a part of me that grimaces. And there’s a part of me
that smiles. I am really divided about it. And my mood determines my response.
There are times when I am as randy and objectifying as I wanna be. I
usually keep this stuff to myself. Because really … who needs to know? And
the part of me that wants to see all people in their totality and not as
isolated images for my turn on is (hopefully) going to override all that
anyway.
I did consume porn when I was younger. But even then I was divided. I’ve
never been able to isolate my own sexual response. I always have some awareness
of the human in the body. So all the poses and body parts add up for me and I
wonder about the heart and the story.
And there is often something so tired and cliché about porn. The people
always look the same. Which is why the fat porn can be seen as subversive.
Exploitation? Yes. And no.
As long as there is no substantive economic parity for women, as long as there are limits to access, as long as they are expected to be the ones who do ALL the child care while men prioritize careers, and as long as they can be abandoned to raise children with no financial support form the father, or the state, and then choose sex work because there is more buck for a bang than flipping hamburgers … yes, it is exploitation. If they are forced by the conditions of the culture to make the value of their beauty more important than the value of their brains and hearts and fundamental humanity and they use their beauty to make bank, yes, that’s about exploitation.
And I think there are women working in the sex industry because they like it. And why shouldn’t they? Sex is a good thing.
I always want to hope for wholeness. But I have my moments when my brain needs more attention. So I wanna talk, or read. And I have moments where my heart needs the most. And I don’t want to have to talk. I need to feel. And I have times when my body needs the most attention. And it isn’t about who I am or who another person is. It’s about needing body parts and friction. And other times it’s about a complex limbic dance.
I think this stuff gets confusing when people are talking about feminism. It does seem to be an all or nothing thing. There are people who are deeply hurt by pornographic images. I have been hurt by Victoria’s Secret commercials. I have looked at those images of beauty and desire and felt like there is just too many of them. The image of desirability is toxic and limited. Women put themselves through too much to live in that notion of beauty. And when I see and hear and read men who want there to be “nothing wrong” with feeling aroused by beauty and the image of beauty is the same large breast and not much else of a body image I feel tired and hurt.
Yesterday I read someone refer to a catalogue of rose bushes as “pure porn.” And I get that. I’m with looking at images and feeling desire and longing.
To an extent.
But lets not forget. For every woman who chooses the sex industry because they just love sex in some central to their life way there are many more women who are sold into the industry. They are not happy to be there. And we all, men and women, pay a price.
So maybe if we play safe and keep asking questions and try to allow for more than one possibility we can sort out what is hurtful and be left with an ever shifting and expanding sense of beauty and longing and desire.
So I'm sitting in therapy last night and I'm just so happy. And I start to worry. What if I'm just happy now? What will I do?
There's very little chance of that. What with the war and all.
But I am happy right now. I saw Barbara and that made me happy. I talked to Kara and that made me happy. I'm just lovin my life. And I'm gonna stay with it for as long as I can.
I was talking to Marilyn on Sunday. I was telling her that I didn't really talk much in NC. I mean really talk. She just stared at me in disbelief. Generally speaking I'm a talker.
So just being able to feel words in my mouth and under my fingers at the keyboard makes me happy.
Monica is linking to Robyn who has proposed the idea of a Blogger love fest. It's a nice idea. But being all happy n shit, like I am right now, I'm feeling the love for everyone.
And I need to be working on my other writing. Right?
Heh.
I'm mad about being old and I'm mad about being American. Apart from that, OK. -- Kurt Vonnegut
Sometimes you just forget about a vegetable. Like leeks. I just forgot about them. Now I'm on a leek kick. I made soup with leeks and potatoes and mushrooms and sausage. It was pretty.
I might have a little flu. In the late afternoon I felt kind of unwell. After I'd put everything in the pot I took a shower and put on my pajamas. The soup was smelling like healing. I ate some. I read for a while and watched the end of When We Were Kings on Sundance. Today I still feel a little bit ... out of sorts. It's not that bad. It's the mildly annoying flu.
I woke up having a dream that the last guy I was in love with (for three unrequited years thank you very much) was asking me why he couldn't be in love with me. He was saying he thought it would have been good if he had been.
What would Freud say?
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Happy Birthday Martin.
Steve just sent me W 's phone number.
202-456-1111
Heh.
He is requesting feedback on whether or not you support the war on Iraq. Let's all let him know how we feel.
I'm fuming over his opposition to the University of Michigan's affirmative action program. On Martin Luther King's birthday, to add insult to injury.
Of course I wish colleges would refuse to admit the privileged sons of public figures who can't articulate full sentences.
It may seem crazy that I watch Oprah. It seems crazy to me. I don't sit and watch her. I'm usually doing something on the computer and she's over to my left on the other screen. And I don't always have her on. But today I was so glad I do watch her. And I stopped and turned to the TV and watched her. I cried through most of the show.
She had Governor George Ryan and three of the men who have just left death row on. She went onto what was death row and interviewed people. It was an amazing thing to watch. Amy Goodman might have done a different show but I don't think so. It was informative and humane and very important.
I watched it right after listening to Bush take the shot at affirmative action.
It just pisses me off.
Dru was pointing to this article. I'd seen it earlier in the day but I can't remember who linked to it. When I hear people trying to jump to the place where all isms don't matter my jaw tightens. I'd love it if the isms didn't matter. But let's get real. Things may be better but better is just not even close to good enough. There's no way to level the playing field. The playing field lives in our hearts.
Slavery wasn't that long ago. Selma wasn't that long ago. Racism in this country turns the internal playing field into a maze.
I read this today.
People of color won't level the playing field. They'll change the shape of it all together. It needs to change. The game that gets played needs to change.
And then there's women.
And class.
You know ...fuck the playing filed. Fuck the stupid game. Let's get into some truth and reconciliation. Let's keep having the difficult conversations. Let's empty the prisons and open our hearts.
I haven't left my happy place. I'm just very pissed off. But I still feel this internal center of peace. I've worked to get that going in so many ways. Who knew it would take a trip to M & K's to jog it into place.
But there are things that keep pissing me off. I'm on a list to get e-mail from Paul of Big Fat Blog. I got one yesterday in which he asks for feedback about how to handle the comments of the uninformed and mean spirited. He refers to a person who comments in this post.
"Three hundred pounds don't just happen to a person."
Well that's true. It don't. I mean it doesn't. It only ...uh...happens when you begin with a certain genetic predisposition, factor in some diet history, or an illness, or a system break down, or any number of things that can happen to cause weight gain. Not all bodies are the same and not all fat bodies are the same.
Paul get major props for the way he moderates BFB. He has clearly written guide lines and says that he will delete fat hating comments. But he is getting more and more and he's wondering what to do.
I don't know what to tell him. I don't really believe in safe space. And I think we (fat people) are going to have to educate ourselves so that we can counter the commenters who don't get it. Paul does a good job of that and there are other people who do, but then the comment sections begins to look like a war zone. A while back I began to comment on the Southwest stuff on Paul's other blog and there was a guy who wasn't with what I was saying and I felt the need to back away from the computer.
I don't know how to allow for free speech and draw boundaries. It's a delicate thing. And Paul has to read it all. I have no idea how much shit he weeds through. I trust him to use the delete option with discretion. But it still means he has to police the thing.
When I was in NC I could feel the core of my self acceptance beginning to erode And the airplane stuff didn't help. I'm lucky to have so much fat community here in SF but I still depend on things like BFB for sanity. It's such an important resource.
Next week is Healthy Weight Week and I'm going to post stuff all week about fat politics and health at any size. Pattie & Carl will be talking to Frances on the show today. There are a lot of good people doing good work.
And I still don't know what to say to Paul. I feel strongly that people have a right to speak out about what they don't like. And I feel like when they do it's an opportunity to educate. But it does suck to have to educate people and it is harder when the education is a response to an attack.
I guess this goes back to the problem with comments debate and the notion of what we do in this public space. I think there is a sad inevitability to the slings and arrows. But sometimes there is brilliance and verve and sometimes ... there is love.
There was a hearing at the planning commission yesterday to decide if the SF Day Labor program could have a building for the workers. One with bathrooms. As it is workers stand on Cesar Chaves Blvd and wait for someone to come by and hire them. The people who live there have issues. There is one story of an older woman who was knocked down by men running toward a truck to get a job. Efforts to obtain permission for a real building for the workers have been contentious and the meetings are long. They were still at it at 10:00 last night but I can find nothing in the news. I listened to much of it on channel 26. Public testimony is always moving. Listening to the commissioners is always annoying. As far as I know they still haven't approved the site.
I must admit I got a little tucked in yesterday. Stopped wanting to answer the phone. The work on the grant writing is weird for me. I don't feel like I know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing. And I want to try and work on The Book before school starts.
But I did neither yesterday. I just folded in on myself. Every once in a while I need to stop responding and just ... mood out.
I'm a little spacey today but I have some stuff to do so I should snap out of it soon.
And I just want to say ... thanks for noticing.
So I have a farmer SIMS. He and his son moved in a while ago. One of the women from the Hawaii clan (did I mention I have a Hawaii clan?) they fell in love and got married. She left her wife. (Same sex marriage is legal in Hawaii ya know.)
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They are a black family. And they adopted a kid. Who turns out to be white. I didn't have anything to do with that. I don't know how the SIMS is programmed to pick DNA when two SIMS have a baby. Usually the kid has the same skin tone. This kid came from one of those would you like to adopt a kid calls. It reminds me of that Steve Martin movie.
OK. And they have lots of pets. You know. Farm pets.
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And the kitties were having lots of babies which they sold for cash. But right around the time they adopted the boy the kitties had a kitten and I decided to keep this one. When I got to pick the name for the kitty I picked Sweetie. And now ... and I don't know why ... the kid's name is Sweetie too.
What ever.
So then, the puppy was in a terrible mood. And nothing was making him feel better. He stopped eating. And then ... Death came. It turns out that if you beg Death you can play rock paper scissors and the sick ... uh ... SIMS won't die. It's so cute. I shoulda taken a picture but I was too busy laughing.
Oh yeah.
April left a comment that fit right in with something I've been thinking about lately. It has to do with the way people in fat community often talk about people who diet.
At some point, after being on a few hundred diets, you figure out that they don't work. First you think it's your fault. That two inch square of chocolate you ate ruined everything. It's so exhausting thinking about food all day. Measuring, calculating, resisting. And every time you stop obsessing and just begin to eat what you want you gain the weight back and, very often, more. And it gets harder to lose.
So now we know that the body stores in a response to a fear of famine. And it's better to form a positive relationship with eating.
Everyday I make three efforts regarding food. I want to eat more fruits and veggies and I want to eat more protein and I want to make as much of an effort to make my own food as I do if someone is coming over for dinner. I want it to be beautiful and I want it to taste good.
There are days when everything I eat comes out of a bag, or a plastic container. There are days when I order pizza. I've been better lately. And when I say better I don't mean I eat less. I mean I take more care with the food. Yesterday I ate scrambled eggs with cream cheese and salsa and a bagel and cranberry juice for breakfast. In the middle of the day I had a latte and a chocolate chip cookie. For dinner I had mixed greens with roasted beets and spelt pita with tofu and a tangerine and another cookie. It was a good food day.
But the notion of a good food day is an atavism to my diet days. Sometimes a pizza is the right thing.
The truth is I don't always eat when I'm hungry. I ignore hunger until I get too hungry and then I eat carbs and fat. I ignore it because I don't want to stop what ever I'm doing to eat.
There's a person on line who gets linked to a lot. Every now and again I look at her blog. She's been dieting and documenting her ... uh ... progress. She's not doing anything extreme. She eats a low (really low) calorie count and she does exercise. She has a day when she indulges. She's losing at a moderate pace. I don't want to judge her. She's doing a thing. She has a project. It's all good.
Now I know that there are folks in the fat community that will want to make comments about how fast she'll gain it back. I've heard them. But I just don't want to go there. She has a right to do what she will with her body. And I wish her well.
But where does the desire to take shots at her come from? I think it comes from having people who don't know anything about you decide that they have a right to tell you what to do with your body. A woman at the fat swim last week told me that a "friend" recently gave her a video about stomach surgery.
If you aren't fat...try to imagine someone coming up and assuming that you might want to change something about your body. And they feel free to say stuff to you whether you know them or not. And lots of it is mean. Eventually it wears on ya. And the dieters, they are getting so much praise.
So you get tired. And you get mean.
The times when it bugs me are when I'm with people and they're going on and on about how much they lost, or want to lose, or whatever. Because there is an kind of assault to having to hear all that. And, as Pattie so eloquently wrote, this time of year is the worst.
Look. Fat people get to have a bad day. Lash out. Not be nice. But I don't like people telling me what to do with my body. And I won't tell anyone what they can and can't do with theirs.
I went back to the Alas post that I mentioned yesterday and the comment section was interesting. It was a pretty civil discussion about fatness. There were some nice ideas about the constructed notion of beauty. But I was struck by how centered it was on the idea of how much, or what, we (fat people) eat. I spend a lot of time with fat people and some eat lots. But many don't.
I realize that exercise is part of the equation but I'll deal with that in another post. Maybe.
In the Alas comments there was one sentence that made me so sad. "The fat revolution is pretty far outside the mainstream..."
Well. OK. Here I am. Out on the periphery of the school yard again. The only people who really want to spend the time to learn about me and really understand my concerns (and by this I mean my fat political concerns) are the other fat kids. A few thin and average size kids stop by because they're nice. They listen to me for a while but in the back of their minds they're thinking I should just run around the block.
I do have some thin and average sized allies.
I started to add a comment, but the thread was pretty far down the page and I felt like people had moved on to more compelling political topics.
Phil Donahue the other day called out one of the people on the show to congratulate him on his weight loss and ask what diet he did. The show had nothing to do with weight. But, again, the dieters get hyper praise. And I ... a fat woman watching the show ... am supposed to not take it personally. It's not about me. It's about them.
But it is about me.
I don't have criticism for people who diet. But I do have criticism for how valorized they are.
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I knew my knees wouldn't make it to go to the demo. I listened to Washington on CSPAN and KPFA for SF. Kristina and Joe went and then came to may apartment and we went for coffee and then they took me out for dinner. MB and Flora had been at the demo as well and the good vibes were flowing. The food was great. As always. And when we walked outside there was a full moon. Just the perfect symbol of wholness. I could feel the peace.
Tens of thousands
said no.
when i look in the mirror and the only one there is me every freckle on my face is where it's supposed to be and i know my creator didn't make no mistakes on me my feet my thighs my lips my eyes i'm loving what i see -- India Irie
Some people get tense in traffic. I get tense in grocery stores. As much as I love the Palace of Fine Food it was so fucked up in there yesterday. I'd be at the end of an aisle and I'd be trying to get out but I'd be checking to see if there was anyone else there. Seven, eight people would go by with no acknowledgement of my existence. People pushing in front of me when I'm trying to look at things. Grrrrr.
But I have three kinds of apples in a bowl right now.
Cheryl came over for dinner. Raddichio, Chinese apple/pear and candied walnut salad. Red bell pepper pasta, sausage, chicken, shitakes and Chinese eggplant. Almond cake and Blackberry & ginger sorbet. And wine. And good conversation. So good.
Yesterday was the first day of Healthy Weight Week. I was at the swim. Me and a bunch of other fat women. Loving moving our bodies through the water.
The other day when I was going on and on about diets I kept thinking about the whole eat less move more axiom. In SF there are so many places where fat folks can move their bodies. The lovely Jennifer teaches her classes. There are hip hop classes, yoga classes and the swim. Many of the fat people I know do one or more of those activities. The idea that fat people don't move is just wrong. There is a fat dance troupe, a fat Olympian.
And there fat people who sit on their ass. So?
It's just as unhealthy for a thin or average sized person to sit on their ass. But they aren't going to have people say things said to them on the street about how much they exercise. It doesn't show on their bodies. And this is the thing. When you see fat people you cannot assume that they do not exercise. Just as when you see thin people you cannot assume that they do. And why would you want to?
I'm still pondering the comments in the Alas post. There was one that said, " I didn't know there was a fat revolution."
Well.
I read Alas because of the political perspective and the intelligence. Oh yeah and the cartoons. And I originally called out the post because I was grateful for the acknowledgement of fat hatred. But now I have this feeling. It's the feeling I always get when I try to talk fat politics with thin and average size people.
It takes time to understand the experience of other people. It takes a willingness to not rely on the media for your information. So I am always asking people to question their assumptions about fat people and read things that aren't funded by the diet industry. And I don't see the thread being picked up in the blog world except by other fat people.
So if you're thinking -- hey Tish, I love you just the way you are -- that's very nice. But would you say -- well Tish is smart and funny and kind, she's fat but, she's smart and funny and kind. Oh and she has a pretty face?
I'm going to try and write about fat stuff all week. Pattie's interview with Frances can be heard here.
I'm mindful that this is the day when we celebrate MLK's birthday. And many people are linking to his A Time To Break the Silence speech. Which is great. It's a time to raise every voice against the war. And I wish I believed that some small part of the community of people who think deeply and challenge their assumptions and believe in diversity will also join me in my revolution.
If you Google Healthy Weight Week you get Francie Berg's wonderful site but you also get links to sites that want to use the week to promote weight loss.
So what is healthy weight? Is a number on a scale or a clothing size? Or is it a feel? People often say to me, "I just know I feel better when I'm thinner." Which I have to say always sound to me like, "It's OK for you to be fat Tish but I don't want to be." You can't really argue with what someone says they feel. It's a conversation stopper.
But I can argue with the idea of what makes a weight feel good or bad. I know too many fat people who jump around and dance and play and feel good in their bodies. And I know thin people who don't seem to feel good in their bodies.
Let's say you have a number that is the right weight and you are over that. And you are worried about it, stressed, afraid to go out and have people see you at that weight. All that worry can not be healthy. And whether it's ten pounds or 100 pounds you can't lose it all today.
So my thought is that what ever weight you are this minute, it might be better to decide that it's a healthy weight.
Now I did not say that you should eat Oreos and Big Macs until you can't move. If that's what you want to ... go for it. But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm just saying to commit to accepting your body at the weight it is in any given moment. If you want to work on the way you eat or how much you move that's a great idea. But take the numbers out of the mix.
How much of what you feel about your body is an old response to ideas of beauty and health? When is the last time you relaxed into your body, really looked at in the mirror, stopped all the knee jerk judgements and tried to be open to a new sense of your own beauty? Love your belly. Love your thighs. Love all the lumps and lines.
It has to be healthier.
And, it has nothing to do with Healthy Weight Week, but you gotta see what George is up to today.
I was gonna get some writing done today but I had to keep up with George. And he has time for a movie.
I put up a request on Blogsisters for body positive posts in support of Healthy Weight Week. Monica responded with her usual sweetness. Pattie stopped by to remind us that you can listen to the show with Francie. Otherwise the dearth of response is kicking up a paranoia of mine. The one where people don't want to deal with the fat revolution or the health at any size concept. It could just be that people haven't stopped by the site. I don't always get over to visit the sisters. So I'm going to continue my week of posting about this stuff.
I did my first diet when I was twelve. I got a meal plan from Teen magazine, hung it on the refrigerator door. I lost weight. The minute that I stopped following that diet I began to gain. It was the beginning of the feast and famine yo-yo.
I clearly remember sitting in a basement game room with a bunch of girl friends. One of them brought out a bag of cheese puffs. I'm telling ya...no drug would have felt anymore illicit. My friends could eat cheese puffs and not gain weight. I couldn't. But I wanted to fit in.
Fit in.
Kevin's comment made me think about a conversation that Suzanne and I always have about fast food and class. When I was in NC we kept driving past an Arby's that had a five sandwiches for a dollar sign in front. You better believe that if you have little income you're gonna go for the most amount of food for the price. The left likes to critique this as a problem with America. And I think that's true. But I also think there's a blame the victim thing in that mix.
(and Kevin, if you stop by again, my picture is at the bottom of the page and I think your blog is fantastic! But I didn't see an e-mail link. )
I often talk about how I don't like fast food and if all the fast food joints closed down it would make no difference in my life. But it would make a difference in the lives of many people who work two jobs and rely on fast food to keep their bellies full.
I'm not arguing for fast food. But I'm saying we need to think about this stuff. Yes. Americans are fatter. Our diets are grease and carb saturated. I'd like to see all that turn around. But let's not hate fat people. Let's hate fast food corporations.
So I wish that everyone had an alive, engaged, fulfilling relationship with food. But I think there's more than one way that might look and feel.
In the end I just wish the noise of moralism would quiet down. Maybe then we could start to listen to our bodies.
And, having nothing to do with fat stuff, I live in a city that does not support the Patriot Act. I love this place.
Well.
I'm feeling a little bit down.
I keep coming back to the site. Hoping for ... well... I don't know what I'm hoping for. Conversation. Debate. Support. Questions.
Many thanks to Dru for her post.
I'm trying to find a way to talk about how this make me feel that doesn't sound petulant and fussy.
I mentioned that the lack of response on Blogsisters brought up a paranoia that I have about no one caring about the fat stuff. I guess just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean I'm not right.
Well.
I know that's not really true. I'm just talking about how it feels.
Thank you Sarah, Suzanne, Mike, Angela. Really, really, really. Thanks.
When I woke up this morning I was thinking about a time when I was going to visit a friend and her roommate had a guest. The guest seemed kinda nervous. We made some conversation and then my friend and I left for what ever it was we were doing, movie or something. The next day my friend told me about a conversation they'd all had about me. It seems that the guest had never talked to a fat person before. She just couldn't imagine that she'd have anything in common with a fat person. She said I seemed nice but she just didn't want to associate with fat people.
Uh huh.
Once the owner of a restaurant where I worked confessed to me that he was angry when his kitchen manager had hired me. He just didn't think fat people would work very hard. He'd been pleasantly surprised when I turned out to be such a hard worker.
Sometimes I feel desperate to get people to understand. For many thin and average sized people there are those moments, maybe post holiday, when they've put on some weight and they start to worry. For many of them they skip desert for a while and the weight comes off. For some of them it takes a bit more work. For fat people it takes extreme effort.
I am NOT saying that everyone should be fat. Everyone can NOT be fat. And if you wanna skip desert, start walking a mile every morning, become an aerobics teacher and live on carrots, it's all OK with me. But when you say things like, "I really need to watch the deserts." Or. "I better get to the gym." There's a meaning virus that spreads. It has to do with fear of the body. Fear of what can and can not be controlled. Fear that you may end up like me.
Most people are not going to get as fat as I am. Even if they lay on the couch and eat cake. Only people with a similar genetic predisposition and diet history might. And some of them won't. Bodies are diverse.
Mike gives this link. The president select wants to prevent the preventable disease that is my body. Oh yeah and diabetes and asthma.
Now it's interesting when you consider that asthma rates are often high in communities of color. In SF the Bayview Hunter's Point community is angry because the air quality is rarely tested and they are located near a Naval ship yard and two freeways. And there higher rates of asthma. And, as I was talking about the other day, poorer people may eat more fast food since they can get more bulk for their money. And diabetes may occur when people live on starchy foods. (This of course depends on how their bodies deal with sugar.) So I wonder if he is going to fund studies that improve air quality, shut down fast food companies and make fresh healthy food available to all.
Hmmm.
Or is he going to fund the diet industry?
The suit against Mc Donald's was tossed out. (link via BFB) And didn't we know that it would be? As much as I don't like fast food I wasn't in support of this suit. Because it's true. People do know that that fast food is bad for you. But maybe they could be sued for putting the pressure on children to want Happy Meals.
It is about Capitalism.
But there's a lot to parse here.
I've been thinner, but I've always been fat. When I lived in New York and I walked all over the city and I worked out in a gym five days a week I was still fat. I don't eat fast food and I'm still fat. there are some bodies that are just fat. It's part of a natural expression of genetic diversity and not a sign of bad health.
There's a great article in the Atlantic Monthly linked to by Paul. (He has a password and sign in name that you can use on BFB) It was written by Paul Campos.
To be sure, even if the BMI categories can be spectacularly wrong in cases such as those involving professional athletes, they're often a pretty good indicator of how "fat" most people are in everyday life. The real question is whether being fat--as determined by the BMI or by any other measure--is actually a health risk.
There are so many ways to have this conversation.
Francie has designated today as woman's healthy weight day. Should I go back over to Blogsisters and try again? Nah. I'm always learning that it's OK to hope for support from on line community but it's probably not good to count on it. Which isn't to say that I haven't had support on line. But I really want to ask ... do you distance yourself from the fat conversation because it just doesn't seem like a serious issue? Or you don't want to be thought of as someone who thinks it's OK to be fat?
I really was down last night. I watched The Two Towns of Jasper. And I cried.
Hate is learned and silence keeps it alive.
OK. I'm breathing a little easier. I really appreciate the people who stopped by and left comments. In all the time I've done this on line writing I've rarely felt so desperate. I started off the week feeling like I'd just link to some body positive stuff every day. But somehow it wasn't enough. And I started to wonder about the context of Healthy Weight Week.
I've had all the lines said to me about my weight that friends and family say. "But you have such a pretty face." "You have such a good personality if only you would lose the weight." The only one that gets me is -- "I love you just the way you are but I worry about your health." One of my favorite memories comes from the debauchery days of my youth. A friend of mine and I were doing cocaine, drinking and smoking cigs. We had been for most of the day. We hadn't eaten. She looked at me through watery eyes and with an obviously tensed and grinding jaw and said, "I love you just the way you are but ..." Was she worried about her health? We were filling our bodies with toxins. If she was worried about my health she could have said lets stop this party life. At that time in my life I frequently went without food in favor of a line, a smoke and a scotch. And I was fat.
I heard the mighty Glen Gaesser speak last year. His book is a corner stone of understanding in the health at any size and fat and fit paradigms. He also seems like a genuinely nice guy. He was giving a lecture to nutritionists at Berkeley. At one point he said, "I'm not saying it's OK to be fat."
OK.
I can't speak for him but what I think he was saying is that it would be better if everyone was thin and I think he was saying that because he was in a room full of up and coming health professionals and doctors. What does it do to his credibility to be known as the guy who says it's OK to be fat? What he does say is that it's possible to be healthy and be fat.
But see I need it to be OK. I spent too much of my life thinking that my life would be better if only...and I am not willing to spend one more minute thinking that way. There is no value in not loving my body this minute.
Sometimes I think that when people read about fat positive thinking they immediately jump to the idea that I'm saying eat junk and lay on you ass. I am SO not saying that.
Thinking about some of the comments I got yesterday brings tears to my eyes. R@d@r writes about being pushed by a gym teacher to the point of injury. The fat kids of the world pay the price for our unwillingness to excise fat hatred. Laurie added a comment to my Blogsisters post talking about having a body that doesn't fit into the notion of acceptability in the two cultures of her family. And glovefox, even with a body size hard won through diet and exercise, is still working on acceptance.
Our culture makes it harder and harder to accept your body with out criticism. And there are people who pay a price for that. Are we really worried about health?
Dru, because she is the sweetest, posed the question about why more people don't read my blog. Well I can't think about it too much because my competitive nature will take over. I'm constantly trying to remember that I do this on line writing for myself. But, of course, I do care if people read me. And this week more than ever. I have had the thought that people might not link to me because I talk about fat stuff.
There are people who link to me. And I have had great experiences of on line support. But his week I found myself getting more and more angry about how little support the fat revolution gets. And this goes back to when I read the post at Alas. And the comment about the fat revolution being "pretty far outside the mainstream of both political camps."
There is part of me that wants to get back to writing about other things. Last night I watched Ted Koppel talking to the folks in Jasper. And I kept thinking I'd rather get up and write about the problems of race in America. Because that would put me back in the mainstream of the political camp I choose.
But. I'm a fat kid. And I need to try and write about the ideas of fatness. I need to try and communicate to people that eat less/exercise more is not a simple thing and does not mean that everyone can be thin. And healthy weight is not a one size fits all thing.
I think terrible events, like war leave a kind of bruise on the national psyche. You know, you can't have a war as terrible as World War II and say, "Right, we're now finished." That's-"Now we're all going to be sweet and kind now." It isn't like that. You have people who have been formed by war, and are frightened and are damaged. And it takes some time for that to work out.
So this is the last day of Healthy Weight Week. I have that kind of exhaustion you feel after you've tried to work through an issue with a friend. I feel good about the comments I received and the support. I feel drained by the experience of writing with such a feeling of urgency.
I'm not sure that the belief about fatness as a pathology will ever go away. I'd just like people to think about the way they view fat bodies.
I have a friend whose father almost didn't hire a man because he was fat. He did. They have been business partners for years now. It has been a very positive relationship. But there are people who don't hire the fat guy.
It's called job discrimination.
Betty Rose Dudley had a cough. When she went to see a doctor the doctor recommeded a diet. For a cough.
It's called no access to adequate heath care. In fact so called health care professionals are making money hand over fist because people do not want to look like me. And people are worried about my health. I do a little bit of exercise every day. I eat my fruits and veggies.
April put up a post about HWW on WHB. Jeez I'm starting to abbreviate everything. I'm tired.
But there have been good things this week. I appreciate the comment from Ampersand. (I've been calling the blog Alas. I changed it on my blogroll.) I know how hard it is to look in the mirror and not see the image that the culture says is the way you're supposed to look. I've done a lot of work on this and there are days when I can't look in the mirror at all. And there are days when I catch a glimpse of myself and ... I am so cute. I don't seem to have a lot of control over these responses ... but I'm working on it. And the larger political ramifications make the personal work more ardent.
I've been feeling wild, petulant, angry, sad, so on the outside. And everyone who reached in calmed me. I know I'm not alone in this stuff. I'm not going to stop writing about it because it is my life. But I still feel like people want to distance themselves from the topic. Because it's painful. Imagine if all the fat people started to give voice to their pain and said we aren't going to take any more of this hatred.
Two things are true. There have been some great things that happened on my blog this week. And it was a really hard week.
And so -- on to other things. I was reading Melanie yesterday and she blogged this project. Pretty fun.
Last night Doris Lessing was on Now.
Today ... I need to clean my apartment.
There are times when vacuuming is a comfort. And I got the cantaloupe cut up. Bout time. I bought it last Sunday. I was listening to CPSAN while I worked. There was a seminar about Independent Presidential campaigns. They were asking the question: Is there room for radicalism?
Isn't Unified Independent oxymoronic?
Actually these people seem pretty cool.
I watched Mr. Sterling on Friday. I'd seen the trailers and I liked the idea that the lead character is registered Independent. I think it would have been cooler if they had him registered Green. But ... OK. Independent. The show is really ... boring. I didn't see the pilot but in the second show he is confronted by the press because in law school he wrote a paper on the decriminalization of pot. He is quick to say it was not the legalization but the decriminalization. But then he worked as a lawyer and saw the damage that drugs do to people's lives and ... he changed his mind. Whatever radical position could have been talked about was squelched in obsequious pedantry. I mean at least on the West Wing they talk about some stuff. The show does explore some of the problems of an Independent candidate. ( Read money.)
But back to CSPAN. Apparently 35% of the American people are registered Independent. I was for a while. When I was younger. And the conversation on the panel was interesting. Cynthia McKinney was on the panel. Some of the people talked about the NEED for radicalism. Others talked about the need for the Independent party to stay more central and maintain credibility. And they talked about how so much of what is now considered mainstream was once radical. There are, after all, women and people of color serving in political office.
But Independent parties are sometimes kooky. I remember that the year the Green Party nominated Ralph. Jello was also in the running. And who is going to run in 04? Who is going to have the credibility of Ralph? Maybe Matt should run.
It was such a thrilling campaign. It really seemed like Democracy might have a chance. Like we could build a grass roots party. I still want to believe in all that.
But listening to these people talk about radicalism I realized that the battle line is drawn on the idea of who can be credible in the race. And that may be OK. But it also means we end up with Mr. Sterling. Someone who backs away from truly radical ideas.
It is true that I sometimes pretend that Martin Sheen is the real president. But I do know that Mr. Sterling is not really a Senator. I'm just sayin.
I'm not sure what the third/forth/fifth/etc parties are going to in 04 but watching the Democrats try to come up with a candidate who can be taken seriously is ... uh ... obnoxious. I got that link from George. Who also blogged this especially for me. And did I giggle? Well yeah. A spastic frenzied giggle.
I don't know. This next election is going to be interesting and horrifying. If we're still here.
And now. I must go and swim with some other very lovely fat women.
It started when Marilyn and I were crossing the bridge on the way home from swimming and the city was so many shades of grey. And then I got home and I needed to do some writing for school but I just wasn't in the mood. And then ... one thing led to another.
The picture is one that most brings back the feel of my childhood. It was taken in the alley that ran behind our house. I played in that alley all the time.
I love doing new designs. Dorothea generously offered to help me install MT (thank you) but there were problems with my server. I still want to do it, despite the fact that MT scares me. When I get my student loans I'm going to try and resolve the server issues and maybe I can make the jump to MT. But I was getting antsy to do somethng new.
I always feel inadequate doing new designs. I'm dependent on my web editor. I want to learn more but I never make the time. I worry about accessibility issues that I don't understand. But I really like doing it.
I grabbed the weather thing from Susan (thank you) I thought about a tag board but I never know what to write on a tag board. I put the picture here.
The grey suits my mood.
My friend Mark is going to be playing music today in a fund pitching day for a station in Boulder. Or maybe it's Denver. Noon. Mountain time. Goodgawd that means I need to do math.
What is this about?
When I was in NC and M & K were watching so much football I remember thinking that It made sense to me. I mean people live with so much tension. The economy is bad, we have an unelected president who seems hell bent to start a war despite the lack of support for the war in the country and around the world, civil liberties are threatened and denied in some cases, affirmative action is threatened, the right to choose is threatened, and even if some of these things aren't your issue the general sense of discontent is big.
So some guys run back and forth with a ball and it seems simple. And you can root for your team and be happy when they win. And I think people need that relief.
But last night as the news guys kept talking about it all I thought it works the other way too. It serves a trigger for the frustration and the rage and the feelings of helplessness.
This is the big slide. I quit my high paying restaurant job six years ago. Floundered for a year. Decided to try college. Got my BA. Now I'm six months a way from my MFA. And then what?
I keep reminding myself that it was a big project. I didn't know if I'd finish when I started and now I think I might. And I need to take some pride in that. And I do. But I have a lot of fear about it all adding up to a real change in my life.
Ack. I need to shake it all off and try to concentrate. School starts tomorrow. I better get some writing done today.
I got a little emotional about the Ampersand post. In a good way. I was practically stuttering in the comments. I said something about analytical analysis. Whatever that means. But it was such a smart piece of writing. And I got all wound up in a kind of, and then, and then, and then, kind of a way. And the kid on Ed came to mind.
I just hate the surgery. I really do. I don't hate the people who have the surgery. I hate the doctors who push the surgery. Doctors who work within the health at any size paradigm do call it surgically enforced bulimia. I understand that people who do it are feeling pretty desperate.
And why are they feeling desperate? Because their bodies are a national threat. (link from BFB)
I don't really watch Ed. I've clicked past it and once or twice stopped for a minute or two. I stopped when I saw the young fat man. I worried about how his character would be portrayed. But I never really tuned in. And then the actor was on Donahue. It was show on the surgery. I think I linked to it.
There was a thing on Boston Public in which a fat girl joins the wrestling team. She becomes popular because she wins all these tournaments. And then she has a heart attack and dies. I was so pissed.
The comments over at the Ampersand started off pretty great and then I left mine. And then someone mentioned the "very real" health issues of obesity. And then people started drawing the line between fat and morbidly obese. And ... I should probably not look any more.
I still think it was a great post.
I have to go to school today.
OHMYGAWD. School did not suck. I actually had fun.
First I had fun with Kristina. We ate Dim Sum and then we bought books. I whined about how much I did not want to go to school.
This whole being a writer thing is .. oh jeez ... I dunno.
The thing is (as I feel the need to say over and over) I didn't start college until I was in my mid forties. People always told me I was good with words. People always said I should write. I kept a furtive little journal and as the pressures of making a living increased even that fell off. When I started writing in college it had been decades since I'd studied grammar, punctuation and spelling. I swear I still misspell the same words over and over. Without spell check I'd look like an idiot. And spell check doesn't always save me.
I remember the first time I asked Kara to read something I had written for school. She had to tell me the tenants of expository writing. I don't know if I skipped school that day or if I killed the brain cells with the information from that class. She said,"The problem is you write like you talk."
People who have had conversations with me will testify to the fact that I rarely let what I'm trying to talk about interfere with what I'm trying to say. I just run down every tangential road I come across. Krisitna has a reel me in gesture she makes at the point in the conversation when I've lost all track.
I always hope I make up for the chaos in content.
I spend more time rewriting and restructuring the writing than I do writing. The first draft is just one long run on sentence. I actually love the rewriting. I love the trimming back and finding different ways to say something.
Sometimes I read old posts from days gone by and I am mortified by the structure. I give myself a lot of permission to just go for it here. For the most part. I do sometimes fix things in the middle of the day. Sometimes a classmate will send e-mail and tell me that my verb choice is actually a noun. Er sumthin.
I love writing.
I hate writing.
I struggle with each fucking page.
And then sometimes it just works. I just do it. And it doesn't suck. And it's kinda good even.
But then there's the part when someone else reads it. And if they aren't feelin me. Oh shit.
I've had some trouble in school. I've had some trouble with being able to hear what my classmates say about my writing. And I have very sweet classmates. And no one ever says my writing sucks. But people do say things that make me feel like they don't get me. And then I cop a real what's the use attitude.
Last summer, working on the BSWP, and last semester were better for me and I felt like I was doing some good work. But I went to class last night feeling like it was going to be something that I needed to survive. We'd all done book proposals. Everyone read Cynthia's and then we talked about it. Cynthia is an amazing writer.
And then we read mine.
I was braced. Not because I thought the writing was bad. Because I didn't think people would get it. Or care. I thought they'd be uncomfortable with the topic (being fat) (of course) and I thought they might try to steer me away from writing about it. But they were great. They totally got it. It was very exciting. I left the room filled with thoughts about what to write next.
Big sigh of relief.
And, since I was in class, I didn't need to listen to the state of the union. I would have needed to be drunk. And there really isn't enough bourbon in the world to have kept me calm during that speech. I just let Dru break it down for me.
Democracy Now did an analysis of the State of the Union. It's just painful to listen to this guy.
Much is being said, and rightly so, about how the Democrats offered little dissent to the speech. But members of the Progressive Caucus did speak out.
And TruthOut has this:
I'm not feeling as confident about my Wednesday night class. But...I'm suspending judgment.
I got the new Joni Mitchell. I was wondering if I would like the heavy orchestration. I did like Both Sides Now but I wasn't sure I wanted more. But it's great. And there are lots of her paintings in a little book. The CD has a Quick Time Movie of her art but my version of Quick Time wasn't dealing with it. And I had some trouble upgrading. A bit frustrating.
It did put me in a mood. Not a good/bad thing. Just a mood. I sometimes think I should use Joni the way Mike uses Dylan. Yesterday the song that go to me was The Sire Of Sorrow.
Yeah.
So I got in a mood and I haven't shaken it.
I saw Power and Terror. I wish I could repeat it all verbatim. I kept thinking about Dorothea's joke. Which made me laugh. Not because I understood it. I don't really know why I laughed.
So if I fly on a commuter airline in the next thirty days they will weigh me.
Uh huh.
What I'm wondering is if they will weigh pregnant women, football players, extremely tall people.
Or just me.
There's something about this that I just don't trust. I've heard that when airplanes don't have many passengers they sometimes ask passengers to move around to balance the weight. It seems like something that can figure out how to do.
There's a commercial for the new Apple power books in which a really tall man and a really short man get on a plane. It's very cute. But when I see it I always feel a little sad. The same commercial couldn't be done with a very thin and a very fat person and have the same feeling. But why not?
Susan found these posters.
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Rabbit Rabbit. Already. Time is moving too fast.