March 2004 March 1 2004 March, they say, comes in like a lion. And I'm feeling the growl. Just in case I haven't been clear, although I'm sure I have been and if you've been reading me you may already know this about me, I am not ashamed of being fat. Let me say that again. I am not ashamed of being fat. I feel the same way about being fat as I do about the color of my eyes, or my skin, my height, my shoe size, the wave of my hair. All these attributes of physicality are an expression of my genetic heritage. My ancestors. My people. My hair, by the way, is turning white in a few places. That's the thing about a life in a body. The body changes. I love my white hair. Most of it is in the front and on the right. I see it when I brush my hair back. It always makes me smile. Oh and I have a few scars. One really big one on my foot. Big truck. Long story. It's pretty ugly but I'm not ashamed of it. It's part of the story of my life, written on my body. And I am fat. Very fat. Could I eat less and exercise more and lose weight? Sure. But it's been my experience that, even with more exercise and less food I don't ever really get thin. Thinner. But not thin. But that's not something that makes me sad. I am not ashamed of being fat. My body. My life. My choices. I did not chose being fat. But I have willfully chosen not to be ashamed of being fat. I willfully chose to not obsess about everything I put in my mouth and push my body through an athletic amount of movement. I eat what I want. I move as much as I want. There are days I am not in touch with my body. It's part of the process of being who I am in the world. I make no apologies for who I am in the world. I love beautiful, healthy, real food. Later today I'll get the box of fruits and veggies that I get every week. Last night I made brownies. I hadn't made brownies in a long time. It was fun. They're good. I enjoyed them. I'll be enjoying them for a few days. Anyone who thinks I shouldn't eat the brownies can kiss my fat ass. I also ate a nice dinner of chicken, Swiss chard and fingerling potatoes. Not that that's anybodies business. I made myself a nice dinner and I made myself some dessert. It was a rainy Sunday evening and it felt good to have the oven on and smell chocolate baking. I don't always take such good care of myself. Last night I did. Today I'll go to my yoga class. I love my yoga class. I love my yoga class because it locates me in my body. I feel my muscles. I feel the tightness and the release. I feel my weakness and my strength. If you're wondering why I'm going on and on about all this, well, it's just because there are times when people's sanctimonious, mean spirited need to feed me their diet of shame puts me over the edge. The body police want me to feel shame. They can't reason through their own hatred. They want me to comply with their notions of morality. They want to threaten me with illness and death. Well. I'm not dead. I'm not sick. I'm here today. I'm here on this first day of March. I'm feeling a growl and a roar. I'm feeling strengthened by the friends I have who have taken the time to question their assumptions about weight. I'm feeling solidarity with my fat brothers and sisters who have stopped swallowing shame. I am not an apologist. I am a fat woman. I'm pretty cute, by the way. I'm ready for another day of the story of my life. My life. Not the one some people think I should be living. My life. I hope you all have a lovely first day of March. I hope you have a lovely first day of the week. I hope the choices you make about your body are the ones that work for you. I know the ones I make for mine work for me. comment 7:48 AM March 1 2004 Susan is listening to the same radio I am. Hearing the news about Aristide being kidnapped. I am livid. I see nothing of this in the mainstream media. I'm hoping the alternative media will push until the truth comes out. comment 9:11 AM March 2 2004 The nicest part of my day will be voting for Dennis. I'm not happy that I'll be voting for Barbara Boxer given that she feels the need to claim marriage for heterosexuals. We have a few propositions on the ballot that it's gonna bug me to vote for. And I might not. I'm still thinking about them. Laurie wrote a wonderful letter to her Senator. Such a good idea. I'm listening to Democracy Now as I type. My thoughts are all over the place. Yesterday Sally came up to me in yoga and said, "You seem like you're out of your body." I had to laugh. It was a struggle. By the end of class I felt more in my body but my mind is in such a rev right now. I did a little bit of yoga this morning. I might try to do more in a little while. I need to get grounded. I do think my warrior pose is looking good. Heh. comment 9:23 AM March 2 2004 You know what I wish? What I really really wish? I wish I would go to one of the progressive blogs that I read, one of the ones not written by a fat person, and see something written about fat politics. I wish I'd read someone thinking out loud about the ways they've thought about weight and bodies and choices and assumptions. I know it's hard. People who aren't fat sometimes think they are. Especially women. And there's so much else to write about. So much going on. There was an election today. The results were so predictable it made me tired listening to them. I listened to hours of political analysis of why it all went the way it did. I'm freaked about Haiti. I'm shaken by the news from Iraq. There are important things going on in the world. Serious things. I know there are issues. Gay marriage. Rape trials. There are events. Award ceremonies. There's so much going on. But after a few days of things like what happened at Dru's, after I go on a rant, after I feel bathed in the support of my fellow fat friends and a few of my not fat friends I find myself wishing. One of the things I love about Sandy Swartz is that she isn't fat. And she gets it. It comforts me. I dunno. I dunno. I just sometimes ... I dunno. comment 11:06 AM March 3 2004 On the other hand, maybe it's a fat thing. You wouldn't understand. It's been a cold winter in SF. I don't remember a colder one. The heater is right in the middle of my apartment and usually does a fine job of keeping me warm. This year I've been closing the doors to the kitchen, bedroom and bath in an attempt to get the living room war. As I get closer to bed time I open the door to that room and hope it'll get warm. My PG&E bill has been horrifying. Last night I kicked the covers off. I was in a night sweat. But then the sweat on my skin got cold and I pulled the covers back. And pushed them away moments later. it was like having a fever. It seems warmer this morning. The sun is shining. I've been doing yoga first thing. It's a wonderful way to start the day. Sally has these great things she says to us as she talks us through the postures. things about strength and being able to feel the support of the earth. Living in a city where the earth occasionally shakes makes that almost comic. But I get the deeper meaning. They say voter turn out was low. But the joint was jumpin when I was there. Oh. Well. comment 8:43 AM March 4 2004 Oh my. I am drinking the strongest cup of coffee. I've been drinking green tea in the morning and coffee in the afternoon, or not at all. But the last few days I've been craving coffee late at night. I haven't had it because it just seemed like a bad idea but I keep wanting it. So this morning I decided to drink some first thing. And I made this really, really strong cup. My eyes are spinning. I watched My House In Umbria last night because Susan liked it. It was pretty fabulous. I have a buzz and heart full of chaos. I think I'll clean my kitchen. comment 9:53 AM March 5 2004 I spent hours looking at photos and film of the Gay weddings in SF looking for my friends. I know four couples who got married and I wasn't invited to one wedding. Harrrrrumph. Might have been the fact that I never go to parties. Or the fact that two of the couple were married in the first two days when everything was in hyper drive. I heard that Leslie had been on CNN but I didn't see her. And then this sweetheart guy interviewed Ari and Leslie and put their cute picture in the article. Could they be cuter? I do not think so. comment 11:18 AM March 5 2004 I put together a column for BFB. I'm not sure it could be harder for me to write than it is right now. If can be harder, I just don't want to know. Of course I did have to stop and clean my keyboard with a Q-tip and isotropy alcohol. Oh yeah. It had to be done. Not because the keyboard was particularly unclean but as long as I was cleaning it I didn't have to be writing. It's just so hard. It's not always this hard. Yesterday I read two posts that wove together for me. Mark linked to Jonathon's reentry post. It's a lovely post full, of things to ponder. One of which was the nature of blogging and the quality of relationship it creates. And then there was Dru linking to a post by Aaron. There are so many conversations swirling around in all this but of course this is my blog. Heh. And I'm thinking about my request for dialogue on fat politics. Glovefox had, in fact, written some musings about her own process with weight loss and the perspective her experience creates relative to size issues, for her. She and I had some conversation in her comments. I think it went relatively well. A few years ago I saw the film Last Chance For Eden. Lee Mun Wah makes these films in which he gathers a group of folks together to discuss issues of race and in this one sexism. He films the discussion. I remember one white woman who was frustrated to the point of tears during the race conversation because she didn't want to be thought of as racist. And then in the sexism conversation she was frustrated to the point of tears because the men wouldn't cop to their sexism. These conversations are difficult and hurtful. The really gross things that are said about fat people don't hurt me as much as the little unconscious things I hear and read by thin and average sized people. Particularly people on the left. Ms Lauren says (in comments) I can do a guest post about fat politics. On the one hand that's incredibly generous and kind and the other hand it's not exactly gonna get it done. The other day I was reading Ms Lauren and she's talking about her photo and she say something we often hear about the photo maybe making her look fat. It's not a horrible thing. I'm very fond of Ms. Lauren and her blogging. And she has a right to not want to look fat. And I don't think it's a big deal. But there was this part of me that wanted to leave a comment about looking fat being a good thing. One time Marya Hornbacher came into a room and asked me if the jeans she was wearing made her look fat. Now, there's so much to think about in that moment and she and I talked about it all. What is so bad about looking fat? Every individual has the right to make choices about their bodies. Every individual has the right to opinion and preference. But we do bump into each other. We do hurt each other. Things will be said. Things will go wrong. Growth is a messy business. Some of this is coming up for me because of the discussion on Dru's blog and the post that brought it all on. And hearing the piece on the news about fat women making less money and trying so hard to make the distinction between personal experiences of our bodies and a politic. A politic that talks about how we as community are diminished as a whole when we are diminished as individuals. And there's an interesting funny double meaning in that notion when it comes to fat people. I keep thinking about being in the doctors office when I was a kid. My mom trying to figure out why I was fat. We lived in Pittsburgh. Lots of hills. We walked everywhere. we lived with her mom and dad and my grandmom did feed me well. And mom baked. We didn't eat fast food. I was a kid who liked to read and day dream and drift. I was never a kid who liked to play sports. But I was also a preteen who loved to dance. And through it all I was fat. And there was my mother trying to understand what was going wrong. It's not about how I feel about being fat. It's about fairness in the market place and in health care and in representation and in access. We all write about the things that catch our attention. And, as I said before, there's a lot going on. Of course I'm going to be aware of constant reports on the nightly news about obesity with the photos of fat people cut off at the neck. Do you ever notice that? Fat bodies as an icon for disgust and contempt but don't look at the face because then you might have to deal with their humanity. It just seems like every once in a while some of the great thinkers we have in the blog world who aren't fat might notice something once in awhile. Just for the record, I do know that there has been blogging about fat politics on Alas, a blog. Barry self identified as fat but I think Pink Dream Poppies is not fat. I'm not sure why I think that. I'm not sure why I feel the need to mention it excpet I've been thinkng about it. comment 2:26 PM To write, even in obscurity is worthwhile. As Samuel Becket put it, writing is a way of leaving "a stain upon the silence." Tai Moses via Michael Gates via Tonio March 6 2004 Sometimes I wish ... I wish I was writing about Emily Dickinson. Or writing about Susan Sontag and photography. One of the teachers in my MFA program said that he didn't write for a year after he graduated from his MFA program. I was so smug. I thought it wouldn't happen to me. I, after all, have A BLOG. December was hard and January was worse. February just went by in a blur. Here we are at the point of the year when people pay quarterly taxes and I don't even have an income. And writing feels like trying to wake up from the deepest sleep. There are now two pieces of writing revving around in the back of my head. One about the boxes my mom sends me, full of the things she wants to get rid of and the box of things I'll be getting from aunt as she sells of her family home. The other is a piece about how notions of health have become a mechanism for social control. I can feel both pieces. Just at the tip of a synapse. Last night, when I was trying to go to sleep, it seemed like I could feel my brain pulsing. I had just read a couple of posts and, with all the stuff going on here, my brain was just throbbing. After twenty minutes of tossing about I got up outta the bed and pulled The Bluest Eye off the shelf. Marilyn bought me a box set of six Toni Morrison novels for my birthday a few years ago. I've been thinking I want to start at the beginning and read them all. Rereading the ones I've already read. Maybe now is the time. Sometimes reading pulls me out of silence. Not that I've been silent. And not that I'm ever going to quit writing about fat politics. Sometimes when I'm going through a change I find myself in the middle of sentences thinking that I don't mean what I'm saying. And I can feel new ideas, not quite formed, trying to coalesce. My blog is like the ledge I'm clinging to, praying that I can find the words for one more day. I've read people's good byes and been so happy when they come back. Come back. I
wrote about Emily when I was in college. Yes I did.
I read My
Emily Dickinson and My
Wars Are Laid Away in Books and poems
poems
poems
and I tried to tell
the truth slant. It wasn't that long ago. But it
was before my MFA program which, just for the moment,
I am blaming for my inability to finish, or start for
that matter, a sustained piece of writing. Instead I
tell my name to an admiring (I hope) I spent the day cleaning. Jane is coming from Oregon for a few days. I made the kale and red bean soup with kale and red beans this time. I'm drinking a glass of wine which, since I haven't been drinking wine lately is hitting me in much the same way the coffee did the other day. Only different. I have a Cassandra Wilson festival going and I'm going back to my book, where all my wars are lay to rest. Sometimes I wish... comment 7:41 PM March 7 2004 My apartment feels good. It has that little bit of extra polish that you do when company is coming. I've known Jane for more than half my life. I doubt she'd judge me too harshly because of a few dust bunnies. But it just seemed like the thing to do. I woke up way too early. Full moon last night. Didn't sleep well. And I wanted to be awake and showered and dressed when Jane got here. She isn't due for a couple of hours and I'm all ready. I ate some scrambled eggs and drank some tea. And did the dishes. Maybe Jane will want to walk up into North Beach and get some coffee and a muffin. I finished The Bluest Eye last night. I know I read this book years ago but I didn't remember much of it. I don't think I had the emotional maturity to read it then. Even now there are parts of the book that I know I pulled away from emotionally. It is a devastating book. She managed to write a scene of rape and incest in such a way that I felt overwhelming compassion for the father and the daughter. The edition of the book that I'm reading has an afterward by Ms Morrison in which she talks about why she wrote it in the way she wrote it. She didn't think the book was entirely successful. She says that, "Holding the despising glance while sabotaging it was difficult." And that, for me, is the experience of the book. Having to hold the complexity of why people are who they are and how they sometimes pass misery from generation to generation. But, most specifically, how the institution of racism shapes self image. And the book is about the poisonous qualities our ideas of beauty hold. The ways in which they drive us to madness. This is a book I can imagine needing to read again. I'm going to jump right into Sula, which I also read and also can't remember. Sometimes I think I was sleepwalking for the first ten years of my adult life. comment 8:30 AM March 8 2004 Jane and I went to lunch, sat in the park for awhile and then she went to spend some time with another friend and I came home to bake a cake. Her birthday was in February and Alexandra's birthday is today. We're going to meet her at the Flower Mart, and then go for lunch and then come back here for cake and ice cream. I had trouble getting the cake out of the pan. One layer split in half. I managed to get it put together but it looks like it's been dropped on the floor. Plus, I suck at icing. I make lumpy icing. I made some icing for some cookies during the big Christmas bake and it was lumpy. I think the problem is that I believe I can hand whisk the powdered sugar in and I always end up needing to use an electric mixer. But by the time I get there some of the powdered sugar has formed into lumps. Maybe I should sift the sugar but I don't. What the cake lacks in beauty it will make up for in flavor. Mehak's comment in my last post has already brought reaction. I thought I'd answer her question in this post. I wasn't sure where to answer it on her blog. I use the word fat because I am fat. It's just that simple. I am aware that there are people in the world who think I should be ashamed of being fat but I'm not. I am aware that there are people in the world who think I'm ugly because I'm fat. I don't. I am aware that there are people in the world who think I am lazy and gluttonous because I am fat. I am not. I am simply fat. There are other ways to describe my body. Words that people imagine to be polite. But, as Marilyn says, I find those words imprecise. And maybe because people are so offended by a word that is simply descriptive of something that I am, I use the word. And now I'm off to spend International Women's day with one of my oldest friends and one of my newer friends, both wonderful women. comment 10:14 AM March 9 2004 The birthday cake was a hit. No one is ever as critical of my cooking as I am. I'm not really that critical of my cooking. Baking is different. I don't know as much as I would need to know to adjust for things that go wrong. Given that the cake I made spit into more than a few pieces coming out of the pan I think it looked pretty good. And chocolate is chocolate after all. It was a beautiful day. Being around flowers is always nice. We had a nice lunch. Pretty mellow. Jane doesn't listen to the news. And while I might have some judgements about not being informed I must say that when I asked Jane what she thought about Janet Jackson she didn't know what I was talking about. I love that. I love that she didn't spend one minute of her life thinking about it. Until she came here. Of course, for me, not being informed might mean that you wake up one morning in a country where censorship is the law of the land. But being informed means having to hold notions of complexity and sometimes find yourself defending the rights of people you personally find contemptible. Ah well. I just heard the news that Spalding was found. And despite the fact that it seemed inevitable that he would be found, I hoped that he might popup somewhere. Maybe working as a dishwasher and writing a book. Finding a way to reinvent himself. Ah well. Indeed. comment 9:46 AM March 10 2004 Jane did a bit of running around by herself. Which was good because she likes Macy's and The Gap and that isn't my thing. Then we had some dinner and came home for more cake. Someone read Avoirdupois and pointed out that one chapter ended with me in California and a few paragraphs into the next chapter I'm in Colorado. That might not always be a problem but it was an easy fix. So I actually spent some time writing yesterday. Rewriting is my favorite part of writing. I tend to write in a gush and the go back and rearrange and plump and trim and fuss. I really like it. On one hand, finding a gaff like that in a book I've been calling done is a worry. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever finish this book. If I look at for more than a minute I start picking at it. On the other hand, it was an easy fix. And after two years of resisting my workshop's demand for more scenes and more dialogue (two things I never intended to write) (ever) I find that there is a scene, complete with dialogue forming in a part of my brain. Maybe later I'll go back and write it. It was a good feeling. Yoga was moved to Wednesday so I'll be going to class right about the time Jane leaves for the airport. comment 8:15 AM March 11 2004 I left for yoga yesterday. Walked out into a sunny day. Felt like my posture was good and my knees were stronger. The bus came in a relatively short time. I rode to the next bus, which also came in good time. I needed to get on a third bus because I wasn't sure where on Valencia the new place was. The Valencia bus was sitting there at the stop. I waited. And waited. Twenty minutes later the only way to get to class on time was to get in a cab. But I was in a terrible part of town for a cab. I finally got one and ended up traveling in an arc that took forever and cost twelve bucks. Downtown SF is a maze of no left turns and red lights. I got to class late and whatever good mood I'd been in as I left the apartment was now frayed. Sally got me a chair but I didn't get that time to shake off the street that I like to have. Sally was doing this wonderful thing. She was telling people to notice what was working and not what wasn't. She reiterated that theme over and over through each posture. I knew that was the way to go but the balance had shifted inside me. The frustration of waiting for a bus that never moves. The lack of information about why. Trying to get a cab. Being in the cab going in all the wrong directions because that city is just a maze. Spending money I don't have on cab fare. I just couldn't quite let it all go. Sally kept talking about finding the place where there is no effort. I don't have a place where there is no effort. Instead my mind was full of need. I need more money. I need more health care. I need a massage. I need help to feel better. I took a bus to the trolley. The trolley can be a nice ride. Long. And slow. I had a book. It can be a nice slow ride with a good book. It can also be a ride filled with tourists. Packed. Noisy. Hot. Long. Slow. On market street two women got on, both in wheel chairs, both fat. They were jovial. Chatting with other passengers. Engaged. Engaging. At the end of the ride two older women got on and sat a few seats behind me. One turned to the other and in the most venomous tone commented on the size of the two women in the wheel chairs. Absolute contempt. Last night I finished Sula. I think I know why I have such a hard time remembering these books. I read them when I was young and wanted right to be right and wrong to be wrong. Toni Morrison does not allow for that kind of simplistic thinking. Everything in this book, much like The Bluest Eye, is about relationship. Relationships between women, between women and men, between adult and child. Individual relationships. Relationships to the community. Relationships and history. And poverty. And racism. And sexism. And hunger. Sula isn't really the center of the book. She is just one person in a portrait of a town. But she is a vortex. An explanation, of sorts. I put the book down and thought about Sally's efforts to get us to focus on what was working. It's certainly better than the alternative. But then again, when you are in a pose, (although my foot is on the arch of the other foot and not up on my thigh) and your hip is hurting, it is difficult not to notice the pain. In fact it's stupid not to notice the pain. It's stupid to try and maintain a pose that you can't maintain. You drop the pose. And then try again. And so at the end of the day I was awash in emotions, Good. And bad. And I had a dream in which the screen door was broken in my childhood home. And someone was going to help me fix it. comment 10:43 AM March 12 2004 MS has an open letter in support of Martha Stewart. Maybe it's because I'm reading all the Toni Morrison but I feel support for people. People who I normally don't care much about. Reading people in the context of history and with an eye for the social constructs in which they live makes it hard to hold anyone in a one dimensional perspective. It's hard for me to worry about Martha. But I agree with the MS letter. I agree with Maria's astute essay on Martha. I agree with my mom who is very upset about Martha. When I was working in restaurants in the east people who worked with Martha called her Martha dearest. I've always had an appreciation for the detailed way in which she documents things about food and gardening. But I'm here to tell you that it's easier to have a little farm in the country and a place in the city and make everything from scratch if you have a staff. I own books and magazines by Martha. I own them because there was good information in them. And I do think she is being hung on some kind of loopy corporate apologist cross. But it's not just Martha. I'm not happy about what happened to Howard. I thought about that yesterday when I turned on the television to try and find some news about Spain. There wasn't any. There was lots of talk about nothing. It may seem odd to think about Howard in that context but it's about media consolidation and no news news and the dumbing down of us all. And, like I said, I'm reading Morrison and thinking about difficult people. Yesterday I did some laundry. I sat in the little garden behind my building reading while the machines hummed from the laundry room. I was still feeling a little bit cranky about the getting to and from yoga saga. I'm still cranky. I had bad dreams last night. I can't even remember them but they were scary and I didn't sleep well. I woke up at 6:30 and I didn't even want to try to go back to sleep. But it's OK. I have things I need to do today so I'm glad I'm awake early. A while back a friend of mine sent me a chain letter. Normally I toss them in the trash but this one was a kitchen towel swap. You have to send a kitchen towel to someone and then send the letter to six more people. And, if it works, you get 36 kitchen towels. There was something about getting kitchen towels in the mail. It just made me happy. I even bought the towel to send to the person on my letter but I never got it done because I can't quite face sending it to six people. If you want to participate in the kitchen towel chain letter let me know. Think about it. Kitchen towels in your mail box. Wouldn't that be fun? Maybe I should send one to Martha. comment 7:56 AM March 13 2004 I have a bad case of what's the use goin on today. And it seems wrong headed because I watched Bread and Roses on IFC yesterday. It's a nice movie. People working for their own liberation. There are victories. And there are prices to pay. I just got stuck on the unfairness of it all. And that seems wrong headed. But whadaya gonna do? One of the hardest things for me to deal with is feeling misunderstood. And that's really not a good thing for a writer. Because no matter how well you write something you may be misunderstood. it's just the way it is. Most of the time I have a rapid compartmentalization process. Process. Process. Process. But today I'm feeling slow. comment 9:34 AM March 13 2004 People, when they are making a disparaging remark about someone's cooking, will sometimes say that the person can't boil an egg. Well, I know I can cook. But I sometimes worry about boiling eggs. I do. It's something that I don't do very often. And I always think there's some number thing. Like bring to a boil and take off heat for ah-zoo-wah number of minutes. My instincts are good and it usually works out but I do actually worry the whole thing. Yesterday I wanted egg salad. That only happens about once a year. Or less. But I made some with lots of celery and red onion and a bit of curry powder. It was good. I was buried in my book most of the day. And I picked up the next book as soon I finished. I used to this when I was in high school. I'd find a writer and read everything by them I could find. It's instructive in terms of voice. And I'm still having the experience of remembering my own life when I read the books the first time. Although I hadn't read Song of Solomon. I think I might have read the first few pages once but never the whole book. And it is such a great book. Tar Baby is the first book I haven't been overwhelmed by. And that's because of the amount of dialogue. I just don't love reading dialogue. Ironically I was sure I hadn't read it before and as soon as I began to rea I realized I had. Beloved is next. And I have read that book twice. But I might go for it again. Just coz I'm doin a thang, doncha know. Egg salad and reading. Yep. It's swinging around here. comment 3:31 PM March 15 2004 Blogging is really wonderful. Because I listen to a lot of alternative radio I get a fair among of the news I can't get on television. It's always bugged me that you have to work so hard to find things out. I was frustrated trying to find news about Spain the other day. Marie linked to this blog which links to this blog. Suddenly I feel like I can breathe. We really can be in touch with one another and hear the story from beating hearts and open minds. I don't feel good. Not sure why. I'm just feeling yucky. So thoughts aren't forming. I'm drifting. comment 11:44 AM March 16 2004 l've been meaning to link Bobbie's on line gallery. Artichoke Heart has a new book out. I think Jill needs to put up some kind of store. Oh yeah. And I need a job. I watched Antonia's Line last night. Left me with a deep smile. Do you know about the opera singer who was fired because she was too fat? How many kinds of wrong is that? Doesn't make you wanna shout at someone? comment 9:53 AM March 18 2004 lt was noisy this morning. Some big boat was coming in to dock at about 5:00 AM, blowing a deep pitched tone that rattled the windows. And some smaller boat was blowing a higher less rattling tone. They did this call and response at intervals that pulled me out of the deep sleep zone, let me fall back in and then pulled me back out again. Then some hammering. From I just don't know where. Then the dove that often wakes me with its persistent morning coo. And the trash guys. As a result I slept about a half an hour longer than I usually do. Rolling from one side to the other diving back for that thread of dream stuff, always looking for clues. Sally had me demonstrate a yoga pose yesterday. I resisted the idea at first. It is true that after only a month of going to class and doing my much speedier version at home I feel stronger. But I didn't do much yoga last week. I was wrestling with a bad mood. (The bad mood won. ) (Mostly.) And I felt terrible on the way to class. My back hurt. My knees hurt. I did not feel like someone who ought to be demonstrating nuthin to no one. Mind you, there were only three of us in class. One new woman and one woman who has been taking class longer than I have. I made a furtive attempt to pass the demonstration to her. She declined. At a certain point you just feel like a duff if you don't do it. And, really, this is one of Sally's coolest things. She could demonstrate the pose herself but she wants the pose to look the way it looks on a fat body. And so I and my fifty year old fat body did the warrior pose. And she said I did a wonderful job. Heh. I noticed that I never do the side stretches when I'm at home. I don't know why I forget them. Before I left for class I heard an interview on KPFA with a guy who wrote a book on hope and illness. He talked about people with knee issues. After class I felt like my knees were stronger. I really need to win the battle with the bad mood. After class I stood that the bus stop for forty minutes waiting for the bus. The battle rages on. comment 10:26 AM March 19 2004 l was watching an IFC documentary on women film makers. Pretty cool. The women talked about things like the importance of seeing representations of themselves. I thought about not seeing fat women in film. Not in any serious way. Not often enough. There was a comment that one film maker made and many of the women reiterated about how women think they are fat, or ugly but they aren't. And it certainly is true. The images of beauty and size in most movies and media are so distorted that we are living in a toxic environment. It becomes really hard for women to think of themselves as beautiful when they don't measure up. Or down. I was reminded of a recent article by Susie Orbach. In which she talks about the way thin girls come to believe they are fat. It's an interesting article. It's sort of typically Orbach. I remember reading Fat is a Feminist Issue, back in the day. The political analysis of women and their bodies was right on. Thrilling really. But there was the idea that if you were liberated you would be thin. It would just happen as a result of your process. I spent so many years chasing a belief in a clarity that would cause my weight to disappear. I spent years trying to disappear. Encouraged to do so by a feminist analysis of being fat. When I read the article and when I saw the documentary I found myself thinking about those of us who are fat. Or ugly. What about us? Clearly size and beauty are in the eye of the beholder. In some ways. But I don't know. It's hard for me to talk about ugly because my sense of beauty is ... oh I don't know. I often find people beautiful. People who aren't thought of as beautiful. And when it comes to size my ideas might be a bit odd as well. Sometimes I'm told someone is fat and I'm dumb struck. But I am fat. And what about me? There's a way in which these women are talking about the narrow band of what is beautiful and they're speaking against it. But their ideas are articulated in a way that further marginalizes some women. There was one movie, Dog Fight. I haven't seen it. Lili Taylor and the film maker were talking about her character. The character is supposed to be fat and ugly. They both talked about how they felt fat and ugly so it seemed valid for Lili to play the part, despite the fact that Lili is neither fat, nor ugly. I'm crazy about Lili Taylor but come on. Are there no fat and ugly actors? White Place and Frankie and Johnny were both films in which the woman was supposed to be fat and ugly. We get Susan and Michelle. I love them. They're great. And they are not fat. Or ugly. I have a love of beauty. I bought four dollars worth of daffodils and yellow tulips because I need to look at them. They are a riot of yellow and form. When it comes to people beauty is a shape shifter. And I want to see movies with faces and bodies like mine. comment 8:58 AM March 20 2004 Today is full of import. It's spring. There are people gathering to call for an end to war. And it's my blog birthday. I've been doing this for three years. Which, I must say, seems odd. I didn't know what I was doing when I began. I still don't. I didn't even call it blogging. My blog parents didn't call it blogging. Willa has a journal page and a web log. Justin didn't call it blogging when I saw him talking about it on MSNBC. That was back when MSNBC was almost cool. I cling stubbornly to my web editing software. Well. It's more about fear than stubbornness. I have hosting issues I would need to resolve before I could use MT. My cash flow problems keep my paralyzed. About once a year I try to advance my skills. I really like doing the design. I'm just not proficient. A little while ago I added a few things to the page. From Bloghop I have learned that 9 people love me. 6 people hate me and three people each think I'm good, OK or I suck. That seems balanced. In a way. I'm a slithering reptile in the ecosystem. Kinda yucky. I'm a three on Eatonweb. I'm sort of average I guess. I let myself get worked up about all this from time to time. And then I tell myself to back away from the screen. When I first began I felt like I was putting a letter in a bottle and hurling it out to sea. The metaphor still holds for me. But I have found many other bottles washed up on my shore, opened every note with trembling hands and delighted in the message. I think a lot of things about blogging. I can go on and on and not say much. At the end of it all I mostly feel gratitude. I'm grateful that anyone takes the time to read me. I'm grateful for the time people spend writing their own blog. I'm grateful for the friends I've made. I'm grateful for the things I've learned. And I end this post feeling the same thing I felt when I began my first post. It's a feeling of bemused wonder. Lot's of hand wringing. Some teeth gnashing. And then I click on publish. comment 9:06 AM March 21 2004 Uh Oh. It's the morning of the first day of my forth year of blogging and I'm sitting here staring at the screen. Last night I'd turned off the computer and gone to bed with my book. And then I got out of bed to turn the computer back on and see if Karen Armstrong was going to be on Book TV again. Someone called me when she was on today and I wanted to see her. She's on again tonight. I'm not answering the phone this time. I turned on the TV while the computer was powering up and got some news about the demos all over the world. I sat there with the light from the two screens burning my already tired eyes and thought about what, if anything, I had to say about it all. I dunno. I blame Toni Morrison for my lack of language today. I'm in a deep muse about complexity. I can't parse it enough to write. I think I'm on a verge. comment 8:53 AM March 22 2004 Mehak feels she has gotten nasty comments in response to the comments she left on my blog. And I think she's right. I don't think anyone was trying to be nasty. And I don't think Mehak was trying to be nasty when she asked why I use the word fat. I think we have a gap of understanding between us and I'm not sure how to cross it. Mehak writes in a kind of short hand. It's not hard to figure out that r u means are you. I play with spelling myself. I think she's writing in a common short hand used in chat rooms and on blogs. But I don't always understand it. And I think some of the people who responded to her in my comment boxes were confused and put off by it. And then there's the word fat and my use of it. I think Mehak is really saying that she doesn't want me to feel bad and that being fat, or being thought of as fat, might make me feel bad. And why shouldn't she think that? I hear fat used as an expletive. Some of my best friends, people who I know love me, people who listen to me harangue about fat politics, can't bring themselves to use the word fat. It's a word that holds much pain. And that's exactly why I use it. I'm taking it back. I'm saying that is simply descriptive. But today I'm thinking about how to have a conversation with someone who is reading my blog and leaving comments and seems very sweet in many ways. Mehak's blog chalk says that she is between 21 and 25. She lives in India. I think it's amazing that we have found each other. But that's the coolness of blogging. When I was in India they called me motomal. I know how to say fat in many languages. I heard it shouted at me in the street. I heard it from the mouth of my beloved guru. I know how a word can feel like hate. I know how the same word can feel like love. Yesterday Deb and I got some cappuccinos and went to the marina, where we sat in her truck and listened to Cornell West on the radio. We are both pretty enamored with Professor West. He uses language so beautifully. I thought about that later when I was home and heard Jason Blair talking about his book. He seems contrite. But he doesn't use language beautifully. He seems to say what ought to be said. And he seems to know what ought to be said. Maybe it's the way I'm listening. I listen to Cornell West with a wide open heart. I listen to Jason Blair with one eyebrow arched. And a small voice in the back of my own head reminds me that I need to balance both extremes. Karen Armstrong was quite wonderful. I was interested in how she navigated her own spiritual dark night. I feel like I might still be in mine. After all that literary nourishment I watched Alias and The Practice. Both shows have deteriorated. As much as I love James Spader I think his character too dominate. And there are more guest stars than plot lines with the three extremely engaging characters still there from the earlier show. I always want more Camryn. So it was a day full of thinking about ethics and language and what makes something, or someone, compelling. And then I read the post from Mehak and wondered about the ethics of a comment box, the problems of syntax and the need to connect. I have no answers. I do have a poem, suggested by Karen Armstrong, in which I am finding solace. comment 10:50 AM March 23 2004 Years ago Kara gave me a ravioli attachment for my Atlas. I mean YEARS ago. More than eight. I've never used it. Until yesterday. I had some fresh peas and mushrooms. I made the filling with ricotta, asiago, the sauteed mushroom and peas and a little shallot. It's a long process. And there is a learning curve. Like how much filling to use and how thin to make the pasta sheets. But I did succeed in making five ravioli. I was going to make a sauce with cherry tomatoes and roasted garlic but I was tired and hungry and anxious so I ate them with a bit of butter. They were really, really good. After I'd eaten I went back and made more and I still have filling so I'll be making more today. I used to have an idea to make ravioli with a fill that was like samosa filling. Potato, carrot, peas. Maybe the dough could be spelt. Curry cream sauce? It's something to play around with. After reading Elayne I added an XML thing with the help of these fine folks. And I signed up for Bloglines and Blogstreet. I think I'm doing something wrong. I need to spend some time with them. I don't quite get it all. I pride myself on not being susceptible to commercials. I view them with a critical eye when I view them at all. Usually I hit mute while they're on. But I live the guy who came up with these vacuum cleaners. I swear. I love him. I want one so bad. There's a little animation on the site where you can make the guy vacuum. OOOOOOO And there's Oxiclean. I don't like the guy who does those commercials. He shouts. But I was taken in by the idea of cleaning set in stains. I have so may shirts with set in stains. I got some and tried it out yesterday on a white shirt covered with old tomato sauce stains. It works!! Really. I may have got quite batty. comment 9:54 AM My adult life has been until now a succession of expectations and misperceptions. I dealt only with an idea I had of the world, not with the world as it is. But reality does intervene, eventually. - Joan Didion
March 24 2004 Laura Flanders was at Clean Well Lighted talking about her new book. Deb and I went. We went early so we could get a seat. Really early. The worst thing in the world for me is sitting in a book store and not being able to buy a book. Maybe not the worst but really in the top ten. But I have no money. I did buy an old issue of The Believer which I've been trying not to look at because I don't need another magazine or journal that I have to have. But Deb bought it and there was this article. I guess if I'd known it was on line I might not have bought it. But I was feeling so sorry for myself. Sitting there. All those books. No money. The article talks about the dust up over Vivian Gornick's admission that not everything in Fierce Attachments is true. Gornick is one of my favorite writers and Fierce Attachments is one of my favorite books. And it doesn't bother me a bit that every detail isn't true. Because what is true is the intent. It's part of the psychological process of memory that we attach meaning to events. That meaning is entirely subjective and representational. The narrative may be oblique. When you're writing it out you cut and paste and maybe add some frills. Everything in my wanna be book is true but I'm also clear that it's true to my memory. And my meaning making. I made up the names of a few childhood friends because I couldn't remember them. I mushed together the events of a few summer vacations. And I might be wrong about what and how I remember. So? The article goes on to talk about Joan Didion's books being meditations. I hadn't thought about them quite that way but it's true. Where I Was From is masterful in that way. I remember when I finished reading it all I could think was that it drew conclusions that seemed obvious and yet I couldn't quite articulate them. I'd like to say my book is a meditation. I made an effort to resist drawing conclusions. But I live with pre drawn conclusions, in a way. Flanders was engaging. I'd like to read her book. I'm sure it's factual. But it's serving a different purpose. Memoir is in service to some need to reflect on life. It's not really autobiography. It has elements of autobiography. But there's a struggle for meaning in the writing. Lucy Grealy said that Autobiography of a Face wasn't all fact. And she was irritated that anyone would have a problem with that. She said, " I'm a writer." And that may, or may not, explain it all. comment 9:42 AM March 25 2004 Matt is back to the business of being the president of the board. I wanted him to be the mayor but I think there are ways in which he can get more done in his current role. Last night there was a new episode of his show. I can't find a site for it. His site doesn't mention it. He had Peter Camejo on talking about third party politics, representational democracy and Nader. And he talked to Ferlinghetti about painting. Nice mix. Third party politics is like balm to my terrified political soul. I am still a registered Democrat but I have already written the letter of resignation from the party. I'm staying in long enough to vote for Dennis and then I'm out. I still haven't decided whether to register Green or independent and I'm not sure I can articulate why. There is no doubt that third parties agitate. In the conversation between Matt and Camejo (and there was a third man whose name I can't remember) they mentioned how you hear the Democrats complain about Nader but you don't hear them complain about Ross Perot. Hmmmm. In this upcoming election the fear will determine my vote but I'd like to be more involved in a party. And the Dems don't get it done. I'm offended by the way the Democrats complain about and undermine third party politics. Watching the trail of Democratic superstars parade into SF during Matt's election was just so infuriating. And now it would seem Terry Baum's write in vote success is threatened. There was a press conference at City Hall a while ago. Democracy anyone? I understand being afraid of the death grip of the extreme right wing. I don't understand ignoring the will of voters who aren't satisfied with mediocrity of the Democratic party. comment 11:49 AM March 25 2004 My inner child is 45. Which is only five years younger than I am. I think I took this test before. And I think I got the same thing. I'm not sure how I should feel about this. Rana's inner child is ten. And I think she plays well with others. comment 7:54 PM March 26 2004 Ah well. It's Friday. And I have no cat. No knitting project. And my attempts at crochet are too tight. No digital camera. Sigh. I am in a pretty good mood. And I don't know why. Every morning this week I've woken up with negative first thoughts. And then I chide myself for the negative thoughts. And the morning is off with a stumble. Today I woke up thoughtless. Got out of bed, turned on the radio and the computer. At some point I noticed that I was feeling pretty good. This has been the longest period of regret and frustration that I've ever experienced. And nothing has changed. I still don't have a job, an agent or a publisher. I still feel narcoleptic and uninspired. But lately I've been listening to my inner blah blah blah with a jaundiced ear. I've heard it all before. I had a good time at yoga this week but I was in pain. My knees were really bad on Wednesday. At some point I had the thought that I usually only hurt that bad when it was raining. Or about to rain. But it wasn't raining. It wasn't until the middle of the day yesterday as the rain was splatting against my window that I realized that it was ... raining. And my knees do feel better today. Something about that moment when I realized that there might be a reason. I dunno. It was comforting. I'm boring and thoughtless and catless and projectless and imageless. But I'm eating bread that has pistachios and figs in it. And yogurt. And coffee. And I feel good. comment 10:03 AM March 27 2004 When I went to bed last night I had a list of things I was going to do when I woke up. But I woke up having a dream in which I was going to picket a video store owned by Jack Bristo. I don't know why. I kept drifting back into sleep trying to find out. Finally I got up and ate some honey bran muffins that I made yesterday. And some yogurt. And some drank some tea. Read some blogs. Listened to some radio. And then, just when I was going to take a shower, Suzanne called to tell me that they're playing old episodes of old West Coast Live with Spalding Gray. So I made some coffee and I'm listening to him and I'm just sad and mad and charmed and frustrated. He talks about playing with his kids and feeling happy. But happy isn't always enough. I didn't get around to rolling out the rest of the ravioli until yesterday. The filling was well served by sitting in the refrigerator for a few days. All the flavors had married. I had just a small amount of filling left and no more dough. I made some risotto and added the filling to it. Very good. I have things I need to do. Spalding is done talking. I'm feeling desperate for the things that hold me to the earth. A shower. Some yoga. Some cleaning. But Wait Wait is on now and I'm still trying to write my morning post. Ideas going into my ears and into my eyes and coming out through my fingers. It's good. I like it. But I need to feel the water on my skin. And I need to feel my feet on the ground in warrior pose. And I need to do the list of things I went to bed imagining myself doing. It seems we all live so close to that line. And so far from satisfaction. comment 11:35 AM March 28 2004 I finished Paradise. And I'm going to need to read it again. I think I've felt this way after all the books. She has so many subtle details. Things that are suggestive. Hints. Clues. You gotta pay attention. I did find Paradise character heavy. I just couldn't keep up. It's me. It's my tired dyslexic struggle with words on a page and my drifting attention span. But I could not keep up. So I have to go back and reread it. But I was anxious to get to Love. It's not that I didn't enjoy Paradise. I really did. She just writes so beautifully. There is a sentence in the latter part of the book. She entered the vice like a censored poet whose suspect lexicon was too supple, too shocking to publish. Oh. My. A sentence like that stops me. I have to read it again and again. I have to call people and read it to them. But I arrived at the end of the book with a desire to understand who was who and right at that moment she lays another set of relationships on me. Sheesh. I got some of my list of things done. Today is starting off a lot like yesterday. I got a call from Ari called. She's gotten me hooked on Starting Over. The first time I watched I hated it And I still have issues. But she and I can deconstruct the show for hours. She was stuck in an airport with lots of hours on her cell. So we talked. And now I need to get going. On something. Heh. comment 12:09 AM March 29 2004 Big Moves held a benefit last night featuring a reunion of Fat Lip Readers Theater. It's always good to see fat women doing things they're told they can't do. Like dance. I can't find a link for Fat Lip. I'm not sure how they used to be but last night they were five women doing little readings and songs about being fat. One of them read from the disclaimer you sign when you agree to weight loss surgery. It read like a fat liberation manifesto. Things like: you should know that thin people get the all the illnesses that are said to be more likely for fat people. You should know that there's a reason why we have a digestive system and we (the medical establishment) really don't know the ultimate impact to your health that this surgery might have. But here's a list of the things that might go wrong. And the list is long. And ends with the thing you ultimately risk when you have any surgery. You might die fro the surgery itself. I wish I could use the exact language. It was jaw dropping. It was an enjoyable evening but it was like being at choir practice when the preacher stops by. I found myself wishing they could tour high schools and colleges and be on national television. And this morning I'm tired. I read an article about a five year old girl being taken from her parents. It happened in the USA.. That little girl was returned to her parents. But we learn nothing. comment 10:57 AM March 30 2004 In the middle of the day I got into a spectacularly bad mood. No reason in particular that I could track. But it was spectacularly bad. I guess I could speculate about why. But. It seems unwise. I made some peanut butter and honey crackers. The kind of thing you'd make for a fussy five year old. My inner child may be 45 but I was feeling closer to five. Turned
to my Perhaps part of why I'm feeling the way I'm feeling is that I heard Sasha Cagen on KPFA talking about her essay that turned into a book. Today they're talking to Ethan Watters. They both just wrote and essay and one thing led to another. Now they have a book and a web site and a movement and ... Sigh. Sasha has been doing a zine. Ethan describes how his tribe evolved. Earlier I read an article about the folks at The Believer. This is how it happens. People cluster and network and make it happen. Oh I dunno. Maybe that's not the only way it happens. But I'm just feeling frustrated. And these guys just make it sound so simple. It doesn't feel simple. Or maybe I'm just in a mood. comment 9:22 AM March 31 2004 I did appreciate my comments yesterday. I checked in at some point and read them all . And then I took a deep breath. And relaxed. Thank you very much. Then I noticed I had evolved from a slithering reptile to a flappy bird. Picture me singing I Believe I Can Fly. Deb came over to watch Spellbound. We were both on the edge of our seats. Competition is an interesting thing. I know I am competitive. But I also know I'm suspicious of models of hierarchy. I don't watch award shows. Or sports. I think there is value in competition. But I'm too ... I don't even know. It's not entirely about sensitivity. It's about wanting to see things in context. Er. Sumthin. All I know is that watching those kids spell was nerve wracking.
Happy Birthday Cesar! comment 8:45 AM
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