Two shiny new Subaru Outbacks rolled off the assembly line and onto a lot in the Denver Metro area. They sat patiently, waiting for the perfect owners to find them. The kind of owners who would plaster them with "Coexist" and "Obama '12" bumper stickers; the kind who would drive not a whit over 35 mph and would eventually convert them to bio-diesel or hybrid fuel. Oh, for the day when that would happen! How marvelous life would be!
But as is so often the case in life, their dreams came only sort of true. They were bought by the right sort of people (a grey-ponytailed professor of Keynesian economics and a working mom who made her kids only organic food and never visited McDonald's). They were plastered with the right sort of stickers ("Support Public Education!" "Feed The Poor!" "Coexist"). They went to the right sort of places (Democratic political rallies; global warming seminars; Ann Coulter eggings).
Of course, there were always those days when SuperMom was in kind of a hurry, and would push her poor little Subie to ridiculous, mind-numbing speeds of 45 MPH - or higher! And sometimes, Grey Ponytail would be angry about what those Bush-loving, Limbaugh-listening wingnuts were trying to do to the country, and he'd yell at other motorists, occasionally even blowing the horn!
The Subies bore this unbecoming, un-Coloradan behavior with grace. What else were they to do? Yes, of course it was dangerous to go so fast. Dangerous to be so angry. But they were only cars: they couldn't force their owners to be anything they weren't. If they thought about it, all the organic grocery stores and farmers' markets and rallies really made up for it.
Until that day, that fateful, horrible day, when SuperMom was in a hurry, and Grey Ponytail was angry, and they found themselves on the same road at the same time, hurtling toward disaster.
Grey Ponytail listened to Air America and smacked his steering wheel and ranted about tax cuts as the sun slanted in through his passenger-side windows. He was on his way to the Aurora arts district on this fine, lovely morning, planning to swing by the Fox theatre and buy his season tickets. Very important to support the arts, you know. He observed the de facto speed limit, and kept himself even a little under. No one needed to go faster than 30 MPH, really. Everyone should leave enough time to get where they needed to go at that speed, and if they didn't, they should suffer the consequences of being late.
SuperMom was late to drop of kid 1 at daycare, and kid 2 at the public school across town - you know, the better public school. Thank God Colorado was an open-enrollment state: she might have had to pay for private school! Sure, she could afford it - why else would she work? - but then she wouldn't be able to tell everyone how committed to state-funded schooling she was. Her friends wouldn't approve.
She sped along, easily outmaneuvering the other traffic, until she hit Havana north of First Avenue. The street was down to two lanes in each direction. In front of her, a low-rider doing 32. To her right, another Outback doing 30. She didn't want to anger the low-rider - who needs to get shot at 8 in the morning? But she couldn't quite get around the other Subie, either. She waited, getting as close to the low-rider bumper as she dared, until she could cut off the other Outback, and then made the lane change.
10 seconds...20...30! Yes! She was in the clear, she'd made the change! Just another couple of feet over the line, and -
SMASH!
Grey Ponytail had taken this moment to speed up to 32, not wanting to allow a gap in the traffic pack. That wasn't the Colorado way. He slammed into SuperMom's bumper.
And that was how both little Subies - put upon, maltreated, abused - ended up on the back of a tow truck I saw the other day.
Or at least, that's how it happened in my mind.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
You've Got To Be Shitting Me
This is ridiculous.
Let's go through it again, shall we? Food has no moral value. Food is not a drug. Food is not addictive. Food is food. Eat a hamburger, don't, but for fuck's sweet sake, shut up about what other people are eating.
The only way to eliminate fat kids is to - well, eliminate them. Last time somebody tried to eliminate a whole class of people, it didn't end up so well, did it?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
It Was Only A Matter Of Time
Bacon is in the first grade. She attends a charter school that we chose for its academics, its uniforms, its proximity to our home, and the fact that last year, when she started kindergarten, it had no restrictive food policies or silly health lessons about exercise.
I knew that raising a kid with HAES, to be an intuitive eater, to love her body would be difficult. I knew I'd come up against some pretty determined people who would think they'd have her best interests in mind when they suggested other methods, when they pooh-poohed Family Feeding Dynamics and were aghast that, yes, I have fed my kid McDonald's and agreed that it tasted good, and was a treat.
I knew it would happen. I thought I had at least a little more time before her school started crusading against all things "unhealthy".
She received this assignment on Friday:
This year we are challenging our school community to establish healthy habits at home. Starting Friday, September 24, 2010, students will have weekly homework for physical education class. Students will be required to fill out activity logs for the time they are active when they are not in school. We are encouraging families to work together and find ways to be active and start establishing those healthy life habits. Every two weeks students will receive a blank activity log. It is their responsibility to find ways to be active so that at the end of each week they have accumulated at least 150 minutes. At the end of the two weeks they will return their completed activity log to their homeroom turn in bin and receive a blank one. The activity logs will be part of the student's physical education grade and follow the school homework policy. Students may count any physical activity done outside of the school hours (before and after school activities/sports count). Biking, swimming, playing at the park, skating, sports, &walking, are all examples of ways to be active. T.V and video/computer games do not count as activity time. Please help your students to find fun ways to be active and start living a healthy lifestyle together! Get up and play 60 a day! If you have further questions please contact [the gym teacher].
You'll notice it assumes, three times, that we and our students don't already have any healthy habits. Considering this went out to all nine grades of the school - K-8 - I find that astonishing. Not one family in that school is athletic? None of these kids play sports? Oh, but wait, they do - since sports count toward your obsessive total - so ...? I also like that she makes a point to tell us that watching television is not physical activity. All these years, I've been sitting on my ass, needlepointing or reading or scrapbooking while in front of the tube, and NOW I learn that didn't count as exercise?! WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME!
Of course Bacon will not be participating. I'm sending an email, bright and early Monday morning, telling them that she won't be participating and why: it's antithetical to our values as a family. I refuse to teach my six-year-old that exercise only counts if you write it down, and that the only way to be healthy is to monitor yourself. I'm pretty sure she'll manage to absorb that message someday - she is, after all, a girl in America.
They've placed restrictions on snacks, too. Did you know that plain honey-graham snacks are cookies? Cookies. Like Oreos or Chips Ahoy!. We're allowed to send fruit, veggies, cheese, unflavored crackers, and water.
Unflavored crackers and water. My, that sounds like a nutritious snack, doesn't it? You'd be so depressed eating it, you wouldn't be able to absorb a damn bit of good from it. Also, I'm not sure what constitutes "unflavored". Silly me thought plain bunny grahams were unflavored, but then, I also thought they weren't cookies. I mean, I'm fat: shouldn't I be able to tell a cookie from a non-cookie?
I have a sneaking suspicion that this is probably all part of federal funding and Michelle Obama's fatwa against fatties, which just compounds my anger. Bad enough that the school is meddling in my family's health practices, but that they're probably doing so under the aegis of the fucking feds?
There's no way to look at this in a good light. There's no way to not rock the boat. I've been a pretty passive activist, mostly due to my personality, my anxieties; there's no way for me to subvert this without standing up and screaming about it.
Let's hope I've got the lungs for it.
I knew that raising a kid with HAES, to be an intuitive eater, to love her body would be difficult. I knew I'd come up against some pretty determined people who would think they'd have her best interests in mind when they suggested other methods, when they pooh-poohed Family Feeding Dynamics and were aghast that, yes, I have fed my kid McDonald's and agreed that it tasted good, and was a treat.
I knew it would happen. I thought I had at least a little more time before her school started crusading against all things "unhealthy".
She received this assignment on Friday:
This year we are challenging our school community to establish healthy habits at home. Starting Friday, September 24, 2010, students will have weekly homework for physical education class. Students will be required to fill out activity logs for the time they are active when they are not in school. We are encouraging families to work together and find ways to be active and start establishing those healthy life habits. Every two weeks students will receive a blank activity log. It is their responsibility to find ways to be active so that at the end of each week they have accumulated at least 150 minutes. At the end of the two weeks they will return their completed activity log to their homeroom turn in bin and receive a blank one. The activity logs will be part of the student's physical education grade and follow the school homework policy. Students may count any physical activity done outside of the school hours (before and after school activities/sports count). Biking, swimming, playing at the park, skating, sports, &walking, are all examples of ways to be active. T.V and video/computer games do not count as activity time. Please help your students to find fun ways to be active and start living a healthy lifestyle together! Get up and play 60 a day! If you have further questions please contact [the gym teacher].
You'll notice it assumes, three times, that we and our students don't already have any healthy habits. Considering this went out to all nine grades of the school - K-8 - I find that astonishing. Not one family in that school is athletic? None of these kids play sports? Oh, but wait, they do - since sports count toward your obsessive total - so ...? I also like that she makes a point to tell us that watching television is not physical activity. All these years, I've been sitting on my ass, needlepointing or reading or scrapbooking while in front of the tube, and NOW I learn that didn't count as exercise?! WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME!
Of course Bacon will not be participating. I'm sending an email, bright and early Monday morning, telling them that she won't be participating and why: it's antithetical to our values as a family. I refuse to teach my six-year-old that exercise only counts if you write it down, and that the only way to be healthy is to monitor yourself. I'm pretty sure she'll manage to absorb that message someday - she is, after all, a girl in America.
They've placed restrictions on snacks, too. Did you know that plain honey-graham snacks are cookies? Cookies. Like Oreos or Chips Ahoy!. We're allowed to send fruit, veggies, cheese, unflavored crackers, and water.
Unflavored crackers and water. My, that sounds like a nutritious snack, doesn't it? You'd be so depressed eating it, you wouldn't be able to absorb a damn bit of good from it. Also, I'm not sure what constitutes "unflavored". Silly me thought plain bunny grahams were unflavored, but then, I also thought they weren't cookies. I mean, I'm fat: shouldn't I be able to tell a cookie from a non-cookie?
I have a sneaking suspicion that this is probably all part of federal funding and Michelle Obama's fatwa against fatties, which just compounds my anger. Bad enough that the school is meddling in my family's health practices, but that they're probably doing so under the aegis of the fucking feds?
There's no way to look at this in a good light. There's no way to not rock the boat. I've been a pretty passive activist, mostly due to my personality, my anxieties; there's no way for me to subvert this without standing up and screaming about it.
Let's hope I've got the lungs for it.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
I Didn't Read Anything Tasty Last Week
Sorry.
So, I had a bad day yesterday. I started the school-year schedule, which includes waking up before God, and it just went downhill from there.
I started submitting query letters to literary agents, and I was all panicky and anxious, and somehow, all these fears of failure coalesced into hating my body all day long. I didn't want to get dressed, I didn't want to eat, I didn't even want my husband to hug me when he came home. I felt like a giant ugly blob of grossness, and all the relentless, negative tape-loops I thought I'd cleaned out of my brain were working overtime. Not only was I going to fail at getting an agent because my novel sucked and the market's full of vampires - no, obviously I was going to fail because I am a big, fat, toothy, ugly loser.
I'm not writing to get pity (though I'll shamelessly take compliments anyway.). I'm writing this down because it illustrates just how intertwined our bodies are with our everyday lives, with our emotions; and how body acceptance is a process that doesn't end. Fifteen years after I chucked dieting the first time, and I still have all that crap I grew up listening to in my head, waiting in the back of my brain until something else has me jittery and inattentive, and then it sneaks up and makes me feel like shit.
And I hate that my anxiety is so closely linked to my appearance, but that's how I was taught; that's how my mother wired me, right from the start. I was not a child who could leave the house in a tutu and rain boots: that would have reflected badly on my mother. In fact, the only thing that reflected well on her, as far as I was told, was looking perfect - perfectly matched, perfectly styled, perfectly brushed and curled and accessorized. Too bad I was so fat, or I really could have done her proud.
I understand her wanting me to start off on the best foot, to make the best first impression I could. But since I could never actually look good - just good for a fatty - the whole concept of first impressions, of appearances, just makes me stupid with anxiety. Even when the people I'm "meeting" can't see me, and have no way of knowing how big I am.
My writing should be able to stand on its own (and I think it does, or I wouldn't be trying for an agent at all), but the toxic tapes in my head told me that I'm fat, and therefore worthless, and therefore a failure before I even get out of the gate.
I've dealt with this most of my life by failing on purpose. If it's my choice to fail - by not trying, by dropping out - then it's not a judgment on me. It's not because my body is unacceptable - because I am unacceptable. It's because I didn't want to.
Fuck that. I've missed out on a lot of life because "I didn't want to". No more. Even if I fail, so what? I tried, right? I pursued a difficult and insanely competitive profession because I wanted to! I wanted to put myself out there, to do the only thing I've wanted to do since I was 10 years old. If my timing of the market isn't right, if my writing is truly awful, well, I'll figure that out.
I will have wanted to, and from where I'm sitting? That makes me a success, right out of the gate.
So, I had a bad day yesterday. I started the school-year schedule, which includes waking up before God, and it just went downhill from there.
I started submitting query letters to literary agents, and I was all panicky and anxious, and somehow, all these fears of failure coalesced into hating my body all day long. I didn't want to get dressed, I didn't want to eat, I didn't even want my husband to hug me when he came home. I felt like a giant ugly blob of grossness, and all the relentless, negative tape-loops I thought I'd cleaned out of my brain were working overtime. Not only was I going to fail at getting an agent because my novel sucked and the market's full of vampires - no, obviously I was going to fail because I am a big, fat, toothy, ugly loser.
I'm not writing to get pity (though I'll shamelessly take compliments anyway.). I'm writing this down because it illustrates just how intertwined our bodies are with our everyday lives, with our emotions; and how body acceptance is a process that doesn't end. Fifteen years after I chucked dieting the first time, and I still have all that crap I grew up listening to in my head, waiting in the back of my brain until something else has me jittery and inattentive, and then it sneaks up and makes me feel like shit.
And I hate that my anxiety is so closely linked to my appearance, but that's how I was taught; that's how my mother wired me, right from the start. I was not a child who could leave the house in a tutu and rain boots: that would have reflected badly on my mother. In fact, the only thing that reflected well on her, as far as I was told, was looking perfect - perfectly matched, perfectly styled, perfectly brushed and curled and accessorized. Too bad I was so fat, or I really could have done her proud.
I understand her wanting me to start off on the best foot, to make the best first impression I could. But since I could never actually look good - just good for a fatty - the whole concept of first impressions, of appearances, just makes me stupid with anxiety. Even when the people I'm "meeting" can't see me, and have no way of knowing how big I am.
My writing should be able to stand on its own (and I think it does, or I wouldn't be trying for an agent at all), but the toxic tapes in my head told me that I'm fat, and therefore worthless, and therefore a failure before I even get out of the gate.
I've dealt with this most of my life by failing on purpose. If it's my choice to fail - by not trying, by dropping out - then it's not a judgment on me. It's not because my body is unacceptable - because I am unacceptable. It's because I didn't want to.
Fuck that. I've missed out on a lot of life because "I didn't want to". No more. Even if I fail, so what? I tried, right? I pursued a difficult and insanely competitive profession because I wanted to! I wanted to put myself out there, to do the only thing I've wanted to do since I was 10 years old. If my timing of the market isn't right, if my writing is truly awful, well, I'll figure that out.
I will have wanted to, and from where I'm sitting? That makes me a success, right out of the gate.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Ugh, Ugh, Ugh
Seriously?
Uh-oh. Is your house making you fat?
Uh-oh. Is your house making you fat?
And here I thought my fat made me fat. Silly fatty.
Of course all the tips assume that not a single one of us is able to eat according to cues of hunger and satiety. We don't listen to our bodies. No, we eat because food looks good, or because our wall color made us depressed, or because our plates are big.
And of course we're all dieting. I mean, what kind of terrible people would we be if we just stayed fat?
I know, I know, I shouldn't be watching the Today Show. But I like to while away my morning waking up in front of the TV, catching up on my news and message boards and blogs before I'm ready for real work, and this is what I keep on in the background. Plus, if I didn't watch shit like that, where would I find anything to write about? It can't all be book reviews and gushing about third-tier TV series around here.
So. Let's break it down, shall we?
1. Turn up the lighting....Dim lights make food look more attractive, which encourages binge eating.
So - I should only eat disgusting-looking food, because then I won't want to eat? Let's also completely ignore the fact that binge eating is a bona fide eating disorder, and you can't get it by just eating until you're full. Finishing your dinner? Not binge eating, morons.
2. Color everything blue.
This one I don't get at all. I guess they've done research that blue walls or blue colored plates and flatware or lighting makes food less appealing, and people will eat less when presented with blue. I have blue and green plates; I've never noticed that the people I serve on the blue eat less than the people who eat off the green, but what do I know? I just eat till I'm full, after all.
3. Make your plate smaller.
Because obviously, everyone cleans their plate all the time. Hunger cues? What're those?
4. Only use your kitchen for cooking and eating.
God forbid anyone else see the kitchen - the source of nourishment - as the heart of the home. Get out, or you might catch the fatz!
5. Get enough sleep.
They suggest spraying your pillows with lavender. But, wait - I thought fatties were lazy gluttons who napped on the couch, covered in bonbons? I don't see how getting enough sleep will prevent fat, but being lazy won't.
6. Spray energizing scents.
Because people with more energy - are more energetic? The article doesn't explain this at all, and frankly, I don't get it. If I'm energized, will I suddenly develop new genetic code that makes me skinny?
7. Run up and down the stairs.
And keep exercise equipment just laying around the house, because then you'll use it! We all know fatties don't exercise ever!
8. Get rid of "fat clothes".
I agree with this. Not to keep you thin, of course, that's bullshit. But clearing your closet of clothing that doesn't fit you? That just makes life so. much. easier. Of course, I'll keep my fat clothes - they're the only ones I have, after all.
9. Thinspiration!
No, I'm not kidding. Keeping a photo of some other body pasted to your fridge will remind you not to eat! It keeps you focused on your goal! It totally tells everyone who comes into your house how virtuous we all should be, and it's totally not disordered at all!
The thing is, it's not just this article, this spot on Today. It's this, and it's the segment on every other talk show, and it's the weight loss commercials, and it's the rapidly-shrinking plus sections in brick-and-mortar stores, and it's the people catcalling on the street, and, and, and. This is relentless, and it's inexcusable. Sure, I snidely deconstruct, but that's just to keep sane. What I'd really love? A world where there's nothing for me to write about at all.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
It's "Yeah"
Not yea, not ya, not ye - two of those are different words entirely.
If you want to transcribe the word people say when they're agreeing, or saying "yes" - it's "yeah". That is the only correct way to spell it.
This is right up there with misuse of homophones as a pet peeve for me, especially in published materials and from people who write for a living. This is something you should have cottoned to years ago. Honestly, it's not hard.
What are your spelling peeves?
If you want to transcribe the word people say when they're agreeing, or saying "yes" - it's "yeah". That is the only correct way to spell it.
This is right up there with misuse of homophones as a pet peeve for me, especially in published materials and from people who write for a living. This is something you should have cottoned to years ago. Honestly, it's not hard.
What are your spelling peeves?
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Tasty Tome Tuesday!
Rachel Gibson
Like those strips? BaconsDad made 'em for me. I think they're ossum.
Chelsea Ross is an unsuccessful actress-turned-personal assistant who leaves Hollywood to take a job in Seattle, working for an injured hockey player who's run off every nurse and health aid the team has hired for him. Mark Bressler is universally surly, angry about the car accident that crippled him and ended his professional hockey career. He doesn't want an assistant any more than Chelsea wants to be working for such a jerk, but Chelsea's got bills to pay.
It's a classic setup, but it is a romance novel, after all. Gibson's prose is tight and easy to read; Chelsea's and Mark's voices are distinct and likable. The attraction is completely believable - Mark isn't so angry that we want Chelsea to run the other way, and Chelsea is professional enough not to flirt, but not so professional she doesn't notice she's working for a hottie.
Funny and fast-paced, Nothing But Trouble was a fun ride, and a quick, satisfying read. Highly recommended to all romance lovers, especially those looking for good contemporaries.
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