gah

I didn't know what I was going to blog about tonight. I just figured I would put up another peep-type entry because -- after getting home late from work after a mentally exhausting day -- I spent some time this evening hanging out with my husband, chatting with my nephew and an old school friend online, and planning to go to bed early. But then I started to watch this video, and I can't stop, and it's making me shake because it's frustrating as hell.

Props to Marianne Kirby and Crystal Renn for being eloquent and moderately patient in the face of MeMe Roth (no link because she's bat-crazy and should not have the national stage that she gets, so she's not getting any more exposure from my three readers). And Kim Benson, who I'd never heard of before now, and who started off being fairly innocuous in the glow of her recent successful weight loss, but who has grown increasingly MeMe-like as the conversation has progressed. (No link for her, either.)

I should have gone to bed an hour ago. And this video is still going. And I can't turn the damnable thing. OH! And I'm so glad I didn't because Marianne just stated something so beautifully, I feel compelled to quote her.

"I feel like we keep trying to re-frame it as a 'if we're concerned about health, why aren't we talking about actual indicators of health?' And the answer is, 'it's not really about health.'"

Huzzah! She goes on:

"We want to frame it as health because we're progressives and because we genuinely care about the health of people. But I don't believe that looking at a fat person and judging them immediately as unhealthy without knowing anything about their actual health, their lifestyle, (or) their choices... I don't think that any of that actually has anything to do with a concern about their health. It has to do about the way we think about bodies in our society."

Huzzah, again! More, more, more:

"If we want to talk about health, let's talk about health. And let's not use weight as the sole indicator."

OK, enough of quoting. TR, if I haven't told you before, I love you. And I thank you for carrying the torch when so many of us haven't made the time to truly turn on the activism gene.

And with that, nerves jangled, muscles tensed, and nearly two hours later, time for sleep.

every little bit

I've been following Kevin Smith on Twitter for a while. This came after he stopped regularly writing on his blog, which I read for a while before then. I'm a Kevin Smith fan. Although I don't think I'm hypersensitive about profanity and such, I have occasionally been slightly stunned by his remarkable candor when talking about sex. But it's never been so offensive as to stop me from reading what he writes, watching video of his performances, and enjoying his movies.

That said, his candor has been a gargantuan wellspring of excitement in the last couple days, as the man was beat about the head and shoulders with Southwest Airlines' Fatty Fatty Two By Four Mood Swings. As of Sunday evening, Google shows 919 articles about the incident.

Long story short, if you've somehow missed it, after buying two tickets on a Southwest flight (in compliance with said FFTBFMS policy), Smith attempted to get onto an earlier flight via standby. Southwest boarded him onto the plane with a single seat, and he was sitting -- seatbelted with lowered armrests -- when a flight attendant told him that the captain was booting him off the flight. Through many machinations and a couple of poorly worded public apologies, Southwest claims that his 'person of size' status dictated the move.

Smith launched a Twitter attack of epic proportions. The news channels quickly seized on it and started banging away at this new angle of the daily OMG Teh Obesity Crisis!!!11!!! discussion. As much as I feel for the guy having to go through this (it's another post, or perhaps a book, in which I discuss my personal air travel issues), it's a remarkable gift from above that a celebrity with a fan base and a platform or two has experienced this nightmare. I can only hope that his righteous ranting will shed enough light on the situation that the airlines realize something different must be done to deal with the issue of cranky customers who complain about us fatties daring to occupy the same mode of transportation with them.

I fear, however, all the red herrings that will be thrown out, and in fact, are already popping up. Claims like "fat passengers increase the aircraft's total weight, which will crash the plane" (a few hundred extra pounds when talking about a vehicle that is many tons?), "fat passengers block the path in case of emergency" (because they're just sitting still when everyone else is evacuating?!), and my favorite, "don't the poor, stupid fat passengers know it's bad for their health?" Oh, and the comments. Lordy.

So, I'm sorry Kevin Smith, that you have to fight this battle. But I'm glad you're fighting it, and loudly. There are millions of fat folks who suffer such indignities (at the hands of corporations, individuals, governments, and systems) who have neither the temerity nor the voice to wage such a war. In my perfect world, you wouldn't emphasize quite so vigorously that you are not THAT fat, though (i.e. you were able to sit comfortably with the arm rests down and no seat belt extender). Those people who are not able to do those things still deserve to be treated with dignity.

As always, there's a lot more to this discussion. But I've already spent far too much time talking about it tonight -- especially considering that I haven't even gotten into the whole First Lady anti-obesity crusade, the raft of craziness at a certain grocery chain, or the general demonization of food.

boo

Nearly a year. And why now? Because tonight, I experienced the famous straw as never before. Tonight, my favorite lamp was the straw, and I was the camel's back: We broke nearly simultaneously.

There was no reason for me to react the way I did. As disappointed as I was that the lamp broke, and as frustrated as I was about the circumstances that led it to break, and as panicked as I was about all the broken glass, none of those things -- even in concert with each other -- was enough to prompt the full-on tantrum/meltdown that ensued.

Ted was bewildered, concerned... a bit scared. The wife he's known for so many years usually maintains a freakishly even keel. And tonight, she suddenly hit rough seas and near-about capsized!

He tried to calm me down, but was unsuccessful. The cats rapidly made themselves scarce, which was good because they avoided the millions of shards. And in the middle of this wildly disproportionate fit, I found myself wondering why I was pitching it, why there was no OFF button. And so I, too, was something of a witness to the whole episode.

Didn't last long -- a couple minutes, after which, I regained my composure and set about to vacuuming up the bits too small to pick up by hand (Ted got all the big pieces while I was morphing into a crazed puddle). It was an arduous task to be sure. The lamp had truly shattered.

It's done now, and I've since found several places online where I can get replacement shades. So now life goes on. Right? I've folded laundry, chatted about my day with my husband, checked email, read the news, and written a blog entry. Is it necessary for me to analyze all the pieces of straw in my life? Is that the only way to keep my back from breaking again the next time a fly buzzes by and inadvertently adds a speck of straw dust? There are many pieces of straw these days. And my back hurts enough that it's tempting to openly list and/or complain about them (though I might contend that the list itself would be a complaint). This strays way outside my usual optimism, and although it may explain tonight, I know better than to go there. It's time to climb up the slope, not slide down it.

So, let's talk about something more upbeat. Holidays! Here's a great Thanksgiving poem:

"Yam" by Bruce Guernsey

The potato that ate all its carrots,
can see in the dark like a mole,

its eyes the scars

from centuries of shovels, tines.

May spelled backwards

because it hates the light,

pawing its way, paddling along,

there in the catacombs.

Love it. And then there's Christmas.



I'm not ready for Christmas in any way. Some gifts have been procured. But when my hard drive crashed, it ate my list. That means I have to start from scratch as to who gets what and how much budget is left for everyone, and therefore how much more shopping needs to be done. I'm braving Black Friday with my sister and my Christmas Club money. But I'm not appropriately prepared for it. At a time in the process when I'm typically done or close to it. And I'm still trying to imagine Christmas without my own personal Santa -- Dad.

Oops. Just slipped down a bit. I should call it a night, an entry, a year, and get some sleep. Maybe I'll blog again next August.

i knew better

Ever work really hard on something and make the irrational decision to skip the second-to-last step because it seems frivolous -- even though you know deep in your soul that if you don't take that second-to-last step and the last step doesn't work as anticipated, you'll regret it?

I just spent hours writing an elaborate post that required much research and included both intelligent analysis and clever reference links. Somewhere in the middle of that process, the internet editor I was logged into logged me off. So when I clicked the pretty "post" button -- without having copied and pasted the entire entry into Microsoft Word as a safety precaution -- it simply told me I didn't have permission to post.

Attempts to go back to the last page failed. Refreshing the page failed. The only thing in my paste buffer was the last link I'd copied.

Gah.

I could replicate it in less time than it originally took me to write and research it. Obviously, I'm more knowledgeable now, and my browser history will show me all the sites and pictures I need. Of course, whether or not I'm capable of replicating the level of logic and wit is another thing altogether. Regardless, even if it took me only half as long to rewrite it, I'd be going to bed as the sun rises. So, it will have to wait for another day. Probably not Friday. I mean, today is Friday at this point.

::grumble, grumble::

the photoshop world we live in

The March 10th issue of Time Magazine has a brief article about the importance of youthful appearance in the job market. The web version of this article isn't quite the assault to my senses that the hard copy version is, because it's missing the graphic that goes along with it.

In it, a snappily dressed man stands on one side, and a smartly outfitted woman on the other. The center title says, "New Ways to Tap into The Fountain of Youth." Neither of these people look even remotely old (must be because they've tapped that fountain). The suggestions include the following:

For the man
* Tooth-lengthening
* Butt lift and implants
* Neck tuck
* Knee-tightening

For the woman
* Hair restoration
* Earlobe repair
* Stiletto surgery
* Extreme hand makeover

The ones that stand out for me are the stiletto surgery ("...heels remain part of the dress code at the office"), the hand makeover ("knobby, spotted hands say old lady"), and the knee-tightening ("skin and cellulite pool around the knees -- unsightly at the gym").

Ack!

This article is chock full of ideas for making yourself look younger. Not a single word refers to how any of these procedures will make you healthier, just more attractive. After all, it is entitled "How Not to Look Old on the Job." But here's the kicker. Despite its obvious and complete focus on appearances, the article is listed in the "Health" category.

ACK!

Then, I have the TV on to catch the weather forecast, when a bra commercial comes on. I'm actually just listening to the TV while going through morning routine, and at first, it sounds like a typical bra commercial. Soft, flowy music, and a sultry voice exhorting her beauty secrets. But then some words start to penetrate my subconsciousness. "...revolutionary concealing petals for complete modesty." This brings me back to the day when I worked at a women's clothing store, and we had a customer who wanted to know if we carried bras that would hide her n1pples*. I'm thinking that "concealing petals" have something to do with that (a quick TiVo rewind verifies it).

But then, another kicker: "Feel confident and look flawless in every moment." Um, excuse me? Having n1pples* is a flaw? Wow, are we as a gender in trouble. Wait. Men have n1pples* too. No, I know. I get it. Having n1pples* that dare show themselves is the flaw. Even though it's safe to assume that, for most women, they already have at least two layers of fabric over said rebellious areolae.

AAAACCCCKKKKKKK!

Can't... speak... any... more... choking... urrgghhh........

* Updated to change the correct spelling of the referenced body part because some people are finding their way to my blog by searching for things about which I am NOT talking.

onslaught

astonished

This morning, after Ted opened the store and I set up my Twitter account, we ran a couple errands and went to IHOP for breakfast. We hadn't been there in a while, and I woke up craving cheese blintzes.

Now, I have to go backwards.

I am fat; have been most of my life. I fought it for many years, but repeatedly dieting only ever made me temporarily smaller before making me permanently bigger. I made a conscious decision to stop all attempts at weight loss when I was 22 years old, and with the exception of one moment of weakness in 1991 (old habits die hard, especially in the face of constant bombardment), I haven't dieted since.

I believe that dieting is worse for my health than fatness ever was or will be. I eat intuitively. Such a concept flies in the face of an industry that creates unfathomable methods and imposes insane rules. Luckily, I love nutritious food, so it makes up the bulk of what I eat every day. The net result is that I am simultaneously fat and healthy. It has confused every marginal health care provider I've ever had, and pleased the good ones.

Don't get me wrong. I totally love sweets, too. I have them when I want them. As my mother (and her mother, and her mother's mother) said, "all things in moderation." Smart women (of which, I count myself). My old job had a company-subsidized cafeteria, which was extremely convenient. This resulted in a nearly daily routine of a fresh salad, a can of Fresca, and a chocolate chip cookie for lunch. The diet industry and all those who have been brainwashed by it would look at that lunch and say, "Oh, you were doing so well until you added the cookie!" My intuition (and previous experience) tells me that the one cookie after my salad was perfectly acceptable (not to mention enjoyable), and probably prevented me from stopping at the store and picking up a box of Hostess cupcakes to eat in its entirety within the next 24 hours (an old trick from before I was so smart).

It was not easy getting to this point. In addition to the food aspect of this change, I also had to learn to accept myself without reservation. Although this is a lifelong process that every intelligent human must endure, I have found it to be tricky at times because world is constantly telling me that my size makes me unacceptable. It forces me to be defensive, a posture I've never embraced (hence my claim of being a "passive size activist"). That said, I had a good foundation of parental esteem-building, and once I had my own personal epiphany in 1994, most of the external barbs went away. Once in a while, a complete stranger is compelled to say something brilliant to me, but it usually the exception now, not the rule.

So back to this morning. Ted and I are two of a hundred people at the very popular pancake restaurant. The place is bustling. There's a crowd waiting in the foyer, and people standing outside. We are seated, enjoy our breakfast, and head out. Ted opens the door for me (how chivalrous!), and I keep walking toward the car while he stands in place for an elderly woman who had just been dropped off at the front door.

She said something to him, I didn't hear what. When I turned around, he was just standing there confounded, with a look of utter disbelief on his face. This stance lasted a couple of long seconds, while the old lady stood in front of him and looked at him with what appeared to be eager, nay gleeful, anticipation of an answer. I headed back toward him, and he said "I left the table" while shaking his head. She turned and walked into the restaurant.

He turned to me and said something to the effect of, "What the hell was that?" I asked him what she'd said. She said to the kind man who was holding open the door for her...

wait for it...

"Did you leave anything for me?"

Not "Good morning."

Not "Nice day, isn't it?"

Not "Thank you for holding the door for me, young man."

No. Instead, she cracked herself up with a joke that the fat man must have eaten all the food in the restaurant before she got there. I might have been able to shake that off as the type of politically incorrect thing that the elderly sometimes say because their ability to filter such things has diminished with old age. But hers was not just a rhetorical question asked for the sake of comedy. She stood there and waited for him to answer her. Usually sharp-tongued, Ted stumbled because he didn't want to be rude to her -- leading to the long pause and his "I left the table" response.

Upon telling me this story, my first response to his query ("What the hell...?") was that she was rude, plain and simple. Then I said he totally should have looked her in the eye and as seriously as possible said, "No. I ate everything. Go somewhere else." No, I wouldn't have been able to do it, either.

The whole thing left me hacked off for a while afterwards. It's interesting timing for me (which is silly because it didn't happen to me, it happened to Ted) because I have been entangling myself in the Fat Rights movement more and more these days. I have dramatically expanded the "Blogs I Read" and "Size" lists on the right side of my blog, after having spent countless hours reading them. I joined the COFRA website, and have even committed to attending the next BFB Think Tank in Chicago (circumstances allowing). I've been building myself up to see if I can shake the "passive" off my size activist descriptor, and then something stupid like this happens.

I have no neat and tidy end to this anecdote. So with that, nearly four hours of writing, editing, and otherwise formatting this silly entry, I need to go to bed. I must be up at 5:30am.

nooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

If only I'd been paying attention. If only I read the town paper more often. If only I looked more closely at the "coming soon" board on the Music Hall when I walked past it. If only... . Then I would have known that Lyle Lovett was playing there. TONIGHT.

But now it's too late. Sold out. And just to torture me, not only did I just drive past his tour bus (noting the Tennessee license plate) and chuckle as it tried to take the corner, I can now literally see the bus from my front window. Parked for the evening. Maybe I could go knock on the bus door.

"Hello... Here I am. Yes it's me."

Woe is me! I was just a few weeks ago effusing about him. Wah! Boo-hoo! Cry!

crushed

I once liked Peter Walsh. I watched TLC's Clean Sweep regularly and fantasized about Peter bringing in a massive team of helpers who would spend two days throwing away stuff, having yard sales, and redecorating my newly clutter-free home. I loved his no-nonsense approach to the things a person really needs and wants and loves versus the things that the person somehow accumulates.

In the last season that I watched (I stopped watching about a year ago), it got super-schmaltzy, though. They reconfigured the show's focus. Suddenly, Peter was spending an extraordinary amount of time prodding the homeowners to tears and then philosophizing about their emotional clutter while cheesy music played softly in the background. Whatever. I still thought the whole clean-up process would be cool.

So Mr. Walsh had dropped off my radar for a little while because I stopped watching Clean Sweep. But then, he somehow finagled himself into becoming one of Oprah's gurus. And despite my ongoing love/hate relationship with Oprah, I do still TiVo/watch her show (though I will occasionally delete an episode immediately if it leans toward the 'hate' side of the scale). I've seen a couple Oprah shows with Peter that were fun and fine. But the most recent one took home organization into a whole new direction -- weight loss!

Seriously, he's written a book proclaiming that cleaning your house will lead to weight loss (because the clutter prevents you from having healthy eating and exercising habits, doncha' know). As if that whole concept weren't enough to choke on, in this particular episode, he literally put a family on a line of scales and weighed them on national TV.

Now, I don't have a problem with adults who wants to flog themselves in public. But I take particular issue -- for any of about a thousand reasons -- with the fact that two of the family members were children.

First, those children did not ask to be a part of such an outrageous stunt.

Second, until about the age of 20, children grow. It's that simple. They're supposed to grow. They morph through all sorts of shapes and sizes in that time. It's important to note few things about all that growing. [A] A fat child can be healthy and active in exactly the same way as any child. [B] A fat child does not necessarily become a fat adult. [C] Even if a fat child becomes a fat adult, he or she can be healthy and active in exactly the same way as any adult, because... [D] Some people are just genetically designed to be larger than others. Period. No matter what the diet industry tries to tell you.

Third, these children are already taunted by their peers (and the media, and the general public, and sometimes even their own families) because of their size. Standing in front of a group of 30 classmates getting weighed in the school gym is enough to pulverize self-esteem and cause life-long emotional scars. But on this day, Peter Walsh increased the audience a million-fold for that torture.

Clearly, this is a man who doesn't understand some very basic tenets.

[A] It is possible to be simultaneously fit and fat.

[B] Dieting doesn't work.

[C] Humiliation is not motivation.

[D] ...

[E] ...

[F] ...

[G] ...
[H] ...
[I] ...
[J] ...
[K] ...
[L] ...
[M] ...
[N] ...
[O] ...
[P] ...
[Q,R,S,T,U,V,W,X,Y,Z]...

You get the idea. I'm not articulating well tonight. Please, please, please read Junkfood Science. Read this post in particular. Visit the sites listed in the "size" section on the right side of this blog. Plus "Fat Girl on a Bike," "Fat Rant," and "She Dances on the Sand."

Heck, sign up for the content feed from "Notes from the Fatosphere." Read up, my friends. I know the world tries to convince us that fat=bad. I'm here to tell you (badly) that it's not always the case.

That was my painfully ineloquent way of saying my flame for Peter Walsh is officially extinguished. And my disappointment in Oprah continues to grow.

enough, already

When we moved from the amazing-wonderful-incredible-beautiful-perfect-except-for-the-earthquakes Seattle to Connecticut, Ted's best friend laughed out loud (literally) for five minutes. Ted, who grew up in Arizona, said he'd never live in the Northeast. His rationalization became that we would be living in the "tropics" of New England -- so close to the Southwestern border of the Southwestern-most New England state that it was really more like a part of New York. And there was some truth to that concept. Yes, we got snow, but were never as hard-hit as the interior of Connecticut and certainly everything above it.

Then, we moved to New Hampshire.

We got here just as September began. It was beautiful. Warm and summery, open windows and breezes, sunshine. "Isn't it great being in New Hampshire," we thought? Fall was everything it should be: crisp, clean air with the aroma of wood-burning fires. Incredible foliage. "We're so lucky to live in New Hampshire," we mused. Then, November rolled around. There was a dusting of snow the first week. "Wow, that's freakish," we speculated. When I was growing up in this state, it was usually a safe bet that the first snow would fall sometime around Thanksgiving. So it was weird to get even very light snow so early.

But then there was another light snowfall. And another. And another. And, you guessed it, yet another. Five light snows in November and early December.

Then came the heavy stuff. Three full-on blizzards, two earning the dreaded "Nor'Easter" title. The kind of weather that convinces the TV news to run a perpetual scroll at the bottom of the screen, even during the commercials. The kind that closes down 600 schools state-wide, and makes a 4.9-mile commute take nearly an hour (those are not hypotheticals, by the way... both of those things happened during the first of two storms last week).

Saturday's storm made for mad plow-scrambling on Sunday, and a crazy accumulation of the white stuff overtaking every corner of the city. By Monday, what was visible of the road was passable, but the snowbanks has crept into the lanes and obliterated the sidewalks. Snow emergencies and parking bans were implemented, and by Monday night, dozens of plows, front-end loaders, and massive dump trucks were in full snow removal mode. I heard that the city of Manchester was trucking theirs to a facility in Bedford where it was dumped into a giant melter, and the resulting water was simply "poured" into the sewer system. I don't know where they're taking it here.

Our personal parking situation -- already a delicate balance of timing and choreography -- took on bizarre, haywire, and often laughable proportions over the course of four days. We weren't quite back to normal yesterday, when the unfortunate people who decided to pursue careers as meteorologists informed us that another storm watch was in effect.

For the fourth time in less than two weeks.

It started right about sunset last night, and has already left a couple inches of snow, topped with a layer of freezing rain, now being covered with more snow. They say we could end up with as much as additional 9" before Friday morning rolls around.

And it's not even technically winter yet.

My husband thinks he's been tricked into moving here. All those reassurances that winter is milder on the seacoast ring very empty to him when he's bundled up to the teeth in heavy coats and nerdy hats.

Maybe I should re-think Arizona after all.

Maybe I should just go to bed.

joy nash for president

She beat me to the punch. For years, I've had a long list of size acceptance ideas accumulating as Word files on my computer. You know, the things I was someday going to spend a long, dedicated amount of time writing in some epic essay or even a book. My lifestyle has not accommodated such a desire, and instead I end up with the occasional blog entry which touches on one or two aspects of the topic.

But I'd been eager to (eventually) address this particular angle -- the one to which Joy has now beat me. Oh, I don't begrudge her. Because hers was far more effective than mine ever would be. How do I know that? Because she uses humor, video, and costumes to draw attention. I had this graphic all ready to go:

It's not easy to see, but it's Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. Yeah, it's a show-stopper. Anyway, I learned about it in high school, and always thought it was fascinating (and spot on). In the evolution of my personal size acceptance, I always came back to Maslow. Every person on the planet has a physiological need to eat. And breathe, and sleep, and a whole bunch of other things. Verbatim:

* oxygen
* water
* protein
* salt
* sugar
* calcium
* other minerals and vitamins
* maintain a pH balance (getting too acidic or base will kill you)
* maintain temperature (98.6 or near to it)
* be active
* rest
* sleep
* get rid of wastes (CO2, sweat, urine, and feces)
* avoid pain
* have sex

So, why is that -- somewhere along the line -- society decided to demonize so many physical necessities?

Anyway, I'm going to stop that discussion now because it's far less alluring than watching Ms. Nash tear it up in style! Go watch it again. And check out her blog, too.

blogger shake 3

This is getting downright silly. Why isn't Blogger showing my posts?!?

cars as murder weapons

Usually, I think I'm pretty accepting. At a very basic, golden rule level, if I want people to accept me as I am, then it is an absolute must that I accept people as they are. That said, people can be amazingly stupid.

I can pretty much brush off the jerkwad who nearly crashed into me by changing lanes without looking over his shoulder to see me in his blind spot. I slammed on my brakes and the horn at the same time, and everything in my car went flying forward. Thankfully, it was just my purse (and all its contents, individually), a couple of letters, some paperwork, and a shower curtain liner. Oh, and my not unsubstantial body being herked ahead while simultaneously being restrained by a insta-magically locking seat belt. An unpleasant experience, but no paint exchange.

That pales in comparison to the idiotic woman who left her dog in her car while she went shopping at a non-essential store (the kind of place where you only shop when you have spare money). It was 85 degrees Fahrenheit today with incredibly high humidity. She cracked the windows, but that doesn't make enough difference. The poor dog was panting, barking, and scratching at the door and window to get out.

I called 911.

Yes, I did.

I explained that it was an animal emergency but I didn't have the number for the SPCA. The man on the line was very understanding and patched me through to the local police. I explained to him, and he also did not chastise me for calling about a dog. In fact, he asked for the license plate number and wanted to know if an officer should call me to follow-up.

The woman came out of the store while I was on the phone with the police. She opened the car door, bent down and petted the dog, closed the car door again, and went back into the same store.

Is it just me? Or doesn't every person on the planet know that a hot car -- even one with its windows cracked -- can literally fry/bake/cook the brain of a dog (or any other living creature)? Who are these people who don't have any good sense whatsoever? And why are they allowed to have pets? I think all people should be required to take a test which includes questions about leaving animals in cars on hot days with the windows cracked, and if they get the answer wrong, they are not allowed to have any pets.

Rant over. I have work to do.

Stupid people. ::mumble, mumble::

another blogger shake

Why doesn't this crazy thing show my posts?!? "Curse you, AquaScum!"

tolerance

I've found a few interesting (not perfect, but interesting) and moderately empowering things promoting size acceptance lately. Let me tell you, this is no easy feat in a world flooded with the likes of Fat March, Shaq's Big Challenge, The Biggest Loser, Big Medicine, Inside Brookhaven Obesity Clinic, and on and on and on.

Here's an article about teaching children not to be rude to large people. Who'da thunk? Not elaborate or detailed, but it gets the general idea across.

Kate Harding is a wonderful blogger who addresses fat hatred with a vengeance in her Shapely Prose blog. A recent post written by a guest blogger drives home the point that the misguided comments of doctors can often lead to terrible consequences for fat people. Incredibly sad, but unfortunately, not difficult to believe.

PBS aired a show called "Fat: What No One is Telling You." I had high hopes for this show, but discovered that PBS too falls victim to the same unfortunate groupspeak on most aspects of fat. That is, everyone is telling us about weight loss surgery. And everyone is praising the hard work of current weight loss successes. And everyone is making the sole assumption that the only cause of larger body size is the combination of overeating and underexercising.

There were a few choice quotes that I found close to liberating, although I was so frustrated that they were wrapped in the standard fat-is-bad propaganda.

"This isn't simple. This is not a simple balance of energy in and energy out. If it were, we would have solved the problem a long time ago. We have a very, very rich and accurate physiological system that keeps our energy in balance. And all that system has to do is get disrupted by a tiny percent -- just a 1% mismatch in that system -- can lead to a 130-140 pound weight gain over your adult life.

"...The subtleties of what's going on (with obesity) in the brain that can lead to massive obesity are such that it's going to take a lot of very, very careful analysis to figure out what's going on. We know that there are 20 or 30 thousand genes in the human genome. At least 400 of them are involved in energy regulation and weight regulation. So right there, you've got 400 genes, and that doesn't even take into account all of the environmental factors. So, when you put all those things together, you have a very complex system."

- Lee Kaplan, MD, PhD; Massachusetts General Hospital, Harvard Medical School

At one point, the narrator reminds us of this important fact:

"A study of people who entered weight loss programs done in 1958 concluded:

* Of those who enter obesity treatment, most will drop out.
* Of those who stay in treatment, most will not lose weight.
* Of those who do lose weight, most will regain it.

"Fifty years later, the picture remains the same. Despite the millions and millions of dollars in scientific research, fifty years of hard work, thousands of failed weight loss schemes, no one has been able to improve those odds."

I would contend that it's because our bodies are hardwired to be what they are. Tall people are hardwired to be tall. Blue-eyed people are hardwired to have blue eyes. Thin people are hardwired to be thin. In my opinion, the defining factor in fat prejudice is the fact that bodies can be temporarily changed by altering food intake and physical activity (I can't overemphasize temporarily... 95% of people who lose weight gain all of it back plus a little more within five years). That gets blended with the confusion of correlation and causation, and people become convinced that the only possible way to be fat is to eat too much and exercise too little. Plus, "millions of dollars" in research over fifty years is no match for U.S. diet industry's $50 BILLION dollars per year.

Dr. Kaplan returns with even more compelling information.

"When the brain wants to control weight, which it wants to do almost all the time, it exerts extraordinarily powerful influences. It decides that we ought to have a certain amount of body fat so we have energy in reserve. And if we don't have that much body fat, it will do everything in its power to cause us to behave to get more energy.

"At the same time, it will put into place a program that conserves energy, so that we don't waste a lot of energy, so we don't burn off our calories, so that our body cools down just a little bit, so that everything is done to conserve energy on the output side and to get more energy on the input side. And of course, then we gain a little bit of weight.

"And so our typical response is to 'well, ok, if that's the case, we'll just eat less.' And we exercise more and our body loses some weight because that's what naturally is going to occur. But what ends up happening is that you create, in that situation, a fight between your willful brain and your subconscious brain. And when you create that kind of battle between willpower and your subconscious brain, what you end up doing is you end up creating an unwinnable situation. It's an unwinnable situation. If you have that conflict, your subconscious brain will always win.

"And an example of that is, try running up six flights of stairs and breathing slow. You can do it for a few seconds. You can force yourself to breathe at whatever rate you want to breathe at. But when your body decides it needs more oxygen, within a few seconds, it will force you to breathe faster. And there's no amount of willpower that anyone has that will slow that process down."

Emphasis mine

I contend that even this doctor (who seems to be less of a fatphobe) undermines his explanation of the subconscious brain being in total control by calling fat both a "problem" and a "disease." Harumph. I don't consider my fat a problem, and it certainly is not a disease.

It's also incredibly sad that -- even on the supposedly objective PBS -- the show is sponsored by Glaxo Smith Klein. That would be the pharmaceutical company that has a vested interested in selling its hot new over-the-counter fat-blocking/pants-pooping drug, Alli.

I have to get going. It's late. I need sleep. And there are too many things to do in preparation for our massive life change for me to be blogging. Regular posts should resume sometime in September. That's my guess. Until then, l'chaim!

are you kidding me? (part ii)

I don't have any particular inclination toward Keith Olbermann. It's just that he usually says -- quite clearly -- that which I believe is the closest thing to the truth.

danger! danger!

Kelly's on a tear (so much so, that she's talking about herself in the third person).

For some reason, I've been staying up late the last couple nights, reading internet news sites and the occasional blog. Tonight, MSNBC offered up an article by Harriet Baskas on the challenge of flying when required to sit next to, in her words, a "seatmate of size." Actually, she was writing a follow-up to an original article, highlighting the particular harshness of comments it received from readers.

I started to read the comments from this article, and by the beginning of the fourth page (of 48 pages, as of now), I was drowning in invective. Because it's late and I'm feeling particularly punchy, I dashed off a too-long response, which I'll include in its entirety below. But before you have the chance to read my rant, you must first see some of the comments that drove me to type angry (which is probably not any better than typing drunk).

Hold on. Here goes.

Rpf5 writes, in part (over the course of three postings),

“… Short of those with medical conditions, I'm getting rather tired of hearing excuses for blatantly obese people. Put down the fork, get your duff off the couch and start moving. … Get over it and get over YOURSELF. Short of medical issues, the rest is just an excuse. … Why do we insist on making allowances and excuses for those with the ‘problem?’ America is becoming dumber AND fatter, because we've allowed it to happen. We've absolved ourselves of all personal responsibility and expect the rest of society to put up with it.”

Kelly's response: Don't be shy, Rpf5. Tell us how you really feel. By the way, are you not tired of the excuses for subtly obese people? Oh, and is America dumber because it's fatter? That must be the case, eh?

Notafan writes,

“… I have noticed over the last 10 years that America just keeps getting fatter and fatter. I have zero sympathy for obese travelers who spill into my seat. I eat healthy, work out regularly and fit easily into a coach airplane seat. … The same thing goes for movies, concerts, sporting events or shows. If you are too fat to fit in one seat then buy two. I paid for my seat. I work hard at staying in shape so that I can fit into my seat. If you chose not to stay fit, and allow yourself to9 [sic] become obese, shame on you. It should not be my problem.”

Kelly's response: You're an observant one, Notafan: I'm sure nobody else has paid attention to the daily news stories that scream about the ever-increasing girth of American asses. Oh, and thanks for thinking that the arbitrary size of any given public seat should dictate whether or not a person can enjoy any sort of entertainment, cultural experiences, or travel. Why didn't I think of that before I decided to live my life like a regular person? Oh, and congratulations on living a life above reproach -- man, that must feel good.

Dw839839 writes (in whole),

“I'm sorry, but if you are too oversized to fit in the seat that you purchased, purchase a larger seat in business class or first class, or find alternate transportation (Amtrtak [sic] has wider seats). I think we make far too many excuses for those who are overweight.”

Kelly's response: That's right, dw939839. All us fat folks can afford to pay 5 - 10 times as much for a first class seat, or can take 15 - 20 times as long to go somewhere (seriously? the train versus a plane?). And when you have the chance, please give me a list of all those excuses that are being made for me. To date, I've only ever heard three (I eat too much, I am inactive, and/or I have a medical condition that causes me to get fat but even then I should figure out how to control it).

Cmpizz writes,

“Being overweight, for 99% of people is a choice they made. Why should the airlines make seats bigger? Then all of us, including those of us who stay fit (and staying fit is not easy either), must pay more to fly. This really doesn't seem fair. … Also, why all the euphamisms [sic]? Seat mate of size? Please. Maybe it will help motivate people to stay in shape if we call it what it is. Fat."

Kelly's response: Cmpizz, you're right! I actively made a decision to be openly mocked and ridiculed for my entire life! Obviously, all fat people are bad and apparently incapable of making a simple, smart choice. And shaming us (a tactic that has never been used before) will surely set us all on a course to thinness. You're right and smart and our savior. All hail Cmpizz!

Vkt7 spits, er, writes (in whole),

“I am so tired of bearing the burdeon [sic] of obese people. Not only are our airline seats taken over by ripples of pudge, but our tax dollars are going to be spent on the healthcare and programs for people that can't just put down the butterfinger. I am outraged that obese people would have the audacity to even allow themselves to "fall" into our seats, but they also seem to hog store aisles in thier [sic] Rascals that they use because they are too big to walk through Target or other stores and I am outraged at an article that I read regarding how airline ticket costs have gone up more because of passenger weight in the last several years. A study was done that said that because of obesity in America, airlines now use more fuel to get to the same destination than they did 15 years ago. (Things such as luggage weight and the increase cost of fuel were taken into consideration in this study.) Guess who gets screwed with fat people being on a plane....my pocket book. Lose some weight! Put the Butterfinger down and go for a walk. I just don't understand the lack of pride and then the audacity to make someone else uncomfortable because of your love for Hostess and Taco Bell."

Kelly's response: Wow, Vkt7, which advertising firm do you work for, and how much did you get paid to drop all those names? Well, whatever the case is, you're right. All I eat is Butterfingers, Hostess, and Taco Bell. I don't walk at all. Anyone who uses a scooter does so simply out of laziness (not possibly out of mobility problems and/or pain). By the way, you haven't borne any of MY burden. So, does that mean I can give you some? How about having to listen to misinformed, bigoted cry babies bitch and moan incessantly?

That was just a sampling from the first page and a half. These people are seriously mad at us fat folks. Well, you know what? After a while, this fat woman (that'd be me) gets seriously mad at being stereotyped and falsely accused. Hence, my slightly ineloquent and particularly rambling response:

Holy crap, people. I could only make it through four pages of comments when I stopped. I couldn't take any more of the unbridled venom against fat people.

I'd like to point out a few truths that you might not realize are, in fact, true.

1. It is possible to be simultaneously fat AND healthy. The diet industry doesn't want you to know that because they wouldn't make $50 billion per year (in the U.S. alone) if you did.

2. It's quite possible that you aren't able to accept that fact because it would remove the convenient excuse you have to feel justified in making fun of people (which, coincidentally, is a great way to make yourself feel better).

3. You are not the only person who pays taxes into the system that covers medical issues (we fat people pay in, too).

4. Thin people can be (and many are) unhealthy, too. Just because someone is thin doesn't mean they eat well and exercise. Some of the sickest people I know are thin. The difference is that you think they didn't CAUSE their illness, where any time any fat person gets sick at all, it is his/her FAULT.

5. My size is not my fault. Nor is it the "fault" of some medical issue (I have none, thank you very much). I am just a very large person. A dead ringer for my great grandmother (who lived to the ripe old age of 94, by the way). Just because I'm fat doesn't mean that something is wrong with me.

6. For those of you who think that we fat people are being coddled and catered to, wake up and listen to yourselves. We are subjected to blatant bigotry and discrimination -- not to mention outright rudeness -- on a daily basis. Those of us who are happy and successful (and trust me, there are more of us than you could possibly imagine) have had to learn to ignore the slings and arrows, and persevere when the world is telling us how terrible we are. Trust me, nobody has EVER proactively accommodated me on the basis of my size. And I'd appreciate it if you would stop suggesting that more impediments be put in place to eliminate any possibility of accommodation.

7. This list could go on for ages, but it's all pretty pointless. My miniature rant on a little chat board can't begin to make a dent of any noticeable impact when the diet industry has literally spent trillions of dollars in my lifetime brainwashing people to believe that [A] fat is unhealthy, [B] fat is always wrong, [C] fat must always be fixed, [D] fat people are doing it to themselves, [E] genetic or medical causes of fat are rare, and most importantly [F] fat people can't possibly be happy with themselves, healthy, successful, and unconcerned with the lunatic ravings of people who know nothing about them.

So after all that, maybe it's time to start thinking about SOLUTIONS to the public seating issue, instead of just pointing fingers at fat people and screaming that we should lose weight. Bench seating with movable armrests, anyone? If it were so easy to lose weight, trust me, there'd be very few of us fat folks around. We don't like being the object of your loathing any more than you like sitting next to us on a plane.

I learned in my Statistics class that, in any given group, those who are "normal" or "average" make up approximately 65% of the total (below normal is about 20% and above normal is about 15%). As the media so gleefully reminds us every day, two of every three Americans are either overweight or obese. That's 66% of the population. Get used to it, people -- fat is the new normal.

That's all she wrote. This time. Oh, but one bright spot in the comments, on Page 48 just before my tirade. HANG THEM wrote,

"Funny the airlines over the years have made the seats smaller and smaller each 'refiting' [sic] and now encourage others to blame each other for the tight spaces. And like idiots we comply with their blantant attempt of extorting more money out of all of us instead of demanding they service their customers."

Kelly's response: Funny, indeed.

I'm sure there'll be more in the never-ending fight to simply live my life. Good @#(*$& night.

emachines sucks rotten eggs

Do I sound bitter? I have owned four emachines computers over the past decade. Until this one, I've been perfectly happy with them. In fact, I've convinced family and friends to buy them. I'm the freakin' emachines chamber of commerce. So, I've been patient through this process. Well, mostly patient. But now, my patience is exhausted.

The second set of recovery disks finally arrived, and didn't work any better than the first set. Technician Karen tried all the same things that Amber, Elvis, Mary, Jody, John, Monica, Linnay, Theresa, and Walter tried. She concluded that something must be wrong with the hard drive, so I should pack up the machine and send it back again.

Customer Kelly politely refused.

I asked to speak to a supervisor (again). (Again) I got Supervisor JT. I told him that this was the end of the line for technical support, and I wanted either a new machine or a refund. Supervisor JT politely refused. He said I could either send the machine back to them, or take it back to the store to see what (if anything) they would do for me.

I might have graciously accepted this option were it not for one comment by Supervisor JT. When I expressed my concern that the store would not do anything because of the length of time since I purchased the machine, and further expressed my frustration that emachines has been (slowly, ineffectively) attempting to fix this problem since July (and, oh by the way, it's now October), his response was simple:

"We have been providing you with solutions all along, ma'am. They're just not the solutions that you want."

HA!

I almost laughed at that. Until that point, I was being respectful of the fact that it's not the fault of the technicians or supervisors that this is happening. That said, it is their responsibility to ensure that I, as the customer, receive appropriate service. So, dear Supervisor JT, I must point out that, by definition, solutions should solve problems, and none of yours have done that. I asked to be further elevated, and he said that there was nowhere further to be elevated.

So, I recruited my niece (who works at the store where I bought the machine) to find out the policy there for returning computers under these circumstances, and we will drive our patooties 400 miles to bring it back. Meanwhile, I will write a letter to Mike Zimmerman, emachines' Senior Vice President of Customer Care and Quality Assurance, and give him all the bloody details of this encounter. Maybe I'll include an itemized bill for the long distance calls and the gas required to get to the point where I should have been on July 16th.

Ack.

rage, part ii

A continuation of this issue. Beware of formatting: emphasis required.

September 24, 2005

Still no recovery disks. Make unhappy call to emachines. Technician Amber says that the disks have not yet been sent,...

at this point, Customer Kelly starts to zone out, unable to hear anything beyond the fact that the disks have not been sent

... attempts to blame Hurricane Rita for the delay, and suggests that she'll try to escalate the issue. Customer Kelly calmly-yet-very-firmly reminds Technician Amber that the disk order was escalated on September 18th by Technician Mary, and that they were supposed to have been shipped immediately thereafter. Oh and by the way, Hurricane Rita hit Texas yesterday, five days after that call.

I tell Technician Amber that I'm getting cranky and request to speak with a supervisor. After a 10-minute hold (all of this, on my dime), Customer Service Supervisor JT cheerily answers the phone and asks what he can do for me.

What can you DO for me?!?! You are the tenth person I've talked to at emachines over the past two months. I want a *&#$!)% computer that works, and I want it NOW! THAT's what you can do for me.

OK, so I didn't actually go ape on him. Having been a computer technician in the past, I know it's not his fault. That said, he needs to make it all better. He promised me that the disks will be sent first thing next week. I didn't tell him my plan (because chances are good I wouldn't talk to him again next time anyway), but if I don't get the disks by Wednesday, they're getting another call from me with a demand for a new computer or a refund.

Customer Kelly is just about done with this crap.

rage against the (e)machine

July 16, 2005

Buy a new emachines T6520 Media Center PC at Best Buy. The thing's loaded. Excited to replace my incredibly slow old machine, but very busy so it'll have to wait just a little while.

July 23, 2005

Set up new emachine. Spent about seven hours configuring, uninstalling unneeded software, installing new software, registering stuff online, and beginning to transfer data. Machine loses internet connectivity for unknown reason. Attempt to recognize internet is immediately followed by machine crash. Technician Elvis (yes, really, his name is Elvis) chastises me for not creating recovery disks before making changes and says he will send a set to me.

August 2, 2005

Still no recovery disks. Technician Jody tells me that Elvis entered my quandary into the notes but didn't actually order the disks. She will do so, and gives me a case number to prove it.

August 9, 2005

Still no recovery disks. Technician Linnay (a trainee, the spelling of whose name I have no idea) took my information, repeated things to me that Unnamed Trainer her was saying to her, put me on hold for more than 10 minutes, then disconnected me. Technician Walter says my order for recovery disks was just entered into the system today. Despite their repeated gaffes, they cannot send the disks express.

August 15, 2005

Recovery disks finally arrive. Turns out they can send express, as they arrived in a FedEx envelope.

August 16, 2005

Attempt recovery of crashed machine to no avail. The exact same thing is happening as did on July 23rd. Technician John thinks it's a bad motherboard. Orders an empty box and mailing airbill to be sent to me so machine can be shipped to them.

August 29, 2005

Receive empty box and airbill to ship machine back.

September 1, 2005

Ship machine back.

September 7, 2005

Machine returns with cryptic form that appears to say motherboard, hard drive, and RAM were all replaced after repeated attempted to re-image the hard drive and re-program the motherboard. Too much going on at work and home to set this up now.

September 18, 2005

Set up refurbished new emachine. Appears to be working, although it did not require me to go through the fresh-out-of-the-box new setup process. Spend a couple hours uninstalling unneeded software, installing new software, etc., and discover that one of the front USB ports doesn't work. Upon testing all four UBS ports, discover that none of them work. Technician Monica attempts to uninstall UBS ports from Device Manager so machine will re-recognize the hardware. Not a bad attempt, except the machine does not recognize it as new hardware. She has me start the destructive recovery process and tells me to call her back in about half an hour when it's done.

Five minutes later, the recovery process appears to be done having only used one of the five recovery disks. I call back. Technician Theresa says that Monica shouldn't have had me start the recovery process through Windows. She also thinks the brand-new-only-once-out-of-the-envelope recovery disks are dirty, and tells me she'll wait on the line (my dime) while I take them to the kitchen, wash them in warm sudsy water, rinse them, dry them off, an bring them back. She has me attempt the recovery through system configuration this time, and tells me to call back in five minutes when it's done.

Three minutes later, the recovery process appears to be done having only used one of the five recovery disks. I call back. Technician Mary thinks maybe the hard drive is bad. Customer Kelly intimates that she'd be keenly unhappy if one bad hard drive was replaced with another. (Sorry, I started talking in the third person there. How very Bob Dole.) She then talks with Unnamed Supervisor and returns to suggest that the recovery disk is probably faulty. She'll send new ones. Customer Kelly reminders her that the first time recovery disks were promised, it took more than three weeks to receive them, and that that sort of delay would not be acceptable. (There I go again.) She promises me, on her mother's honor and her unborn first child, that she will order them and escalate the ticket so that they disks will absolutely positively be sent right away via FedEx.

September 19, 2005

I decide that the second computer tower sitting on my desk with a keyboard and mouse on top of it might be a good message board (hey, magnets will stick to it, right?). I never had a message board that cost so much money, caused so much frustration, took up so much space, and required 104-key dusting.