So I’m watching the new “Nancy Drew” movie tonight and I can’t help but think that I missed the boat somehow. Actually I didn’t just miss one boat, but perhaps more accurately, I missed the entire fleet (not to be confused with Fleet Enemas, which I am more than happy to avoid). If you include some embarrassing quick “dates” I had post-high school, I missed the entire Spanish Armada.
You see, although the movie made had all the excitement of watching carpet re-fluff after you step off of it, I found myself rather jealous of the child stars. Not for their youth did I get all green with envy, but for the opportunities they are embracing in life. These pimply, nasty little creatures obviously reached out to fame with both hands, clawed after it when it tried to elude them, and then rapaciously clutched onto it when it finally managed to get close enough to capture. Granted the star, Emma Roberts, probably didn’t have to step over too many bodies given her famous father Eric or aunt Julia, but still, not every tween in the picture had such illustrious lineage. The grotesquely fat “comedy” relief in the picture MUST have begged for the roll and peed himself silly when he got that call from the director. These kids worked it.
And despite having a f**king bus-load of similar potential and energy when I was their age, I chose to feign away from fame like it had an open sore and a potential for lifelong recurrences. I hesitate to use such an expansive and overly inclusive phrase like “failure” when referring to myself, but if it has a blow hole and swims in the ocean folks it’s not a Volkswagen. So, yes, I’m a failure.
But I digress.
I meant really to tell people not to spend any money renting “Nancy Drew” because it’s just dull (like napping on the couch, wipe the drool from your chin, now my hair looks like crap, dull). But my actual intention to write a movie review was derailed by one recurring thought: people were paid to write the film, direct it, and star in it. And no matter how great or awful they thought it was, they had the confidence, courage, and determination to get it made regardless of any obstacles they encountered.
Lord, give me that courage!
And, if you’re feeling especially generous, a refund on “Nancy Drew”. Haven’t I suffered enough?
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
I'm Back (Again)...and Off Topic for the Moment
I have been long absent from these boards, a combination of health problems, time constraints and just a general, down-in-the-dumps, what's it all for? sort of nihilism. Translated into English, that means, "Ugh! Do I have really have to get up again today? Didn't I just get up yesterday?"
Now this goes against the grain of my innate, Pollyanna-like optimism. But I think I just had to write one too many stories at my weekend job as a television news producer about some cretin who thought he just had to have sex with a four-month-old baby...his daughter, his nephew, some baby in a day care center...it didn't matter except that it ruined the innocent child's life.
After I wrote the third story in less than two weeks, I just collapsed psychologically. What kind of world are we living in where grown men can look at a baby and think, "Hmm, sexy!" The way so many young girls are handing it out like it was Halloween candy (because we raise them to think that's what they are supposed to do), no man should ever have trouble finding someone to bang. And yet these children keep getting targeted.
I think I know at least part of the reason why. Last year, I went to buy a cute little outfit for my then two-year-old niece. Even though I was shopping at an "upscale" store in an "upscale" Galleria type shopping mall, I was absolutely shocked at what I found in the toddler department. Without exception, the outfits all looked like they were designed for hookers, with plunging necklines, sparkly appliques right where a stripper would have pasties, shirring and fullness meant to emphasize the non-existent "bustline" of these babies. I thought to myself at the time, what sort of brain dead woman would put her kid in these things?
Turns out, not many and thank God. I ended up in an long discussion with the salesperson, who was a veteran employee. She said their sales had plummeted because most moms didn't want to dress their toddler girls like dance hall floozies, but the buyers didn't get it. And when the salespeople challenged them about what they bought to put in the toddler department, they became defensive and said that was all that was available.
I designed children's clothing for almost 10 years back in the 70s and early 80s (before I became a journalist) so I well remember the fun of selecting the soft colors and designing cute little bunny or ducky appliques. We used ruffles and bows and lace to show that little girls were feminine, but never ever did we trick them out like streetwalkers. Maybe there's a business here, for someone to design clothing to make little girls look like little girls again, and not wannabe centerfolds.
As a nation, we lament the increase in child pornography and the growing sexual victimization of our children. Yet we do nothing about the commercial sexualization of children. We push them into watching movies and television shows that were never meant for their young eyes and ears, we routinely expose them to violence and sexual situations, and parade them around as objects of sexual desire in kiddie beauty pageants, then act surprised when someone who is unbalanced acts upon the visual stimulation his impaired mind is receiving constantly, but cannot control rationally.
I ended up not buying any clothing for my niece; I got her the Disney "Sleeping Beauty" DVD instead and she loves it. She parades around the house with her little plastic tiara balanced on her head, and lords it over her baby brother. In other words, she's doing what God meant all children to do, playing innocently in a protected environment while she grows into a young woman.
Sad to say, once she is a young woman, her danger will increase exponentially. You only have to pick up a paper or turn on the TV to see how many woman and girls are assaulted and murdered in this country each day. It seems to be open season on women, particularly on women who are independent. Every day, female joggers and hikers are snatched off trails, never to seen or heard from again. That 19-year-old who was killed in Utah a few weeks ago was kidnapped from her friend's sofa in the middle of the night while she was sleeping.
I know that violence against women has existed since the dawn of time, but I do in part blame the media for the current flood of incidents. Our movies are glorifying "torture porn" where girls are kidnapped, tortured, raped repeatedly and then finally killed, all in excruciating detail and gory technicolor. Why do people pay to see this? Why is it even legal to show this? There are plenty of countries where it is not legal. And since when is this sort of stuff considered "entertainment?" That scares the hell out of me, that there are millions of men in this country who think nothing of going to see films like this, who enjoy seeing women terrorized, humiliated, sexually abused, tortured and then killed for "entertainment." What in the world are their dates supposed to think while they sit there and watch their "boyfriends" hoot it up while women are attacked on screen? I know one thing. First, I would never set foot in a theater with such a man. Or, if I ever somehow got tricked into attending such a movie, I would run, not walk for the exit at the first hint of violence.
For filmmakers, it is strictly a business of making money. The sad fact is that these films makes money. And the more money they make, the more this type of film will be pushed into the theaters and the more dangerous day-to-day life will become for ordinary women.
The daily violence against women is so epidemic it is now routine and elicits barely a response from many overworked police departments. It is one of the reasons that drove my daughter out of this country. She was living in a city where a serial rapist was targeting a couple of women every weekend, breaking into their apartments while they were sleeping and attacking them. Each week, the attacks grew a little more violent and bloody, and a little closer to my daughter's apartment. She couldn't live with the stress of worrying about whether or not she would be next, so she moved to a country where personal violence basically doesn't exist. She has been there almost four years, and in that time, there has been only one widely publicized violent attack by a deranged individual copying something he saw happen in the United States. That one attack caused the death of four students and sent the country into a state of mourning for a full month. She saw people crying on the trams, saying that now Finland would be just like the United States, full of hatred and violence. And this after just one attack!
We have hundreds of murders every single day, thousands of rapes and armed robberies, yet we are so inured to the violence, it has become such a part of the fabric of our daily lives, that each new incident produces barely a ripple in our subconscious minds. We are too busy surviving economically and psychologically to worry about whether we are going to survive physically.
We have to change this. Evil prospers when good men and women remain silent. I for one, cannot be silent anymore.
Well, I guess that's enough for this rant. I promise to post more soon, and to get back on topic. But please feel free to weigh in with your comments on this topic. It affects us all.
Planet Fat Cat
Now this goes against the grain of my innate, Pollyanna-like optimism. But I think I just had to write one too many stories at my weekend job as a television news producer about some cretin who thought he just had to have sex with a four-month-old baby...his daughter, his nephew, some baby in a day care center...it didn't matter except that it ruined the innocent child's life.
After I wrote the third story in less than two weeks, I just collapsed psychologically. What kind of world are we living in where grown men can look at a baby and think, "Hmm, sexy!" The way so many young girls are handing it out like it was Halloween candy (because we raise them to think that's what they are supposed to do), no man should ever have trouble finding someone to bang. And yet these children keep getting targeted.
I think I know at least part of the reason why. Last year, I went to buy a cute little outfit for my then two-year-old niece. Even though I was shopping at an "upscale" store in an "upscale" Galleria type shopping mall, I was absolutely shocked at what I found in the toddler department. Without exception, the outfits all looked like they were designed for hookers, with plunging necklines, sparkly appliques right where a stripper would have pasties, shirring and fullness meant to emphasize the non-existent "bustline" of these babies. I thought to myself at the time, what sort of brain dead woman would put her kid in these things?
Turns out, not many and thank God. I ended up in an long discussion with the salesperson, who was a veteran employee. She said their sales had plummeted because most moms didn't want to dress their toddler girls like dance hall floozies, but the buyers didn't get it. And when the salespeople challenged them about what they bought to put in the toddler department, they became defensive and said that was all that was available.
I designed children's clothing for almost 10 years back in the 70s and early 80s (before I became a journalist) so I well remember the fun of selecting the soft colors and designing cute little bunny or ducky appliques. We used ruffles and bows and lace to show that little girls were feminine, but never ever did we trick them out like streetwalkers. Maybe there's a business here, for someone to design clothing to make little girls look like little girls again, and not wannabe centerfolds.
As a nation, we lament the increase in child pornography and the growing sexual victimization of our children. Yet we do nothing about the commercial sexualization of children. We push them into watching movies and television shows that were never meant for their young eyes and ears, we routinely expose them to violence and sexual situations, and parade them around as objects of sexual desire in kiddie beauty pageants, then act surprised when someone who is unbalanced acts upon the visual stimulation his impaired mind is receiving constantly, but cannot control rationally.
I ended up not buying any clothing for my niece; I got her the Disney "Sleeping Beauty" DVD instead and she loves it. She parades around the house with her little plastic tiara balanced on her head, and lords it over her baby brother. In other words, she's doing what God meant all children to do, playing innocently in a protected environment while she grows into a young woman.
Sad to say, once she is a young woman, her danger will increase exponentially. You only have to pick up a paper or turn on the TV to see how many woman and girls are assaulted and murdered in this country each day. It seems to be open season on women, particularly on women who are independent. Every day, female joggers and hikers are snatched off trails, never to seen or heard from again. That 19-year-old who was killed in Utah a few weeks ago was kidnapped from her friend's sofa in the middle of the night while she was sleeping.
I know that violence against women has existed since the dawn of time, but I do in part blame the media for the current flood of incidents. Our movies are glorifying "torture porn" where girls are kidnapped, tortured, raped repeatedly and then finally killed, all in excruciating detail and gory technicolor. Why do people pay to see this? Why is it even legal to show this? There are plenty of countries where it is not legal. And since when is this sort of stuff considered "entertainment?" That scares the hell out of me, that there are millions of men in this country who think nothing of going to see films like this, who enjoy seeing women terrorized, humiliated, sexually abused, tortured and then killed for "entertainment." What in the world are their dates supposed to think while they sit there and watch their "boyfriends" hoot it up while women are attacked on screen? I know one thing. First, I would never set foot in a theater with such a man. Or, if I ever somehow got tricked into attending such a movie, I would run, not walk for the exit at the first hint of violence.
For filmmakers, it is strictly a business of making money. The sad fact is that these films makes money. And the more money they make, the more this type of film will be pushed into the theaters and the more dangerous day-to-day life will become for ordinary women.
The daily violence against women is so epidemic it is now routine and elicits barely a response from many overworked police departments. It is one of the reasons that drove my daughter out of this country. She was living in a city where a serial rapist was targeting a couple of women every weekend, breaking into their apartments while they were sleeping and attacking them. Each week, the attacks grew a little more violent and bloody, and a little closer to my daughter's apartment. She couldn't live with the stress of worrying about whether or not she would be next, so she moved to a country where personal violence basically doesn't exist. She has been there almost four years, and in that time, there has been only one widely publicized violent attack by a deranged individual copying something he saw happen in the United States. That one attack caused the death of four students and sent the country into a state of mourning for a full month. She saw people crying on the trams, saying that now Finland would be just like the United States, full of hatred and violence. And this after just one attack!
We have hundreds of murders every single day, thousands of rapes and armed robberies, yet we are so inured to the violence, it has become such a part of the fabric of our daily lives, that each new incident produces barely a ripple in our subconscious minds. We are too busy surviving economically and psychologically to worry about whether we are going to survive physically.
We have to change this. Evil prospers when good men and women remain silent. I for one, cannot be silent anymore.
Well, I guess that's enough for this rant. I promise to post more soon, and to get back on topic. But please feel free to weigh in with your comments on this topic. It affects us all.
Planet Fat Cat
Monday, March 24, 2008
Domo Origato
Hey! Guess what? It’s Monday again and time for another enthusiastic report on the excellent progress I have made on my super-swell, happy-time Joy Pop weight loss program for life!
223.5! Sweet! I gained three pounds in two weeks!
Wait. That’s not right. I GAINED THREE POUNDS. Unless my brains have added neurons and synapses at an alarming rate and now weigh roughly twice what they did fourteen days ago, I am just a very positive, exuberant fat-ass.
And since I don’t feel particularly clever or more thoughtful this evening, I’m gonna go with the whole “Excuse me sir, but your down-stairs neighbors have complained of hearing a moose in your apartment… and you can see clearly on line seven of the lease that this is prohibited…”
Oh sure, the clever and kind amongst you will claim that all the Krav Maga classes have simply added muscle mass and that if I check my shorts I will see they have extra room in them. But the truth is I have checked my shorts, and there is nothing there anyone wants to get a closer look at, lately.
And also they are snug, very very snug. Seems even elastic has its limits.
But after the whiney post a few days ago, I decided that instead of a groaning and pitiful account of how much I exercised but still failed to lose fat, I would try to put a positive spin on creating yet more yummy fat cells. Hey, whales spend their whole lives trying to gain weight and look how happy they seem on those grainy Greenpeace videos.
Until someone harpoons them of course and then they realize too late that the big whale ass just made a much easier to spot target. But unless I see a bunch of Japanese fishermen circling my apartment, I’m gold!
So there we have it. I don’t care anymore. If I’m going to be fat, I might as well be jolly. No one likes a bitchy fat person; at least six people in Samoa are known to love fleshy, jokey guys.
Now all that’s left is a snorkel, a map to Samoa, and a book of recipes for raw plankton.
How can I go wrong?
223.5! Sweet! I gained three pounds in two weeks!
Wait. That’s not right. I GAINED THREE POUNDS. Unless my brains have added neurons and synapses at an alarming rate and now weigh roughly twice what they did fourteen days ago, I am just a very positive, exuberant fat-ass.
And since I don’t feel particularly clever or more thoughtful this evening, I’m gonna go with the whole “Excuse me sir, but your down-stairs neighbors have complained of hearing a moose in your apartment… and you can see clearly on line seven of the lease that this is prohibited…”
Oh sure, the clever and kind amongst you will claim that all the Krav Maga classes have simply added muscle mass and that if I check my shorts I will see they have extra room in them. But the truth is I have checked my shorts, and there is nothing there anyone wants to get a closer look at, lately.
And also they are snug, very very snug. Seems even elastic has its limits.
But after the whiney post a few days ago, I decided that instead of a groaning and pitiful account of how much I exercised but still failed to lose fat, I would try to put a positive spin on creating yet more yummy fat cells. Hey, whales spend their whole lives trying to gain weight and look how happy they seem on those grainy Greenpeace videos.
Until someone harpoons them of course and then they realize too late that the big whale ass just made a much easier to spot target. But unless I see a bunch of Japanese fishermen circling my apartment, I’m gold!
So there we have it. I don’t care anymore. If I’m going to be fat, I might as well be jolly. No one likes a bitchy fat person; at least six people in Samoa are known to love fleshy, jokey guys.
Now all that’s left is a snorkel, a map to Samoa, and a book of recipes for raw plankton.
How can I go wrong?
Thursday, March 20, 2008
99% Perspiration
Okay I haven’t written a word in over a month, either on this blog or in “real” life… anywhere. My grocery lists have become mere notations, such is my apparent reluctance to write anything coherent or purposeful. Forget a blog, an article, a screenplay, book, novel, or even dirty memoirs from my ridiculously sinful 20’s. In the past six weeks I have become a net consumer of entertainment, happy to allow others to create all the images that rattle around in my brain.
I lack inspiration; I fear mental exertion.
Which is odd to say because I never stop thinking, rethinking, examining, theorizing, and plotting all day long. I even put myself to sleep by imagining plots and then adding dialogue to characters (a favorite is David Letterman interviews as I wish they were conducted). But none of the endless thoughts I have on any day take any real effort, no strain. Wondering about my noisy neighbors and creating a scenario where they are arrested for running a prostitution ring, and thus alleviating their constant disturbance of my musings, takes little time and fewer neurons. Simple creation, short storytelling, exerts my mind about as much as chewing a doughnut strengthens my jaws. I live in a very flabby, waking dream-world of imagination and no production.
And because I still have food to eat, apparently, I am not inspired to work harder to change a minute of it.
I have tried to argue with myself that I wish for great wealth, but I don’t really. That Elysian vision looks nice, but other than providing security in the future, great comforts don’t compel me. Fame allows for a giant ego and a great many sexual conquests I imagine, but neither of those has spurred me to action since college. And worst of all, accomplishment means nothing to me without a Love to share it with, so what will make me stop imagining and start producing?
If only finding a Muse were as easy as advertising for a boarder on Craig’s List:
“Looking for roommate to share the apartment in my head. Must be clean and inspiring and have good bathroom habits. Creativity a must. Rent due immediately as the landlord, Father Time, refuses to change the lease agreement.”
Of course on second thought, perhaps I have answered one of my own questions: maybe it’s time to stop waiting for Inspiration to come unbidden and start looking for her instead. Like playing the lottery: you may never win, but you certainly won’t if you don’t buy a ticket.
I lack inspiration; I fear mental exertion.
Which is odd to say because I never stop thinking, rethinking, examining, theorizing, and plotting all day long. I even put myself to sleep by imagining plots and then adding dialogue to characters (a favorite is David Letterman interviews as I wish they were conducted). But none of the endless thoughts I have on any day take any real effort, no strain. Wondering about my noisy neighbors and creating a scenario where they are arrested for running a prostitution ring, and thus alleviating their constant disturbance of my musings, takes little time and fewer neurons. Simple creation, short storytelling, exerts my mind about as much as chewing a doughnut strengthens my jaws. I live in a very flabby, waking dream-world of imagination and no production.
And because I still have food to eat, apparently, I am not inspired to work harder to change a minute of it.
I have tried to argue with myself that I wish for great wealth, but I don’t really. That Elysian vision looks nice, but other than providing security in the future, great comforts don’t compel me. Fame allows for a giant ego and a great many sexual conquests I imagine, but neither of those has spurred me to action since college. And worst of all, accomplishment means nothing to me without a Love to share it with, so what will make me stop imagining and start producing?
If only finding a Muse were as easy as advertising for a boarder on Craig’s List:
“Looking for roommate to share the apartment in my head. Must be clean and inspiring and have good bathroom habits. Creativity a must. Rent due immediately as the landlord, Father Time, refuses to change the lease agreement.”
Of course on second thought, perhaps I have answered one of my own questions: maybe it’s time to stop waiting for Inspiration to come unbidden and start looking for her instead. Like playing the lottery: you may never win, but you certainly won’t if you don’t buy a ticket.
Friday, February 15, 2008
I'm Ba-a-a-ack!
Okay, so I spent all of January curled up in a fetal position on the floor, remote control at the ready, angled so that I could keep up with The Biggest Loser, Project Runway and other important world developments on the TV. The area around my body was littered with chocolate wrappers, empty Coca-Cola bottles, bitter remorse and huge, hulking piles of self pity.
What got me over it? Well, two things. A comment from one of my favorite readers, Gucci Muse, who told me to stop focusing on the negative (Thank you, Muse!) and ugh, yes, another health crisis. The health crisis shouldn't have surprised me as much as it did. For three months, I walked six days a week on my treadmill, didn't drink a drop of soda, and really watched my diet.
Then came January. I realized that my Christmas holiday was bad and sad and that made me mad, and then I realized that my beloved (and only) son hates my guts and isn't likely to change his opinion anytime soon, and then I realized that even though I had faithfully stuck to a reasonable, rational fitness and weight loss program, I hadn't lost any weight. All reasons to just go straight off the end of the pier and try to kill myself with bad food and slothfulness, right? Chocolate and Coca-Cola Nirvana, here I come.
Well, I almost managed to do it. My body reacted to the absence of regular exercise and addition of much bad food to my diet as if it had been hit with an atom bomb. It basically shut down and I came very close to having to go to the hospital for the exact same thing that sent me there last March.
If life really is a circle, then I'm back at the beginning, and yes, I know that circles don't actually have a beginning, but work with me here. I am back to weighing more than I did when I first started in October (those four pounds I lost over the 90 days of walking flew back on and then some once I started drinking soda again.) But the worst thing is that my blood pressure spiked, went sailing through the roof even with my daily medications, and that made me sick. But what makes me feel even sicker is that this is something I did to myself, knowingly, willingly, consciously. With my lower lip poked out further than the Grand Canyon, Ms. Pity Party (that would be me...) decided that I DESERVE copious amounts of chocolate and soda...advice to the contrary from that stuffy old doctor who's just trying to keep me alive and healthy be damned.
Today I have to report that I am still sick. My blood pressure is still elevated, my kidneys are still barely working and I am walking around puffed up with excess water like one of those animated balloons in those dumb incontinence ads on TV. But I am back on the treadmill. The same woman who just six short weeks ago could rip off an hour on the treadmill at three miles an hour on a 2 percent incline without breaking a sweat can barely make 5 minutes at two miles per hour. It is absolutely stunning how quickly the human body loses its conditioning. For 90 days, I slowly built myself up to a modicum of fitness. My blood pressure normalized and my resting heart rate fell to the highs 50s. A mere six weeks of slothfulness and my blood pressure is back through the roof and my resting heart rate is in the high 70s.
I wish I could say that I will never slip again, but I know myself and I know that eventually, something will come along that will knock me off my pins. What I can say and promise myself is that the in-between times, the times when I am rolling around in my sorrows like it was actually fun (which it's not), will grow shorter and shorter. I know now that it's unwise for me to focus on trying to lose weight (a negative focus); from now on, I am focusing on something positive...staying healthy. Exercise and healthy eating are a vital part of that focus...so today...Round Two starts.
Oh, and I did get that exercise thingie I ordered...the Urban Rebounder. I have only used it a couple of times but can report that it's a lot of fun and reminds me of when I was a kid bouncing on the trampoline in my neighbor's back yard. I just need to get an industrial strength sports bra before I use it again or I might have to report that I have become the first woman in history to break her nose with her own boob.
Finally back in orbit,
Planet Fat Cat
What got me over it? Well, two things. A comment from one of my favorite readers, Gucci Muse, who told me to stop focusing on the negative (Thank you, Muse!) and ugh, yes, another health crisis. The health crisis shouldn't have surprised me as much as it did. For three months, I walked six days a week on my treadmill, didn't drink a drop of soda, and really watched my diet.
Then came January. I realized that my Christmas holiday was bad and sad and that made me mad, and then I realized that my beloved (and only) son hates my guts and isn't likely to change his opinion anytime soon, and then I realized that even though I had faithfully stuck to a reasonable, rational fitness and weight loss program, I hadn't lost any weight. All reasons to just go straight off the end of the pier and try to kill myself with bad food and slothfulness, right? Chocolate and Coca-Cola Nirvana, here I come.
Well, I almost managed to do it. My body reacted to the absence of regular exercise and addition of much bad food to my diet as if it had been hit with an atom bomb. It basically shut down and I came very close to having to go to the hospital for the exact same thing that sent me there last March.
If life really is a circle, then I'm back at the beginning, and yes, I know that circles don't actually have a beginning, but work with me here. I am back to weighing more than I did when I first started in October (those four pounds I lost over the 90 days of walking flew back on and then some once I started drinking soda again.) But the worst thing is that my blood pressure spiked, went sailing through the roof even with my daily medications, and that made me sick. But what makes me feel even sicker is that this is something I did to myself, knowingly, willingly, consciously. With my lower lip poked out further than the Grand Canyon, Ms. Pity Party (that would be me...) decided that I DESERVE copious amounts of chocolate and soda...advice to the contrary from that stuffy old doctor who's just trying to keep me alive and healthy be damned.
Today I have to report that I am still sick. My blood pressure is still elevated, my kidneys are still barely working and I am walking around puffed up with excess water like one of those animated balloons in those dumb incontinence ads on TV. But I am back on the treadmill. The same woman who just six short weeks ago could rip off an hour on the treadmill at three miles an hour on a 2 percent incline without breaking a sweat can barely make 5 minutes at two miles per hour. It is absolutely stunning how quickly the human body loses its conditioning. For 90 days, I slowly built myself up to a modicum of fitness. My blood pressure normalized and my resting heart rate fell to the highs 50s. A mere six weeks of slothfulness and my blood pressure is back through the roof and my resting heart rate is in the high 70s.
I wish I could say that I will never slip again, but I know myself and I know that eventually, something will come along that will knock me off my pins. What I can say and promise myself is that the in-between times, the times when I am rolling around in my sorrows like it was actually fun (which it's not), will grow shorter and shorter. I know now that it's unwise for me to focus on trying to lose weight (a negative focus); from now on, I am focusing on something positive...staying healthy. Exercise and healthy eating are a vital part of that focus...so today...Round Two starts.
Oh, and I did get that exercise thingie I ordered...the Urban Rebounder. I have only used it a couple of times but can report that it's a lot of fun and reminds me of when I was a kid bouncing on the trampoline in my neighbor's back yard. I just need to get an industrial strength sports bra before I use it again or I might have to report that I have become the first woman in history to break her nose with her own boob.
Finally back in orbit,
Planet Fat Cat
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I Bow To My Betters
Sad that I should post twice in a week and each time open on my knees, begging for forgiveness. Yet, here I am imploring all and sundry to grant me another pass and accept an apology for my transgressions. What have I done this time? I am posting a poem I did not write to emphasize a point I tried to make yesterday but didn’t do with any real eloquence.
The masters of the past and pen, as I will refer to them at least once, have ways of making a point that I simply cannot. I am humble enough to realize my own limitations and, more importantly, to enjoy words and thoughts that are not my own. Perhaps it is my destiny in life to merely connect the great writers of history with shallow contemporary concerns such as weight loss.
I can think of many a worse fate.
THANATOPSIS
by: William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Thanks for the read; I hope you found as much comfort and inspiration in the words as did I.
Pigassus
The masters of the past and pen, as I will refer to them at least once, have ways of making a point that I simply cannot. I am humble enough to realize my own limitations and, more importantly, to enjoy words and thoughts that are not my own. Perhaps it is my destiny in life to merely connect the great writers of history with shallow contemporary concerns such as weight loss.
I can think of many a worse fate.
THANATOPSIS
by: William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878)
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart;--
Go forth, under the open sky, and list
To Nature's teachings, while from all around--
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air--
Comes a still voice--Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourish'd thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world--with kings,
The powerful of the earth--the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribb'd and ancient as the sun,--the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, pour'd round all,
Old Ocean's grey and melancholy waste,--
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.--Take the wings
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings--yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep--the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest: and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man--
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those who in their turn shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Thanks for the read; I hope you found as much comfort and inspiration in the words as did I.
Pigassus
Monday, February 11, 2008
Real Answers to Burning Health Questions
Apologies to all for the long absence from posting! I would roll out an assembly line of excuses, but aren’t we all adults here? Will the injuries I suffered while saving kittens from a burning tree, including ten broken fingers, really make all of you more likely to forgive?
Actually, if that works, let me know. I am a “writer” and quite ready to concoct any number of fantastic, though still somehow plausible, stories to cover for my laziness and mental paralysis.
And speaking of which… This week in addition to announcing that I am down to 216 pounds (thank HEAVENS!) I thought I would post something I got in my e-mail in-box. I think it captures the essence of what I feel about life and health.
HEALTH QUESTION & ANSWER SESSION with Dr. Kenmiester:
Q: I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life; is this true?
A: Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that's it... don't waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that's like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap.
Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?
A: You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What does a cow eat? Hay and corn. And what are these? Vegetables. So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass (green leafy vegetable). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of vegetable products.
Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?
A: No, not at all. Wine is made from fruit. Brandy is distilled wine, that means they take the water out of the fruity bit so you get even more of the goodness that way.
Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?
A: Well, if you have a body and you have fat, your ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio is two to one, etc.
Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?
A: Can't think of a single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No Pain...Good !
Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?
A: YOU'RE NOT LISTENING! Foods are fried these days in vegetable oil. In fact, they're permeated in it. How could getting more vegetables be bad for you?
Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?
A: Definitely not! When you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger. You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach.
Q: Is chocolate bad for me?
A: Are you crazy? HELLO! Cocoa beans! Another vegetable! It's the best feel-good food around!
Q: Is swimming good for your figure?
A: If swimming is good for your figure, explain whales to me.
Q: Is getting in shape important for my lifestyle?
A: Hey! 'Round' is a shape!
Well, I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have had about food and diets.
And remember: “Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, What a Ride!"”
As I asked a friend last night, “Are you really going to be jealous of a thin, muscular, athletic, good-looking corpse that smells of natural herbs and organic grains?”
She’s something of a smart-ass so she claimed she would, but I think we all get the picture. Enjoy life! Start with a Snicker’s bar and don’t stop until they have to grease your thighs to get through the ice-cream isle at Wal Mart.
Exercise if you feel better doing it, otherwise just have another pork rind and call it a day.
Remember, an asteroid could strike the Earth tomorrow and will your last though really be, “I am so glad I did those sit-ups for now I am READY oh Lord!”
I didn’t think so,
Pigassus
Actually, if that works, let me know. I am a “writer” and quite ready to concoct any number of fantastic, though still somehow plausible, stories to cover for my laziness and mental paralysis.
And speaking of which… This week in addition to announcing that I am down to 216 pounds (thank HEAVENS!) I thought I would post something I got in my e-mail in-box. I think it captures the essence of what I feel about life and health.
HEALTH QUESTION & ANSWER SESSION with Dr. Kenmiester:
Q: I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life; is this true?
A: Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that's it... don't waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that's like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap.
Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?
A: You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What does a cow eat? Hay and corn. And what are these? Vegetables. So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass (green leafy vegetable). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of vegetable products.
Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?
A: No, not at all. Wine is made from fruit. Brandy is distilled wine, that means they take the water out of the fruity bit so you get even more of the goodness that way.
Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?
A: Well, if you have a body and you have fat, your ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio is two to one, etc.
Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?
A: Can't think of a single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No Pain...Good !
Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?
A: YOU'RE NOT LISTENING! Foods are fried these days in vegetable oil. In fact, they're permeated in it. How could getting more vegetables be bad for you?
Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?
A: Definitely not! When you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger. You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach.
Q: Is chocolate bad for me?
A: Are you crazy? HELLO! Cocoa beans! Another vegetable! It's the best feel-good food around!
Q: Is swimming good for your figure?
A: If swimming is good for your figure, explain whales to me.
Q: Is getting in shape important for my lifestyle?
A: Hey! 'Round' is a shape!
Well, I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have had about food and diets.
And remember: “Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, What a Ride!"”
As I asked a friend last night, “Are you really going to be jealous of a thin, muscular, athletic, good-looking corpse that smells of natural herbs and organic grains?”
She’s something of a smart-ass so she claimed she would, but I think we all get the picture. Enjoy life! Start with a Snicker’s bar and don’t stop until they have to grease your thighs to get through the ice-cream isle at Wal Mart.
Exercise if you feel better doing it, otherwise just have another pork rind and call it a day.
Remember, an asteroid could strike the Earth tomorrow and will your last though really be, “I am so glad I did those sit-ups for now I am READY oh Lord!”
I didn’t think so,
Pigassus
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