Here's something that's been bugging me: on Monday I'm in writing class, and we're work shopping this essay about two girls: one's a stay-at-home hippie earth mother kind of chick, while the other works in a giant glass building in downtown Vancouver, and the point of the essay is (to me, anyways) that career does not necessarily equal happiness, but then again neither does family. The last line of that article was about how feminism is supposed to be about choices - but that was the first and only time the word was used. One of the guys in the class said that using the word "feminism" is a bad move because the word has a lot of "negative connotations", meaning when they hear it they think of man-hating bull dykes (my words, not theirs). They suggested the author take the word out altogether. I said "nuh-uh", it should be the other way around, the article is ABOUT feminism and the word should be explored on a deeper level: what does it actually mean in today's liberated society? Most of the girls in class agreed with me (or blushed and kept their mouths shut), and the prof said the intended audience of the piece was female, so it made sense. Here's the part that bugs me though: I said the word "feminism" and the guy sitting next to me moved his chair away. He was joking, of course, and moved it right back, but... I didn't realize feminism was so dangerous to young men. Maybe I'm spoiled from living with H., who's possibly even more of a feminist than I am, but I was really shocked by that reaction. I don't think I'm a militant anything, and I wasn't trying to push any agendas on my classmates. All I said was that the article was about feminism. Then he moved his chair. Then I said "I think that proves the point: it's a dangerous word, obviously a misunderstood one, so it should be explored further. Feminism's not about man-hating chicks burning their bras anymore: it's about individual choice, and having the freedom to live life however you want to. In fact, in the context of this essay I'd argue that the stay-at-home mom is more of a feminist, because she's being who she is instead of doing what people expect her to do." I said it again: "there's obviously a lot of controversy surrounding this word, and I think exploring the controversy is a lot more interesting to a reader, so I say run with it." And the guy next to me was like "I say avoid it, because it's opening a can of worms." ....and the author said "I think I'll change the scope of the piece: originally it was aimed at a female audience, which is why I kept the word "feminism" in there, but after hearing what the guys have to say I think I'll aim the next draft at a general audience." And I felt like I failed. Not that I was pushing an agenda, because I wasn't, I was arguing about the article itself. I thought it would have been much stronger if it explored the dangerousness of the word "feminism". Maybe I'm biased, but I think the piece would be much stronger (and interesting) that way, and also, I don't think the story will WORK as well for a general audience. I don't know. Mostly, I've been agitated about the guy moving his chair away, because I really like the guy and didn't expect him to do something like that (even as a joke). I'm sorry to keep going on about it, but there's one more part to the story. So last week, I'm having trouble with my own article (which is about derby: I've told you about that) because I don't actually get to skate with the other girls until the 26th, but my workshop draft was due this past Monday. So I have a meeting with my prof, and he says "okay, what are your options?" My options were: 1) submit an incomplete draft 2) write around the actual skating (which I didn't want to do, because it's the best part of the piece) 3) expand the focus so the article isn't just about roller derby: I suggested making it about derby and burlesque, how they relate to Third Wave feminism (which I didn't know much about: it's a phrase I came across in my derby research) because there are a lot of similarities between the two things. 4) write something completely different in the next few days: I had a good idea, but he said right away I should do #3.
I agreed: it was the most compelling of the four choices. But, I said to him, the word "feminism" is loaded, and I don't want to be seen as the crazy militant feminist chick: writing about feminism at all is likely to get me branded as a man-hating lesbian. It happened last year, I told him, when I wrote about my trip to Sweden and how Selma Lagerlof's writing appealed to me more than Hemingway's. A guy said THAT statement made me a "female chauvinist" and I was like "whaaaa?" So I explained to my prof that I was worried using the word "feminism", let alone writing a whole article about it, was going to get me branded. He says "you know, there's always going to be people who get upset. It doesn't matter what you do. You should worry when people AREN'T upset by your writing, not when they are, because if no-one cares, you're doing something wrong." The proper thing for a writing prof to say. But now, after Monday's class, I'm very worried about the male reaction to my article. It's not like I ever say "men are evil" or "men are keeping women down" or anything of the sort: most of the article, when it touches on feminism, is about the idea of "femininity," not misogyny. Men don't really come into play in the piece, except in one section where I talk about how back in the 70's the players didn't own their own teams - they were paid a small salary, and the promoters (all men, that's just the way it was) reaped the profits. But now most leagues promote themselves, and most teams are structured as non-profit organizations. But that one section, I describe the average 70's roller derby promoter as a guy with "oiled hair and mutton chops, smoking a cigar and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his leisure suit." Which is, you know, the sleazy 70's. But I'm sure someone will read into that, and once again I'll be branded a "female misogynist", and... why the hell do I let it bother me? Because I feel like I have no friends. I talk to people in class, but I'm the oldest person in the class (minus the prof) by a good 4 or 5 years. Most of the time, I sit there quietly, reading a book, answering questions when called upon, but I don't speak up because a) I don't want to say something stupid, or b) I don't want to say something that comes across as unintentionally bitchy, misanthropic, or... worst of the worst... OLD. I just want to blend in, you know, make the class as painless on myself as possible. So rocking the boat by using the word "feminism" is a stupid thing for me to do. But at the same time, I want to write things that interest me, and derby is interesting, and in my research I found you can't bring up derby without talking about feminism. So basically I screwed myself, and we'll see what happens on Monday. Hopefully the critiques will be about my bad writing, not about my female chauvinism. But we'll see. What do you think - is the word feminism loaded with connotations?
why do I only write when I've had some sips of alcohol? And why, oh why, don't I write more? I am writing, my friends. I am. Just not to you ;) Formal reports, school assignments, and pithy Facebook status updates are taking all of my time. But soon! soon there will be a break in my studies. Soon my musical friends will have news. Soon there will be a new video. Soon I'll have time to start that new blog I've been talking about. here's what I've been doing lately: learning about roller derby - I have skates! I've used them once so far (got them on Tuesday), and fell on my ass. HARD. Multiple times. But, you know, the pain wasn't so bad. I mean, it hurt. But I got back up. And when the rain subsides, I'm excited to get back out there and skate again. And, in a few weeks, I'm trying out for a spot on a roller derby team. It's really awesome, and at the same time, really stupid. I shouldn't do contact sports at all, seeing as how I only have one kidney, and if anything happens to it I'm screwed. But... I WANT TO, you know? I want to be a tough bitch. I want to be part of a team of tough bitches. I can strap on a padded belt and be fine, right? have you ever noticed that derby girls wear far less protective padding than hockey players? copyediting. Not that you can tell from my blogging style... but I'm actually pretty good at it. I know my writing is horrible, but no-one's paying me to correct it, so I don't really care :) drinking! I'm excellent at it. I'm drunk right now, can't you tell?
I'm thinking the new blog will be a videoblog, so it'll be pretty Youtube-dependent, but I think it will be good. I had a music video blog YEARS ago, A. and I shared one, we each wrote one review (mine was for a Theory of a Dead Man video, and I believe hers was for a Blur video...?) and then it died... but that was before Blogger, WordPress, and all these other great tools. You know, really, I've been blogging since the 90's... I made my first "personal web log" on Geocities back in 1998. 11 years of blogging, yo. Right here. It's amazing to see how far the internet has progressed in that time. It used to be, to even WRITE a page, you had to know HTML coding. How many bloggers these days even have to bother with the tags, hmmm? How many bloggers know the difference between and
? I took a web design class last year, and the prof. didn't teach that in class. I felt so old. But then again, everything about university makes me feel old. I'm 10 years older than the average 1st-year student. I'm 11 years out of high school. Blah. does anyone even use ICQ anymore? H. and I used it for a while, when we were on our "secret conversation" kick... we'd chat in MSN, and tell each other secrets in ICQ at the same time :) Very cute :) We're not that cute anymore. Tonight we forgot to make dinner, and ate chocolate almonds while watching hockey. I drank red wine and cut video... If you could work for anyone, who would it be and why? I think I'd want to work for Tim Burton... I have no idea what he's like to work with, but his films are incredible, and I would love to say I helped create one of those visions, you know? It would be an amazing learning experience...
i know, I'm lame, i don't write anymore. I will soon, promise. a real post. this one doesn't count, because I'm a bit drunk. I just had some thoughts I wanted to jot down while they're swimming around in my head:
1) I've noticed a lot of blog commenters using the word "trust" lately, like in late 80's rap songs, like "I'm gonna bake cupcakes tomorrow. Trust." Is this a new fad or an old fad or... where is this coming from? 2) Another one: people aren't saying "what the fuck" or even "wtf" anymore. Now it's "the fuck?" 3)...google yourself. Seriously. How depressing is it when you google yourself and someone else, with the same name, comes up first? I just googled myself and my imdb.com profile is #1 - no idea why, but hey, at least I'm at the top :) - but it's the ONLY mention of me in the search results. Strange. Anyways, try it, let me know if you're #1. And do you share your name with any interesting people? I'm quite impressed with the selection I've found... although that's yet another reason to go by my married name... I take spots # 1,2,3,4 and 6 on Google for my married name, and there were only three people altogether, compared to an inifinite number with my maiden name :)
have you ever had one of those hindsight moments where you realize something really compelling has happened, and you wish you could capture it again, but know that you can't? I woke up this morning and felt that exact thing.
I'm gonna go to the Y and hang out with some seniors now. Do some elliptical training, maybe even some biking. Then I'm gonna come home and go back to sleep for a while before going to class. Yep. The life of a student.
...and then never got around to saying what it was. It's really not that big of a deal. I'm starting a new blog, is all. Eventually. I think it'll be a music/video blog, and I think it'll be a collaborative effort (meaning I'll ask all my friends to write for it), and it will, most of all, be linked and marketed and updated on a regular basis and all those things a good professional blog should be. Not to say I'm shutting this blog down... I'll always need a place to write public journal entries. Just sayin' I'm trying to be organized, and I'm trying to write more, and I'm trying to make a name for myself. On that note, Tribal Machine posted that video I made them a few months ago, and the response has been pretty good: http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=29964127&blogId=512857256
and it sounds like I'll be making them another video. I can't say much about it, because they want the concept to remain secret. All I'll say is that it's for their new album. What else what else... I'm in school, writing and copy editing, which will be helpful someday. I spent most of last week (and this weekend) freaking out about this paper due Monday morning. A first draft was due Monday morning. And yes, ohmygod, it was a FIRST draft. After handing it out to the entire class, I read it over, and WOW. There's a big gap between the story I want to tell and the story I told, know what I'm sayin'? But at least now I know what I need to do. There was one silver lining to that horrible horrible draft: the story is based on real events, so I thought it best to change people's names. I changed my auntie Holly's name, in the story, to Molly (not very original, I know, but none of the people reading the story will know it's a fake name anyways, so...). But I wrote the story using everyone's real names, then did Find / Replace at 10pm Sunday night, when I was dead tired. These are all details you need to understand the humor of this little story. The last thing you need to know is my description of a character, a guy, whose real name I won't reveal here, but whose name in the story is "Dylan". Here, a bulleted list to help you keep the details straight:
Holly's name changed to Molly
find / replace
late Sunday night, very tired
Guy who we'll call "Dylan"
with me so far? Okay. Here's the punchline. Dylan, in the pre-find/replace version, is wearing Buddy Holly glasses. In the version I turned in, he's wearing Buddy MOLLY glasses. harhar. Also, spellcheck changed "Earl Grey tea" to "Early Gray tea". Which one sounds tastier to you? I can't decide :)
The other thing that happened yesterday... well, before I write it, I'll warn you that it involves World of Warcraft. And feminism. I started an all-female guild. Oh yes I did. I can't take all the credit, the idea was actually Amber's. But I'd been wanting to start my own guild for a while, and was having trouble coming up with a name. Then Amber posted something about the Asgarda to her FB page, and commented that someone should make a female-only guild called the Asgarda, and... that was all I needed. I'm curious to see how the WoW community - which is mostly teenage boys - will respond to an all-female combat guild. Only time will tell, I guess. And if nothing else, I might get an interesting story out of it :)
And one more thing: I saw Whip It this weekend. Good movie, not mind-blowingly amazing or anything, but good. Strong female characters. And even the antagonists are good people, you know? Everyone, even the villains, are redeemed at the end. Oh, except the "boyfriend", but he's a douche :) And one more thing: I'm writing an article about roller derby, which is why I was first in line to see the movie. As part of my research I've made a derby name for myself. That name, which I expect you all to use, is (dum da da DAAAAAH): Dixie Riot Please refer to me thusly. Such as.
Big announcement coming soon. Or... well... in a few weeks :)
In the meantime, here's a photoblog post of me trying to wake up this morning. I swear, if H. would've let me sleep for those extra 10 minutes, the day would've been so much better!
Today I'm working on a project for a local non-profit, then later tonight I'm going to make flash cards to study for Thursday's copy editing quiz. It feels like I have so much to do, and not enough time to do it!
Anyways... here I am, this morning, trying to wake up.
Here's the new Rammstein video. Be warned, it's definitely not suitable for work.
H. woke me up this morning to explain the video to me. He said:
"they're, like, actually naked, and fucking these porn stars, and at the end they all come, and stuff shoots out, and..."
Granted, I was still asleep when he was telling me this, and shrugged it off. But when I got up, he'd left it open for me on the computer (thanks hun). So of course I watched it. And... wow. Okay. I can see the point making a video like this, especially if you're a metal band, because the target audience is teenage (and formerly teenage) boys. I've got no problems with that (well no, I DO, but I'll save those for another time). The issue for me is whether or not the band is actually having sex with these women, actually showing their dicks on camera. Because if they are, well, that's kinda gross. I can't believe that the band would be comfortable enough to actually have sex in a music video (how many people are? Oh, except this guy, I guess...), but more than that, I can't believe they think people want to WATCH that. Didn't we learn anything from the Gene Simmons sex tape, people? So I'm of the belief they used prop dicks (and a couple of stunt men). And this is why:
The dicks look kinda... silicone-y.
The dicks were all proportioned. Come on people, we know that doesn't happen in real life.
And here's what the filmmaker, Gabe Askew, had to say about it: (from VRay):
"...over the years the industry in America, especially lately, has largely succumbed to impossibly small budgets that simply don't allow for work that one can be proud of (....) This has really drained me creatively and so early in this year I told myself, I have got to do something that is purely my own and is up to my standards. I chose the song "Two Weeks" by my favorite band Grizzly Bear because it inspired me."
I totally agree. In the beginning, music videos were an art form. They were beautiful and innovative and exciting. Now, it feels like music videos are nothing but extended commercials. And some songs (I'm not pointing any fingers here...) are not much more than commercials either. So when a song inspires an artist to create something beautiful, it's a moment to remember.
This guy deserves all the kudos we can give him. He did a fantastic job.... and he did it because, as an artist, he felt like he HAD to. This video is an inspiration.
...actually, there's only one wedding, but it feels like three :) So I'm not the type to apologize for a long absence (just ask my family - I don't talk to anyone on a regular basis), but I feel like you're owed an explanation. I've been away, but I'm working on stuff. Here's a list of what I'm doing, so you don't feel like I'm snubbing you:
Like I say, people are getting married on Saturday. I made one of those "baby picture" videos for the bride and groom, I'm giving a speech, and.. on top of all that... I made a dress. I MADE A DRESS. It kind of looks like this one, although not exactly,
School started last week, so I'm back wandering the grey, badly-painted halls of academia. I'm taking copy editing (to get over my fear of "grammar"), non fiction workshop (to make my writing more "transcendent"), and something called "Overcoming the Past in German Film". Don't know if I'll be staying in the last one.
I'm working with a local non-profit group. I'm doing a research project on blogging and social marketing. It's very interesting... but takes a lot of time.
Soon, my pretties, I'll be back to my blogging self. And soon, hopefully, I'll have a(nother) new blog up and ready for your comments. I'm thinking something... musical. But that's all I'm gonna say right now.
...except that moths are awesome. Soon I'm going to write a big post about moths.
...we had guests from Sweden! H's uncle and uncle's common-law wife. In Sweden, a common-law spouse is called a Sambo. Just for the record. So we were quite busy entertaining and being touristy, driving cars and eating restaurant food and walking. Walking till our feet bled. I didn't really have time to write. No, that's a lie. I had time. I was just too tired. And now, NOW I'm working on a wedding video for my friends, who are getting married in less than 3 weeks. AND I start a new project on Tuesday. AND I start school on Wednesday. AND I'm still looking for a job. There, okay, you're caught up on my life now :)
Here are some pics from Uncle and uncle's girlfriend's visit:
This is I. (uncle's sambo) on their second night in Victoria. She's tired, and probably sad that the restaurant we're at only serves burgers. At least they had a veggie burger, right? And we don't go there for the food, we go for the view!
This is uncle B. We had this joke about how, in every picture, we should do the "two thumbs up." I saw this little Asian tourist girl doing it at the museum, and I thought it was cool :) This is the only photo of B. actually doing the "two thumbs up", though. He's at the last Victoria Seals (baseball) game of the season, and those sunglasses he's wearing? Free with admission. Oh yeah.
This here? The best advice ever given by a sign at a tourist attraction. I WILL stay on path, sign. Thank you.
These are just some pretty flowers.
This one is awesome: B. trying to take a picture of I., who's sitting inside a totem pole, while (out of frame) this little boy watches and laughs. See, B. and I. borrowed a digital camera for the trip, and the camera's directions were in English, and they were confused. At one point, they accidentally switched the camera to "video" mode, and took a bunch of 3 second videos, thinking they were pictures :) Good times :)
...and that's about it :) It was a good visit! It was nice spending time with H's family, because I don't know them very well, and I want to :) They're all such nice people, just like H. I don't know what made Swedes so nice, but I hope it rubs off on me :)
oh, I see H. sent you a message from my FB account :)
Here's how you can tell a message is from H. and not me:
1) It contains good and useful information about WoW. He's good for that. Me? Not so much. I do a quest and forget about it. I can't even remember what weapon I have equipped.
2) He never actually finishes a sentence... instead he puts three periods and starts a new one... like this... when we were getting to know each other I thought it was romantic... a sign of a wistful mind or something... maybe it still is, I'm not quite sure...
3) there's no cute little anecdotes about myself or someone else (see above)
4) He doesn't write something then delete because it sounds wrong. He doesn't have to. Everything he writes is pure and good. I can count on one hand the number of times he's accidentally offended me - the last time being last night, when he referred to a happy rotund person on TV as a "Jolly Giant."
5) Unless he was upset about something, he'd never write a message this long. He's a guy, after all.
This is the Skuld video I mentioned a few weeks ago. It's finally done! Enjoy!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
More thoughts about food:
When I came back from my first visit to Europe (September 2001, and yes, I was caught in the Sept 11th airport messiness), I decided I wanted to "eat like a European". To me, this meant pasta with tomato sauce (which I made every day from scratch: some onion, some garlic, a bit of green pepper, one diced tomato), expensive coffee, and croissants. This is what I ate every day. It's ALL I ate every day, because I couldn't afford to buy anything else. But it's also... well, it's all I wanted, because it reminded me of being in Europe. I felt, back then, like I was meant to be in Europe.
When M (my ex) and I were in the long, drawn-out, 2-month process of breaking up, I developed a fondness for green tea Frappuccinos. I drank them 2 or 3 times a week, until one day T. was rushed to the hospital to get her appendix removed. Earlier in the day, she'd enjoyed a green tea Frappuccino with me, and while there's no proof that's what messed her up, I haven't been able to drink one since.
What's the best meal you've ever had? I can't decide. Right at this moment, I'd have to say it was whatever H. cooked on Valentine's Day :)
I'm too sore to go to the gym today (but I worked my ass off yesterday, let me tells ya) so I think I'm going into video mode for the day. wish me luck.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Today I am making applesauce. Tons and tons of applesauce. The whole apartment smells like warm apples, like childhood. Even though it's grey and rainy outside, in here it's a domestic dream, all rocking chairs and Sunday dinners.
Yesterday D. and I drove around the city, collecting fruits from the homes of her friends' parents. We got blackberries, yellow plums, (passed on the red plums, but might go back), and tons of apples. It took me all night, plus a bit of this morning, just to peel and core them all. Now I'm making, like I said before, applesauce.
There's something really rewarding about domesticity, I have to say. I hated all things domestic when I was a teenager, choosing instead to cook everything I could in the microwave. I was especially fond of those stuffed chicken breasts from Costco, Kraft Dinner, and ice cream. Only when I was trying to impress someone - dinner parties, Christmas gifts - did I lower myself to cook. I think even then I knew the power of cooking "with love", but was scared to use it.
So maybe you can see where I'm going with this, I don't know.
H's grandpa died on Saturday, and it's thrown him for a bit of a loop. I don't want to broadcast too much about his feelings here on the internet - it's not my place to do so - but it should be said that he's pretty distraught. First, because his grandpa just died. Second, because he can't be in Sweden with his family. It's an ongoing conflict. He loves his family so much, and he hates being away from them at the best of times... anyways.
I have this problem. I always want to fix things. Anyone close to me knows this; sometimes I stick my nose where it doesn't belong, get in people's business, and try to "fix" things that can't be fixed. I... just... I don't know what to say when people are upset, you know? My mother... I don't want to talk about her too much either, but let's just say the things she would say about herself. She can't handle conflict. She can't handle strong emotions. She runs from other people's sadness, depression, etc. She's never exactly been the type to offer a "shoulder to cry on". I realized this pretty early on, and vowed to be the opposite: the one with the open door and the coffee brewing, the sympathetic eyes, the right words for every situation. But as much as I want to be that person, I just... don't know how to do it. Life isn't a movie, and I don't know the magic words to make people feel better.
So I cook.
Today I'm making applesauce. Last night I made pork roast, baby potatoes, blackberry jam. The night before, we grilled steaks. If H asked me to bake him a chocolate torte right now, I'd do it. Food has power, you know?
That's what I want this post to be about - the power of food in difficult situations. I'm not up to writing "grammatically", with "proper sentences" and whatnot... today I just want to get my ideas on the page. So apologies for any poor grammar or word choice. Here are some memories I relate to food:
My mother loves curry, but her husband doesn't really like Indian food. So the first time he left her for another woman, and my mom was so distraught, the only thing I could think to do was make curried chicken. I'd never made curry before in my life, and I found a recipe in this horrible 60's cookbook (there was a jello salad on the front cover). I spent hours on the chicken, but I was young, and didn't know to taste the food while preparing it. It turned out really bland. But the thought was there.
The night before I moved to Alberta, A. came over and we drank warm milk with honey. We had an excellent chat, and really connected as people. She and I have been really close ever since.
When my cousin died a few years ago, the whole family was devastated. Most of them weren't eating, either. So I made a giant lasagne, knowing that no-one would be able to turn it down, and they didn't :) It was gone in minutes :)
...and today I make applesauce, because H. loves apples, and the scent of warm apples will (hopefully) take some of his pain away.
Have any food stories to share? Post them in the comments.
Okay, so, I was at a show last night... a DEATH METAL show... yes, it's true. One of H's friends is in a death metal band called Discerp, and even though I don't like death metal that much, I have to say they kicked ass. The way I judge things like this is if I see pictures when I hear the music, like if I can picture snippets of a music video, and I could definitely do that with Discerp. Gentlemen, if ever you're looking for a music video director, you know where to find me. Here's a sample of my work:
But here's the point, so I can finish this ramble and get to the good stuff. Sitting with us were A and J (is it J or G?). H works with A, and she and I have become Facebook friends :) Anyways, last night was her first death metal show, and her Facebook status was:
DEATH METAL!!11! I am scared.
I can relate, A. I can relate.
Before the show started, we were talking, and I mentioned to A that I'd written an article called The Girlfriend's Guide To Heavy Metal. She was really interested to read it, and I said I'd post it here (I said that a month ago, didn't I? tsk tsk). I talked myself out of posting it because, you know, it's not "transcendent". I also don't think it's completely finished - there are a lot more things I can do, like interview female metal heads, musicians, etc - but for now I'm going to post it, and call it "Draft 3", because I think people want to read it. Kay? Kay.
The rest of my day is going to be spent finishing H's music video. If it's done today, I'll post it here later.
Here's the article. Please remember it's a draft! And.... enjoy.
The guy in front of me is sweating like a pig, and a minute ago he smacked me in the face with his wet, stringy hair. Some of it got in my mouth, and even though it didn’t taste like anything, I want to brush my teeth. Or gargle. Or something. I can still feel the texture of that sweat-soaked mane on my lips, like the trail a slug leaves in the dirt, and it makes me want to retch.
The guy’s being a real ass, trying to climb on the backs of the guys in front of him, reaching out his arms to the stage. In his desperation, he elbows the dude next to him in the face. I’ve tried to back away, but I’m scared to move too much – the guy behind me is seven feet tall, and he’s bald, and he has a neck tattoo.
I want to go home. My feet hurt, my makeup’s running, and the smell in the middle of the mosh pit is unbearable. If I fell down right now, I’m sure I’d be trampled by a stampede of combat boots. I can’t understand a word the band is saying – possibly something about torture? Kittens? Norse mythology? It’s hard to tell when they growl so much. This is, undoubtedly, one of the worst moments of my life. I’m a girl! What the hell am I doing here?
I scan the crowd, looking for my husband, Henrik, and find him at the foot of the stage. He’s entranced by the music, roaring along with the lyrics, banging his head to the music with everyone else. It’s as though the rest of the world has disappeared. And even though he’s scowling, and kinda looks like a demon, his eyes are sparkling.
That’s why I’m here.
I just wish I could enjoy it.
Here’s my story in a nutshell: I married a Swede. You know how they say Scandinavians make the best husbands? I’d have to agree with that, but I’d also add this: Scandinavians rock out harder than anyone else. I mean, they come from the land of Vikings, you know? Death metal is played on Top 40 radio in Scandinavia. I love my husband very much – he’s kind and sweet and affectionate, and sometimes he does the dishes. But he also loves to growl, and head bang, and paint his face to look like Skeletor. He listens to music by people who burn down churches. He scours youtube for the bloodiest, most violent music videos he can find.
I’ll admit that in the beginning, I didn’t like heavy metal. I associated it with high school, big trucks, frizzy hair, bad horror movies, and misogyny. I didn’t know my loving husband was a hard-core metal fan, and by the time I figured it out, I was already smitten. So, dear readers, I’m learning to love the metal. It’s an ongoing process, but I have learned a few things along the way. Girls, if you suspect your man is into metal and you don’t know what to do, read on.
Why Metal?
I judge good music according to three factors. 1) Does it have good lyrics? 2) Can you dance to it? and 3) Does it create an emotional response?
Here’s how I judge the typical metal song:
I can’t understand the lyrics, dude is growling so much. I have no idea what he’s saying.
Sometimes, for a few seconds. But the tempo shifts so much in the average metal song, it’s almost impossible to move through a whole song.
Yes. Definitely. It makes me want to hide in the corner, cover my ears, and cry.
So I’m not the best person to explain the value of heavy metal. Instead, I asked my husband why he finds metal so appealing.
“It’s the lyrics, the imagery, the place that metal takes me to, the way they write songs, the way they use the instruments....”
What place does it take you to?
“It changes, but it’s that mythical... it’s like when you read a book, you go into that world, and you try to be in that world. It’s the atmosphere of it all.”
In other words, metal is fantasy. It’s escape.
Bruce Dickinson is the lead singer of the grandfather of all metal bands, Iron Maiden. In an interview for the documentary Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey, he says metal is a summation of all the things he enjoyed when he was a 15 year old kid:
“If you ever lose that 15 year old kid inside you, it won’t make sense at all.”
Everything in metal is heightened; the volume, the emotion, the imagery. Everything is taken to the extreme, because that’s what the 15 year old kid inside wants to hear. Metal is about fantasy, and about anger, but above all it’s about holding onto that exuberance and raw emotional power teenagers feel. I'm not saying metal is immature, mind you. I'm saying it's bigger.
The Test
First things first: you need to find out if your man is, in fact, a metal head. Sometimes the signs will be right in front of you. Does your man:
Wear combat boots to the bar?
Break into air guitar when he likes a song?
Have a poster of Black Sabbath, Alice Cooper, or Iron Maiden on his wall?
Have a closet full of band t-shirts, most of them black, featuring pentagrams, skeletons, demons and/or blood spatter?
Then he’s probably a metal head. If you’re still not sure, here is a sure-fire way to find out. The next time you’re both in the same room, I want you to clear your voice, then say the following:
“You know, Metallica is great and all that, but I think their new stuff is WAY better than their old stuff.”
If he gets angry and leaves the room, or if he breaks something, he’s a metal head.
See, “old” Metallica are the kings of American thrash metal. Even today, they’re considered some of the most technically skilled musicians in the world. But in the mid-to-late 90’s, they decided they didn’t want to be Thrash anymore. They released an album called Load (if I wasn’t so classy, I’d say there’s a joke to be made here) which was basically a “rock” album. They cut their famously long hair, wore makeup in their videos, and sang about… their “feelings”.
Then they launched an attack on Napster and other file-sharing programs. In other words, they sold out thousands fans because they (the richest metal band in the world) were upset about royalties. Singing about your (non-murderous) feelings? Not metal. Caring about money? REALLY not metal. This is why old Metallica (anything earlier than 1992) is good, while new Metallica (anything after 1994) is bad.
The Education
So now you have definite proof your man is a metal head. Roll up your sleeves, ladies, because it’s time to get dirty. Here is a list of resources to help educate you in the ways of metal:
1. Video Games The Guitar Hero and Rock Band games feature many heavy metal bands, from Kiss to Slipknot. The games give you a chance to not only familiarize yourself with some of the biggest metal songs, but also to play them yourself. After you’ve tried a couple guitar solos, you’re sure to appreciate the technical skill that goes into a metal song. And, you know, video games are fun.
2. Movies If you seriously want to learn about metal, including history, styles, and controversies, I highly recommend the film Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey. This documentary follows Sam Dunn, a Canadian anthropologist and self-proclaimed metal head, as he tours around Europe and North America visiting festivals and interviewing his favorite bands. The film is a good, comprehensive overview of the metal scene. But more than that, it makes metal exciting for everyone, not just hard-core fans.
If you’re not the “documentary type”, then try one of the following: This Is Spinal Tap, Fubar, Anvil! or Wayne’s World.
3. Magazines Every music genre has its own magazines, but metal probably has more than any other. There are magazines for different genres, different instruments, different languages. Some of the best metal magazines for the uninitiated include Revolver, Metal Hammer, and Kerrang. I personally like Metal Hammer because it’s well-written, and it’s not afraid to make fun of itself.
The Music
In Metal: A Headbanger’s Journey, Sam Dunn breaks down the different types of metal into a family tree of sorts. Here’s a condensed version to help guide you through the many different genres of metal:
Early Metal / Original Hard Rock / Shock Rock How you’ll recognize it: you probably already do, because this is what they call “classic rock” nowadays. Bands: Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Aerosmith, KISS
New Wave of British Heavy Metal How you’ll recognize it: you’ve probably played it in Guitar Hero. Bands: Motörhead, Iron Maiden, Dio
Progressive Metal How you’ll recognize it: intense psychedelic dreamscapes, impossible solos, and songs about robots. Bands: Rush, Queensrÿche, Dream Theater
Glam/Hair Metal How you’ll recognize it: you heard it that time you went to the strip club. Bands: Mötley Crüe, Twisted Sister, Poison, Warrant
Pop Metal How you’ll recognize it: your older sister used to listen to it in the 80’s. Bands: Van Halen, Def Leppard, Guns N’ Roses
Thrash Metal How you’ll recognize it: it’s what the majority of non metal fans refer to as “heavy metal.” Bands: Metallica, Slayer, Anthrax, Megadeth, Pantera,
Black Metal How you’ll recognize it: corpse paint, screaming, and swords. Bands: Bathory, Satyricon, Dimmu Borgir
Death Metal How you’ll recognize it: growling so intense you won’t understand the lyrics. Bands: Cannibal Corpse, Entombed, Dismember
Goth Metal How you’ll recognize it: the lead singer wants to suck your blood. Bands: Type O Negative, My Dying Bride, Him
Industrial Metal How you’ll recognize it: you listened to it in high school. Bands: Ministry, White Zombie, Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson
New Wave of American Metal How you’ll recognize it: this is what your teenage brother listens to. Bands: Lamb of God, Killswitch Engage, Slipknot
Okay. You’re educated, you’ve listened to the music, and you’re still here. What’s the next step? It’s time to start preparing for a live show.
The Costume
The metal costume is centered around one very important piece of clothing: the t-shirt. T-shirts will usually be black, feature a band logo, and have a picture involving a pentagram, blood spatter, or a skeleton (if it has all three, it’s probably a Slayer shirt). The general rule of thumb when choosing a shirt is that the more obscure the band, the cooler the shirt. If you had to mail order the shirt from the frozen tundra of Norway, and it has strange lettering (umlauts are a definite plus), and it ALSO has a really violent picture on it (see above), you’ll be the coolest person in the room. If the band broke up before getting famous, or if the t-shirt is for an obscure high school band of a famous person, you earn extra metal points.
The next most important item of clothing for a metal show: footwear. If you plan on being anywhere near the stage, do not, repeat DO NOT wear any of the following kinds of shoes:
pumps
stilettos
wedges
sandals
anything open-toed
anything too expensive to replace
THEY WILL BE DESTROYED. Proper footwear for a girl at a metal show: big black boots (combat boots keep your feet safe AND make you look tough) or simple sneakers.
The most important thing to remember when you’re dressing for a metal show is that inevitably, you are going to get dirty. The floors are sticky with beer, the guys are flinging sweat everywhere, and in the rare case a fight breaks out, there might even be some blood. The best bet is to dress like a guy: jeans, tshirt, boots. Wear clothes that can be easily thrown in the washing machine.
If you’re committed to looking feminine, though, you do have a few options. You can go rockabilly, with a frilly halter dress and big red lips. This will make you stand out in the crowd, but not in a bad way. The problem is that something will most likely get spilled on your dress, and you can’t really mosh in a halter and Mary Janes. Not without a lot of practice, and possibly double-sided tape.
You can also go Goth, which a lot of girls at metal shows do: black lipstick, dog collar, PVC. But be warned that you will get VERY hot, your makeup will smudge, and at the end of the night you’ll probably have a rip in your expensive satin corset. Best to stick with cotton, leather, and the occasional metal spike.
The Live Show
So the guy jumps up on stage and rips the microphone out of the singer’s hand.
“Who stole my hat???” he screams, and the crowd collectively yells at him to get off the stage.
“I want my *&^$# hat!” He screams again, then jumps head-first off the stage and punches a random guy in the face. The band stops playing, waiting for the commotion to die down.
I finally maneuver my way out of the mosh pit, find an empty seat, and put my feet up. I wish I’d brought ear plugs. My brain hurts from all the noise.
People go to a metal show to have fun, drink some beer, and let off some steam. Sometimes this means people get a bit out of control, like the guy who jumped up on stage. But for the most part, just like any other social gathering, people go to metal shows to hear the music and have a good time.
For someone like me, who prefers Morrissey to Metallica, the key to a good metal show is to always be prepared. Make sure you have earplugs. And cash, to buy drinks. Get to the show early so you can find a place to sit, and did I mention earplugs?
At the end of the band’s set, I push my way through the crowd to stand with my husband. His face is red, his hair soaked with sweat, but he’s happy like a little kid. And that makes me happy. I’m still not the biggest metal fan, but I’ve found a way to appreciate it. Now, when Henrik wants to crank the death metal and escape for a little while, I’m not worrying about his sanity. Heavy metal is an outlet. It helps people release aggression. We all need some form of outlet, don’t we? I write, Henrik listens to Dimmu Borgir, and we get along just fine.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
I have realized something very important today.
See, one of my classmates (someone I'll admit I don't know very well, someone I had a class with, like, 2 years ago, but someone who stood out) won a prestigious writing award. On hearing the news, I went through a couple of stages. First, "oh hey! I know her!", second "Wow! Good for her!", third "she must write a lot more than I do", fourth "why the fuck is SHE so special?", and fifth "I'm a failure."
I googled her and found some of her work online. And I read it. And you know what? It's good, but it's not mind-blowing good. I was expecting transcendence, but what I got was... well, it was GOOD, and it was INTERESTING, but it wasn't anything I couldn't do. Know what I mean?
So here's what I realized. If I want to be a writer, I have to stop worrying that my work isn't good enough. I have to stop worrying that I have to change the world in 1000 words. Because that is probably never going to happen. I have to stop worrying that everyone else is a "better writer" than me, because logic dictates that "talent" is a matter of opinion, and most of the time I think I stack up alright next to my classmates. Not to brag, but I'm an A student, dont'cha know... (actually, I think everyone in the writing program gets high marks. I can't imagine anyone having lower than a B+ average, so being an A student isn't that big of a deal...)
Professors over the years have freaked me out with their little sayings:
"[writing] is organic, and should flow easily onto the page" (maybe in fiction. But what about non-fiction, where you have to tell the truth all the time?)
"if you haven't published by third year, you might as well give up" (then what about all the teachers out there?)
"the best writing will come to you as if in a dream" (well, that's hardly ever happened to me - does it mean I'm not a good writer?)
"if you're a good writer, the world will recognize it." (What about Emily Dickinson?)
"the story is in the details" - this one I agree with, actually.
The profs are trying to be helpful, of course, but... I don't know. Sometimes, usually when I have a few weeks off between classes, I feel like I'm in way over my head. How the hell am I ever going to match up to these people, you know? This one writes a column for the newspaper; this one interns at a famous magazine; this one has a book deal; this one wins every award they apply for. I, on the other hand, don't have a piece I even find WORTHY of submitting for an award. Not right now.
Because I have this thing stuck in my head that writing should always be transcendent. That's my word of the day, btw. I think "if it didn't make me cry to write it, it's not good enough." Then when I have an assignment for class, I won't write about things that make me cry, because I don't want to overshare with the class. So I screw myself both ways - I'm not brave enough to be a powerful writer, and I'm not powerful enough to write good work.
It doesn't help that I've been reading Joan Didion all summer. If we want to talk about beauty and transcendence in writing, there it is. Will I ever be able to write like that? I don't know. I don't think I've lived the right kind of life to do that. I think my eyes might be slowly closing to the poetry of the world.... slowly narrowing in.... since most of my writing is about myself.
But reading my (very accomplished) classmate's work today, I realized that ALL THIS IS BULLSHIT. She's an excellent writer, and she has a definite style, but her work isn't anything I couldn't do too. I HAVE been trained well (even if this blog doesn't reflect it), and I DO have the tools to be a decent, if not beautifully poetic, writer. Maybe one day I'll find the story that elevates my writing to a new level. In the meantime, I'm perfectly capable, and have to start thinking of myself as such.
Last night, H. was on the computer reading various fringe-Christian rants about Marilyn Manson and Nine Inch Nails. He does it a lot, and it kinda bugs me. Sometimes he'll put on these horrid glassy-eyed Christian TV shows where people ask for money in the name of "Jesus", and sit there with this shocked look on his face, like it's the first time he's ever heard the pitch. Or he goes to websites like the one for that "God Hates Fags" church and reads the worst parts out loud (not only does God hate "fags", apparently... he also hates Swedes, Canadians, and basically everyone else in the world). Or he watches those 9-11 Truth shows the conspiracy theorists buy airtime for on Shaw TV - apparently the oil companies were behind it? Or... it goes on and on. Anything hateful or ignorant, H. will watch or read it. And every time, he's shocked and amazed, then he's angry. I've told him time and again, just IGNORE it. Seeing it will just make you upset. But time and again he watches the shows, visits the websites... seeks out these things that upset him.
"You like to pick scabs, don't you?" I asked last night. "Yeah, I guess I do," he answered, "but so do you."
Because, like the subject line says, last night I watched the 2nd episode of More To Love. I know I said I wouldn't, since last week's episode made me cry (and then do many km's on the exercise bike) and vow never to watch the show again. But what can I say? Like H, I'm a bit of a scab-picker.
Last night's episode was a train wreck of the highest proportion, from putting the (highly self-conscious) girls in bathing suits, to the chick vomiting off the side of the boat, to Kristian's intense eyes. Not to mention all the crying. Is this going to be a running theme? Because if so, I'm not going to... who am I kidding, I'll watch it anyways.
So here's what happened. The girls divided into two "teams" for a couple of group dates. Two girls were chosen to be team captains, and to pick the teams amongst themselves. Only one problem: there were an odd number of girls. Cut to various teary confessions of the "I was always picked last because I was fat" genre.
The girl who WAS picked last... she just kinda stood there, like... I don't know. It was really awkward. She was all alone on one side of the room, saying to the other girls, "why don't you like me? I thought you all liked me." And no-one responded. But in the end it worked out for her (I guess), because she scored a one-on-one date with Kevin Ja... I mean Luke. They went to Vegas, and stuff happened. The other girls seethed with jealousy. More on that in a bit.
First, though, was a group date, and guys? This is where I fell in love with Bonnie. I even pulled H. away from the Christian websites for a second to marvel at the coolness of this chick. She's got awesome hair, awesome makeup, awesome clothes, glowing white skin... goddam, I wish I looked like her. Add to that she's wry, funny, and a little bit bitchy, and I think I've found my new best friend. Only one problem. She's on More To Love. Bonnie, what the hell? You're so much better than this shit! And I think the producers know it too, because even though she shows NO interest in Luke, and even though her "confessionals" are mostly about herself and the other girls, they keep cutting to her. Not to mention, she's one of the only girls yet to cry.
But back to the fun. So, the first group date is on a boat. The night starts off fine, with everyone chatting and sipping martinis while the chefs prepare some kind of feast. Then Heather, the cute lip-glossed blonde with hair full of flowers and bows, started puking over the side of the boat. Poor Heather, she puked and puked, then she cried and cried, then she fell asleep. Amazingly, none of her hair bows fell overboard. But she did miss out on all the fun, especially Kristan's crazy eyes.
Okay, let's take a minute here to talk about Kristian. She's like what? 12? Has she never been around men before? What's up with her? She's like that girl in high school who stalked your guy friend, sent him flowers on Valentine's Day and waved to him in the hallways... the one who'd combine her name with theirs on her notebook, and then eventually he went out with her and you were like "what the HELL?" and you knew he was only with her because she put out right away, and you knew she only put out right away because she was desperate for a man, and in the end she got pregnant and dropped out of school, but only after your friend dumped her because everyone made fun of him for being with her in the first place? Yeah. That would've been Kristian in high school, if she'd been mature enough. Desperation and self-deception are oozing from her pores. She actually said, last night, that she thinks she's in love with Luke. HOW? You've known him for, like, a week, and you've spent a grand total of 10 minutes alone with him! In fact, you've NEVER been alone with him because the cameras are always on! In the immortal words of Lloyd Dobler, "YOU MUST CHILL!"
The rest of the boat date was pretty tame. The only part worth mentioning, I guess, was the makeout session between Luke and Malissa, and later her confessional that "these other girls don't stand a chance." I like your confidence, Malissa, and I hope for your sake you're right. She really does seem to be the most compatible with Luke... but then again, we haven't learned all that much ABOUT Luke yet, have we?
I'll give him props for one thing, though: when Heather started puking over the side of the boat, he contemplated helping her, then decided against it. "The last thing she wants to see right now is me," he said. That, Luke, was a very thoughtful and astute observation. The last thing a girl wants when she's puking over the side of a boat is an attractive (to her) man, and a camera crew, watching her every move. 1 point for Luke.
Cut to date #2, the one-on-one Vegas night. I'll admit I wasn't watching this part too closely, because the winner (or loser) of the one-on-one date, Christina, annoyed me as much as she annoyed the girls in the house, and I'd assume it's for the same reasons. Christina is an airhead. She doesn't seem to know how to do anything except style her hair! And the dress she wore on the Vegas date? I'm pretty sure it was a skirt that she just pulled up around her chest to turn it into a minidress. Admit it, you've done that before. But have you done it on TV? Not that Luke seemed to notice - he was too entranced by her "bangin'" (his actual words: "her body is bangin'!") body to focus on fashion, or conversation, or Vegas. Luke, I'm revoking your 1 point, for use of the word bangin'.
Back at the house, Kristian was in a bug-eyed rage, saying Malissa shouldn't even be on the show because she's not, you know, "original" fat. I paraphrase:
"she didn't get fat until after high school, she doesn't know what it's like to not have a date to prom because of your size, she doesn't know what it's like to be discriminated against."
Kristian, hun? Pop your eyes back in, and sit next to me on the couch.
No matter how old you are, fat women are ALWAYS discriminated against. It doesn't matter when, or how, or WHY someone gained the weight. People always look at fat women, regardless of their age, in the same way. They don't think "oh, I bet she used to be thin in high school." They think "damn she's fat." I was thin in high school too. Doesn't mean I had tonnes of boyfriends, or got picked first for teams. I was lonely and angry and misunderstood. Everyone is. Maybe you're too young to realize that, but... you need to. Because your anger isn't doing anyone any good, least of all yourself.
Vegas date was a bit of a snooze, so instead I let H. read me some Christian rumors about the Satanic Marilyn Manson. Did you know he had some ribs removed so he could perform fellatio on himself?
The third date was the funnest of the bunch: a pool party at Luke's house. The girls freaked out about wearing bathing suits (cue the teary-eyed "I never go to the beach because I'm fat" confessionals), but only one of them had visible cellulite, which I thought was kind of amazing. They had some seriously cute swimwear, I have to say. Where do these people shop? Because I've been looking for one of those 50's-style "bathing beauty" suits for a while now...
Luke, knowing the girls would be self-conscious in their bathing suits, set about making drinks straight away. The girls got a bit tipsy, a bit comfortable. The one who got the MOST comfortable, though, was Lauren. I think it was Lauren. I can't really remember. Anyways, one of them was having so much fun she drank her martini in the pool, then said Luke was "the best floatie" she'd ever had. He did the one-on-one talking thing with each girl, mostly just trying to make out as much as he could. Nothing too interesting there.
The best part: once again, Kristian. And Bonnie. I don't know why they were there, since they'd already had their date, but they were fully clothed, so... I don't know. I was still thinking of missing ribs and puppies thrown into mosh pits. Anyways, Kristian said "I wanna see what his house looks like!" and the other girls were like "oooh!" and Bonnie, I love Bonnie, she said (with the wry wit): "You should totally leave him a creepy 'I Was In Your House' note." and the girls were like "no..." and Bonnie was like "Kristian, you should totally do it." Because Kristian is young and naive and doesn't know the rules of the game, or how to distinguish sarcasm from normal conversation. So Kristian snuck into the house, and (we can assume) looked around, and left Luke a creepy "I Was In Your House" note. Yes, she really did. Best of all, though? She wasn't the only one.
Then we come to what they called the "Mixer" and the "Elimination." "Mixer" apparently means champagne, formal wear, and skewers of meat. They eat so much meat on this show! "Elimination" is exactly what it sounds like. As the "Mixer" wore on, Luke took each girl away to, ummm, plead their case as to why they should stay in the house. Most of them were the usual "I think we have a shot at love" kind of conversations, but a few really stood out:
Lauren: do you want the dirt on anyone? Because I can totally give you the scoop. Luke: no, not really, I'm trying to find out if you like me or not. Lauren: okay, well, if you want the dirt, just let me know.
Bonnie: I know I look a bit intimidating, with the tattoos and all, but on the inside I'm a 50's housewife. Luke (VO): Bonnie makes me change my thinking about things every time I talk to her. (Translation: I don't know what to think of her, and because of that, I have to keep her around.)
Kristian: I LOVE YOU!!!! (Eyes pop out of her head) Luke: Ummm, here, I think you dropped something.
Emme, plus-size supermodel and TV hostess extraordinaire, was in great form this episode. Some of her key scenes:
Emme enters the room and stands near a large glass bowl. "Ladies, it's time to return your rings." Emme exits the room.
Emme enters the room and stands near a velvet curtain. "Ladies, there is only one ring remaining." Emme exits the room.
In the end, three girls were sent home, but I can only remember one of them: Arriane, the "cabaret performer". She didn't need this show anyways. Kristian got the last ring, and looked so relieved she nearly passed out. I don't know what to think of her... she seems to crazy to be real, you know?
Will I watch this show again next week? I might, but I'm not too sure. Bonnie is awesome, but she's gotta go home soon, because this is definitely not the show for her. There's no way she can "win", and I'm sure she knew that going into it. It feels like she's using the show as a platform for something, which, you know, good for her. That's what I would do too. But she can't last, what with not being into Luke and all. So we'll see. It was a decent way to waste an hour, but still not as good as a repeat of True Blood.
I really should start reviewing that show instead.
Friday, July 31, 2009
Another thing I'm totally going to do? This. When the time is right, of course.
is something I'm totally gonna do. But not on Jezebel, no. I think I'll do it here. If I can find that one old diary with the boy in the rowboat on the cover, the one with the broken lock, the one that (still!) smells like candy. Or if I can find the journal where Holly went through and commented with things like "Curtis is so cute!" or "Danielle isn't a good friend to you, Moon-d". Those were awesome.
Also: I'm sitting here drinking black coffee and eating a pink, vegan cupcake. Went to the gym and worked out all my stress. Today is a good day.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Yes! I'm done blogging about the cleanse, and can get back to my self-indulgent fantasies that people actually read this blog! :) So the next problem in my life is this: job search. It is going terribly. I've applied to 9 jobs in 3 months - 6 of those applications were sent out last week - because I can't find any job I WANT, you know what I mean? I've been offered my old job back, if I want it, in September. But I DON'T want it. It's boring and it doesn't pay well and it's not helping me reach my career goals. I have the luxury of taking my time finding a job, thank god, so I haven't had to apply for any retail positions yet. But I'm sick of being in this apartment, in front of this computer, looking for an ad that excites me. Maybe I should be a hotel night auditor, or a part-time office administrator, or... ANYthing, just to get out of the house. Maybe I should deliver pizza or something. Because I'm going crazy in this apartment, watching the same reruns on TV, doing the same daily quests in World of Warcraft, writing the same stupid shit on this blog, having the same conversations with H. over and over again. Today was a "crying" day, sparked by my weighing myself right after dinner (never a good idea) and the start of a new reality show called The Fatchelor. Oh, no, I'm sorry, it's called More To Love. Reviewers just like to call it that other name because, you know, everyone on the show is fat. And because they're fat, they're worthy of punchlines. Take this review from Salon:
"Fox's new reality show More to Love might as well be called The Fatchelor: It's an excruciatingly typical dating competition with the single twist that both the catch of the day and the women competing for his attention are all larger than average. With weight as the show's central focus, the editing plays to as many fat stereotypes as possible: In the first episode, which airs Tuesday night, we get women weeping about their dateless pasts, one unironic use of the phrase "big-boned," a debate on the merits of Spanx and, of course, umpteen conversations about food — one of which includes the fatchelor flirtatiously declaring, "I like anything thick and juicy." (And cheesy, apparently.) The show's marketing and promotion campaigns claim a message of empowerment, but for the larger romantics among us, More to Love does little to dispel the myth that fat people's lives are built around dessert and desperation."
Dessert and desperation? Really? Because I'm fat, and I hardly ever eat dessert. And I'm definitely not desperate. In fact, getting married is what made me fat in the first place yo. I was a nice, healthy weight (as I've said before) until H. and his sweet tooth moved in. Except that according to the rules of this TV show, my healthy weight (a weight which didn't seem to turn ANY guys off, let me assure you) is still considered "fat". This, dear readers, is why I stopped watching More To Love. I'd intended to watch the whole thing, write it up for you (since I'm sure none of my readers are "fat", and therefore didn't watch it... because, you know, the only people who'd watch a fat dating show are fat people. And those who make fun of fat people.), and offer some "I've been there" insight. But I had to turn it off, because the... ugggh... the idea that a woman who weighs 170lbs, 5lbs over a "normal" BMI, is obese... no. I'm sorry, readers, it bugged me. And why are all the women on the show at least 50lbs less than the man? And WHY, WHY, WHY did they have to POST THE WOMEN'S WEIGHTS next to their names? Why does their weight matter? It's not a weight-loss show, it's a dating show. They're not being judged on how much they lose, they're being judged on their ability to "find true love". Does their weight come into the "true love" equation at all? I mean, I'm done with this stuff... I've found my guy, I'm happily married, and truth be told I haven't been single since I was 19. I've never had to "date", really. But if this is what it's like to date, well... I guess I'd be a spinster, because I couldn't handle the constant self-hate. I have enough self-hate as it is. I wanted to watch this show and support my big-boned sisters, you know? But I couldn't handle the way they... they seemed to ooze desperation and nervousness, as though they really thought this guy was their only shot at happiness. THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW HIM. He could be a secret date-rapist or a wife beater or a racist or a Republican. I'm not saying he IS, I'm just saying he COULD be. They don't know, and yet they're willing to humiliate themselves, globally, to win his affections. It's ridiculous. Even more ridiculous is that this is how skinny people see us. They think we're sad and desperate and if we just lost the weight, the world would be a better place. No, no it wouldn't. Insecurity doesn't go away just because you lose some weight. Insecurity comes from a much deeper place. It comes from our perceptions of the world. It comes from knowing where we stand in a group dynamic. It comes from knowing how we're being judged. If you've been fat, you know how it feels to be judged like that. Even if you lose the weight, I'm sure that self-consciousness stays with you. On Sunday they showed that episode of Family Guy where Lois gains a bunch of weight. Peter tells her that he's not fat, "only fat WOMEN are fat." Like most of Family Guy, it's a joke that hits a bit too close to home. They didn't post the guy's measurements every time he was on-screen, like they did to the women. Did they? Like I said, I only watched the first few minutes. Anyways, my point is this. I'm not down with More To Love. I was hoping the show would be... well, it's too much to hope that it would be empowering, but I at least thought it would be humanizing. Instead, like always, fat people are treated like cattle. Maybe I should start writing about True Blood? That's what we watched instead...
So I have this problem with weekends. The problem is, you see, H is home, and it's his time to sit in front of the computer. So even though I'm pretty much saying this to and for myself, I'd like to apologize for getting so behind in the blogging. But there's another reason for that. I don't have much to report. Day 4 of the cleanse, I tried again to get some exercise. I managed to do 30 minutes on the exercise bike, but then I felt pretty weak. Nuts and grains just weren't giving me the calcium I needed, and by dinner time, the faint feeling had turned into a full-on headache. I was a real bitch by the time H. got home, I'm sorry to say. I picked on every little thing. But he's a good guy, and instead of getting mad or defensive he sat down, put his arms around me, and asked what was wrong. I said "fuck it, let's have spaghetti for dinner." Because, as those of you who know me are aware, spaghetti makes all my problems disappear. Seriously. Pasta is my #1 comfort food. I stuck to the cleanse as much as I could, though: the sauce was all fresh vegetables, a little bit of olive oil, no canned tomatoes. The pasta was whole wheat, and I didn't put any cheese on top. But I still broke the cleanse, and for that I felt bad. H. came home with alcohol, too: a case of beer and a bottle of port wine. He was so excited to have port in the house, saying it's what "sophisticated people" drink after dinner. Needless to say, I'd never tried it. And I'm proud to say I didn't try it that night, either. I could give myself a break on the whole wheat pasta, but if I'd had some alcohol I'd have to declare defeat. The next day, day 5, I pretty much gave up. Things don't "keep" very well in our fridge, so if we want fresh things, we have to buy them right away. I was so sick of going to the grocery store. I think, in the 5 days of the cleanse, we'd spent almost $100 on fruits and vegetables! So like I said, I gave up. For breakfast I had a bowl of Frosted Flakes and a cup of coffee. Oh coffee, I'd missed you so much! The sweet, full, nutty flavour! The scent, so inviting, like meeting a long-lost friend on the street, and they give you a big hug and tell you you look great....
So, after (close to) 5 days of cleansing, what have I observed?
After not having sugar for a few days, a bowl of cereal hit me like a ton of bricks. I was a little kid again, running and jumping and singing.... impossible to calm down until I crashed on the couch and fell asleep.
I have dry skin, and before the cleanse, the skin on my palms was peeling. After the cleanse, all my dead skin is gone.
I also have dark circles under my eyes, and after the cleanse, they're pretty much gone too.
The last time I saw my mom, which was a few days before the cleanse, she said I looked a bit "puffy", like I was retaining water. After the cleanse, I can see what she meant. My face and body, even though I didn't lose much weight, feel thinner. Flatter, maybe.
I really like dairy, but I don't need it to survive. Cheese should not be my go-to food.
But was any of this because of my diet, or because I was drinking so much water? I'm inclined to believe it was the water.
I'm not necessarily a "strong" person, but I couldn't stand feeling as weak as I did. So I think in the future, instead of dieting, I'm going to incorporate more fresh fruit and vegetables into my diet. I'm also going to make sure I stay hydrated, and make more of an effort to cook fresh foods for H. and myself. Tonight I'm making a big batch of pasta sauce. Last night we had salmon, corn on the cob, and fresh carrots. H. has commented that he really enjoys the "home-cooked meals", and I do too. It's not as hard to cook fresh, healthy, satisfying meals as I thought it was. Now if only we had a dishwasher, my life would be perfect.
I'm tired, and really have no mental energy for this. So I'm not even going to try and string complete sentences together. Here's what happened on Day 3: Once again, I didn't eat until 1pm. Don't know why I'm doing that, it just seems to happen. Then I made myself a big salad, with the rest of the leftover baby potatoes, some raspberries from my mom's garden, greens, walnuts, and a homemade vinagrette. Very good, although I probably should have cut the potatoes into smaller pieces. I spent most of the day in front of the computer, writing yesterday's blog and playing WoW. I just... didn't want to do anything. After the cleaning spree of the day before, I guess I was tired. I did perk up a little after taking the multivitamin - apparently I should read labels, because the vitamin I'm taking is chock-full of green tea extract. At least I'm getting SOME caffeine, I guess. I felt really dirty. Even after a long shower and a good scrub, I felt... I don't know. Greasy, I guess. I get the occasional zit, one here or there, you know what I mean? Yesterday I had three new ones on my chin. That's very strange. Is this the "toxins" trying to get out of my body? I don't know. When H. got home from work, he immediately went to the cupboard above the fridge - the one where I'm hiding all the tempting foods - and took out a bag of chips. He snacked on those while I cooked dinner - a big veggie stir-fry, with tofu marinated in garlic, ginger and soy sauce. The websites said garlic and ginger are really good cleansing foods so I used lots of them... 6 or 7 cloves of garlic, and a whole ginger root (peeled, of course). I thought it was really good - at least it wasn't bland! - but H. didn't seem too fond of it. So after dinner we went to the grocery store. I bought strawberries and grapes. H. bought chocolate, gummy bears, and cereal. He had so much trouble picking out cereal. I said to him, "you should get the cereal you loved most when you were a kid." Why did I say that? Because I knew it would be something loaded with sugar, and therefore completely off-limits to me. Not something sitting in a middle-ground, you know? And I was right. He grabbed a Family Size box of frosted flakes. One other thing I noticed yesterday: I felt gross and oily on the outside, but my insides felt... I hate to say it, it sounds so cheesy... but my insides actually felt CLEAN. Like... kind of tingly. Like the mud that'd been caked on for years had been scraped off. I still have that feeling now.
I'm on Day 4 as I write about Day 3. Only one more day to go!
I woke up tired, and wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. But you know how it is, once the eyes are open, it's impossible to shut them again. So I got up, poured myself a glass of water, and set to what I do every morning: scour the internet looking for a job.
I wasn't hungry, so I skipped breakfast, which now seems like a really bad idea. I didn't have anything except water and green tea until 1pm, and then I had a leftover baby potato from that wonderful salmon dinner we had on Monday. Then I had some leftover pasta sauce I'd made on Sunday - it was all-natural, no dairy or meat, so it was alright to eat. Kind of strange without the pasta, though.
Usually, I'd go to the gym. But for the cleanse I decided to stay home and, if I felt the need to exercise, use the stationary bike in the living room. I did about 15 minutes before the weakness set in and I said to myself, "I'll just go for a ride on the real bike."
I should say, before going any further, I haven't ridden my bike in a year. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, the tires were completely flat, and I think it'd gotten heavier since the last time I'd used it. Anyways, I cleaned it off and set to work pumping up the tires.
Maybe I was weak from the lack of food, or maybe I'm just generally weak, I don't know. But it took forever to pump up the tires. In fact, I don't think I pumped them up enough, but had to stop because my arms couldn't pump anymore! I thought it would be okay for the quick trip to the grocery store, though... it's only like 20 blocks round-trip.
So. I get on the bike, start riding, and everything's fine. Until I get to the first hill. I gear down, hoping a lower gear will make it easier. I start to pant. I start to sweat. I push harder. In my head, as usual when I ride this bike, I'm screaming. "JUST MAKE IT TO THE TELEPHONE POLE! THEN YOU CAN SLOW DOWN! YOU'RE ALMOST THERE! JUST A BIT FURTHER! COME ON!" I made it to the telephone pole, and all the way to the grocery store, without stopping. Good for me. But when I got off the bike my head felt like it was spinning, and there were little stars in my peripheral vision like fireflies.
When I was a teenager, I had this bad habit of passing out for no particular reason. The first time it happened was, ironically, in a grocery store parking lot. I'd broken up with my boyfriend a few days earlier, and I was depressed. Didn't want to leave the house. But my mom yelled (actually yelled, which is strange for her) at me to get off my ass and DO something, so we went to the grocery store. I told her I wasn't feeling well and wanted to stay in the car. She wasn't having any of that, so I got out of the car and... stars. The world turned blue and caved in on me. I could hear people around me, panicking, and an unrecognizable woman asking my mom, "is that Amanda?" I didn't hear my mom's answer, though. Next thing I remember, someone's lifting me into a truck and driving me the two blocks to the hospital.
At the hospital, the doctor said I fainted because of poor diet. He told me to eat a bagel and drink some orange juice, although I can't remember why. Lack of carbs or something. My mom spent the rest of the day scolding me for not eating, then apologizing for not listening when I said I didn't feel well. I ate a couple of bagels, drank some orange juice, and was fine again.
Until the next time. It was almost a year later, and I was living with my dad, working part-time at the grocery store deli. My first time away from "home". My first real job. I cut meat and cheese, made pizzas and rotisserie chickens, packaged salads, and tried to make some new friends. At the end of each day, we had to clean and sharpen the cutting machines. So what do I do? I cut myself on the newly-sharpened (and, luckily, newly-sterilized) blade. It was a deep cut; I still have a faint scar on my finger from it. So deep it didn't even hurt, and I thought I'd just put a band aid on it. So I went to the first aid kit, and the other girls (who, by the way, were just standing around letting me do all the work) asked me what was up. I told them nothing, it was all fine, I just needed a band-a...
Stars. I felt something soft, like a pool noodle or a Nerf ball, hit the back of my head (in reality, as I fell, I hit my head on the edge of a counter). Everything was blue. I woke up to a group of people, most of whom I'd never seen before, standing over me in a half-circle, their eyes full of concern and helplessness. I guess they'd never seen anyone faint at the grocery store before.
Anyways, when I came to, they asked me if I needed anything. I said bagels and orange juice. Someone rushed off and brought me a bag of bagels and a carton of orange juice, then they sent me home early. I had to walk. And it was snowing outside. The next day, there was a bill for the food I'd taken home.
My point is, when I got off the bike, I knew that feeling.
Luckily this time I didn't pass out. I took a few minutes to rest, pretending I was having trouble locking up the bike. Then I slowly made my way though the store, picking up fruit, putting it back. The stars faded, but they didn't totally go away, so I bought some Happy Planet juice. I guess I broke the cleanse diet, because you're not supposed to have anything "processed". But my thinking was "if I don't have anything, I'll pass out, and at least Happy Planet is organic..." I don't remember paying for the groceries. I remember standing in line, I remember the cashier and the girl who helped put the food in my backpack, the annoyed glances at me from other shoppers waiting to pay for their purchases. I remember it was the first day of the Thrifty Foods "no plastic bags" rule, and the woman in front of me put her groceries in a cardboard box. I remember the cashier was wearing Buddy Holly glasses, for utility and not fashion. But I don't remember actually PAYING. I must have paid, they wouldn't let me leave the store if I didn't. Right?
The ride home is mostly uphill, and this bike of mine? I don't know, man. I think there's something wrong with it. I mean, even for someone of my size, there should be a setting where it's easy (albeit slow) to ride uphill, shouldn't there? It's a 21-speed bike, after all. But it's a cheap, no-name, made in China bike, so maybe not.
I made it all the way up the hill, and the next hill. In fact, I got within two blocks of home before I had to get off and walk the bike the rest of the way home. Then I had to sit down for a long time and catch my breath. I'm definitely weaker than I was a few days ago, because even on my weakest day, I can ride on a flat surface. But not yesterday. It's my own fault, though, because I barely ate anything. I have to remember to EAT things. A restrictive diet doesn't mean starvation. In fact, it means the opposite. I have to eat more of the things I CAN eat, because I have way fewer choices.
For dinner I made turkey with lemon rice - flavored with garlic, onion and capers. Even with all the strong flavors, though, the food tasted bland. It was the same thing the night before. I made curried tofu with peanuts. Curried tofu! And it was bland! Maybe it's my palate - without the (red) meat, dairy, sugar, salt, and all the rest, my taste buds are rebelling? I don't' know, but it sure feels that way. The only thing that really has any taste, it seems, is sweet sugary fruit.
The cravings started yesterday too. I thought I'd be desperate for some cheese, but the thing I wanted more than anything, yesterday, was a shot of amaretto. It doesn't help that we have a bottle of it sitting in the bookcase. I'm looking at it right now. Oh, the sweet nutty flavour, the warmth as is slides down the throat, the happiness in the center of the stomach... I could mix it with coffee, or in a drink, or make tiramisu with it! Oh, tiramisu! So decadent! So forbidden!
D.'s on a non-dairy diet right now as well. Sent her an email yesterday: "I didn't realize how much my diet depended on cheese!" She replied: "Cheese and yogurt and ice cream and butter and and and.... >_<"
I think it must be harder to cut out one thing at a time, because you can overcompensate (and therefore get sick of) other things. If I cut out dairy, I'd overindulge on soy. If I cut out meat, I'd... overindulge on soy :) If I cut out sugar, I'd overindulge on salt.
Salt. That's another thing. The inside of my mouth has tasted really salty for the past few days. I brush my teeth (but no mouthwash, because it contains alcohol), I rinse my mouth with water, whatever. Nothing seems to remove the salty film from my mouth. Maybe this is a good thing, though? Maybe it's excess sodium leaving my body? That's what I'd like to think, at least for now, because another reason I'm doing this cleanse is to (hopefully) get my sodium levels back down to normal.
Before I gave my grandma a kidney, my mom said, grandma had been on a low-sodium diet for years. The diet, apparently, was to help extend her kidney function. My mom is worried that since giving grandma a kidney, my body's not processing sodium the way it did before, and maybe that's why I'm gaining weight. The doctors didn't say anything about that. They didn't say anything about long-term effects of the operation. What they said, and I'll quote as best I can from memory here, is "you won't have to change your lifestyle in any way." They warned me about complications during and right after surgery, like hernias from heavy lifting, but that's about it. My grandma had problems with sodium because her kidneys didn't work right. So maybe, just maybe, I could have sodium problems too. Who knows? It's worth a shot. And in the process, I'm getting healthier, and hopefully losing some weight.
After dinner, I settled in for a night in front of the new digital cable box: Wipeout, I Survived a Japanese Game Show, Krog Mandoon and the Flaming Sword of Fire. (Side note: In three years, when I read this over, am I going to remember any of these TV shows? Probably not.) But I got restless. I just... and this is unusual for me... I just couldn't sit on the couch, watching TV. Poor H. probably thought I was going crazy. First I filed all our old bills, cleaned up the piles of paper on the coffee table, and swept the floors. Then I cleaned all the old food out the fridge. Then I got out a bucket, filled it with water, added a dash of bleach, and disinfected the fridge. Then I... well, then I was done.
One last note before I go: poo. That's what a cleanse is all about, right? It's about cleaning the bad stuff out of your colon, and the colon expels things in the form of poo. You're supposed to stick close to home because of poo. I don't really want to go into the details of poo here, but I will say this: the first day of the cleanse, I pooped a lot more than usual. The second day, I barely pooped at all. As I write this, I'm into the third day, and... something's definitely happening in there. The size, the texture, the... yeah, I've gone too far into poop talk now. Let's just say that something is different, and I feel... yes it's true... cleaner than I did a few days ago. Not minty fresh, but... lighter. It doesn't feel like my body is a black hole anymore.
Also: I've lost 2lbs. Woot! Only 90-something to go!
Also: H. is supportive, but he's not doing the cleanse himself. That means yesterday he went out and bought chocolate bars, Coca-Cola, cinnamon buns. You know, the usual. And because he's a sweet and generous guy, he offered me some chocolate. I refused, and you know what? It wasn't all that hard to say no, because I knew there was an awesome peach in the fridge with my name on it. I know he wasn't trying to make me "break my diet" by offering me chocolate, that's not the way he is. His mom runs a daycare, he was raised around small children. He's the best sharer I've ever met. He was just being polite. But still, on the off-chance he was trying to tempt me, I countered by trying to tempt HIM to join me on the other side. How did I do that? I gave him my last organic Valencia orange. I said to him, "this is the best orange you'll ever have. Do you want it?" So simple, so effective. :) He ate it and loved it.
Big announcement coming soon. Or... well... in a few weeks :)
night in Victoria. She's tired, and probably sad that the restaurant we're at only serves burgers. At least they had a veggie burger, right? And we don't go there for the food, we go for the view!
This is uncle B. We had this joke about how, in every picture, we should do the "two thumbs up." I saw this little Asian tourist girl doing it at the museum, and I thought it was cool :) This is the only photo of B. actually doing the "two thumbs up", though. He's at the last Victoria Seals (baseball) game of the season, and those sunglasses he's wearing? Free with admission. Oh yeah.
This here? The best advice ever given by a sign at a tourist attraction. I WILL stay on path, sign. Thank you.
These are just some pretty flowers.
who's sitting inside a totem pole, while (out of frame) this little boy watches and laughs. See, B. and I. borrowed a digital camera for the trip, and the camera's directions were in English, and they were confused. At one point, they accidentally switched the camera to "video" mode, and took a bunch of 3 second videos, thinking they were pictures :) Good times :)
First, though, was a group date, and guys? This is where I fell in love with Bonnie. I even pulled H. away from the Christian websites for a second to marvel at the coolness of this chick. She's got awesome hair, awesome makeup, awesome clothes, glowing white skin... goddam, I wish I looked like her. Add to that she's wry, funny, and a little bit bitchy, and I think I've found my new best friend. Only one problem. She's on More To Love. Bonnie, what the hell? You're so much better than this shit! And I think the producers know it too, because even though she shows NO interest in Luke, and even though her "confessionals" are mostly about herself and the other girls, they keep cutting to her. Not to mention, she's one of the only girls yet to cry.
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