Fat Friday

How about devoting Fridays to a little recreation? I’m going to go out and find the best fat girl positive imagery I can to add a little kick to your Fridays. For this inaugural run, I’ve found a clip from a 2005 BBW asian beauty contest. Thank the stars for YouTube, that’s all I’m saying.

All these women are just so darn cute! And while I can’t say I was really a fan of weighing them on the stage, and beauty contests in general kind of weird me out (see a great article about it, Miss Interpreted, in issue 32 of BITCH Magazine) it’s cool to see that all these gals are excited to get their glam on and take the stage from the general run of 6-foot-tall-bony-arsed women we see in pageants.

Outlawing my ass?

Tomorrow “experts” will gather to decide if there should be a law against obesity. Why is it that in so many other instances of discrimination - racism, sexism - the general momentum is to improve the state of things: providing education, advancing scholarship, creating opportunity, combatting inequalities, yet in the case of fat folks it’s all backwards momentum: restrict, criticize, discriminate, and now…outlaw!

Observe:

Obesity is a serious problem, both in Australia and internationally. This conference presents expert perspectives from Australia, the United Kingdom and the United States on how law might contribute to a public health response to obesity. Key questions to be addressed in this conference include:
* Is obesity an area where the law should be involved?
* If so, what can law hope to achieve?
* How can we build a framework for thinking conceptually about what law might offer to obesity prevention?
* What is the role of law, vis a vis non-legal policy interventions, and market-driven responses?
* What principles and values should shape, and limit, law’s response to obesity?
* What are the priority areas where law may have a role to play?
* What specific kinds of laws could emerge in this area?

This freaks me out. What are they going to do - fine people for being fat? Fine them by the pound? Tax them by the pound? Create food ration programs that anyone over a certain BMI has to register for? What’s next - counting fat folks as 3/5 of a person for the purpose of representation? That way the fattest states will have the least say in the government, and then those morally superior thin conservative folks can get back to doing what they do best, you know, like sabotaging women’s reproductive rights and declaring ‘wars’ on supposed terrorists.

Well, when they throw me and my fat ass in jail I’ll ask Tyra Banks to bail me out. She’s a true BFF to the fat girls, as you know.

A chilly morning at Loring Park.

She’s so cute in the warm morning light, and sporting her fancy coat to boot!

She made a thorough investigation this morning of the evidence trail left by a flock of geese that trekked through the park earlier. Ick.

At this point we’d been standing in the same spot for 10 minutes. Am beginning to wonder if we’ll make it home before the Second Coming of Christ.

I can admit that I’m wrong. Occasionally.

A week or so ago I had another round of caretaker vs. illegal parker. Aside from the frequent and annoying calls about the heat that are now kicking in, the illegal parkers are my number 1 most hated aspect of my job. Inevitably, these bouts always happen in the middle of the night, and more often than not are the result of some rude, stupid and inconsiderate resident thinking they can just park there, or the rude, stupid and inconsiderate friend/family member/fuck buddy of some resident that tells them they can park there.

This particular one happened to be the latter. Called out of bed at midnight by a resident whose parking space is occupied, I stood around in my pijamas and slippers waiting 40 minutes for the tow truck to arrive. As I went back in to the lot to meet the tow truck, I saw two figures sitting in the offending car. Now I was pissed. They’re just sitting there! They can’t read the fucking signs that say ‘Parking by Permit Only. Unauthorized vehicles towed at owner’s expense’?!? I stride over to the car and smack my hand against the window several times.

Everything went to shit after that. The dude - a young black guy - came out of the car, pissed as hell, and I was fine with that - I was in the mood for a fight. But then he started yelling about racist assumptions about his being uneducated and a criminal. At that point I knew that things were really bad. I had no idea he was black when I hit the car, and then I had no idea how to defuse a situation that had moved from aggravated annoyance to racially motivated. But then he called me a bitch. Several times.

My sympathy for him living in a racist society shrank in a hurry. I thought, ‘Fine, Asshole, you want to complain about racism and then play the misogyny card? That’s just fine.’ I then asked the tow truck driver to radio the police and they could tell him to move his damn car. It just got uglier and uglier - even the idiot tow truck driver had to chime in and let the guy know that calling me a bitch is assault - until finally things started simmering down and we both gave very wary and guarded apologies before going our separate ways. I was doesn’t yelling though, so I went straight to the resident that told them they could park there and brought the Wrath of the Caretaker down upon him.

But several days later I was still feeling bad about the way I had overreacted. I could have handled it differently - well, dude could have handled it differently, too - and the whole mess still felt unresolved. Damn conscience! But Karma had a way of working things out.

Yesterday I was finishing up my walk with Kiba, heading home after a stroll through the park, when we passed a young black guy who smiled kind of shyly, so I said, Hello. I was slowing down a bit since he looked like he had more to say.

“Do you remember me?”

“Sorry, my memory is for shite.”

“I’m the guy from the parking lot the other night.” I had no idea. It’s freaky dark in the parking lot behind my building, and the dude was wearing a hat. Oh, shit.

No longer sporting my Amazonian armor, all I could do was laugh a little. “You know, I’m still a little embarrassed about that night.”

He laughed and said, “Me, too. I work around this neighborhood and I’ve been worried that I might run in to you.”

“Yeah, that beast of a landlady. Watch out!”

Sincere apologies were swapped, sensitivities explained, and amends made. It was very unexpected and a little bizarre.

“I’m Morgan, by the way.”

“I’m Gerry.”

“Nice to meet you.”

I may not survive the day.

Did you see Serial Experiments Lain? It’s a mind-fuck of a series out of Japan about the strange events that happen to a girl named Lain as she explores a virtual realm called the Wired. Throughout the series there are extended scenes of power lines accompanied by the deep drone of electrical current pouring out of your sound system. It’s the sound of flourescent lights when you’re all alone in an examination room waiting for the doctor.

It’s maddening, really. And right now it is saturating my office. If I had come in to work today in an emotionally unhinged state, it would have been a really, really bad day. Thank the stars for iTunes, that’s all I’m saying.

This post will be totally fat.

Fat! Fit? Fabulous! is a totally fat and fantastic article about the researchers and activists currently strutting their stuff in the Health at Every Size civil rights movement.

Above: Marilyn Wann rocks it on her Yay! scale - a scale that gives out compliments rather than numbers.

Jesus is my boy-friend.

I’ll be the first to admit that my views on spirituality - and in particular, Christianity - are a little bizarre. They’re also a little vague, a bit nonsensical at times, and bound to confound. I was walking Kiba in the park when one of God’s soldiers decided to stop me for some conversation.

Fundie: Can I ask you a question?

FatGrrl (thinking to myself): [Sure, as long as you don't ask me what happens when we die.] Go ahead.

Fundie: Do you know where you’re going when you die?

FatGrrl: [Doh!] I don’t know.

At this point he got a look on his face as though I were trying to be difficult, or purposefully evasive.

FatGrrl: I really have no idea.

Fundie: You don’t have any ideas at all?

FatGrrl: Well, it could be that I simply die and move on to the next plane, at which point I send out party invitations to my dead friends and we get together for picnics.

Fundie: I’ve never heard that one.

FatGrrl: But it does sound fun!

This little soldier took his work very seriously, and I tried not to laugh when he asked such obviously transparent questions as, “What do you use as your moral guide?” and “What do you think Judgement will be like?” or “What do you think Hell looks like?” He followed me around the park for the better part of an hour, to the point where it started to feel like a quasi-date. Sad, really, that he had to be a fundie, because he was pretty cute.

I wanted to bring him a little fun. I wanted to bring him a little Jesus he could enjoy. A little kitsch goes along way towards making you understand that even Jesus had to have laughed once in a while, and if this blog post is any sort of indication, Jesus would have no shortage of jokes. You can go out in the world and witness as a sinner, you can bring your doom and gloom to me, you can lament about how you really deserve to go Hell but you’re so grateful that God has offered his protection. But I’ve found the answer to that kind of boo-boo: a Jesus band-aid.

Jesus as a cross-dresser? No problem - this magnetic Jesus comes complete with coconut bra and grass skirt. (Really, I always suspected that Jesus had a better understanding of gender as a fluid social mechanism. We’re all still figuring it out.)

I enjoy this kind of playful irreverance. There’s no doubt about the far-reaching and incredible impact that the historical Jesus has had on the course of history, but even the Son of God has to decorate his pad, so why not choose these stylin’ coat hooks?

Coat Hanger (Jesus Welcomes You), courtesy of Oscar Perez at Pink Bubble Bath.

Many thanks to Isaac the Theologian for this crazy collection of Jesus kitsch, and for leaving me armed with a few choice ideas and phrases for my conversation with God’s little soldier.

Plastik: BBW

A great film out of France. Enjoy!

Playing the Pleaser.

Green Tea Ice Cream

Abby came up from Des Moines for a visit this weekend. I have decided that Abby will also be a co-founder for the Faded Lily Home for Spinsters and the Romantically Disappointed (the name I’ve given to the mansion Abby and I have already decorated in our heads for when we retire at age 30).

In our long tradition of saving treks to the theatre for the truly bad films, Abby and I headed out to see Step Up, which happens to feature the grandson of one of my residents. He plays a young kid named Skinny - a speaking role! So Abby and I went out to celebrate my two degrees of separation from Hollywood. It was so bad. It was so-so-so-so bad! Perfect for the occasion, really. Afterwards we treated each other to Chinese for dinner, and relived the finer melodramatic moments of the film. When my green tea ice cream arrived, Abby gave it a wary look, and reminded me of a birthday trip we took to a Mongolian BBQ place in Cedar Rapids, Iowa that served three scoops of ice cream as a dessert: green tea, red mung bean, and some mystery flavor that we couldn’t figure out.

“Yeah, Ab, I remember leaving that bowl of ice cream mostly untouched at the Mongolian place. But this ice cream’s different. I don’t know. I like it. Maybe it’s the restaurant.”

“A nicer restaurant?”

“Yeah, that Mongolian BBQ place stuff was just gross.”

“It was probably Lipton’s Green Tea Ice Cream.”

I laughed so loud that I’m sure every set of eyes in the restaurant fixed on me. My spoon fell on the table and I clapped my hands over my mouth for fear of spitting ice cream all over Abby and the table. I laughed so hard that I could barely breathe and it sounded like I was wheezing. Meanwhile Abby was turning beet red while trying to laugh without making a sound. I tried to pull myself together but it was one of those moments where you’re sure that either something is going to shoot out your nose, you’ll pee your pants, or be unable to stop a huge, explosive fart from echoing through the room.

“Coming to a freezer section near you. Right next to the Haagen-Daaz!”

In other news, I took advantage of the Evil Twin Property Manager being out of town, and instead hit up the Good Twin Property Manager to give me an old workshop space that Steve the Former Caretaker (*sniff*) used, and convert it to an art studio. He was remarkably easy to bend to my will and immediately granted my request. I now have a space to work! Of course, I’ve got to get it cleaned up first:

Damn it, Steve, you slob! (Although I will forgive you before this weekend when we meet up for a few drinks.) Well, whatever, this means there might actually be room in the apartment this year to put up a little Christmas tree and Kiba won’t be robbed of this holiday staple.

I finally framed a finished piece - productivity, at last! Here is the debut of Life Drawing No. 1.

This weekend I also sold my soul to YouTube for clips of Gackt on Japanese TV.