Monday, April 29th, 2013
Confession: I’m kind of surprised everyone is so amazed by this overweight girl taking photos of herself. Look, I’m not knocking her, personally. I don’t care what size she is. And if that’s how she “got her power back”, then great. But I disagree, respectfully, with her premise.
As a plus-size person who does get looked at sometimes or even snide comments made about them on occasion (and cried about it), she’s setting up elaborate selfies in an awkward way that makes her kind of stick out in a crowd. How is the photo being captured? I assume (and am happy to be corrected here) with a camera on a tripod (or perhaps a Gorillapod) and a remote, unless she’s got a friend taking the photos — which logistically would negate her being the photographer. Any time a camera is set-up, there are people who are going to involve themselves somehow.
In 99% of the photos I’ve seen, she looks decidedly forlorn or has her mouth agape or she is dressed in an unflattering way. She’s generally “out of sorts” in her photos, not just fat, so it doesn’t really surprise me that people look.
People look. It’s just human nature. I don’t think it’s right to verbally criticize people or call them names or make anyone feel uncomfortable — no one has the right to do that. But, I look at people all the time — I may not make ridiculous gaping stares, but I will glance and I may throw a side-eye at whomever is with me, if a person of any size is wearing something inappropriate or nutty or is otherwise carrying themselves in a way that warrants looking.
It’s wonderful that some people feel empowered by her photos and I definitely think some of those people making faces are way over-the-top. No one needs to be that obvious with their “people watching”, but while it may seem like “I don’t get it” or maybe like I’m some kind of compassion-free asshole, if she were smiling or happy or even just nondescript… I might not feel the same way. If she weren’t so obviously taking a photo of herself, foot akimbo, unkempt, mouth hanging open, etc, people might not have the same reaction.
I believe in carrying yourself with dignity, regardless of what size you are, and her photos don’t reflect that, in my opinion. What she’s doing seems to be more of an artistic statement, ergo, she’s presenting herself in a way that gets people to look.
</fat devil’s advocate>
Friday, April 26th, 2013
A shared story about a guy who posted his daughter’s science test filled with religious/scientific inaccuracies sparked a conversation on Facebook that I got so into, I had to stop my long-winded reply and take it to the blog.
I’m not religious — big shocker. But I’m not an atheist. I’m more agnostic, simply for lack of proof either way. Atheism is too finite, in my opinion. I get it, but I’m not totally shutting out the possibility of something more, simply because we just don’t know. I mean, it’s pretty clear to me there’s no omniscient dude on a cloud smiting things and napping on Sunday and all that. But science has not proven there isn’t, which is totally fine and reasonable because that’s science’s job — to prove things — and they haven’t found evidence of that yet. (They probably won’t. I’m just sayin’.)
What gets me is when religious people claim I (and other non-believers) have no faith — that a lack of faith in God is a lack of faith entirely. As if religion has a monopoly on the word. Faith’s definition is believing in something you cannot prove. I can believe The Snorks live in my nightstand and pick my nose for me at night while I sleep, but that doesn’t make it religious. (Or true.)
I do have faith — in science. I believe in scientist’s abilities to hypothesize and form theories based on facts they can prove. My faith lies in their ability to suss out the truth and make educated deductions based on that truth. When science tells me the sky is blue because molecules in the air scatter blue light from the sun more effectively than they scatter red light, I believe them because they’re educated people who know about molecules more than I do. And you know what else I like about science? Science is allowed to be wrong — and scientists are cool with that — because it means another discovery is made, a theory has been proven or a new hypothesis is born. You know, science-y shit!
I’m totally cool with folks believing whatever makes them happy, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else. I truly am. Sometimes, what they believe is batshit crazy, in my opinion. Other times, what one believes consoles people in times of need or lifts up one’s life in a way I can’t understand and I’m totally fine with that. As long someone’s faith doesn’t infringe on anyone else’s liberties, life or well-being or influence what should be neutral arenas (like politics and government), it’s none of my business.
Believe the Snorks live under your nightstand for all I care.
Wednesday, April 24th, 2013
There’s a mysterious “ding-dong” doorbell sound in our neighborhood that happens multiple times each instance and multiple times a day, with no real specific times or intervals. It doesn’t bother me or anything — it’s actually kind of a pleasant sound — but it rings out quite clearly every day at varying times. My curiosity is at eleven.
Usually, it rings 3-4 times in a row. “Ding dong! (Pause) Ding dong! (Pause) Ding dong!” I thought it might be some kind of clock chime, but that’s not it. Our units don’t have doorbells, so I know it’s not another apartment and it’s loud and echo-y enough to not be one of the apartments. I called the leasing office and asked if they know, but they acted like I was sniffing glue.
So I called the sleep study corporate building that is across the street and the receptionist there had no idea what I was talking about. She said I should try the Frito-Lay offices/distribution center, which is on the next block.
What I find weird is that these other people don’t hear it. Not the leasing office employees, not the receptionist next door, yet they’re all within earshot of this sound. Mike’s heard it, so I know I’m not insane.
Wait! There it goes again! Mysterious…
Friday, April 19th, 2013
I’m sitting in my new office, listening to the quiet. Well, the semi-quiet — there are some birds chirping and a lady playing with her basset hound in the dog park across from our building. Those are happy sounds, which fill my heart with warm fuzzies and rainbow-pooping unicorns. I’ve got a full, hot cup of delicious coffee and a bunny napping in the other room. I’m enjoying the breeze as it blows through the apartment and the warmth of the 70 degrees on my shoulders as my east-facing office gets the morning sun as it moves across the sky.
This doesn’t suck.
“In times like these…” is one of those phrases that grates on my nerves a bit. It goes hand in hand with “now more than ever”, another of my least favorite cliches. Cliches? Colloquialism? Idioms? Whatever. I’m not a fan. But, given all that’s happened this week, I have to concede that in times like these I am grateful.
This week has been grievous for so many. Much like 9/11, I’m not directly affected by the tragedies in Boston or in Texas. I don’t know anyone directly involved, it wasn’t near me and I am safe in my southern California cocoon, for now. But I’m human, compassionate and saddened for those who lost their lives, their limbs, who risked and gave their lives trying to catch those who did these awful things in Boston; for those who died and those who are now grieving those lost in the explosions in West, Texas.
It’s been a rough week.
So today, this otherwise average Friday, I am uncharacteristically “soft-focus”, filled with gratitude for what I have, what I do and those I love.
I am grateful. That is all.
Wednesday, April 10th, 2013
Have I mentioned that I love our new place? I really do.
I’m so happy that we decided to return to the same complex I lived in before we moved to Las Vegas. It felt like home as soon as we moved in. I’d forgotten how peaceful this area is. It’s so nice to wake up in the morning and, despite all the boxes that have yet to be unpacked, feel relaxed and comfortable. I was depressed every day in that old place. It made me sad to be in that apartment — all dark and dreary, musty, dank and cold. And it shows — I look frumptastic and could use a day of self-maintenance and beauty.
I physically am still recovering from that place — I’m still coughing and wheezing and my skin is kind of a mess, but it’s only a matter of time before I work that out of my system. The air quality there was so bad, I can only hope it didn’t cause any permanent damage from breathing in all that crap (potentially asbestos, in addition to the mold).
Here, the sun streams in and when we open the windows, the breeze blows through… I hear birds chirping and watch the dogs playing in the park across from us. Once I get my office situated, it’ll be close to perfect.
It’s got a couple quirks — like any apartment. We’ve got a view into the dumpster area from the front porch/balcony, which I didn’t notice before, but it’s well-covered, well-maintained and doesn’t smell, so it doesn’t bother me. We do have a hobo that likes to rummage in there every morning, which is kind of noisy and creepy watching him tear open our trash bags, but this isn’t really a hobo-laden area, so I called the management and they alerted the grounds staff to look out for him. But that is a small price to pay compared to the dozen hobos at our old place walking around with their shirts off, smoking cigarettes. And the flies around the dumpsters. And the broken elevators. And the smelly hallways. And… and… and… screw that place. I can’t believe people pay that much to live there. I am not sure what I was smoking when I chose that place. It was a total Monet.
Overall, I’m really, really happy with our new place. Rent in San Diego is obscene, but it’s the best extra $300/mo we’ve ever spent. Absolutely worth it.
