Looks like I’m moving up in the blog world. My little cyberden finally got some schpam.

Almost finished with another painting I’m doing. I still haven’t decided how to finish the one I posted earlier in the week. :: shrugs ::

A friend of ours sent us this video of a gal dancing to that “single ladies” song in a scary clown mask who bangs her head real hard on her TV. I laughed at it, then I felt bad ’cause it sounded like the lady was crying. So I ain’t going to post it here.

My friends at church have started this new Youtube channel and it’s pretty cool. If you look to your right, you will also see a new link to their blog! Yay *clap clap clap*.

I really like Orlando. Even though it is becoming the poster child for the housing-bust and everything’s kinda dirty and broken here, and this seems to be the place where strip malls have evolved to self-replicate and the whole thing’s run by a talking rat. I still really like Orlando. The flowers are pretty here and there are lots of vegetarian restaurants and we have a gay people center. Yay.

Anyhoo. I guess that’s enough randomness for a Friday morning. I will be doing my (blog) premier of a three painting series this weekend. I’m so excited!


What a Friggin’ Week

Working in a large non-profit during the month of September has meant surreal-ness and uncalled for stress as we cross the “fiscal-year” threshold. After a giant flurry of activity, the afternoon at my job was eerily quiet as I completed my billing for the month and worked on shit like case notes, and putting away extra pieces of paper.

The fat blogs, as always, are full of goodness this week, and I’ve had very little time to sift through them! I have been working on art and working on my relationship.

Of late our yard had become very overgrown (due to equipent usage/timing conflicts with our neighbor) and today, out of either “kindness” or insanely-adept-bordering-on-professional-level passive aggression, somebody mowed it. They didn’t just mow it- they hacked everything down. All these beautiful plants had begun to really lush out around the perimeter – OUR SIDE- of the house and whoever made the decision just ripped it all out. Our little duplex, which looked so kitschy and Florida, now looks all sad and detritus-y. Florida weeds don’t look like weeds, y’all. They are lush and beautiful and have pretty little flowers growing all over them. Whoever took the “initiative” to “mow” has some real childhood, plant-related trauma. It kinda makes me sad. We had a baby oak tree growing out there, along with all these gigantic reddish-black vines and a whole bunch of baby elephant ears.

And we would have mowed it ourselves, but our neighbor (who told us when we moved in she’d let us use her lawnmower whenever we needed it if she could keep the key to the shed) is not around that often to give us the key to the shed, and won’t let  us coordinate times with her to mow the lawn.

Ugh. And on top of all that, they put the “yard waste” (read: all the pretty plants they killed) into our city trash can, and shoved it over on the side of the yard. We’ll have to take it out and re-bag it. Gah.

Anyways. Not a lot of deep thinking to post about today. Instead, here’s a sneaky-peeky at part of a new painting that I’m making. 😀



Very big thank you to Shapely Prose for this article that highlights an apparent fat-hatred singularity and gives all the pertinent citations and all that shit. I read the articles linked. It made me want to just break something.

Interesting, right, that all this “data” comes from places like Weight-Watchers and other slimebag diet vampire companies. Actually I shouldn’t insult vampires like that, probably. It’s almost Halloween.

*hates the diet industry*

Happy Monday!

A Little Something Up My Sleeve…

I have been working on a couple of series-ish things in the art realm. One series is with plaques, the other without. I should be sharing them in the next week or so.

Other than that, the steel-clamp-down on any sort of extraneous “surfing” has been put in place at my job and so it’s been very difficult to find time to muse here. I tend to be very “off the cuff” when I write anything. But there are a few ideas budding in this here head of mine.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing too much with this here blog and that puts me off from it; like I don’t know where to start. :: shrugs :: A friend of mine reminded me whilst at my heathen-church that I shouldn’t worry off the bat about the links or the looks, etc., but instead focus on the content.

So to wrap up: coming this week are artsy “groupings” and also some thoughts on revolutionary acts, terrible mainstream movies, and IDK, maybe some thoughts on artificially-derived self-esteem. How’s that sound?

It’s almost Friday! Whoopie!

Idle Hands- Devil’s Werk?

Sneaking in a quick post- mostly about the things I *want* to do as they are not the things I *have* to do, nor the things that I am * supposed* to be doing.

Since I’ve started painting my hands have wanted to be busier. I don’t just think about painting, I notice that I move and twitch my fingers when they should be still as though I had a brush in my hands.

I want to write more lately, as well. The creative side of my brain is asserting a dominance that it didn’t have before. It’s like it’s telling my body that it NEEDS the intellectual activity.

SO I get a half a minute in between the million and four things I have to do for my job, and feel compelled to write something about myself.

WTF does that mean, anyway?

Now, break’s over, back on my head. 😦

Weekend Schtuff

This weekend has been fruitful. In the course of the last 36 hours I finished a painting that I started last night (which is like, whoa!) and we experienced a monitor death and subsequent monitor replacement. Which is awesomely awesome. We’re a little bit poorer in money. But we are graphics-rich!

The monitor quest was so dramatic. And then we FINALLY picked one, and brought it home, and M hooked it up, and while she was trying to fix the resolution, the Linux went kerflopsky and now we are running the puter from an Ubuntu live disc and so, like, all this random shit can’t be done right at this moment. But we has a very awesome, very widescreen monitor. YAY.

Fat, Power, and the Would-be Know-It-All

I think the first “profession” I ever aspired to was that of Archaeologist. Well. That was after Ballerina. However, being too fat to be a ballerina- and that was how it was put to me when what I wanted to be/do came up in conversation- I had to find some other place to channel my energies. I went to high school. I went to college. I got an Anthropology degree. I learned another language.

Basically, the appeal to me was this: I could study people. I could watch them and learn from them, and possibly teach them something later on.

Because what do those PSA’s during after-school special commercial breaks teach you? “Knowledge is power.” Right.

I take to the fat-o-sphere a bit like the amateur anthropologist that I really am. I don’t comment all that much but when I do I try and make it insightful. But I soak up a lot, I think.I love reading the Fat Acceptance blogs. They make me feel at home in my cuddly body. They give you insanity watcher’s points. They tell you when you need to use them. It’s a really helpful thing.

But being so deluged with the scientific arguments that bolster the philosophy of fat acceptance sometimes does damage to the activist side of me. I find myself getting bogged down in theoretical debates over the virtues/evils of “calories in and calories out,” I find myself engaged in an inner struggle with my burgeoning inner vegan activist and her sister, my blossoming HAES-preaching revolutionary. I worry and toil inside over what to say when someone, inevitably, tells me I’ve “lost weight” in order to presumably “brighten my day.”

I really, really have to stifle it (the raucous laughter, that is) when some meat-eater wants to tell my fat, newly-vegan ass what I should or should not eat.

I get all wrapped up in it. The complexity. The arguments. The over-justifications.

It should really be much, much simpler- because I’m a person. And when the Know-It-Alls come knocking, they really just shouldn’t. Just because.

I’m not a Thin Man’s Burden. I have my own mind and can think for myself, but I’m pretty sure they (the Know-It-Alls) already know that. When a person expresses “concern” over my weight, I know it’s really that person expressing fear. They might verbalize that as fear for my life; they might be somewhat genuine in their sentiment. What they don’t realize is that what they are telling me is that I have to conform in order to suit the expectations of a wretched system, one that they have internalized and for which they have become gatekeepers. Because really, who wants to think of hirself as a gatekeeper for evil and oppression? It’s much easier to dress it up in “concern,” so that the person uttering the statement feels as though ze is doing the “right thing.”

They don’t realize it’s FORCE. It’s a VIOLATION. It ain’t right.

Simple. It really should be simple.

I don’t hurt people by just being here. In my particular case, animals don’t have to die so that I can have food. I, and most of my fat sistren and brethren, are just people. We have body mass. Just like everyone else.

Unfortunately, in our culture (and many others as well, but I focus on this one because it’s the one I live in) people are indoctrinated to think of power as personhood. If one doesn’t use some sort of culturally-designated superlative to describe and define hir existence, then the opposite must be true of that person. Our culture abhors mediocrity and awards extremism. You can’t be simply “good” and get by. You are supposed to be “the best,” at something. Or at least better than someone else in the room.

So I don’t think we should get all rankled when some Know-It-All attempts to exert some sort of power over one of us by presuming to know what’s best for us. As fat people, we inhabit a space in society that can be described as negligible at best and at worst, as a big hatred-garbage can. We might not be the “last” acceptable place onto which people deflect their most disgusting emotions. But we’re damn near it.

So please remember, when some Know-It-All is trying to tell you how to live your life, they are just acting out their fears in front of you. Don’t engage. Take control of the conversation. Say something audacious. Let them know that you aren’t someone they can look down their nose at, just because they feel an inner sense of superiority to the amount of adipose tissue hanging off your upper arms, or your waist, or your ass.  They get their “theory” from the evening news, in most cases.

And with that thought, it is now bedtime. Night-night, folks.