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Childhood Obesity: Tying Children Down to Anvils in Playgrounds

2010-07-27T10:21:00Z

Hey, did you hear? I've been running around from playground to playground, whirling my lasso in the air, capturing healthy, active children and tying them down to anvils to keep them from exercising.

I won't have it. If I have to be fat, then your children will be fat too, dammit!

I'm being facetious, of course.

But that's the impression one Open Salon blogger wants to give his readers. He doesn't like my stance on Michelle Obama's "Let's Move" campaign and her insistence on framing it as a fight against childhood obesity. Hey, I don't think it's the most efficient way to make fat children thinner, and I think Michelle Obama is misguided. But because one man disagrees, he's decided to "cleverly" tag his post "Kim Brittingham is killing our children".

He's got a lot of company, too. Quite the lively debate is happening, on his post and mine .

I know some of you have very definite, well-considered opinions on this subject, so perhaps you'll want to join the discussion and help balance out the ignorance.

Will Mean People Wipe Out The Obesity Epidemic?

2010-07-26T18:39:00Z

I cross-posted about Michelle Obama's "Let's Move!" campaign on Open Salon , and I got the following two comments from the same dude, "Cap'n Parrothead". First:

"I couldn't disagree more. Obesity in America is epidemic and God bless her for addressing it. Pull your head out of the sand."

And then, the Mrs. chimed in:

"My wife's reaction to your post:

'Good grief...kids should not be fat! Adults should not be fat! Dogs and cats should not be fat! Nothing about being overweight is beneficial unless you happen to be shipwrecked on a desert island and must wait for rescue.

I AM fat and I know it is NOT healthy, NOT comfortable, NOT okay, and does NOT require superhuman powers to change. Time, willpower, knowledge, support, YES. You can sit around the dinner table eating pudding cake and lamenting about your health problems and aches and pains and blaming it on your genes if you want, but that won't help any. If you have a "predisposition" then you have to work harder. The formula is the same.

Sure I feel bad for fat kids who get picked on, but telling them it's okay and is just who they are won't help them any.'

She's absolutely right."

While being fat may be uncomfortable for YOU, Mrs. Parrothead, that is only YOUR experience of the world. How can you so authoritatively speak for everyone who's fat and expect to be taken seriously? Who died and made you The Omniscient POV?

Besides, we have a pretty ridiculous idea of what counts as "being fat" in this country. That's why we have so many women with anorexia and bulemia. That's why we have so many little girls who AREN'T fat on DIETS. And that dieting is stunting their growth. It's making them sick.

We've got a hell of a lot of un-fat people going on diets in this country, because they're scared stiff to be fat. Because they know fat people get the least love, the least respect. But, irony of all ironies, that dieting is what makes a good number of people fatter in the end.

The more we stigmatize "being fat", the more likely we are to have people who can't co-exist healthfully with food.

Additionally, there are a lot of short-sighted, angry people in this country who are quick to blame fat people for their fatness. "Buck up and get some willpower!" they seethe. "This is a choice -- stop playing the victim!" Interesting, though, that a lot of people got on board with making the tobacco industry take responsibility for pushing their cancer sticks on the populace, particularly young people. And yet not many people are willing to tell Big Food to stop loading up their edibles with combinations of fat, salt and sugar that have been proven to be as physically addictive as cocaine, and which are unnecessary. Few people are willing to make the parent companies of chain restaurants take responsibility for pushing huge gooey portions of food on prime time TV viewers, or for creating unnecessarily huge portions, for "supersizing" their meals or inventing "Fourth Meal" as Taco Bell has done -- all in the name of SELLING MORE. It's classic, corporate greed. (And even more evil when you realize that some of these huge conglomerates are not only junk food manufacturers, but they're behind many of the big name weight loss programs, too.)

But it's so popular to shit on fat people, nobody WANTS to make Big Food accountable. It would mean we'd have to shift our blame away from fat people, and kicking them is just too much fun to sacrifice. There are so many fat people out there (40% of the population, according to recent stats) that we're bound to run into a few of them each day -- and each encounter is a brand new chance for us to unleash our frustration, our guilt for our OWN gluttony, our self-hate of our OWN "imperfect" bodies, onto SOMEBODY ELSE. Gee, it's not NEARLY as effective a release as directing your hatred towards some faceless corporation. It's much more satisfying to sneer at a real person, to watch a fat person's swollen face fall as you reject them -- for a job, for a date, for friendship.

I'm taking a guess that this lady who so emphatically speaks through her husband grew up with at least one very unforgiving parent. Somebody who didn't tolerate time wasting of any sort. Someone you told her that crying was for babies. Military, even? She, like herharsh guardian, doesn't have an appreciation for the complexities of human nature and emotions. How do I know? Because she's so sure of herself when she summarily says that "telling [fat kids who get picked on that being fat is] okay and is just who they are won't help them any."

You don't know much about psychology, do you, Mrs. Parrothead? (Ironic name, there. You're probably still parroting what some unenlightened grown-up filled your head with so many years ago.)

No tears. No blubbering. No fat. No excuses. Life is tough. Get to work. Work harder. It's the only thing that pays in life. There are no free rides. Being soft makes people weak. Do what the Boss Man says and shut your mouth. Don't think. Don't think at all. Obey. You have your marching orders, now march. There's no crying in baseball. Feelings are bad. Feelings are for pussies. Head up, chest out. Keep a stiff upper lip. Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't stop to think. Don't stop to feel. It's all or nothing. You're either a winner in this world or you're a loser. And no child/wife of mine is going to be a fat loser.

Right?

The problem with that approach, madam, is that those feelings always come back to bite you in the ass, and every time they do, you slip and fall. Ten steps forward, twenty steps back.

And every time you fall back, you'll wonder what's wrong with you, because you can't seem to "get it together". You feel confused.

Because nobody told you you're not a fucking robot.

Tough love rarely creates lasting change in ANYONE. It certainly doesn't work for people with deeply ingrained habits of poor eating and sedentary living. IT DOES NOT WORK.

An approach that is MUCH more successful, however, is starting from a place of acceptance. When one's self-esteem is nurtured, he or she is far more likely to make gradual, loving, LASTING changes.

Your martinet approach is naive, old-fashioned, and indicative of your inability to overcome your self-loathing. You're scared to death that if you forgive yourself, go easy on yourself, dare to see yourself as beautiful or treat yourself gently, that you'll fold in on yourself like a collapsing sand hole. That you'll die in a vast puddle of yourself. That you'll fall into a deep well of the worst of yourself, never to return.

As long as you continue to crack that whip on yourself and everybody else in this harsh, harsh world you've steeled yourself against, you'll never know if deeper contentment (and therefore, more profound health) is EVER possible.

Children, however, deserve the chance to find out if acceptance works.

Who, pray tell, are YOU to get in their way?

Dear Mrs. Obama: On Your Campaign to Fight Childhood Obesity

2010-07-19T02:49:00Z

Dear Mrs. Obama,

In response to your e-mail of today, July 18, 2010, from which I quote:

"...help us tackle an issue that is dear to my heart — childhood obesity. As some of you know one of my top priorities as First Lady is the Let’s Move! campaign, where we have made it our goal to put a stop to the challenge of childhood obesity within a generation, so children who are born today grow up at a healthy weight."

Mrs. Obama, my respect for you has taken a serious hit since you initiated your campaign against childhood obesity. I honestly thought you were smarter than that.

All you’re doing is further demonizing fatness and marginalizing fat people – worst of all, fat children!

Your campaign is unintelligent at its core, because instead of simply encouraging all children to eat a nutritious variety of foods and stay physically active, you have made the choice to cast obesity itself as the enemy to be destroyed.

Not every fat person is unhealthy. Not every thin child eats well or stays physically active. But by linking your Let’s Move campaign to obesity, you are fostering hatred and ignorance. You are naïve to believe otherwise.

I don't disagree with promoting healthful eating and activity. It's inarguably worthwhile. What I have a problem with is pinning "FIGHT OBESITY" onto your Let's Move campaign.

If you promote healthful eating and physical activity, then you're automatically promoting a lifestyle that will reduce the weight of some children.

Therefore, why bring obesity into the equation at all, Mrs. Obama?

See, what happens is, the kids whose bodies don't shrink in response to carrot sticks and playing tag will be left feeling stigmatized. "What I am is wrong. I'm a freak. What I am is something everyone -- including the First Lady -- wants to wipe out. What I am is soooo incredibly wrong, that the First Lady chose to use her considerable platform to launch a nationwide campaign against what I am."

Mrs. Obama, your campaign assumes that all fat children are fat because they don't exercise or eat right. It's the same assumption so many people erroneously make about fat adults.

I've known kids who were just plain chubby, not because they overate, not because they weren't active. They were just chubby. Their bodies weren't finished yet. They were children, you see. And when they got older, they slimmed down -- naturally.

I've also known children who appeared "fat" by our societal standards, who were only reflecting their family's genetic code to be stocky. Not necessarily obese, but short and solid. As children, they "appeared" fat. However they, like the rest of their family, were healthy as a horse.

But what happens when you bring in an entire society, conducted by a misguided First Lady, who wants to fight what these kids are?

The kid who didn't have an eating disorder before might develop one now. Or develop another harmful way to cope with his or her anxiety. They're guaranteed to develop poor self-esteem. Because the entire country is telling them that what they are is wrong, and must be fought.

And WOW, no worse time to fill somebody's head with those messages than childhood if you really want them to stick.

Michelle Obama, you need to take "fighting obesity" out of the equation. You are obviously lacking in vision; otherwise, you would understand that focusing on the positive -- eating well and exercising -- is enough. Children who are perhaps fat because of how they eat will learn to eat better. PERIOD. Mission accomplished, without doing harm. But "fighting obesity" is DOING HARM.

Admittedly, it takes some extra-credit thinking to get it -- a willingness to think beyond the media messages we get spoon-fed every day. (Fat always causes disease -- therefore, you have carte blanche to demonize people who wear it to your heart's content. And thanks for towing the line, because it helps sell our products. Love, the multi-billion dollar weight loss industry.)

Nothing wrong with good nutrition. Nothing wrong with getting active.

But making children feel bad for what they are? Reinforcing for other children (and adults) that fat children are flawed creatures?

It's short-sighted and cruel.

Think about it.

Sincerely,

Kim Brittingham

Do Authors Get to Design Their Own Book Covers?

2010-06-29T20:38:00Z

I don't know how often publishers let authors design their own book covers, but I had fun making this anyway. : )

Ultra-Portable Seating: Rest Assured on Adventures of Any Size!

2010-05-17T19:01:00Z

Do you hesitate to take adventures on foot?

Do you fear running out of steam? Are you concerned about pain or shortness of breath? Maybe you're recovering from an injury, or have been sedentary for so long that you feel completely "out of shape" and get exhausted just walking to the mailbox.

You might even experience anxiety-based reluctance, like I do. Over the years I've suffered from bouts of agoraphobia that come and go. When it flares up, I feel like the world is a huge, insecure place and walking half a block can make me a nervous wreck. It can feel a little like being a disoriented seal pup, getting carried out into a giant roiling sea, alone. I feel hesitant to venture out into large open areas where it seems there's no place to stop, rest, and talk myself out of my fear and back into reality.

But please -- don't let fears or even physical limitations hold you back from enjoying the world around you. Sometimes, just knowing you're free to rest when you need to can make all the difference.

Having the means to stop and rest comfortably can provide periodic relief to feet, legs, knees; it can give you a chance to catch your breath; it can be a calming reminder that you always have a "safe base", wherever you go.

I recently discovered three stellar products that will enable you to say "yes" more often to getting out and about. Look!:

The Handy Seat
Buy at www.sportseat.com
US $29.95
No, it's not just for old ladies! Hey, how many times have you been in a situation -- at a parade, in a ridiculously long line -- where just about everyone of every age is ready to kill for a place to sit? The Handy Seat makes you the comfy one in every crowd. (Well, OK, and maybe you're a target for a potential seat-mugging. But personally, I'd take my chances and just try not to look too smug.)

The Handy Seat is surprisingly lightweight (seriously, I was shocked). You can make it a part of your daily walk and trust me, you will not feel that The Handy Seat is an additional burden. The first time I look it along on a walk, I actually felt like my water bottle was heavier than The Handy Seat!

The Handy Seat has a comfortable molded plastic carrying grip, and it folds completely flat for transport. However, when you're ready to have a seat, the legs form a tripod and the plastic seat folds down flat.

I had no problems with the featherweight Handy Seat supporting my body weight (between 250-300 pounds), and I found that even though the tiny seat was dwarfed by my substantial rear end, I was not uncomfortable. The manufacturer says that "the 'structural' weight capacity of the (Handy Seat) will hold about ten times what the average person weighs, but more for comfort reasons and body type, the recommended max weight is 250 lb. If an individual is 250+ lbs, they are likely to be able to use the seat, but will find the seat area very small (7 3/4” x 7 3/4”). It is of course a subjective decision by the user." So my fellow big folks, I think you're A-OK with The Handy Seat.

The Handy Seat comes in some funky design varieties, like a yellow "smiley face" on the seat and even classic "camouflage". You can buy an optional seat pad for it, too.

I love mine so much I could kiss it.

The HowdaSeat
Buy at www.howda.com
Prices start at US $74.00

The first time I took my HowdaSeat out in public, I was harrassed. Everyone wanted to know, "Where did you get that? Is it comfortable? You look comfortable. Gee, that's nice. That looks easy to carry. Did you buy it here in town? How can I get one? Look, Stanley, look at that!" It's a hazard of ownership, but well worth it.

The HowdaSeat is not only an attention-getter; it's a little miracle. You might not believe by looking at it that it could be so supportive and comfortable, but it is. In the vein of "they don't make things like they used to", the HowdaSeat's design comes from an old circus seat that was used to give back support on benches under the Big Top. The HowdaSeat's creator inherited an old 1928 version of the seat from a 92-year-old gentleman, tweaked it, and a winning product was born. The HowdaSeat is crafted from hardy American Basswood, with love, in Maine.

The HowdaSeat supports your body in a "cradle" made from wood slats and provides relief to the back that feels oddly "weightless", as though you're suspended in anti-gravity. You just scoot your butt into the unfolded HowdaSeat with the two heavy-duty side straps clipped into place, and lean back at a comfortable angle. You won't fall backward, I promise. It's really quite amazing and restful.

To carry your HowdaSeat, you simply roll up the seat, pull one strap up to use as a carrying handle, and wrap the other strap around the bundle to keep it together. It truly is ingenius.

I love that the HowdaSeat can be used anywhere. You can use it on grass, sand or carpet, on bleachers, in a boat, or even in an office chair for extra support.

HowdaSeat makes several models, and mine is the XL HowdaSeat, made for bigger body frames. It supports up to 300 pounds.

If back support is a particular concern for you, I heartily recommend investing in a HowdaSeat. It will quickly become one of your favorite things. You'll find it's easy to carry and allows you to plop down anywhere and experience a full-body sigh of relief.

Hey, Kim! I'm LOVING the seats. But where'd you get the cute OUTFITS?
All the plus size activewear I'm sporting in these pictures is made by Ulla Popken .

The Oniva Seat Deluxe
Buy at www.picnictrend.com
US $44.95

The Oniva Seat Deluxe is chock-full of fabulous features. Even though it's the heaviest of the three seats featured in this blog, it's still a lightweight seat -- very easy to tote and did not feel burdensome when I took it along on a brisk walk. It's also the largest of the three seats, but it incorporates some great details that, for you, may outweigh the need for a seat that's super-tiny.

The Oniva Seat Deluxe offers both a seat and back support. It folds in half for carrying, and you have the option of using the adjustable shoulder strap, or the handle grip. When it's opened flat, it can be easily stored in a narrow space.

The seat adjusts to five different sitting positions, "clicking" into place one angle at a time until your find your just-right comfort zone.

The Oniva Seat Deluxe also has the benefit of a water-resistant seat bottom -- great for pausing at your favorite fishing hole -- and its ployurethane seat cover is completely removeable for easy cleaning.

It's also the "cushiest" of the three seats featured, with an extra-wide seat and backrest, both cushioned with dense polyurethane foam. My own substantial body felt quite comfortable in The Oniva Seat Deluxe.

There's also a thoughtful zipper pocket on the back of the seat for holding your keys, sunglasses, etc.

I found The Oniva Seat Deluxe to be sturdy and mechanically reliable. I really put it to the test -- folding and unfolding, clicking back and forth through its various positions again and again -- and it held up beautifully. When I sat on the seat and leaned back against the backrest, I enjoyed complete, unfailing support from its steel frame construction.

There's a carry-along seat for every body, and for every type of activity. If you're easing your way into more activity on foot, give yourself the benefit of supportive portable seating. You deserve it. Keep getting out there, and rest when you need to. Every time you go out on foot -- even if you have to stop and rest -- you build strength and stamina for an easier next time.

Enjoy!

Contact Kim Brittingham: hello@kimwrites.com

DISCLOSURE: The Handy Seat was provided without charge by the manufacturer. The HowdaSeat was provided without charge by the manufacturer. The Oniva Seat Deluxe was provided without charge by PicnicTrend.com. Fashions provided without charge by Ulla Popken.

Make Love to Your Food: ZEVIA All-Natural Sugar-Free Soda

2010-03-31T14:26:00Z

I looooove my diet soda. I grew up on it (my dad worked for Coca-Cola). But I know it's pure rot-gut. Yes, I've heard it removes paint from cars, and I buy that story. I do, I believe it's poison. I believe it kills small lab animals. But unfortunately, I'm an addict.

Mmmmmm, fizzy cola from a can. Why is it so irresistible?

Over the past year I've made a real effort to replace the chemical-laden foods and beverages I love with healthier alternatives. Gettind rid of soda was a tough one, because all the natural, organic soft drinks I encountered contained sugar -- and I get enough sugar already, thank you.

So imagine my delight when I discovered Zevia. Zevia is a brand of all-natural soft drinks made without sugar or chemically-processed sweeteners. Instead, Zevia contains Stevia, an herbal sweetener that, according to the Zevia website, does not affect blood sugar levels. Zevia also has little-to-no sodium, depending on the flavor, and no preservatives, no artificial flavors.

YAY!

There are seven varieties of Zevia. I've tried six. Some of them are so fabulous, I took one sip, dropped to my knees and thanked my creator for Zevia. Others...mmmm, notsomuch. Here's my breakdown:

Cola -- YUMMY! My #1 favorite Zevia variety. I could happily live the rest of my life substituting Zevia cola for all those chemically-flavored diet sodas. It gives that satisfying, fizzy cola punch to the tongue, with a secondary flavor I'd describe as herbal. Very refreshing.

Twist -- A lemon-lime beverage, Zevia's answer to Sprite. I couldn't even finish one can. It tasted bitter to me, like lemon rind. Plus there wasn't much of a flavor punch. The lemon seemed watered-down to me.

Root Beer -- WOO-HOO! Tastes the way root beer should taste! My #3 favorite variety. Delicious.

Black Cherry -- WHOA, MAMA. This is one kick-ass cherry soda. I'd even call it "scrumptious". It's my second-favorite Zevia flavor. Reminds me of the old-fashioned cherry "wishniak" I used to get at my grandmother's in Philadelphia when I was little. Incredibly rich cherry flavor.

Orange -- Personally, I found this flavor disgusting. You might disagree. Ironically, my palatte registered its taste as "chemically".

Ginger Ale -- A darn fine version of ginger ale. Perfectly acceptable. I'm not a regular drinker of ginger ale, but if I was, I think I'd be happy with this.

Dr. Zevia -- Zevia's version of "Dr. Pepper", this is the one variety I haven't tried.

If you can't find Zevia in your local supermarket or natural foods store, you can order it online. My local natural foods store runs out of Zevia ridiculously fast, so I started ordering through the Zevia web site. It's so easy, and in just a few days, cases of Zevia show up on your doorstep. Way better than hauling them back from the store. Each case has 24 cans, and you can order single-flavor cases, or a variety pack.

(Disclosure: Zevia provided samples of six of its seven varieties of soda for me to try, at no cost. But I've been buying Zevia by the case, willingly, with my own cash, ever since! And THAT should tell ya something!)

After the Fire, a False Alarm for Jumpy Ocean Grove, NJ

2010-03-15T00:53:00Z

Yesterday morning, several beloved 19th century buildings burned to the ground in historic Ocean Grove, New Jersey, including the Manchester Inn. The four-alarm blaze brought firefighters from a number of New Jersey communities to the scene. The Red Cross arrived to feed and otherwise serve the firefighters who worked for hours to control the fire and track the traveling embers. It was a wicked scene for this small square-mile town.

Tonight, a screaming parade of rescue vehicles -- dozens of fire engines, ambulances and cars outfitted with flashing lights -- came rushing into Ocean Grove, down Broadway to the shoreline, then turned north. Along the route, residents came pouring out of their homes, onto their porches and into the streets, standing under a torrential rain and asking of each other, "What's happening? What is it, what's happening now?"

My partner got on the telephone and immediately dialed a neighbor's number, hoping to get more information. A voice apologized: "All circuits are busy now." The last time I heard that particular recording, I was living in New York City, and the second of the World Trade Center's towers had just fallen to the ground.

We thought something was really wrong.

It could've been anything. It's been a strange weekend in Ocean Grove. Besides the fire, yesterday's tropical storm brought thirty-foot waves, and high winds that lifted our beach onto Ocean Avenue. Those same 50-plus mile-an-hour winds carried the burning embers of yesterday's first fire to the rooftops of adjoining houses. To my knowledge, the cause of that fire remains undetermined. The Neptune Township Police Department sent a recorded message to the telephones of residents on Saturday, asking to see photos or videos that anyone might have of the early stages of the fire. For all anybody knew, that mystery cause was out there causing more damage.

Maybe it's not fire, I thought, given the downpour. Maybe it's flooding.

I ventured out to a line of civilian cars waiting with caution for the emergency vehicles to pass on Broadway. Cars at the back of the line started turning around and driving back from whence they came. I knocked on a window and asked the driver what she knew.

"I think Neptune High School just won some kind of sporting event," she said with disgust, and quickly added, "I think it's the most tasteless thing I've ever seen."

I looked northward and watched as the same parade of carousing vehicles began working its way up Main Avenue and towards the town gate. They were leaving as quickly as they came, making a purposeful, cacophonous loop through Ocean Grove.

Apparently, there was no emergency in Ocean Grove tonight. Only the most irresponsible, thoughtless and insensitive celebratory expression you could've imagined for this wounded place, on this particular Sunday night.

Despite the rainfall, the sickening smell of charred wood, smoldering memories and blackened history still hangs heavy in the air. And no one, not one person in authority at Neptune Township had the BRAIN CELLS to stop and say, "Hey, maybe we can bypass Ocean Grove this time, fellas. That would be in bad taste."

The sight of dozens of fire trucks and ambulances racing urgently into town would've understandably alarmed anyone, even under more ordindary circumstances.

Not only did this unnecessary bacchanalia concern Ocean Grove residents, but I'm sure it was no emotional picnic for the people who lost their homes yesterday morning, nor for the friends and families of those same people. It wasn't pleasant even for me -- one of the lucky Ocean Grovians. I have only to mourn the loss to our town's unique character and history.

It requires a special trip to turn into Ocean Grove. It's not the sort of place you pass through on your way somewhere else; we're simply not situated that way. In other words, we are easily avoided. These same vehicles could've had their lights-and-sirens frat party without ever passing through the Grove.

Who did this? And more importantly, who failed to stop it?

Someone at Neptune Township owes a hearty apology to Ocean Grove tonight, and mere lip service via e-mail or some recorded police department telephone message isn't going to cut it.

Somebody was around tonight who saw this disrespectful display about to happen and had the power to stop it, or at least reroute it out of respect for Ocean Grove. That person needs to take responsibility for failing to make the right call, and RESIGN.

Think I'm being too harsh? Ask yourself why we're letting any bonehead without basic presence of mind hold a position of authority in this community. Aren't we supposed to be putting the important jobs into the hands of the smart people?

-- Kim Brittingham
www.kimwrites.com

Seeking permissions or other info? Contact the author: hello@kimwrites.com

Sexuality, Self-Identification, and Simon LeBon.

2010-03-02T19:52:00Z

There's a lovely woman I know through Facebook. I'll call her Belinda.

I recently made some status updates on Facebook that referenced my civil union last month. In response, Belinda sent me a private note.

"I don't want to sound ignorant or insulting, but I didn't realize you are a lesbian," she wrote. "I guess your devotion to Duran Duran is what threw me off." (That was my favorite part.) "Anyway," she continued, "I was wondering if any of your other FB friends (who don't really know you, like me), questioned you like I am."

In a later note she wrote that she's "fascinated by gender performance, sexual preference and issues of that nature, especially all of the ambiguities therein" and expressed a hope that I would write a personal essay about it.

So I guess this is my very first blog entry by request.

I didn't take offense to Belinda's message. In fact, I was impressed by her frankness. I don't have any shame issues around my sexuality, so it was no more insulting than if she'd written to say, "I didn't know you were blind/Asian/from the South/a mother." (And just to clarify, no, I am none of those things.)

Actually, I have wanted to write about this, for quite some time. Some people do seem gobsmacked when they learn I have a same-sex partner.

I guess I come off as very straight. And that's O.K. by me. I'm not out to make a point about my sexuality or anyone else's by looking or acting any certain way. I couldn't care less how I "come off", really, except that I resent the whole idea of labels ("labels, schmabels" as Belinda put it) and the stereotypes into which many people (gay, straight, and everywhere in between) expect other people to fit.

Yes, that's right. There are gay people with certain expectations about how other gay people "should" act, too. And I find it ignorant, unsophisticated, and irritating.

I remember being in my early 20s and sitting along a banquette at a lesbian nightclub called Hepburn's in Philadelphia. I was there with two friends; a very "gay-looking" gay woman, and a gentle giant of an African-American man, gay and Jewish in a beaded yarmulka.

A female ambled over to us. She was what you'd call "butch" in the extreme. Everything about her was harsh-looking. She wore a wallet on a chain, her hair was dyed platinum and cropped ultra-short. Her eyes were small, narrow and dark like a rodent's. Her nose was long and thin. Her teeth were small and perfectly even; their edges looked sharp enough to engrave small keepsakes.

She leaned over me and thrust her face close into mine, scowling.

"ARE YOU GAY?" she demanded.

I immediately felt foolish. I didn't know what I was. I usually dated guys, but I felt like I could be...well, anything. I was flesh and nerves and thoughts and emotions and electrical impulses. And all of it was caught off-guard.

"I..I don't know..." I stammered, trying to pull back and put some space between us, though it wasn't easy.

She shook her head and cackled. She looked at my lesbian companion and said:

"Certain people just have no business being here, ya know what I mean?"

To my dismay, my friend nodded, like she understood.

So for a long time I felt like I wasn't "allowed" to have a sexual and/or romantic relationship with anyone but guys unless I was willing to cut off all my hair, start listening to Melissa Etheridge 24/7, wear plaid flannel shirts and take up hiking. I'm still angry about it. Today, I'd tell that bitch where to get off.

Belinda was curious about my sexuality, and asked me politely to clarify it. I'll try.

I recently got civilly united (married, if you want to look at it that way) to a woman. However, in my 39 years of life, I've dated mostly males.

The "mostly" part is the result of:

a) having spent eight of my adult years in a committed relationship with a man; and
b) having lived in a highly homophobic household for all of my teen years and the very early part of my twenties.  Since I liked guys, it just felt easier back then, and safer, to stick with them.

So that you'll understand what I mean in part B, I offer a true story.  It was the day after Thanksgiving, I think. I was a young twenty-something and still living with my parents. A group of us were gathered around the dining room table playing Pictionary: me, my then-boyfriend Rob, my mother, my aunt, my sister, my brother, and a friend of my brother.  My dad was sitting in a recliner in the next room, watching TV.

Someone brought up Madonna. Opinions began to flit back and forth across the table -- she was a trendsetter, she was a skank. And purely as a joke (because while I dig Madonna, I don't really diiiig Madonna), I said, off-the-cuff:

"Well I'd do 'er."

That was all.

I'd do 'er.

Really, I was just kidding.

I think my mother, aunt and boyfriend all groaned. My sister, in her teens, went stiff in her chair, palms flattened to the air as though pressing it away from her, to the left and to the right, and bleated in staccato: "I, did NOT, just, hear that."

The next thing I saw was my dad's face, arms and torso flying towards me across the table, like an evil, angry, moustached Superman sans cape flying at me in 3-D.  His hands went for my neck, and as he groped for it, one of his hands pressed my Adam's apple and it produced a weird sensation in my throat, like the bonging of a bell. My boyfriend immediately shot out of his chair and I remember his voice shouting "Whoa whoa WHOA!" Rob was trying to push my dad off of me; my mother and aunt were trying to pull my dad back in the opposite direction. And then he said, with stiff jaw and spittle forming at the corners of his mouth:

"If you wanna be a fucking faggot, you won't do it under my roof!"

My mother kept saying his name, "Larry, LAH-ree!" Once they'd separated him from me, my mother said wearily, as though scolding a dog, "Oh, Larry! Go sit back down and watch TV, for Christ's sake...". She sighed heavily.

And that was just a joke.

For the most part, I liked guys. I was even engaged to marry one, but for various reasons I called it off. When I became an unattached woman in New York City (who also happened to be estranged from her parents -- their choice, and ironically, it had nothing to do with sexuality), I broadened my dating options to include women.

When I met my now-partner Lori, her face made me instantly happy. Big warm brown eyes, a kind smile. Even my grandmother, who has since passed away, observed sweetly in her child-like dementia, "This lady has a nice smile. Doesn't she have a nice smile?"

Lori brings out the best in me, because she inspires me to practice love, kindness, patience, understanding -- all on her. She makes me want to practice those things. Every day, I put more of that good stuff out into the universe, simply because she's in my life. And it spreads to other people. It would be a greater effort to suddenly switch to total bitchdom just because I've turned away from Lori and towards someone else.

But am I gay, bisexual, or what? Do I have to choose? Must the gender of my partner dictate my status? Does any of it really matter in the grand scheme of the universe?

Even when Belinda wrote to me and said she didn't know I was a "lesbian", I kind of laughed. Neither did I! I mean, I guess technically I am. I go to bed with a woman every night. And I don't mind being called a lesbian. But perhaps I confuse people like Belinda because lesbians don't often sit privately in their living rooms and shriek over Duran Duran videos. Do they?

Do lesbians maintain crushes on Johnny Depp, Colin Firth, and the Dyson vacuum cleaner man? Sometimes when I'm feeling down-in-the-dumps, Lori scans the web for particularly hot pictures of John Taylor and Simon leBon and e-mails them to me. And I love that.

Am I straight because I've enjoyed the way a cock feels when it's just the right length and thickness and stiffness so that I can really feel it filling me, because I loved that sweet ache when the head went a little too deep, because I loved feeling the thing trembling and jerking inside me when it exploded?

Am I straight because I've enjoyed the moment when I first took a cock in my mouth and he gasped like a little girl? (Or does that make me a pedophile, along with the 30-inch-tall Shirley Temple doll in my bedroom?) Am I straight because I know exactly how to give a downright artistic blowjob and have the instincts to know when every little move I make is precisely the perfect one for that very moment in time?

Am I straight because I loved how my soft, supple skin and abundant curves poured over a masculine body? Am I straight because the very contrast of my femininity against a masculine figure magnified my own beauty and sexuality to me, made me enjoy my own body as much as his?

Am I straight because I've enjoyed being wrapped in stronger arms than mine? Because I've treasured the sound of a deep voice laden with emotion reverberating through my body, or breathed down my neck?

Am I straight because I think "Jane Eyre" and "Pride and Prejudice" are the most romantic, heart-throbbing love stories ever written? Because I have a t-shirt that says "I (heart) Mr. Darcy"? Because I decorate, sew, and shop? Because I've got a Hello Kitty rice cooker?

Or am I gay because I don't like the idea of having a dick head jammed into the back of my throat? Because the idea of swallowing makes me want to vomit? Or because I almost never paint my fingernails?

Maybe I'm gay because muscles do absolutely nothing for me. Because when somebody looks at a guy and says he has a "great ass", I have no idea what they're seeing -- to me, they all look flat and potentially hairy. Or maybe I'm gay because I fondle boobs other than my own and like it. Or because the place between a woman's legs can be sweet as candy and smell like flowers, or in some cases, Italian herb crackers, and not in a bad way.

Am I gay, perhaps, because the sensation of my buttery body writhing against another woman's is deeply arousing? Because I love the way my partner's hair falls over her face when she's laying on top of me? Because some mornings I can sit there and watch her sleep, and run my fingertip along the curve of her uncovered hip or the line of her calf and feel like my eyes will never get enough?

Is it gayness to be proud of my artful ability to bring my partner to mind-altering orgasm because I understand the terrain? Because innately I know how to move, how and where to apply pressure, when to ease up -- drive her manual transmission with awesome expertise on a road like a silk ribbon all the way to the finish line. Is that irreversible gayness?

And what are you -- gay or straight -- when you realize one day, hey -- my labia are like deflated balls, and my clit is essentially a tiny little dick! Are you just a little bit gayer because you can conceive of that clit being longer and extending from your body, because you can imagine a dark silky place like a giant curved tongue engulfing it, and understand how pleasurable that would be? If you suddenly get a clue about what it feels like to be a guy, should you throw away your heels and have an operation? Does it make you more gay than straight to be a woman who can imagine having a cock of her own, and the thought of having it sucked is a major turn-on? But if the idea of wearing a dildo does nothing for you, are you back to hetero again?

Are you gay when you're a straight woman who sucks her man's nipples?

If you're a woman who had girl-on-girl action only once, in college, and liked it, but then got happily married to a man, can you still claim straightness? Or have you been checking off the wrong box?

Having written all this, would you believe it if I said I'm really not that sexually-driven?

I like having sex when I'm aroused. I don't get aroused every day. Blame it on my English bloodline or the anti-anxiety meds. Either way, I can't say I'm unhappy.

Other stuff gets me excited, too. Ideas. Solutions. Imaginary characters. Psychology. Mysteries. How things work. Second-hand furniture. History. Making things.

And just because I can potentially enjoy sex with a male or female doesn't mean I'm a horndog. I'm not jonesing for everyone I meet. Shit, I'm so self-centered, most of the time I don't even notice you people.

I'm attracted to intelligence, cleverness, personality, something in the eyes. Especially brown eyes. Something about the way a body occupies space in a room.

At the same time, though, I can be non-romantically, non-sexually "attracted" to people with intelligence, cleverness, great personalities and pretty eyes and want them in my life. I can feel warmly about them, love them, even love touching them without it being sexual. I feel that way about people I admire, friends, children.

I'm simply not hot for everybody I lay eyes on.

It pisses me off that there are still so many rubes in society who see a same-sex couple and immediately think of fucking. Perverse fucking. The thought of gay sex makes them squirm with unease (or sends a shiver down their spine that's not altogether unpleasant, and that in itself disturbs them, so they instantaneously repurpose the feeling as disgust). Their uneasiness drives them to wage war on The Gays.

I find it all so stupid, especially since sex is a relatively small part of my same-sex relationship. Most of the time, we're busy talking. And laughing. We laugh a lot. We also comfort, inquire, make plans. We snuggle. We buy groceries and put them away. We watch American Idol. We agree, we disagree. We compare notes. We read to each other. We take turns cleaning out the hair trap in the shower. We drop in on her elderly parents. We share Duane Reade Rewards points. We spend time with friends, separately and together. We maintain our own interests.

Is that so creepy?

And yes, it's true that by making a sexually exclusive commitment to a woman, I've cut myself off from sex with men. But if I'd happened to fall in love with a man (which has always been possible), married him and agreed on complete sexual fidelity (which is my style), then I'd also have made myself unavailable to other men. And to women too, for that matter. With every commitment, you sacrifice something.

Oh, make no mistake. I'll have crushes all right. By the dozens before I'm through. But I figure I'll just work them out in fiction or something. Do you know how many times Rachel Maddow and I, and Michael Johns and I, have fallen madly in love in my daydreams?

So there it is. I'm a girl who most definitely likes boys and is in love with a woman. She's a woman who's rather boyish herself sometimes, but I prefer her to look like a girl. What does it all mean?

I wish it didn't have to mean anything. I wish ignorant grown women from Texas wouldn't snicker and try sneaking pictures of my partner and I holding hands on a tour bus. I wish politicians didn't want to deprive me of my human rights based on the gender of who I love most. I wish certain militant dykes wouldn't eye me so suspiciously, like a light-skinned mulatto sneaking into the back row of a KKK meeting. I wish old white ladies' faces wouldn't drop so dramatically when it dawns on them that Lori isn't just my roommate.

I wish people could all just be people without one's methods of reaching sexual climax being a big fucking issue.

Hey, like what you're reading? Well sign up for my mailing list already!

Read also "Lust, Kindergarten and Davy Jones"!

Of Fatness and False Benevolence: The Nightline Debate

2010-02-24T05:02:00Z

I recently sat in the audience for a taping of ABC's Nightline at Cooper Union in New York City. Juju Chang moderated a debate titled, “Is it OK to Be Fat?”

Arguing on the side of fat indeed being “OK” were plus size model Crystal Renn and Marianne Kirby, co-author of Lessons From the Fat-o-Sphere.

Arguing that fat was most definitely not OK were Kim Bensen and Meme Roth. Kim Bensen is the author of Finally Thin!, a memoir detailing her struggles with yo-yo dieting and her eventual triumph (so far) over obesity. Meme Roth is an emphatic woman who made up an organization called National Action Against Obesity, then gave it a web site and a mission statement:

“National Action Against Obesity is a non-partisan, all-volunteer advocacy group dedicated to reversing the obesity crisis by eliminating disease- and obesity-accelerators from the food supply; barring junk food from child care centers, preschools, and schools; and eradicating Secondhand Obesity ™ (obesity handed down from one generation to the next, as well as from citizen to citizen); while encouraging exercise across all ages. Success relies upon wholly re-imagining what the U.S. population considers 'normal' food consumption and 'normal' exercise. When the majority is overweight, America cannot be normal.”

The issues touched on during the debate were the same old same old, as far as I was concerned. Roth asserted that thin people are unfairly shouldering the financial burden of fat people and their fat-related diseases. There was bickering back and forth about the effects of dieting and food restriction, about eating disorders. It was argued that fat people are treated unfairly by the medical community, that cupcakes should be kept out of the classroom.

What no one was talking about, however – what no one ever seems to have the clarity (or perhaps the balls) to talk about – is fat hatred framing itself as humanitarianism, with society's hearty blessing.

Remember my essay “Fat is Contagious”? In it, I introduced you to a woman I called Miss Hostility. On a New York City bus, Miss Hostility harassed me, unkindly and openly, about my body size. And in the next breath, she had the nerve to claim an interest in my good health.

There are legions of ordinary people like Miss Hostility who give fat people a hard time, and attempt to mask the less charitable roots of their bad behavior by playing the insincere “but it's about their health” card. As if they really, truly give a damn. Heck, most of these holier-than-thou types are so thoroughly lacking in self-awareness, that in spite of all behavior to suggest the contrary, they actually believe they're doing us fatties a kindness. I suppose alienating us, stigmatizing us, and otherwise playing unfair is all done in the name of tough love.

But there's a higher profile, more destructive breed of the same animal, and the Nightline debate gave a platform to two textbook examples.

Kim Bensen and Meme Roth are individually building careers out of harming fat people and calling it “help”. Their methods differ, but the game is the same.

The commonality between Bensen and Roth and others like them is an egocentric delusion. Each believes she has the one and only true answer to the “obesity problem”. They see themselves as crusaders; Florence Nightingales to the fat masses who can't seem to help themselves, poor things.

But their “concern” for fat people is a sham – and not even the messiahs themselves are able to see it. To recognize it, and further to admit it, would shatter their apparently delicate psyches.

But I think it's time to call the bullshitters on their phony benevolence, to bring into question their misguided “aid”. Let's pull away the downy baby blankets that protect their deeper motivations to wage war on other people's bodies.

If they're made of even halfway-decent stuff, Bensen and Roth will find some humility, acknowledge where they've done their fellow beings a disservice, and do better.

Kim Bensen has a story with which many American women can identify. For years, she got suckered in by the threats and promises of the weight loss industry. She tried and failed, over and over again, to reach the promised land of her ultimate Goal Weight. For years, like most people who diet, she was unable to sustain any single weight loss program. Each time she fell off the wagon, she regained the weight she lost and then some. Eventually, she peaked at about 350 pounds. It's a classic story of yo-yo dieting up the scale.

But Kim Bensen isn't fat anymore. She tried dieting one more time – and succeeded. She reached her goal weight and appears to be keeping the weight off.

This is how Kim Bensen sells weight loss – and make no mistake, she is selling it, with a web store replete with specialty food items, scales, pedometers, “Believe” tote bags, kitchen tools, jewelry, and “premium” memberships that entitle one to online meetings, food plans, member-exclusive videos, access to 24/7 chat rooms and other features smelling curiously like Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, Nutri-System and the like.

Bensen sells an empty promise – empty for most. “Believe”! It's the same tiresome product the weight loss industry has been peddling for years. It's the hope that some day this dieting thing really is going to click, and then I'll finally be thin, and life will be great.

The only fresh twist on this haggard theme is Bensen playing up the frustrations of yo-yo dieting specifically – the pseudo-tender “I've been there”, the seemingly no-punches-pulled confession that yo-yo dieting does make you fat – hey, it happened to her! I guess this is supposed to make fat, fed-up women trust Bensen more readily. I guess it's meant to set Bensen's weight loss plan apart in the minds of vulnerable women. Wow, she's admitting that yo-yo dieting is a loser's game! How refreshing – now here's a diet peddler I can trust!

Bensen is asking fat people to swallow the bullshit all over again. She's begging them to try just one more time, because the only way to guarantee you'll stay fat is to stop trying to get thinner.

Ironically, Bensen is saying just the right thing to keep fat people fat.

I believe that Bensen believes in what she's selling. At the Nightline debate, she spoke in pleading, syrupy tones about how she, personally, suffered as a fat person. “I couldn't put on my own shoes,” she said. “Crossing my legs was something I just dreamed about doing...I couldn't breathe when I slept at night. I had sleep apnea...my throat closed up, and I would snore so loudly, and I don't snore at all anymore.”

But there's an arrogance to Bensen's campaign to “help” others that's downright reckless. Meanwhile, she seems to think she's doing good.

Bensen will easily admit that yo-yo dieting makes people fatter and fatter, adds to their frustration, their sense of hopelessness, their misery. She lived it, all the way to 350 pounds. But her highly unusual success has gone to her head.

Bensen is the walking embodiment of the familiar diet disclaimer, “results not typical”. She's delivering false hope – and making a tidy profit in the process.

The fact is, most people who yo-yo diet themselves to fatness will never experience the One Diet That Permanently Worked. Most people will never be Kim Bensen. Sad but true. The statistics are out there. Furthermore, researchers point to the health dangers of fluctuating weight versus the benefits of weight stabilization. And let's not forget the psychological ramifications of repeatedly cycling through failure and false expectations, versus reaching a more empowering place of self-acceptance.

Meanwhile, the very nature of yo-yo dieting means that every failed attempt results in the packing on of even more pounds.

When Bensen begs us to try one more time, buy her premium membership, order her tote bag, foods, food plans and scales, she's asking us to take the risk of getting even fatter.

How dare she?

It's utterly irresponsible.

Bensen lives inside her own narrow, self-centered world, where everyone who's fat surely must feel the exact same way she once did; a fantasy world where her one-size-fits-all weight management plan is the answer to every fat person's prayers.

The woman's failure to see outside of herself is downright dangerous.

Even if Kim Bensen is able to help one person achieve permanent weight loss, it'll be at the cost of dozens, hundreds, probably thousands of other souls who failed, and who are consequently that much more miserable, and a few pounds heavier than before they put themselves in Bensen's “expert” hands.

Bensen is an expert in nothing but her own body, her own experience of the world – and she's free to talk about that experience, write about it, promote and sell it along with her special “light” bagels and plastic egg poachers. But just because Bensen wants to be a beacon of hope to others, doesn't mean she's doing right by her fellow human beings. In fact, her efforts just make her part of the same old problem. In the final analysis, she hurts people. She makes them fatter. She makes them sadder. She weaves fairy tales that are unlikely to ever come true. She puts bad joss out into the world, period.

Bensen would be better off championing improved eating habits and increased physical activity, outside the context of weight loss. She'd be far more trustworthy, far more credible.

If it's not about Bensen's ego, or a god-like belief in her singularly perfect ability to “fix” fat people; if Bensen is so selflessly true-blue about wanting to help fat people, then where are these disclaimers on her website?:

- Statistics show that my weight loss program will most likely be just another in a long line of programs you'll try in your lifetime that will fail to result in permanent weight loss.

- Just because I'm one of a very, very few people who 'did it' doesn't mean there's anything special, magical or advantageous about my particular weight loss program over others.

- If my products fail to get you to your goal weight and keep you there for life, you will experience disappointment, self-loathing, self-doubt, weight gain above and beyond your previous highest weight, and possible physical complications associated with weight gain.

- I don't know anything about your unique physiology, your private relationship with food, or anything else that might affect your ability to lose weight, and therefore my program is not designed with you in mind.

I guess if she did include disclaimers this honest and forthright, Bensen wouldn't sell too many “reflect-encourage-reward” bracelets, now, would she?

Americans have lived around the corner from Jenny Craig and Weight Watchers for decades, and in those same decades, obesity rates have steadily increased. How is this fact lost on Kim “premium membership” Bensen? If she's a smart woman with pure intentions who's also interested in her own personal growth, she needs to stop kidding herself that she's a selfless crusader for the unfortunately obese. Her efforts are clumsy, and her mini weight loss marketing empire is entirely self-serving.

Until she stops persuading people to follow in her footsteps, Bensen is contributing to the very problem she claims to be battling. She is hurting far more people than she is helping. She is naïve to believe otherwise.

Meme Roth is not as subtle as Ms. Bensen.

It's easy to dislike the woman. Sharp-tongued and sharp-featured, she comes off snippy and self-righteous.

Roth's communication style alone makes it difficult to take her seriously. She reminds me of a phony medium, as though employing that old trick meant to unsettle an audience and place them in a more suggestible state: speaking quickly, with a rapid-fire spewing of questionable statistics and the rushed quoting of university studies that may or may not be trustworthy. After all, it's old hat for individuals and organizations with something to sell (like weight loss products, for example) to commission sloppy university studies that support their shaky claims.

Roth made no friends when she rambled to a largely fat Nightline audience that “...the overweight person, their brain is four percent smaller than a healthy weight person...that's out of the University of Pittsburgh. That's how the University of Pittsburgh, the obese brain is eight percent smaller...by age seventy, than a healthy weight person. You can laugh, but this is...this is in the mainstream science.”

Roth rattles off a lot of names and numbers to create a seemingly credible context for her message. She hasn't quite perfected her delivery, however – she wins over far fewer people than she rubs the wrong way.

Like Bensen, Roth claims to be fighting obesity for the greater good of society. She cites obese family members as her inspiration:

“My father's 300 pounds. My mother in the '80s was 225 pounds and I assure you, back then, that was considered very large. My grandmother's over 300 pounds in a 24-hour care facility, my aunts and uncles were all overweight. My father used to do sprint track runs with me, and now can barely walk from one end of the Walmart to the other. My mother has type 2 diabetes, my grandmother...uh, it is tragic. She went from the point of being voluptuous, chubby, fat, obese, to morbidly obese, to a woman who stares out the window at a hummingbird feeder, who a few years ago decided it was too much effort to get out of bed to go to the bathroom. So I do know obesity takes people, and I assure you the people in my family aren't just a little overweight; they are dangerously, tragically overweight.”

However, Roth's energetic crusade may be fueled by a loathing of her family roots, rather than a bleeding heart on their behalf. Her efforts to “help” fat people may be, in actuality, the twisted acts of Roth's angry, embarrassed inner adolescent.

If Roth was genuinely interested in improving the health of fat people and those in danger of getting fat, she would fight for things that are an inarguable physical benefit, while simultaneously steering clear of supporting anything that stands between fat people and a better quality of life.

Roth's battles are schizophrenic. On one hand, she believes fat people should lose weight because god forbid they should get as sickly and immobile as her beloved fat relatives – that would be tragic.

On the other hand, this compassionate spawn of giants works hard to egg on the marginalization of fat people. She encourages fat hatred by spreading the idea that fat people are making health insurance more expensive for everyone else. She's trying like hell to popularize the idea, and to what end? So that fat people will eventually be unable to get insurance and thus health care, either because insurers will refuse them coverage, or charge amounts that are unmanageable? Is that caring about the health of fat people?

If you believe Roth's statistics about the alarming number of fat people in America today, how is denying affordable health care to such a huge segment of our population promoting a stronger, healthier nation? Rather, it reeks of eugenics. Perhaps Roth wants to concentrate on the prevention of fatness in children and let the existing fatties die off from neglect, sparing her of the uneasy transference of her familial humiliation onto fat society as a whole.

When fat people don't devote themselves religiously to weight loss in precisely the ways Roth deems appropriate, she has the arrogance to accuse them of being defeatist.

In the Nightline debate, Marianne Kirby attempted to make a sound point about the diverse causes of obesity:

“It is almost impossible, I think, to sum up the reason why people are fat...There are a huge number of complex factors that go into human biology, and that go into the way our bodies process food and store fat, and respond to activity...To believe that we have some sort of conscious control...through the power of...absolute will...is, I think, a very socially irresponsible position to take.”

Roth's prompt response was,

“I think defeatism is a socially irresponsible position.”

Accusing fat people of being defeatist does not support Roth's self-professed mission of “reversing the obesity crisis”. It is presumptuous, disrespectful, and dismissive.

Even if one assumes that eradicating obesity is the way to a healthier America, Roth's refusal to hear fat people isn't going to help anybody lose weight. The reasons why people are fat can be complicated and varied. Anyone with a sincere, unclouded agenda to simply make people healthier would be willing to entertain flexible approaches to improved health. They would understand that unforgiving rigidity doesn't work for most people.

Fat people have been trying to tell Meme Roth what's working and what isn't. She isn't listening. She's married to her ideas. It doesn't matter that they're far from being the most effective in creating lasting change in the population. It doesn't matter if her suggested initiatives are the least likely to be permanently adopted by the majority. And it doesn't matter that throwing a floodlight on the most ridiculous claims of all – like fat people having smaller brains than thin people, thus suggesting inferior intelligence – puts most of the fat world on the defensive, unwilling to listen to anything Roth has to say.

There is ego involved here – not clean benevolence, not sainthood, not public service. There's a deep-seated personal agenda that has nothing to do with saving my fat ass or yours. If this weren't true, Meme Roth would be working with fat people, not against them.

It's a shame Roth has chosen to foster a repellent, hard-edged persona, because some of what she says makes sense, but is unlikely to be heard. Her point about food and the prominent place it takes in American culture harkens back to observations made by David Kessler in his eye-opening book “The End of Overeating” (read my review of the book here).

Kessler spoke to people from other countries who found the presence of food in settings like business meetings and classrooms distinctly odd. They marveled at our tendency to put a platter of sandwiches or bagels on a conference room table for every office gathering. They didn't understand why college students would bring snacks or even cups of coffee into a lecture.

I'm not opposed to questioning our culture – why do we feel the need to insert food into almost every social situation? Aren't our interactions with one another enough? Can't social occasions be centered around enriching activities rather than the consumption of food? I think it's a subject worth further discussion – though I'd probably leave Roth out of it.

I don't believe fat-fighting generals like Roth and Bensen are truly evil – I don't believe they wake up every morning and ask themselves, “Hmmm, now how can I torture a fat person today?” Rather, they just have their heads far up their own behinds. They're more invested in their own PR than they are in creating real beneficial change for other people. It's their way or the highway, simply because they say so. And their way – at least in their eyes – has taken on an almost holy shimmer. They couldn't possibly be doing wrong by other human beings when they're feeling so darn right.

Winter Walking: Conquer Excuses & Keep Moving!

2010-02-16T23:08:00Z

Are you one of those people who's not particularly fond of exercise, but you know darn well it's good for you (and that's the only reason you consider doing it)?

Is it ridiculously hard to get yourself motivated just to go for a walk (the simplest and most no-nonsense of all exercises, in my opinion)? And is it ridiculously easy to find any excuse not to?

Yeah. We have that in common.

You may already have watched Episode #2 of my video series "Kim Weighs In", where I shared with you some of my favorite excuses not to exercise...and that was in pleasant weather. Winter can make it even more challenging to get off your butt for a healthy stroll.

Besides the obvious deterrent of the cold, two things that tend to keep me sedentary in winter are: 1) wheezing caused by cold air, and 2) fear of slipping and falling on ice and/or snow.

Asthmatics, and even many non-asthmatics, may have experienced severe wheezing upon inhaling cold air. At the very least, it can cause an irritating impulse to clear your throat due to the thickening mucous there; at worst, it makes it difficult to breathe -- not what you want to feel while walking.

The fact that I've experienced this even sporadically is enough to keep me at the window, looking out and rationalizing, "Yeah yeah, I know I 'should' go for a walk...but it's cold out there, and what could be less healthy than suffocating to death? Yep, that makes perfect sense. Hey, I wonder if The Golden Girls are on!"

Well, that excuse doesn't work for me anymore -- and it doesn't have to work for you, either.

See, I discovered the Cold Weather Mask from I Can Breathe! Masks. It's a well-designed, lightweight polar fleece mask that fits over your nose and mouth and prevents cold-air wheezing.

I love this thing! The Cold Weather Mask from I Can Breathe! Masks allows you to breathe freely while walking, and the air you inhale is warmed as it passes through the mask. It works perfectly.

Two adjustable straps fit comfortably over your ears, and a covered flexible wire at the top allows you to pinch the peak of the mask into optimal position against your nose. It fits securely -- I had no problems with slippage whatsoever as I moved -- and at the same time, it's light and non-binding.

The mask is silk lined, which is soft, comfortable and non-chafing against the cheeks.

The mask is specifically designed to wick dampness away from your nose and mouth, too.

It's latex-free, washable, dries quickly and is made in both Adult and Child sizes.

My Cold Weather Mask from I Can Breathe! Masks has really has freed me up to walk in even the most brutal cold. The manufacturer claims the mask has been tested in -40 F wind chill.

If cold weather wheezing has been a problem for you, consider investing in an I Can Breathe! Mask for $30 (Adult size). Check it out at www.icanbreathe.com.

I've also had a grand time reasoning that physical activity is best put off 'til spring when the danger of slipping on ice, slush and snow is past. (And with those pushy sea salt salespeople lurking around every corner at the mall, walking indoors is simply not an option.)

But thanks to ICEtrekkers, I can fit that walk into my schedule in even the worst of winter weather.

ICEtrekkers makes rubber slings that slip over your favorite athletic shoes and add traction, allowing you to plow ahead on frozen surfaces.

This is something of a mixed review. I took three varieties of ICEtrekkers for a test drive -- Chains, Diamond Grips and Spikes -- but I would only recommend one.

In short, buy the Spikes; avoid the Chains and Diamond Grips.

The Spikes were mad functional. They allowed me to walk over slick patches of ice at a respectable clip, without even the slightest slip. With the ICEtrekkers Spikes slings, I was a winter walking machine. Without a doubt, they gave the best traction out of the three. They also have a stronger, more substantial rubber sling than the others.

Unfortunately, as excellent as the ICEtrekkers Spikes were, the ICEtrekkers Chains offered an opposite experience. First of all, one of the rubber slings on my pair of Chains broke upon only the second wearing! The rubber snapped at the toe grip, see?:

Very disappointing. And since the rubber sling for the Diamond Grips is essentially the same as that of the Chains, I find myself distrusting the Diamond Grips to last as well.

Furthermore, the Chains provided very little additional traction. If anything, they made me feel a little less stable than if I'd been wearing no slings at all.

It was telling when, as I stood on linoleum, I kicked off my sneakers with the Chains slings on them, and the shoes went sliding across the floor on those smooth, shiny chain links.

By contrast, kicking off the same sneakers with the Spikes slings on them resulted in the shoes grinding ahead for a fraction of an inch and then stopping stubbornly in place. Those shoes weren't going anywhere.

If it wasn't for the apparent weakness in the rubber sling design of the Diamond Grips (same as the Chains), I might have recommended the Diamond Grips based on their traction. It was almost as good as the Spikes.

But when the ICEtrekkers Spikes are this good, why bother with anything else?

ICEtrekkers Spikes slings go for about $24.95 a pair. For info on where to buy, visit www.icetrekkers.com.

And no matter what the weather...breathe deeply, and keep on trekkin'!

Like this blog? Read "An Exercise Hater Finds Love"
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(Disclosure: I Can Breathe! was kind enough to provide a sample of their Cold Weather Mask at no cost for this review. ICEtrekkers provided samples of three varieties of shoe slings at no cost for this review.)

Paranormal Moments: Ghosts I've Seen & Smelled

2010-02-02T16:10:00Z

Someone on Facebook today asked, "Have you ever seen a ghost or experienced a haunting?" What a delicious question.

Maybe I have.

I'll let you be the judge.

The Mystery of the Merchant's House Smoker

First, a story about the Merchant's House Museum in New York, an exemplary antebellum house which has been on television for its alleged paranormal activity, most notably on "Ghost Hunters". I adore this place.

Some years back, I attended docent training at the Merchant's House Museum. Early on a Sunday morning we were having a docents' meeting, in the hours before the museum was open to the public. For a few minutes before we gathered in the basement kitchen, some of us early-bird volunteers killed time roaming through the house. A couple of women wanted to look at a new exhibit that had been assembled in one of the bedrooms. I wandered into the master bedroom at the front of the house and looked out the windows and into the street below.

Sniff, sniff.

Who's smoking?, I thought. There's no smoking allowed in here.

No paying visitors were in the house yet, so it couldn't be a guest's careless faux pas. And the staff certainly knew better than to light up.

I moved my face closer to the window pane and peered down to the sidewalk, expecting to see a lone smoker, or perhaps a pair or huddle of them, standing directly below. There was no one.

It was a strange sort of smoky smell, too. Not quite like cigarettes. More like the sweetish pipe tobacco an elderly relative used to smoke when I was a little girl. I think he was my father's uncle, a red-cheeked man with a model railroad running through a cardboard-and-plastic utopia in his basement. I hadn't seen or smelled anyone smoking a pipe since.

The smell was crisp and sharp at first, like tobacco just lit and repeatedly puffed to its fullest aroma in a quick sequence of dove-gray clouds. Then it faded, gradually and so gently. It was infuriating. The harder I sniffed, the less of it I smelled. It couldn't be traced, it couldn't be followed.

I have no explanation for it.

It's interesting to note, however, that I was standing in what had been the bedroom of Seabury Tredwell, owner of the house from 1835 until his death, after which his daughter Gertrude inhabited it until her death at ninety-something years of age. Might Mr. Tredwell have been a pipe smoker? Was this what they call evidence of a "residual haunting", an olfactory recording of a moment in the distant past, in replay?

Phantom Girl of Somerton Train Station

It was a bitter cold Saturday night in the late '80s. This time of year, if I'm not mistaken -- January, February. My friend Kurt picked me up at my parents' house to go see a movie.

In those days, we lived near the Somerton train station on the R3 West Trenton Line of SEPTA, Philadelphia's commuter rail system. There's a short stretch of road that runs parallel to the tracks at one point. Then the road veers off to the left and the tracks disappear into a short tunnel under an overpass.

Kurt's car sailed around a curve in the road and we briefly rode alongside the tracks before they were out of sight. We came to a red light at Bustleton Avenue. We were silent for a moment when Kurt turned to me and said,

"Did you just see what I saw?"

I met his eyes.

"You mean the girl standing on the train tracks who totally doesn't look like she belongs there?"

His eyes widened. "Uh-huh."

"Kurt," I whispered, urgently. "We need to go back around there. Right now. Hurry!"

The girl we'd both seen had hair hanging below her shoulders, and she was wearing one of those straw boater hats with a red-white-and-blue striped ribbon around it. The cheap kind you might see at a political rally. She was holding a balloon, and standing in the middle of the train tracks. Not on the platform, not on the side of the road. Just standing there, completely serene, with her feet planted firmly between the railroad ties. And despite what had to be temperatures in the teens or twenties at best, she was wearing 1970s-style short-shorts, a sleeveless shirt, and knee socks.

Kurt glanced quickly into the rear-view mirror and over his left shoulder, then put the car in reverse and turned around.

We drove past the station again, slowly. He rolled down his window. We craned our necks in every direction looking for her.

He inched the car alongside the tracks a little further, and we squinted through the darkness. We looked back through the tunnel opening, we studied the shadows around the little train station building that was still standing back then, but has since been demolished.

The girl, whose appearance didn't make sense in the first place, had vanished.

Kurt rolled his window back up, sealing out the unforgiving winter air. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" My voice was the only sound above the whoosh of heated air blowing from the dashboard vents. Kurt's eyes were open so wide, his dark brown irises were like two drops of ink at the center of white salad plates. He nodded slowly.

"Let's get out of here," he said simply, and we did.

I always said I would eventually do some digging; try to find out if a girl was killed on those tracks. Maybe you know a librarian or research guru who'll find this mystery irresistible.

You'll let me know if you learn anything, won't you?

Stupid Things Scammers Do in Fake Job Ads on Craig's List

2010-01-28T15:02:00Z

They put the dollar sign after the number, like this: 12$

They open their job ads by talking about how their company is the "leader" in such-and-such industry. (Oh, PLEASE, Mr. Scammer, can't you come up with something NEW? We are SO tired of reading this one...)

They use spaces instead of colons in the work hours, like this: 9 30 to 5 30

They tell you to call or send your resume to a specific name at the end of the ad, like this: "For consideration, send your resume to Joan Smith", or "Call Mary Evans to set up an appointment." Notice they don't provide a phone number for Mary Evans. That's because she DOESN'T EXIST.

They capitalize words in the middle of Paragraphs that don't Necessarily need to be capitalized.

They have a tendency to type an unnecessary space before closing a set of parentheses, like this: (Jersey Shore ) See that?

Instead of correctly using two capital letters for state abbreviations (like NY, MD, or CA), they like to do this: Ny, Md, Ca, Nj, Mn, etc.

They spell things wrong -- even common words related to the job like secrtrary, recptionnist, frontdesk, responcible and compitent.

They use non-existent terminology to make their ads sound "business-y" and real. Like this winner: "We're looking for a multi-line candidate." Well, there are multi-line PHONE SYSTEMS, but not multi-line CANDIDATES. Some genius.

They like to describe the company as "relaxed" and "low-pressure". And they do it in so many different ads -- but they think we won't notice they're recycling the same phrases. WE NOTICED.

They over-write their job descriptions to make them sound more "business-y" and real, like this: "Must be comfortable speaking on the telelphone to people." As opposed to speaking on the telephone to...monkeys?

Their identical ad appears in other cities -- just google the text and see.

Their spacing is really sloppy when they're typing things.

They refer to applicants as "Inquirers", like this: "Inquirer must be able to type 40 words per minute." Which inquirer, the National Inquirer?

In the beginning of the ad, they tell you the company is rapidly expanding or growing, and that's why they need somebody quickly. Same scammer uses this line OVER and OVER and OVER again.

They advertise for someone for their Minneapolis office...in the NEW JERSEY Craig's List. OOPS.

They refer to the wages as "for every hour". For ev-er-y hour? Who SAYS that? Wow, you sound REALLY wordy, you MUST be a professional office person!!!

They use goofy characters and squiggles and asterisks in the titles of their job ads, like this: ~!~Office Manager Wanted~!~ or ;';Receptionist Position Opening';' or ***!!!Secretary Needed!!!!*****

They say that a position is "interviewing" in their job ad title, like this: "Receptionist Position Interviewing" Positions don't interview. People do. And people who work in real companies and compose real job ads know this.

They tell you that a job requires excellent leadership abilities, and other ambitious qualities...and it's a receptionist position. Or a janitor. Leadership abilities? I know every great man or woman has to start SOMEWHERE, but I think somebody got their cut-and-pasting mixed up.

The job description includes "entertaining clients". What is this, "Mad Men"? Dude, I'm not even sure that's legal...

They use bad grammar. Example: "Seeking A Administrative Assistant". Are you sure you're not seeking B Administrative Assistant?

They use hyphens where they're absolutely-not appropriate, and forget to use them when they are. Sorry, am I nit picking? Or am I multi tasking? Maybe I'm just in a bad-mood.

They post their ads at odd hours. Like 3:00 AM. And as we know, most legit employers wait 'til they have insomnia to fill that vacant position. Check the time on the ad. It might indeed be a sensible time to be posting...if you're in NIGERIA. (Thanks, Debbie C.!!!)

For more information on the stupid things scammers do, read my earlier post about this unfortunate phenomenon: http://blog.kimwrites.com/2010/01/15/crooks-victimize-the-unemployed-with-phony-job-ads-on-craigs-list.aspx

Good luck out there!

-- Kim Brittingham

Read more about Craig's List! See "Second-Hand Rose Has an Inflated Sense of Self"

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