I Am a Fat Pig

You probably have seen them too.  Comments on Facebook posts or Instagram or Twttter admonishing overweight people  to stop loving their size and step away from the fork. Seeing how I thought about calling myself “Chunky Diva” as my Twitter handle, I have not been on the side of the fat shaming twits but have jumped right into the fray with comments intended to “comment shame the fat shaming p****” and get him (or her) to back away from the keyboard.

I’m been small but mostly NOT ever since ninth grade when I got fed up with ugly comments about being “too skinny” as in “No one but a dog loves a bone.” Where I came from and the time I grew up in, even young dudes desired “Baby Got Back.”

I was 5″10″ and under 115 pounds in sixth grade.

A stick.

So I started eating to put on weight. Even when my ma’s best friend–a good looking women of ample size–finger wagged that “You better stop eating or you’ll regret it.”

Cuz all I wanted to do was make it stop.

The hateful comments and public shunning by boys I had major crushed on.

And it worked.

Of course the girls still hated me (because I was smart). And the boys I loved still didn’t ask me out (though they did ask me to tutor them in math).

But I was “filling out.” Getting some decent-sized boobs no longer pancakes…if not “Back”…because in that department all I got was some fat- flat-a**  genes from someone in my lineage.

By senior year, I was on a DIET.

Drinking Fresca and something I forget for lunch, no breakfast and making dinner of  a plain hamburger with a fried egg  on top (an idea I got from a precursor diet to Atkins, South Beach etc).

I even ate these amphetamine-laced candies to stop my appetite. Which didn’t do that as much as give me a racing heart and hypochondriac fueled visions of a heart attack before age 25.

Like many people, women especially, spending much of my adult life in the state of yo-yo…as in yo yo dieting. I could always take it off, but sooner or later, the weight like the Cat, Came Back.

In recent years, I’ve made half-a** attempts to lose weight and get healthy and fit…to look and feel great like my best of times (which lasted about 10 years).

But mostly I stopped working my “healthy eating” like a job or obsession. And I pretty much gave up beating myself up for my lack of stick-to-it-ness.

But today I ran across a book titled “Never Binge Again: Reprogram Yourself to Think Like a Permanently Thin Person.”

The author, a formerly obese, (former?) psychologist, who went on to apparently form a multi-million bucks food consulting company says the secret is to acknowledge that I have a PIG living inside me.

And until I shun the PIG who is trying to keep me fat and miserable because she lives for those moments of pleasure overeating gives HER, I’ll never get thin. And keep it off.

Since I am a junkie for reframing and “reprogramming my brain” which is essentially building new neural networks that are stronger than the old ones doing me little good, I downloaded the Kindle version. Oh and because it is FREE.

[Yeah as in costs $0. Not because dude is altruistic but because he sells a coaching program that’s $400 a year (or $1000 for the platinum version). Which I think is a pretty good business model.]

So I am a PIG.

Which I have to believe (even though it is really a mental construct) if I want this to work. Which means I gotta fat-shame myself. Which is really shaming the PIG inside of me that cares far more about those white chocolate pistachio cookies in the kitchen than she cares about me and my health.

Reminding myself of such truths as “THE PIG” doesn’t care about my total well-being because those cookies suck! And if she was to check in with rational brain and my stomach, both would tell her that I’m not even hungry. In fact, I’m still full from dinner (and all those other unnecessary calories she had me eat earlier).

So I’m going to at least read the book. And shut THE PIG down!

 

 

 

 

 

Archie and Veronica Before Riverdale

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Confession. I didn’t even know that Riverdale is a modern riff on Archie and the gang. I watch a bit of CW so I saw the previews. And yeah, I remember Archie Comics. They were even part of my comic book reading habit for a bit.

Still, I never put 2+ 2 together.

Maybe because this is the Archie Comics I remember:ArchieComics Before Riverdale

we teenagers of the 1950s were floating in what might be called the Early Betty and Veronica Age. Archie Comics still described a reality we could identify as ours: old-maid schoolteachers, balding and comical principals, and girls who made pans of brownies in Home Economics so the boys taking Shop could make yum-yum noises and rub their stomachs. Sex was Archie with a heart drawn above his head. That was as far as things went, because love and marriage went together like a horse and carriage. Nobody had got around, yet, to asking the horse about its opinion.

–from Margaret Atwood’s piece on Canadian author Gabrielle Roy @MacCleans

 

The Perils of E-Books: 2

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In my previous post,The Perils of Digital Books?,  I explored the question of why I buy so many e-books that I end up barely reading. At the end (past the “read more” fold) intimating that perhaps they fail to hold my interest because books have become as unoriginal as a Harlequin romance.

Or movie sequels (as a general rule).

That’s probably some of it, at least for many of those ebook purchases.  But after  reading the review on Salon then excitedly going to Amazon to read the sample chapter of A Colony in a Nation by Chris Hayes, I remember why this became such a huge question in my mind to begin with.

Look, I wanna read this book. I read the first couple of pages on Amazon and got excited. The scenario he hooks us with in the very first paragraphs is compelling. This is no hack writer. Ir promises me a meaty, substantive read rather than one akin to marshmallow fluff.

I hate fluff. The marshmallow crap in a jar as well as books that are little more than strung together bullet lists. With occasional 2-3 sentence paragraphs in-between. Books which are an easy read. With a few exceptions like stories , “novels” you can read in a couple of hours on the beach. YUCK! Baby food for the mind.

I didn’t even like baby food when I was a baby.

So when I come across a book like this that’s no buck 99 special promoted through Book Burb, it opens up the question of whether I should buy the hard or paperback so that I actually read the darn thing.

Not just read it til the end. But actually savoring the read. Like I used to. Reading eever so slowly (or re-reading) lines that are especially elegant or and compelling. Reading to think, to ponder. To make sense of the world. Taking the time to follow the argument (or story line). Taking delight in how my brain-mind loves synthesizing thoughts, recalling ideas from other authors and works that I have read. Comparing and contrasting them. Not skimming over pages. Or skipping til the end.

It’s the immediacy of getting the title and affordability of the ebook VS the possibility of a better read. Spend $9.32 for the Kindle version or $16.17 for the hardback of A Colony in a Nation?

Decisions, decisions.

As Penelope Trunk points out, INTPs can’t make decisions,  though I’d argue that we INTPs often won’t make a decision. It’s not that we CAN’T. It’s that damn “P.”

It’s the salacious appeal of possibilities. The wild, wild west vs staid eastern seaboard.

Which also accounts for why I lean liberal, though I have no doubt that there are plentiful closure-minded INTJs liberals out there.

Who unlike moi are probably well into reading their copy of A Colony in A Nation, whether they bought it in digital or hardback. Likewise, I’m betting there is no Dictator’s Handbook nor Swing Time (Zadie Smith’s latest novel and a writer you’d be farfetched to call unoriginal) which are stuck in purgatory.

You know. Those places on Amazon otherwise known  as “My Wish List” and “My Shopping List…” where my copies of the latter two titles currently reside. While so far, Chris Haye’s book sets in an open tab on my browser.

Oops, I Did It Again.

The Perils of Digital Books?

About 5 or 6 years, I bought my first reader: the Nook from Barnes and Noble. Mostly I used it to read fiction, a genre I devoured growing up, but excepting the occasional peccadillo* didn’t usually read nor buy.

I really embraced digital books after Amazon started selling $24.95+ priced books for $9.99 and I finally refused to pack and cart my heavy, every expanding, library to “the new place.”

Then about two years ago, I joined Book Burb.

Now I could buy books on special for $1.99-$2.99 on average. Yeah, the title was usually a few years old but the pricing?  Crack candy.

So whenever a title appealed, I bought it. Funny thing though.

When I bought physical books (mostly non-fiction, business, health/fitness, spiritual traditions, self-improvement) for the usual $24.95 but often much higher, I read them all. ALL.

Of course, I spent hours in bookstores perusing the shelves, cracking the spine of those with promise, but only taking home the titles deemed to be “valuable” and “must-haves.”Back in those days, I would read on average 150-200 books a year (counting selections from 3-4 area libraries). Plus magazines.

Thing is while I buy digital books at a $1.99 with abandon as well as click on the “Read on Kindle for Free” button like its the button on an old-style pin ball machine, I have completely read very, very few of them.

Truth be told, I have read little more than a few pages of a lot of them.

Is it that digital books don’t provide the same sensuous reading experience as physical books did?

Reading on my Nook in the early years was a “curl up with a good book” experience. And I tended to finish those “books.” So is it that my iPhone nor laptops aren’t as comforting?

Or has the $1.99 price DE-valued both the product and the experience of those titles?

Continue reading The Perils of Digital Books?