Julie Hatterly's home made hamburger buns via my Pinterest Board
My bread passion is legion. (See previous post.) So is my genetic and/or learned need to overindulge, switching off my brain sensors so fullness, is never registered or acknowledged. Whether my Roman ancestors were dynastic Caesars who conducted huge day-long groaning-table banquets and then every two hours or so took breaks to the vomitorium so they could throw up their meals to make room for more roasted fowl and macaroni, I do not know. I never threw up food after a gorge. I just digested and a few hours later would graze and munch until the next ersatz level of fullness was attained to repeat the pattern a few hours later, and a few hours later without ever allowing myself to feel sated. Was this emotional, inherited, genetic, learned? Does it matter? Well, yes to all and other contributing factors. But regardless, the learned pattern, personality driven habit, unconscious urge and genetic proclivity to overeat made me fat.
Roman Vomitorium at the ampitheatre in Trier. A vomitorium was not used as the myth suggested, for Romans to vomit and eat more. It was a passageway for exiting the theater quickly.
The interesting fact was that this pattern and unconscious urge could be stopped only if I refrained from food altogether and just drank fluids, particularly warmed milk. In other words, I was able to eradicate appetite if I wasn't around food or didn't take a first bite of anything. Once the first domino was toppled, the rest followed to a great crash. I would binge, purchasing and eating ready made foods, inflating my stomach like a balloon when one of my miserable taste buds was engaged. And they could be engaged willy nilly by a tiny gnocchi, the corner of a croissant, a translucent sliver of pound cake, a crumb of challah. I couldn't say no to anyone if food was placed before me, especially if it was tempting, succulent, savory or a derivative of wheat. That is unless I was fasting. Then all bets were off and no amount of manipulation, guilt intrusion, cajoling or demeaning ridicule by friend, family or foe could coax me to have that first bite, especially if my mind was made up.
How and when I learned this was an effective MO for weight loss is not clear, but I do know that this trend works for many who battle obesity. It is little understood by thin, "normal" folks, so-called nutritionists and medical professionals. Nor is it understood by those self-righteous who are able to eat, feel sated and control their hungers to stop lifting their hand to feed their face. The French with their superior metabolisms especially look at my type with disdain and think I'm a pig for my inability to control my appetite once it's been triggered.
But for those of us addicts to whom food is like heroin or opium, especially rolls, cakes, croissants, scones, etc., it is easier to abstain altogether from using our mandibles. Much less painful than having "just a taste," which is murderous because with guilt and horror, we cannot stop and are likely to engorge ourselves with every muffin, scone, slice of cake in sight and then hunt for more. Impossible? So now you know! When you see an obeser, think, "Their fasting capabilities are greater than mine." Chances are some are like me, an
aesthectic who can abstain from chewing for months while living off the
nutrition of a liquid diet. Judging me are you? Stand in my shoes and be merciful or I'll psychically convey this condition to your metabolism so you will have a bit more heart in the face of my suffering.
At my current BMI of 20, I'm engaged in this mini battle to finally right my drunken appetite. I set aside one day a week to eat whatever I enjoy, especially my friends the breads and specifically ones that don't appear to readily inflame my gluten hypersensitivities (or so I thought). In the past, I noted that processed, packaged breads with GM wheat grains (cracked wheat, wheat, rye, even some bakery breads) whose grains scientists tweaked, changed and refined over the past 50-70 years to benefit the commercial food industry and industrial farms, created problems for me. For one, I was extremely hungry after I consumed a bagel or a roll, unsatisfied, blindly craving more in prodigious quantities. Secondly, and I noted this when I was obese, after pigging out, my joints ached, I had reflux, my appetite was off the charts the next day, I was lethargic, non thinking and sleepy. The only way to describe it is I was anesthetized. Jack the Ripper could have cut into my flesh and I would have grinned without a misstep, "Please hand me the rest of that fresh semolina with butter."
Buttery, Flaky Petrossian Croissants, truly my favorite. I could eat them all and your typical slight French woman would be appalled.
But I have been losing the battle using this eating pattern these last six months. The breads are winning. Eating all of the croissants I can hunt down from the area's Starbucks, Dunkin Donuts and Petrossian and polishing off some danishes from 7-Eleven and corn muffins from Martha's Country Bakery and gluten-free scones from Red Hat Bakery during the course of a 12 hour graze, while supplementing with some fish or chicken or meat, fruits and veggies has begun to grate on me. I hate the way I feel afterward. My joints ache, my allergies return. I regurgitate food in my throat while I sleep, unsettling my body's ability to heal while resting. Symptoms I took in stride when I was obese, I no longer can tolerate. I'm beginning to understand viscerally that I cannot overindulge with impunity. This unhealthy practice has consequences, and they are physically painful. Alarmingly, the pain is registering in my mind so that I can no longer remain anesthetized. Between sessions of eating and fasting, the outrageous hunger pangs increase. Now, I organically know beyond knowing (I surmised this before but questioned it.) that FOR ME, all breads, rolls, croissants, cakes, and I mean ALL that are made with this new (last 50-70 years) flour are beyond obsessively addictive. They are dangerously, horrifically addictive. I can no longer joke about them being like death. They morph my body into a dangerous dying state. When I eat, even the memory of their taste, once I've finished them lingers like a luscious kiss or fragrance that is everpresent. But in seeking their fulfillment I am like the sailors who sought the Sirens in Homer's The Odyssey. I am dashed on the razor sharp reef of my own lusts and my cells are slashed dying in metabolic acidity and toxicity.
In Homer's The Odyssey, the Sirens lured sailors who heard their irresistible song to their deaths. They sailed their ships toward the Sirens and perished in the turbulent waves, the ships dashed to pieces on the rocks. Odysseus is the only man reputed to have heard their song. Circe tells him to be bound to the ship's mast. While his sailors plug their ears with wax, he alone bound as he is can hear their song. Though he gestures for his men to free him, unhearing, they ignore his cries to be freed from his chains. Once past the Siren's island, they unbind him.
Have I had enough of dying? This is the third day of my fast on liquids after Saturday's egregious binge. Fasting on lattes= steamed nonfat milk, fresh, organic lemon drink (following the Master Cleanse) I feel better, lighter, refreshed. Tomorrow, I will weigh myself to check the damage of Saturday's overeating. Will I ever be able to eat such croissants, muffins, scones, cake abstaining after one bite. I am not French. I don't know, but at this point, I know the answer. No. Whatever part of my being in my makeup, personality, conscious and unconscious mind, I cannot handle certain refined flours and wheat grains. My gluten hypersensitivity is worse than I imagined, more painful and addictive than I allowed myself to believe. I have to face that reality for the rest of my life.
The battle has been lost. It remains to be seen if I can win the war.
Overlooking the Hudson River at the Cloisters in April, when I was heavier (BMI 21, 127 at 5'5.5") than I am now.(BMI 20)
My love, my nemesis, my heartache. It's not a gorgeous, ripped and straight thirty- fifty-something, super freak, wow of a phantasmic guy. My hunger for this beauty doesn't have me cozying up to a cutie Maltese or soft, cuddly Himalayan. Neither is my rapacity for fragrant gardenias or ravishing exotic orchids. Am I impassioned for the secret obsession of all women, Jacques Torres truffles or Godiva pecan crunchies?
No! Just pass me that yeasty, sometimes yellow, white or dark brown, always crusty, soft inner belly of a structure that ravishes my taste buds especially when plied with butter or peanut butter and thick, luscious, imported blueberry or cherry preserves. Heavenly, toasted, just out of the oven fresh BRRREEAD! My raison d-etre, my love, my soul mate. Of course about now, you are frowning at this wacky and wantonly stupid food confession. And I'm frowning with you, all the more because I'm a gluten hypersensitive. Bread is evil. Bread is hell and damnation. Bread is the maw of Satan. It is my pal, my heroin. But it's anathema. All flour, wheat, rye, grains, pastas are forever verboten for me. Do you know how long forever is?
Why? Why? The why is the woe. Do you know what the treasured gloriousness that I prefer above all else does to me? Imagine the horrors and miseries of a lifetime of obesity and yo-yo dieting. Yes. The staff of life and grains and all flour products make me obese. On the happiness quotient, in case you haven't looked into our cultural mores about being fat, fat is at the bottom of the scale for power, beauty, grace and righteousness. For me obesity has been a living death.
Beef cheek ravioli at Babbo. Lip smacking good. My friend Emily ordered this; never me.
If you cannot empathize, well imagine miles and miles of journeying through self-loathing and self-hate minute by agonizing minute, year by loathing-filled year. Imagine that nothing and no one can really salve your self-disgust at being a whale as long as there are mirrors and clothes to wear and skinny images in magazines and sylph celebrities on every screen watched by geeks and voyeurs. Imagine the judgment rained down upon your head as you perceive you are belittled for your inferior, sinful, food gluttony and lack of will power. No amount of "Honey I love you, you look fine," can help, because you and you alone know you are a disgustingly overweight, obese, orca. Your type is not a media darling.You are not at a weight of BMI normal or BMI underweight to photograph well. You never photograph well. In fact you race away from family photos during the holidays. No angle of you whether sitting, standing or hiding behind others works, except the one that places you out of the picture.
This was my history until four years ago. It is no longer. The leviathan vanished, exploded by the blood of many tears and 120 pounds of gradual weight loss. Now, I am BMI normal, and though I'm not underweight (as most celebrities must be to photograph well) I am no longer demoralized by my image in photographs. I'm finally satisfied with my appearance in mirrors and storefront reflections.
It only took me a lifetime to get here. How did I do it? I discovered my gluten hypersensitivity was prompting my obesity after reading Wheat Belly by William Davis. It's a fabulous book about the impact of wheat (whose genetics have been so tweaked and refined as to make the grain addictive among other things) on one's metabolism. After reading this book, I ended a long weight loss plateau when I cut out all gluten products. I felt a restoration of energy and vitality I had never experienced even when I was a pasta raised Italian kid. With fits and starts because of a dream, I had already disappeared 80 pounds of fat, but it was the discovery of my gluten problem that helped me with the last 40. So far, I have resisted weight gain, a miracle, after yo-yoing a total of 20 times.
Recent picture during Thanksgiving week, 11/12
The cravings for my bread passions? They are legion. Hungers are easier to control, but they are everpresent like tormenting spirits. I fantasize about croissants, cheese danish, challah, morning buns, artisinal rolls with pecans, cranberries or walnuts, fresh semolina, corn and seeded ryes like others fantasize about sex positions. If I could, I'd take it any way: just give me the crackers, rounds or French baguette, I'll supply the specialty cheeses, pinot noirs or chardonnays. Every time I stop in Starbucks for my Venti-nonfat-wet-cappuccino, I squash my ravenousness for a blueberry scone or slice of pumpkin bread with a silent mantra, "Death, death, death. Flour is death." Sigh!
"This is no way to live, " you are probably thinking. Others, both friend and enemy have said this to my face. They didn't understand the depth of my insanity for wheat flour products nor my porca miseria (translated as pig misery and interpreted as fat hell). Some part of me not exorcised from yeast sided with them. I thought, maybe they were right. Why deprive myself of what I adore, even it if it is a devil? Just one slice, one roll, one buttery bite can't hurt!
Like all addicts I know how to game my judicious, circumspect intentions. Become unconscious. In this noctambulistic state, I am able to throw caution and right thinking to the floor where I can spit on their admonitions with impunity. I shut down that part of myself that seeks life and embraces health. In this mode, I am capable of heartily enjoying fat suicide. Who cares? Not my friends, not my enemies, not myself. Do you judge me as weak? Well, of course, I'm weak. I never said I was anything but. Obesity is a weakness, a dis-ease. I am still obese, though I look skinny.
The game to hide my relapse into fat suicide has been elaborate. Once I spawned it, I've trawled my wily subterfuge over these last six months to "have my cake and eat it, too," yet remain thin. I suppose it's an experiment to gauge "once and for all," how bad my wheat/flour addiction, my gluten hypersensitivity is. On the other hand, I am riding a whirlwind of screaming fat cells that can strangle me at any moment if I don't counter them by pulling on a pair of skinny size 0 jeans after a feed to judge if my squeeze into them is a gripper or ripper.
I'll take it all. Home made breads, those baguettes, focaccia, cheesey rolls. OMG! Yummy!
My MO? For one day of the week, I indulge in my bakery bread obsession and eat as many croissants, muffins, danishes I want. I also allow myself healthy food for lunch and dinner (organic veggies and fruit and free range meats, if I can). Then after the entire day's engorgement and I am stuffed like a turkey, I bed myself to sleep off the drunk.
The next day, I weigh myself noting my weight gain sometimes of five pounds. And you thought I wouldn't gain that much? Get real! It is possible to gorge oneself for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner and gain five pounds and then eat the leftovers the next day and the next. All of a sudden, you get on the scale a week later and you have apoplexia and anaphaletic shock. You've gained 10 pounds over the holidays (especially Christmas week toNew Years). And you wonder how it happened? Unconsciousness.
Fabulous ravioli at Eataly market that I can never have. Sigh!
Of course, I ate like I normally would when I was obese and in a trance-like state. I overindulged to my heart's content. However, after one day, now, I weigh myself as a safety check and I try on a pair of skinny, skinny jeans. I immediately recognize I can barely button the waist and the zipper is ready to split. I have to get on the bed to pull up the pants where my legs have swelled. It's that bad.
These pastas sold at Eataly, NYC are so fresh, it's like me or my mom made them; I used to years ago. No more!
This next day I am abstemious. I drink fluids and non fat milk for nutrition, but digest and digest expelling what I've eaten. I may do a Master Cleanse for the next three or four days. But I've indulged my passion and so far so good. I weigh myself after the fourth day and find I have lost weight but must continue to get back to the weight baseline where I began. So far so good, one would think, this treating oneself one day of the week like a holiday dinner. But how do I feel psychologically and physically? How do I feel overeating like it's a Super Bowl Party or birthday celebration, just eating what I know is my bet noir and knowing that the more I eat, the more I crave?
When I taught high school, I remember a discussion I had with the gymnastics coach. We were discussing some of the girls who had graduated and gone on to college. I was shocked when the coach mentioned that two of them she knew had battled anorexia and even confronted it when they were on the high school team. Somehow, I didn't equate the muscular-looking bodies with anorexia, but there was a correlation. The young girls had to whizz through the air, remain lithe and agile and after the season was over, without their rigorous routines, they gained weight which made it very difficult to get back in shape when the season returned again. So they became anorexics to maintain their "balance" on the beam and cartwheel and running flip to their hearts content 4 months of the year.
Example of a photo which sometimes is posted on #thinspo
This is not an unusual occurrence for teenagers engaged in gymnastics. One mother discusses that when her daughter stopped the rigorous training which by fourth grade included practicing 14 to 16 hours a week, she put on weight and thought she was getting "fat." So she ramped into the anorexia mode eating less and less, and flew under the radar with her parents because the weight loss was gradual. Her mother noticed how emaciated she looked in a bathing suit and she rushed her to a pediatrician who hospitalized her. "I pulled every string I
could think of" the mother says when she attempted to enroll her in a program and see a psychiatrist. However, there was a waiting list for new patients, and other doctors she called were already at capacity. The mother remembers, "I was
hysterical calling the psychiatrist's office and saying,
'Please, we can't wait. My child will be dead in three months.'"
Anorexia is a disease that has spread beyond the once typical age group of teen girls. Doctors are changing their protocol to accommodate treating younger anorexics and older ones. They are now treating children as young as 8-years-old and the elderly who are reaching the upper 70s age brackets. Once identified as occurring amongst a wealthy population of 13-17 year-old-girls is increasingly common among the elementary age children, even little boys and it runs a complete economic and age spectrum so that no one population remains untouched by eating disorders.
And adult woman suffering from eating disorders which may have begun in her teens.
According to Margaret Kelley, clinical nurse manager for the eating disorders treatment program at The Children's Hospital in Denver, "In the last two years, we've actually had to add a treatment track
to deal with kids ages 9 to 11, and we're getting many more boys. We used to see
one or two a year at most, but we've almost always got one or two boys
in the program now."
Because the eating disordered hide their condition in a culture that prizes uber thin celebrity, the svelte model and the thin broadcast media spokesperson, and touts diets, weight loss programs and fitness devices and gyms, the disease is not easily detected, especially when two-thirds of the US population is either dieting or poised on the brink of dieting. Children are not stupid. They recognize that great status enshrines the thin, and demeaning stereotypes slap the fat. The overweight and obese are denounced and shamed for their ungainly condition. They are assumed to be unintelligent, lazy, unfit, smelly, sweaty, unloved and gross. Fat kids have no identity other than "The Ridiculed" and in elementary school through high school, they are the lost population, perhaps self-designed to avoid bullying jokes, opposite sex rejection and daily embarrassment about their disgusting condition. They just slide into the wall like ghosts, unless they rise above their condition and make their teachers and peers forget with sterling performances in academia or other activities: music, the arts, technology, etc. However, this is too little too late; the damage is done. Tweens and teens see the peer treatment of the fatties and fear for lives and their ability to fit in and be cool.
Adult woman suffering from eating disorders which most probably began as Anorexia in her teens.
Is it any wonder that fat, considered a cultural taboo and anathema from the White House down to the Frat House is most probably behind most of the drive toward the silence of anorexia/eating disorders, a condition hampering an indeterminate number of preteens and 5% of adolescents and a growing number of young women, middle aged women, wealthy socialites and senior aged women and men? What? Has the world gone off its axis? You thought men could do anything and there would be a woman out there to love him? Yes...well, not the kind he wants: not a fatty woman. He wants a slender, beautiful woman, certainly not one who is obese, so he had better look the part or obviously be attempting to look the part. And in the case of a gay man? Whew! He has to be buff and beautiful. Yes, more than ever men are being diagnosed with eating disorders. (Just today, I was trying on black slacks in a GAP store that had a coed dressing room. I overheard a young guy; he was asking the salesgirl if the pants pushed up his waist and gave him love handles. She assured him she saw no bacon anywhere. Gee, I thought. There's a revolution going on...a man concerned about love handles and back fat showing
If the adult population is suffering from fat worry as they acknowledge that obesity is associated with poor, trailer-trash, Walmart patrons, and slender beauty with Ralph Lauren, Gucci and the good life, can kids resist internalizing these modalities and equations? Will kids act on such internalizations?
Here are some statistics. In a study by the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders, 60% of elementary and middle school teachers reported an
eating disorder problem with their students. Experts know this and are concerned about the rise in nearly epidemic proportions
of "disordered eating" because of the perceptions of kids in elementary school, perceptions which can foreshadow the underpinnings of full blown anorexia a few years later.
Kids in first through third grades wish they were thinner: 42% or almost half said this.
Of the 10-year-olds surveyed, 81% are afraid of becoming fat.
Girls between the ages of 9 and 10 years-old say they feel better about themselves when they are on a diet: 51% said this.
If you feel this is a good thing, think again. Do we want kids preoccupied about weight issues before they have physically matured? Should they be stressed to the point of emotional, psychological and physical illness? Isn't our culture too fat obsessed as it is without our kids being traumatized about the horrors of being 10 pounds overweight with a higher than normal BMI? It appears that such stress is delivered to kids daily at school, by their caustic peers and by the media for it's not just overweight kids who are restricting calories, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Populations of normal-weight and underweight kids are dieting, for example, 16% of girls ages 8-11 and 19% of girls ages 12-15. Though the numbers are somewhat lower for boys, they, too, are dieting concerned that they not appear fat.
The warnings are out there. Experts see them, but does the rest of the culture care, or are the benefiting corporations happy that they are creating continued generations of rebellious obese and weight obsessives who will need their products: their weight loss drugs, teas, diets panaceas, programs, medical devices, gyms, protocols, doctors' visits, etc.? How many more anorexic suicides does our culture have to produce before more medical groups, schools and parents demand enough is enough with the obsession about weight and being uber thin? We could learn a lesson from the UK whose organized groups prompted the government to create a guide for parents to help their tweens be realistic about their body image and not believe the photoshopped images on magazines and covers and the camera lighting and angles on TV and in films.
This is the photo of an older, eating disordered woman in her 60s.
Faux, thy name is traditional media. Its egregious misrepresentation of principles, values and human integrity to sell product is pernicious and harmful to the body and soul. The public is on to you! And a time will come, it is already beginning, in fact, when consumers will no longer allow themselves to be bullied into buying useless product or be influenced by stupid and ridiculous concepts like YOU ARE DISGUSTING IF YOU ARE FAT (meaning anything over a normal BMI range.) That is why every opportunity I get, I sign petitions like the one on Change.org to get Teen Vogue to show teenage models realistically and stop the photoshopping. We need a critical mass of public support to educate against such fascism about images. We are who we are individually and realistically; in our uniqueness we are beautiful and that runs clean to the bone.
Raani York has published articles, letters, short stories, poems, continuation stories and novels (some of which appear on her website). One of her short stories made it to the semi-finalist level in a contest sponsored by the Boroughs Publishing Group.
Giving a big HUG to Sharla Shults and Raani York for nominating my blog, The Fat and The Skinny, for this award and providing the occasion to spread the love around online. As a former English teacher and professor, I uplift any opportunity to engage others in reading which some have claimed is a dying "art" in our digital age of short word bursts and flash fiction.
SPREADING THE LOVE AND NOMINATING OTHERS WHO HAVE LEFT SALIENT COMMENTS AND ENCOURAGEMENT ON MY BLOG OR SHARED CONNECTIONS ON SOCIAL MEDIA SITES.
There are a few guidelines for accepting this award:
l) Acknowledge the giver of the award and provide a link to his or her blog.
2) Copy and paste the award to your blog.
3) Pass the award on to up to ten bloggers.
4) Notify the selected bloggers that you have nominated them.
Thanks again Margo, Amberr, Belinda and Jen. And when you have time, visit each others' blogs and become acquainted. You will be happy you did!
Julia Bluhm and friends protesting Photoshopped images used by Seventeen Magazine
The gap is widening between women who are obsessed with appearing like the latest stick insect models/celebrities and those who, realizing this is a psychological illness, are pushing back against the ethic of uber skinny and anorexic is beautiful. Teens, electing to go with the normal look are fighting back against magazine artistic directors and editors and winning because it's all about market share and the magazine industry, feeling its losses doesn't want to lose any more.
Seventeen, fearful of losing readership, came out with a pronouncement in its August issue. The Editor-in-Chief vowed that the magazine will not Photoshop their teen models' faces, shapes and body sizes. Furthermore, they assured that they will diversify to normalcy with different body shapes, races and hair textures. Hell, this I have to see. Seventeen has been amongst the worst of its breed. At thirteen, I recall feeling dismayed perusing the glossy pages styling the sleek, sassy and "all that" young women. I stopped buying the magazine because as an overweight chub, I knew it was hopeless; I would never, ever look like those fabulous "creatures" responsible for countless wet dreams. Of course, in those days there was no photoshop, but there were starvation diets, air brushing, heavy makeup, clothing effects and lighting techniques to make one appear thinner.
Julia Bluhm
Julia's petition on Change.org is to be viewed as a win for the "little people," and a loss for the fashion industry and its lackeys in waiting, the print/advertising/old media companies who do NOT COMPREHEND THERE IS A CHANGING PARADIGM. You see, the whole world is watching, but it's just not TV they're watching. IT'S THE INTERNET, driven by mobile devices. Online Change.org, the petition site has brought more than a few companies to its knees. Witness Beef Products, Inc., and the petition that went viral "prohibit pink slime in the schools." It's about being connected and sharing through Twitter, Facebook and a hundred other sites like Reddit, Tumblr, Pinterest, etc. About the only ones who will be watching TV in the future will be shut ins or those who are incapable of getting up off their couches because of extreme obesity. This is an interactive world. People want to be engaged and involved. TV/cable doesn't provide enough stimulation, interest or satisfaction, unless you are comatose.
So the petitions are coming fast and furious and the next one has been engendered by Carina Cruz and Emma Stydahar. They are petitioning Teen Vogue, the young girl's fashion giant to do a reveal. Whattttt? They intend to influence the fashion industry and advertising industry to create a new ethic: reality. That means "chunkier" teens, ethnic teens without photoshopped noses, waists, limbs or complexions. Will pimples be seen? Ah ha! Probably not, but realistic beauty photographed without digital enhancements would be a step in the right direction. So "beauty scouts" will have to scour the countryside for the normal teen who is naturally gorgeous. Perhaps, duh, the other teen girls' magazines will then be forced to follow these two biggest magazine publishers in the country or suffer boycotts, perhaps, if these young girls joined by their peers remain firm in their intentions that real beauty be revealed.
Of course, there is an irony in all this. Beauty standards are by definition opaque and subjective. Three hundred years ago, Peter Paul Rubens painted nude chubbettes that would be characterized as obese today. Were their round faces and double chins beautiful? That class of folks believed them to be so because uber thin meant starvation and poverty. Poverty brought malnutrition and malnutrition death. Poverty was ugly, hence skinny was UGLY. My have things changed! Now, anorexics near death are beautiful. It is a ridiculous ethic that causes soul torment for the normal weight teen girl who knows something is wrong but the illusion masks what it is.
Peter Paul Rubens, The Three Graces, 1635, The Prado. Today these women are obese. Then, they were perfect.
Carina and Emma have broken through the cloud confusion with their petition when they state, "These photoshopped images are extremely dangerous to girls like us because they keep telling
us: you are not skinny enough, pretty enough or perfect enough. Well,
neither are the girls in the pictures! As teen girls, we know first hand
how hurtful the photoshopped pictures in these magazines can be for our
body image and self-esteem." They reach the heart of the matter; the illusion is toxic, perhaps most importantly because IT IS an illusion that the industry refuses to own up to. Well now, Seventeen has. My fear is that such "clever" folk in the fashion industry will tweak
the good will of these girls and come up with an even more egregious way
to thinnize their models...
I signed the petition. It's a matter of pride with me; I'm writing a book which will touch upon such issues because I have wrestled with faux reed thin images in media my entire life. I crowed when Liz Taylor became fat in her 40s and 50s. I leaped for joy when other celebrities went "natural" and "let it all hang out," not going the slash and burn way of all celebrity flesh. I applauded when Diane Keaten, et. al were subtle about their pulls and cuts. My heart broke for Cher, immobile and "statuesque." There is something obscene about the fillers after a while that make one's face look bizarro: Joan Rivers, Sally Jessy Rafael, Cher (google them before and after; you'll see what I mean). They're worse than photoshopped images. Oh, God. I do hope that editors are not going to be paying for plastic surgery for their models. They're too young for that, aren't they?
Peter Paul Rubens, Venus at the Mirror, 1615, The Goddess of Beauty and Love, today is a fatty. Then 99% of the men thought her ravishing. Today, not a Young Turks idea of a trophy wife.
As we age, all of us fall apart; gravity aging impacts every aspect of our lives and health. It's anathema and to my mind, if teens are taking a stand, then so should the boomer generation with its penchant to "defy aging" with botox, restaylene, rejuven, radiesse contorted cheeks/lips/foreheads, desperate lap bands, exercise obsessions and the frantic search for youth elixirs. There is no such American ethic as growing old gracefully. Old is skeletal horror and death, yet it is the inevitable reality which none of us escape and even the young may be struck down to the skeleton if fate has her way. Yet the media and medical industrial complex indulge our fears and fantasies with easy remedies, panaceas and surgeries to delude us to keep our wallets open and eyes shunted away from the impossible final result of life in a grave ending.
For one day, just one, we should have an appearance blackout, a moment of silence to reach our inner being and trounce appearance, the dividing line of bigotry between life and death. We need to be brought into psychic or spiritual unity to realize this overriding sick cultural ethos. If there is one thing that traditional media, TV, film, magazines, the fashion industry and its hand maidens including the medical industrial complex have done in their profit motive wickedness, on a basic level, they have divided us, woman against woman, teen against teen, man against woman (in addition to divisions of race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, etc.). They've done it by disseminating cultural misinformation and ethnic bigotry and racism and agism and sizism. And don't say that these "isms" have stopped; they haven't. Political correctness is but a surface pandering blind while in secret groups, such discrimination is even worse and the residual effects are experienced daily. The media power structure is still white and fascist and sadly mostly overweight males who fantasize and want the undemanding Barbie type woman doll, an engineered image reinforcer for all time.
The beauty images these young women are calling down exemplify the end result of this power structure as clearly outlined in The Beauty Myth. It will take constant battering down of this structure, again and again. The older generation may be too brainwashed, too far gone to help. Elites make too much money by lifting up these unattainable images heavenward away from those whom they perceive to be the stupid, envious masses that they intend to enthrall and prey upon with their products that promise happiness, youth, beauty at the expense of the human soul. Only the young can beat these powers down and wipe them out as the paradigm shifts and the divide widens. I, for one, hope I live to see the day when their power is finally shuttered and we lift up the importance of spirit and soul over the material flesh.
These young teens have taken an important first step toward that eventual end. Why not help them drive the spear deeper within the heart of a magazine and its attendant empires.
I watched Anthony Bourdain's Emmy Award winning No Reservations on the Travel Channel for years, less frequently now because I am writing online most days. He is an insightful raconteur and feisty, fun, global, food culturalist, promoting the human factor, sharing food and hospitality on his travels. You can expect that his move to CNN will be edgier, more dynamic and perceptive. Bourdain has the chops to accomplish great things with the sophisticated team there. Hopefully, they will allow him to deliver, as he brings his legion of fans to their viewership. I may even turn on the TV now and then just to snoop around and see what he's up to. But most likely will stream it if I can.
So when I found out that Bourdain was landing in Brooklyn at the BAM Opera House to speak, I debated whether I should attend the more personal session (pricier) to share photos, drinks and snacks with this exceptional writer and traveler, or just warm a seat as close as I could get to the stage. I did the latter which I'm thrilled that I did, but I rue that I didn't do the former as well. It would have been a gas to take some photos and post them here with a few choice rubies thrown to me during a brief exchange from this Will Rogers of the food universe.
The show was one half hour getting started because the crowd was packed out, the only criticism of the evening which was more the fault of Ticketmaster, the producers and the Opera House venue creators, I think. Who knows, but our expectations were raised as was the suspense to see the man live and in person. At last, the announcer introduced him to warm applause and catcalls by his throng of twenty to thirty somethings.
He jaunted out on stage, dark classes, signature black sweat shirt and jacket and designer Nikes or whatever brand they were. The audience still clapping didn't realize it. At first, I was like, "What? Oh no. It's an impersonator and Bourdain got stuck in air traffic over Mumbai." When I looked again, I nearly fainted, and those around me were like, "Not. Bourdain. That's his buddy." Then the Bourdain twin took off the glasses and jacket and Voila!
Eric Ripert (Bourdain's doppelganger revealed)
Sure enough, it was ERIC RIPERT!!!! Yeah, Eric. Clever! Ripert introduced his close friend with the faintest whisp of a French accent and the man himself appeared, hugged Ripert and went to the podium shaking his head and laughing. And that was the beginning of a fabulous night. My love of Ripert and Le Bernardin has been chronicled on Technorati. I'm planning to go back in September. How can you not respect a chef who is so particular about food safety and quality that HE GEIGER COUNTERED THE FISH HE SERVED after the Japanese nuclear disaster. And if I know Ripert, he is still doing it! Supposedly, Thomas Keller of Per Se flies in fresh fish every day. Does HE geiger counter the fish? I didn't see an article to that effect and I am looking for it.
Ripert is awesome. Bourdain respects and shares Ripert's concerns and appreciates Ripert's phenomenal interest and artistry in developing his culinary lexicon and perfecting all aspects of his restaurant, Le Bernardin. Ripert's food palate is superb and he is a gentleman and a perceptive, temperate soul. Bourdain is sanguine, humorously ironic to the point of sardonic and in your face. The two make a great team of complements. It is obvious how and why they are friends.
Who better than a close buddy to introduce you to the Brooklyn crowd and cheer you on. (Eric Ripert and A. Bourdain)
For Bourdain, center stage is his playground. He started with a humorous and scathing shishkabob against Paula Dean, putting up some slides of her outrageously unhealthful concoctions. One of them was her notorious 1200 + calorie balloon cheeseburger on a doughnut bun. He escalated his skewerings with other fare (I'm surprised he didn't lay bare her deep fried chocolate pudding cupcakes) and concluded with her deep fried stuffing. Bourdain quipped that her recipes in no way reflect wonderful Southern cooking and he's not sure what region they represent but the Dean marketing empire and her destiny to suck up every morsel in sight and spew out culinary pornographic excess, even though it may be at the expense of her fans' waistlines. He also quipped about the products she's endorsing, a mattress and a new diabetes drug. Of course, Bourdain was quick to point out she was mum about her diabetes for 5 years until recently so that she could advertise the new Diabetes drug on her show, proving once again that exemplifying and peddling illness can be profitable.
Bourdain during the question and answer session. Eric Riper (left) sitting and listening.
Bourdain is a talented showman. He covered topics from his show that resonated with his fans like what you have to go through to team up with him traveling the globe (i.e. leeches, food that's inedible, gastric problems, being the guinea pig of the unexpected). Of course he discussed getting high and sneaking in clips of a foreign DEA bust aiding agents in burning up the cocaine, despite freaking out the show advertisers and administrators. He emphasized that he learned when you go to grandmas for Thanksgiving and she serves you gravy and jellied cranberries from the cans along with over salted, unsavory turkey meat, you compliment her and go for second helpings because that's the way. You're a guest and you love her and receive her hospitality. Bourdain has been the recipient of more than one bacterial stomach bug on his travels, but he bucks up and tastes the dishes wherever he goes, from Dubai to the African bush. And it's cool. His riff was a humorous scraping up and drumming down of vegans and vegetarians who, when they visit your house, turn their nose up at your grilled meats and ask for grilled peppers. He discussed getting along with folks despite the fact that you have nothing in common with them culturally, folks with whom you couldn't be more diametrically opposed. In other words as a statistic or part of a generalized group, they are THE ENEMY. He showed clips of himself breaking bread with a strict muslim Wahabist, a red neck, red state Deliverance type and a KGB hit man: each of them "the nicest guys," illustrating that we can "get along" if we put down the rhetoric. It was a refreshing point; there is nothing like exploring cultural differences in foods to tear down walls.
Answering the question about food quality
During the question and answer session, Bourdain shared some interesting thoughts. Regarding flying (he must be frequent flyer black status) he doesn't mind turbulence; it breaks up the boredom/monotony of a fight during which he doesn't eat and after watching 3 films becomes tiresome. He laughed that he enjoys looking at the panic and terror on the faces of fellow elite passengers who think it's over and their time has come. When asked whether he wants his daughter to eat responsibly (Bourdain shares the Obamas' concerns about American obesity; that's why he hammers Dean) Bourdain replied that food quality, eating organic and fresh is important. He relayed he is not of the type that is pushing sushi on a three-year-old. But he proudly recalled a wonderful story of his thrill when he saw his daughter's interest when the family was dining in Paris and she admired the height of the seafood tower of clams, shrimps, scallops, mussels, etc., with two lobsters perched prettily on top. Remembering her love of the lobster Sebastian in The Little Mermaid, she cried out, "Oh Sebastian," then grabbed the top lobster and picked it clean tearing at its flesh (as only Bourdain can gesture and mimic).
Bourdain's take on American junk food gyrations? Great answer. Make the junk food look like the food court in Thailand or other Asian nations with food stalls run by entrepreneurs where you could sample Dim Sum, or roasted goose or duck, and other treats. These would be more nutritious and fewer calories than the typical garbage slid toward us. What he was discussing is happening outside of Eatley across from Madison Square in NYC. That is a wonderful food court of more upscale fare from various restaurants in the city from seafood to deli. It's a step in the right direction, but Bourdain was discussing more exotic offerings for more reasonable prices; not corporate, not industrial, not big business, but something equivalent in other countries as street food. And he's right. Expanding the palates and intellectual curiosity of Americans just might decrease their waistlines. Quality not quantity might be the right imperative. That and an unadulterated food supply that is not rife with additives, preservatives, GE/GM (genetically modified) produce and products, pink slime hamburgers, E coli-spinach and hamburger, salmonella eggs and antibiotic fed animals... would slim all of us down.
The inimitable Bourdain listening to another question.
Bourdain is about food, quality food. It's who we are and what we are as Americans. And if we are going to help one another, we should be fit and trim, as he quipped with a sober note. You want to live next to a neighbor who will quickly come to your aid rather than one who is unable to get off the couch because he/she are trailing 50-100 pounds of fat baggage front and back and need help from you to get around.
Audra McDonald accepting her award Outstanding Actress in a Musical. Brian D'Arcy James and Brooks Shields (on right)
Presenter John Larroquette being interviewed. He is currently starring in The Best Man by Gore Vidal in the role of political candidate, William Russell
I have enjoyed or enthusiastically enjoyed most of the plays on Broadway, Off Broadway and some Off Off Broadway shows this season. That's why I attended the 57th Annual Drama Desk Awards, held in NYC at Town Hall with Brooke Shields and Brian D'Arcy James hosting the streamed live event. As part of her opening remarks, Shields expressed her enthusiasm that the ceremony wouldn't have any commercials.
Laila Roberts (one of the cast who received a special ensemble award for Sweet and Sad) and playwright Kenneth Lonergan whose hysterical and timely production of Medieval Play is currently at the Signature Theater
Audience members smiled and chortled with her in response. Not only would the show be able to move like clockwork seamlessly, holding the attention of the audience and keeping their suspense up. The length would be reasonable. And because there were no interruptions, liability for mishaps and lurid sponsors to deal with, this represented an intimate gathering of theater lovers, whether past winners, presenters, nominees, theater reviewers or family of nominees. We were there to celebrate the majesty of live performance. There is nothing like it under the sun and there is nothing like it in the English speaking world save in New York City.
The particularly wonderful concept about this ceremony is that it is the only award event that honors all tiers of Broadway theater; not only super commercial theater that is costing egregious amounts of debt to mount and recoup, but also theater off the "Great White Way," held in comparatively tiny venues, even including theater that is non-profit and heavily granted, subsidized and funded with outside gifting.
Christopher Ashley, Director of Leap of Faith which was forced to close
It is because the Drama Desk Awards, formed in 1949 by a group of New York theater
critics, editors, reporters and publishers do include unique Off-Broadway and Off-Off
Broadway theater, that it is a poor theater cousin of the 66th Annual Tony's. Unless a miracle happens and those in the NYC theater, film and TV community and New York Tech community really get behind all venues of NYC theater, the Drama Desks will never garner the glamor and the commercial support that the glitzy
Tonys will bring this Sunday.
The Tonys are spectacle and since the show will last for hours and bore the hell out of the social media set who will be mobile texting, tweeting, uploading, watching films and playing videos during the commercial breaks AND the show, producers are forced to "attempt to compete" with the only other show with the like format watched by millions of average Americans who might tune in, the Oscars. And we know how boring the Oscar show has become. So in this regard, the Drama Desks are one up on the Tonys and Oscars. It is intimate. Waiting outside to get in, you feel at home standing next to Kevin Spacey, Bernadette Peters or Kelli O'Hara, and you don't have to suffer the foolishness of advertisers. And neither do the celebrities in the entertainment communities, most of whom eschew the adulterated products sold by the industrial food complex and Big Pharma whose companies mostly advertise on such shows. (They avoid highly chemicalized foods and products not wanting to sacrifice their bodies, youthfulness and careers since the stuff is poison and unhealthful.)
How will the Tony TV watching audience be drawn in? High profile stars like nominated Ricky Martin, will be performing a number from Evita where he is currently starring as Che, and Raul Esparza, will be performing a song from Leap of Faith, a show he starred in that barely ran and was pecked by critics like chickens on a blood spot. And they will be drawn to see the fashions and hear the personages dewy comments. The presenter's
list is growing and includes Tyler Perry, Nick Jonas, Amanda Seyfried,
Paul Rudd, Ellen Barkin, Angela Lansbury, Bernadette Peters, Candice
Bergen, Christopher Plummer, James Marsden, Mandy Patinkin and Sheryl
Crow. "South Park" creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone, last year's
award winners for their hit musical "The Book of Mormon" will bestow
awards after sharing their spot on humorous perceptions.
The show airs
on CBS, at 8:00 pm, and will be hosted by the versatile and
irrepressible Neil Patrick Harris who will "WOW" us with his performance which will have to top last year's hysterical opening number, "Broadway Isn't Just for Gays Anymore." Last year he was surprising and magnetic and it won't be easy to knock down this comparison uploaded to Youtube.
Were Sunday night's Drama Desk wins a foretaste of who will win the
Tony's? Perhaps with regard to the musical portion, however, the
categories differed because of the Off-Broadway inclusions. For best
play, Pulitzer Prize winning Clybourne Park by Bruce Norris isslated as a favorite amongst the other plays a few notches ranking ( click here to see) above Other Desert Cities. The Drama Desk panel didn't even nominate Clybourne Park or Other Desert Cities. Instead,Tribes,
an Off-Broadway production won the Drama Desk for Outstanding Play. In
fact that was the only Off-Broadway production that won an award. The
brilliant BAM production Richard III(nominated
for Outstanding Revival) and starring nominated Kevin Spacey
(Outstanding Actor in a Play) who showed up for interviews at Town Hall
was cold shouldered. It wasn't even nominated for a Tony, talk about a
snub!
For Outstanding Revival of a Play, the incredible Death of a Salesman won the Drama Desk and Mike Nichols won for Outstanding Direction. Though The Best Man was superb, Death of a Salesman
was better; there was no comparison perhaps because of the play's
intense humanity and its electric currency trending resonant themes for
today. Even a car park attendant on 46th street last Wednesday, May 30th
(I saw the play a second time; first time I saw ot early in the run.)
told me Death was the best play on Broadway. Maybe he had already
placed his bets. My guess is he had heard his customers' commentary.
Odds in favor of a Salesman Tony win are currently at 74%. We'll see how canny the parking lot attendant is.
Will Follies beat out The Gershwin's Porgy and Bess? Follies took the Drama Desk award for Outstanding Musical Revival and most likely will again Tony night. The odds favor Follies by 66 percent. But Porgy and Bess was rewarded when Audra McDonald won for her portrayal as Bess beating out Bernadette Peters Follies
star for the Drama Desk. Peters is not nominated for a Tony. Audra
McDonald will most likely receive the Tony for a phenomenal performance,
and 69 percent of the experts agree on this.
Finally, there are no surprises that Once
won the Drama Desk for Outstanding Musical, since the building momentum
has been moving with intensity for the show. It has already won the
Outer Critic's Circle and the Drama League award. If the producers are
canvassing support in these next few days, it may exceed support for Newsies which is 49 percent the favorite over 41 percent for Once.
The Drama Desk for Outstanding
Actor in a Play went to James Corden for his hysterically funny
performance in One Man, Two Guvnors and not Philip Seymour Hoffman for
Death of a Salesman or Kevin Spacey for Richard III. Corden's acceptance speech was one of the most comedic I've heard in a long while and echoed the brilliance of his exuberant performance in One Man... He commented that he appreciated the efforts of his significant other, his Baby Mama who had recently given birth and was currently (as a result of the strenuous demands of the role) taking care of two babies. In acknowledging the producers and director and others, he noted that he was thanking those who hadn't attended the ceremony. Apparently they were in other parts of the globe. He quipped, ah, "Fuck 'em."
James Corden making acceptance remarks; Outstanding Actor in a Play for One Man, Two Guvnors
As marvelous as Corden was this win was a surprise, an upset. I would have preferred to see Spacey pitted against Hoffman in roles of equal comparison, though Richard III is a history with tragic elements. Certainly, both require a larger than life talent to occupy. Willy Loman and Richard III if acted with elegance and magnificence as both were by Hoffman and Spacey can translate into usable material to endow our own lives with. I walked away from both productions feeling the sadness of mankind's follies and abysses. So to categorize play without differentiating between something as simplistic as comedy/tragedy, which our forebears, the Greeks made sure to differentiate because the purposes of both genres were so different, seems downright ridiculous and demeaning to a celebration of theater. That "convenience" is unworthy of the actors and their performances and it belittles James Corden's different kind of brilliance as well.
Kevin Spacey posing with friends.
The roles, comedy, modern day
tragedy and history/tragedy must not be drawn in the same breath. They cannot be compared
in terms of acting depth and soul requirements. Much of Corden's role depended upon timing, the clever execution of slapstick and the facile breakdown of the fourth wall. Both Richard III and Death, show the onging and historic spiral of a human
being plummeting deep into the abyss. The acting progression/declension is not to be underestimated. It requires breadth to convey the electricity of compelling
humanity. In the case of Richard III, for Spacey to convey Richard III's despicable human traits charmingly is "NO JOKE." How easy it would have been for him to "be" evil instead of "be" Richard; great temperance is required.
Kevin Spacey greeting old friends
Kevin Spacey during interview
If the Drama Desks, the Tonys and other theater awards, the Oliver, the Louise Lortell, the Obie are to be meaningful and significant ceremonies in conveying and promoting NYC theater tradition which they cannot help but do, this consideration of doing the expedient and convenient IS A TURN OFF. Fans have been turned off. And we are your greatest lovers and supporters. For the sake of sponsors, promoters and boards of these created award ceremonies that are often politically motivated, GIVE US A BREAK. Designate properly, categorize astutely, recognize when there are errors. Political exigency is worthwhile to a point, except when it kills the very thing you wish to promote.
It is always the problem of award ceremonies. Politics are involved.
Kevin Spacey is not only a known quantity, he is an absolutely brilliant
performer who has worked tirelessly for theater, melding British and
American theater in The Bridge Project, the first of its kind. He has
been generous in helping others get their start in theater. He is my
vote for a Renaissance man of the industry, clever, ingenious, down to
earth, an everyman, yet a star. And that is why he doesn't need accolades; he has received many. What me worry about affirmation, Kevin? No. And I echo the sentiments about Hoffman who is iconic in film and onstage, versatile, amazing, entrancing to watch because he is moment to moment, unique, incomparable. He makes the damn thing look easy, and he too, has won numerous awards and contributed greatly to theater, joining the LAByrinth Theater Company in 1995 where he has directed and promoted NYC theater.
Both Hoffman and Spacey rate as phenomena. And that
might be why Cordon, a new kid on the American Broadway block, and a very funny, known Brit comedic genius (Americans tend to venerate Brits), will
walk away with the Tony. To my mind, he shouldn't.
