Some Enchanted Evening

Since arriving in Turkey, we have, in the timeless words of Blanche, been depending on the kindness of strangers. Yesterday was no exception.

We have been receiving incredible help and support from a colleague, Tonguc, in setting up our internet. He has driven us to the company, given the company his phone number (in our absence of both Turkish and a working phone), and has been offering his time to help us translate in this matter.

Long story short, Jake and I were told that someone would be there to set up our internet on Thursday or Friday night. Thursday came and went with no internet, but on Friday, Tonguc called the company and they said it was all set.

Alas, no.

So, Saturday, we trek over to the Internet cafe - a dingy two-room computer hovel where League of Legends has a shortcut on the desktop - so we can communicate a bit with you lovely people and do a little bit of work. We're there for maybe 10 minutes when Tonguc Facebook messages Jake to ask about the internet. Upon receiving Jake's response, Tonguc calls up the company and says, "Go home. Someone will be there in a couple of hours."

I sign off. Jake continues to type to Tonguc who eventually encourages Jake again to "Go home." On our way home, we meet the service guy who calls Tonguc so we can communicate. Great? Great. The guy parks his car, ready to bring us back to the 21st century. We're walking into the building when one of our neighbors, whom we hadn't yet met - greets us in English.

"If you need some help, I can help you," she says.

Let's face it: we do need help.

So, we, Ezgi (our neighbor), and Yaris (the tech guy) trek the four flights up to our apartment.

The next part of the story is quite dull and, to save you the time being bored out of your gourd, basically involves the perpetual failing of our internet.

"Do not worry," says Ezgi. "You can come use ours."

So we follow her across the platform to her building, ascend the four flights, and are welcomed into Ezgi's mother's home.

Recently divorced and ready to take on the town, Ezgi's mother loves Barack Obama and hates George Bush. Instant connection.

She brings me water and sits with us as we surf the Web a little bit. When Baris - her 14 year old son comes - he is excited to show Jake wrestling videos on YouTube and, in a moment of indelible enthusiasm, attempts to show Jake spoilers from Season 5 of Game of Thrones, which we haven't seen yet.

Saved by Ezgi.

The balcony invites a welcome breeze, and the day is incredibly pleasant; the type of day where the sun doesn't shine and you don't really miss it.

Ezgi's mother announces that we will stay for dinner. Not so much of an invitation as a proclamation.

Soup - corba - is the first course. "It's potatoes and..." Ezgi's eyes search the ceiling for the translation, "something Turkish."

Ezgi's mother sets the second course in front of me almost as soon as I'd finished my soup.

"In Turkish, pilaf," she says.

"In English, pilaf," I respond.

"Ah-hah!" She iterates a distinctly Turkish sound of recognition. "No problem!"

Ezgi's mother knows slightly more English than we know Turkish, and Ezgi is the only one with a command of both languages, but the conversation is natural and fun. We discuss politics, religion, race, gender issues, and ideology, only to discover that we have corresponding opinions.

The sun sets over Bursa and the mosques alight - a bizarre Cinderella's castle.

"I shall teach you how to play Tavlar!" Ezgi exclaims.

No complaints from us. We love games.

She comes back a few seconds later and places the board in front of us and we can't help laughing.

It's a backgammon board.

Four games, three cups of Turkish cay, and several hours later, Ezgi has beaten us four games straight.

#effyourbeautystandards

So, recently Tess Munster has been signed with Milk Model Management. If you don't know who Tess Munster is, you might not be paying attention, or you simply might not care about the contentious world of fashion. She is an alleged size 22 model, and the largest plus size model to be signed with a major model management firm. Prior to this, she had been posting her own photograph and doing tutorials on makeup, hair, and fashion via Facebook and other social media. She also started #effyourbeautystandards, a fashion/ hashtag that encourages size diversity.

Tess Munster is now a regular celebrity. She has appeared on the Meredith Vieira show, on NPR, and I'm pretty sure it's just a matter of time before Ellen DeGeneres asks her on. As you might imagine, she has been greeted with smiles and flowers and claps of encouragement.

Wait, no, just kidding. What I actually meant to say is that she has been greeted with the same kind of bullying that caused her to drop out of high school initially. Due to the prevalence of social media, these haters that are going to hate have unlimited access to degrade what Tess is doing. Their main argument? The vague future health threat, although it is not so much a future health threat as a now health threat. I even read a comment from one person that said, "At least I know I will outlive her." because, you know, thin people are also psychic.

As much as they are "concerned" about Tess's health, they are even more , "concerned" with the health of our children. Won't someone to think of the children??? Apparently, Tess's 5' 5", robust frame is going to encourage overeating, sloth, and early onset diabetes. Using their own logic, shouldn't we be just as concerned about the vague future health threats that emanate from "underweight" models? Shouldn't we be just as concerned that girls begin dieting at age 5, and by age 10 are allegedly afraid of being fat? And shouldn't we be concerned, if health is our main priority here, that anorexia and other eating disorders are more prevalent in America than anywhere else?

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that health probably isn't the real issue here. The real issue here is how threatened people are by the fact a woman of Tess's size could not only be become successful, but happy. It is threatening enough just to see a woman who is happy with herself and not working to manipulate herself to become someone she is not. Tess, and her thunder thighs, are working to break the sexist chains that bind women down, and tell us that we, as women, are expected to look a certain way, dress a certain way, and behave a certain way. Namely that we should constantly critique our bodies, faces, and physical appearance in an effort to never seem satisfied and always seem contemptuous of our selves.

If health is in fact our main priority, I have to ask: what the hell is healthy about that? The answer, of course, is nothing. Nothing is healthy about existing in a state of self loathing, regardless of your size. Nothing is healthy about constantly wishing you were someone else, or convincing yourself that you are a different person existing beneath the body that you have now. Here is Tess Munster telling us to love ourselves in the skin we are in and all the critics can assert is, "Please consider the children." In other words, please don't let our children become fat people who love themselves. Oh, the humanity.

Fox and Friends

Before you all jump on me for being one of those people who bang down the door of the gum at the ass crack of dawn, let me preface by saying I'm not normally at the gum by 7:00. I was, however, there today, but unfortunately I was not there fast enough to monopolize the TV, which is how I cam to spend half an hour watching Fox news.

At one juncture, I actually had to put my hands on my cheeks in Home Alone-esque shock and do the look around to see if anyone else was catching this. Unfortunately, it was just me, my utter disgust, and the guy who chose the channel.

When we tuned in, Fox was discussing a news story about a drunk girl at a mall who was abducted. There is camera footage, but you can't see the abductor. Apparently this is the fourth abduction in five years to occur in this area and the news woman suggested that one way to assure that you don't get abducted as a woman is to monitor your drinking.

Um, come again?

So, let me get this straight: ultimately it was the victim's fault because she was inebriated and if she had been sober none if this would have happened. Right. That's how we solve the problem of violence against women.

And speaking of violence against women, Fox then had the gaul to suggest that the reason the Ray Rice case is getting so much coverage is because crusaders against the inherent machismo in the NFL want to bring the demise of the franchise.

What with the who now? As a non-watcher, non-enjoyer of football and someone who doesn't particularly like the culture it perpetuates, let me be the first to say that I don't want football to go away. What we bleeding heart liberals would like to see is a shift in the culture. The reality is that these NFL stars ate multimillionaire role models, often for minority youth, and the message that has been iterated over and over is that these players are above the law because sport and entertainment trumps ethics. And that's not an okay message to send to anybody. Period.

And THEN they grabbed their harpoon and did a segment called "Food Police" in which they attacked Michelle Obama's policing of school lumches. Now, in theory, and this us going to shock you,  I agree with Fox. Your health is your own business and what Michelle Obama is doing in this campaign I'd try to "cure obesity," which is 1) not a disease and thusly not in not in need of a cure and 2) poor science. But as I've stated again and again, hypocrisy is ugly. Fox is notorious for harping on how much money fat people cost society (and if you want myriad research to prove that this is a fallacy, I'd be happy to send it to you) as well as propagating their own "cures" for obesity. Furthermore, although I fully disprove of Michelle Obama's agenda for cutting calories in school and the "Let's Move" campaign, it is a fact that many students don't have access to healthy food or really actual food and that schools really ought to take responsibility for feeding their students nutritive things. I don't think this means we need to cut our kiddos' calories, though. I think it means we need to acknowledge as a nation that neither French fries nor ketchup are vegetables, that hot dogs are not a viable healthy option, and that iceberg lettuce does not equal "salad." You can cut hundreds of calories and still eat crappy pseudo-food.

The moral: Don't watch Fox news.

My Awesome Day

Cherry Garcia, soaking in some love.

This week, I've been volunteering at Dakin Animal Shelter's Animal Adventures camp. This week's group is comprised of 24 kids between six and twelve years old, and everyday they welcome guest speakers and their animals. The Forest Park Zoo came with a porcupine and a hedgehog, a woman named Rae came with a Ball Python, a blue-tongued skink, and a sugar glider. And today, a man named Paul came with his amazing pit bull terriers, Cherry Garcia and Madison.

Paul rescued Madison, now 10, at 6 weeks old while he was still living in South Carolina. Cherry came into his life in a different way. Cherry is a Vicktory dog. He was one of the 50+ dogs rescued from former quarterback Michael Vick's Virginia property, "Bad Newz Kennels," an underground dog-fighting establishment.

When Vick's dogs were rescued, Cherry was probably about 2 years old and likely had been there since he was a puppy. His name derived not from the delicious ice cream, but from the huge welt around his eye that reminded workers of a cherry and gave them a way to identify him from the myriad other frightened, unsocialized pit bulls.

Vicktory Dogs are landmark cases because, prior to this, it was believed that the dogs - pit bulls in particular - could not be rehabilitated after being "taught" to be aggressive and were thusly rescued, used in trials, and subsequently euthanized. Not so with the Vicktory Dogs. An organization called Best Friends took them in - after nearly a one and a half year trial - and spent the next year rehabilitating them, and only one of the dogs was deemed too aggressive for rehabilitation.

Paul explained that, initially, Cherry, who now eagerly greets people, sits in their laps, and stretches calmly in a room of 24 eager children, was petrified of people, having known only hurt. His back and face were covered in acid burns, which makes it difficult to believe that he was one of the lucky ones. According to court statements, dogs who didn't perform well were tortured or executed in cruel ways. Those who lived or did perform well were encouraged in aggression by various heinous methods and sometimes steroids. According to Vick and his three convicted associates, this was "fun" and all asserted the opinion that dogs were property and defended Vick's right to do with them what he pleased.  Vick served 18 months in prison and was then hired onto the Philadelphia Eagles as a quarterback with a starting salary of $1.6 million in 2009 and resigned as the starting quarterback a year later with nearly a five time increase in pay.

The majority of the Vicktory Dogs have stories similar to Cherry's: they've been adopted into homes that came with federal stipulations, and are changing people's minds about fighting dogs, pit bulls in particular.

It's a common misconception that pit bulls are naturally aggressive. While aggression can be a bred trait, Paul explained that over 90% of dogs bred for fighting are deemed "unfit"because they are inclined to be docile, loving, and loyal to people and to other dogs.

As Cherry walked around them room, he plopped himself on anyone who wanted his attention and on some kids who didn't even ask for it. Laid back and relaxed, it's almost impossible to believe that this dog spent the beginning of his life being "trained" to fight. We can all learn a lot from Cherry about trust and forgiveness. He still bears some scars of his days at Bad Newz Kennels, including what Paul believes are whip marks down his back. We don't know if Cherry remembers that part of his life, but we do know that he's managed to move on in a big way.

Haters Gonna Hate?

I've been cooking with my farm share stuff (blog on what I made later) and contemplating a Facebook conversation that occurred earlier today. My dilemma is that I'm torn between being amused and throw-a-chair angry that I had this conversation with someone who considers herself an adult, and I decided that this is worth talking about because the fact that this stuff is allowed to happen shows how far we still have to go. Disclaimer: Body-shaming language and general bigotry abound and I'm likely to get explicit.

A mutual friend of myself and my mother's posted a this link about supporting positive body image for men. The first comment, made by a young woman I'll just call Janet simply read, "Gross." 

My beautiful, wonderful mother who I'm so proud of right now, responded, "Too bad that people can't be accepted for who they are regardless of size and shape. These real guys are not photoshopped, shaved and oiled. They are, however, not gross...they are human and as such likely have feelings. We all need to get past what advertising media has sold us as being the standard because it is UNATTAINABLE. Just saying."

Yes! Yes! Exactly! And even if Janet does find those non-photoshopped men sexually undesirable, that's her prerogative. There's not law that says we all have to like the same thing. Except, oh, wait, there's not a law, but there are myriad constantly reinforced stereotypes that actively SELL us - yes, we pay money for this - an ideal of what we should and shouldn't find attractive. 

In response to my mother's very astute and spot on comment, Janet wrote, "GROSS!!! And calm down there Suzy Q, it'll be okay."

Let's be super clear: My mother was addressing pressing social issues faced by fat Americans. These social issues include the fact that larger people are discriminated against when job hunting, fat people generally receive inadequate healthcare, and that fat shaming is common, pervasive, and often compliantly accepted. Janet made it sound like my mother was getting bent out of shape about a bad hair day or something. And on a petty note, nobody calls my mother Suzy Q except Sarah Brown. 

My mother then calmly laid her case to rest by more or less saying "Let's agree to disagree," and then rather snidely referred to her as "Janet-poo." Her decision was fine. We are not obliged to argue. 

Janet, however, was not finished. She continued (and I'm copying this verbatim): "Stopping being negative they have plus size models too :-) don't be jelly. Being healthy and taking care of your body and being fit is a lifestyle, anyone can do this. Eating like crap and being lazy won't help you achieve that lifestyle obviously. In my opinion I find it rather Unappealing to see an overweight gentleman in underwear. Saying a health fit body is unachievable is weak Sue-poo! I can appreciate the fact that the human body will fluctuate in size and shape however I find a fit body to be more easy on the eyes when promoting underwear."

Again, let's be super clear: Janet here is assuming that we can identify someone's health based on their size, which we certainly cannot, and then doing a little bit of a hypocritical flip-flop by saying that it's okay for people to be different sizes, but only certain ones are allowed to promote underwear.

Janet then - and here's where I got really worked up - suggested that, "Perhaps maybe you should see these models as motivation for a healthier lifestyle." Once again, Janet is conflating health and size, which are not the same thing, and furthermore, she is very flippantly treating an issue that affects a large number of people. 

Now, I'm a fan of debate in general, but human respect and civil rights are not open for debate in my humble opinion, and, to echo Reagan Chastain, "Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness do not start when we weigh what someone else thinks we should weigh." So, I took a sarcastic route (in hindsight not my best choice) and wrote this: "OMG, like, that's what I'm totally going to do. I'm, like, totally going to plaster my room with photos of photoshopped women and take Alli and eat Nutrisystem so I can be 'more easy on the eyes.' High five!"

And then this happened:

Janet: "Look bitch, I don't sound like that. Just because the slime behind your toilet is prettier than you doesn't mean you need to treat me like a ditzy girl. Stereotyping me because I live in California is weak. Obviously you don't give two shits about your appearance because you resemble a thunder thigh mini mouse. Eating healthy and exercising doesn't mean taking pills and eating weight loss meals. After looking at your gross face the very thought of seeing you in person summons vomit to the recesses of my mouth. High five!"

One more time, let's be super clear: This isn't about my health, her vague future health threats, or anything else. This is purely about wanting to hate me and wanting me to hate me over the fact that I mocked the way she was flippantly addressing A CIVIL RIGHTS ISSUE. Perhaps Janet thinks her value lies in being thin and the fact that I don't value being thin is a threat to her self-esteem. 

And, honestly, what the hell is a thunder thigh mini mouse? Has her level of repulsion for me superseded any actual living large animals? What about elephants? Whales? Hippos? 

So, I asked her, "What the hell is a thunder thigh mini mouse? First of all, I had no idea you lived in California." I didn't. I promise. "I was mocking the persistent jargon perpetuated through your 'everybody knows' ideals and stereotypes of beauty. Second of all, I'm very pleased to evoke such an evocative response from someone who doesn't even KNOW me or anything ABOUT me. You're going to look at a picture of me and assume that you know things about me and believe they're true no matter what, and that's fine. I can't make you change. But if you're going to demand that I treat YOU with respect, then I'm going to demand that back from you because hypocrisy is ugly. And, while we're at it, I don't appreciate the name calling. I didn't call you names, make fun of the way you look, or in fact, mention anything about you, except pointing out in a sarcastic valley girl way that your beliefs are incredibly narrow minded."

And, as proof that there is no arguing with these people, Janet responded, "I literally only read the first sentence and you are a thunder thigh mini mouse."

Face palm.

Thanks for the clarification. It makes it so much clearer when you repeat exactly what you just said.

But really, there's no arguing. And, for me, logic and evidence based practices aside, this is about treating people with basic human respect. I will own up to being very snarky in my initial comment, and I'm a little bit sorry that my snarkiness offended Janet so greatly, but her comments were 100% unwarranted.

I am at a place in my life where I am growing more and more okay with who I am on a daily basis, but for those of you who may deal with these kinds of people - either intentionally or not - and aren't sure how to deal with them and move on, it helps me to bear the following in mind: History is on my side.

Once upon a time everybody knew that the sun revolved around the earth.

Once upon a time everybody knew that phrenology proved racial stereotypes.

One upon a time everybody knew that Lysol was a safe effective way to douche.

Once upon a time everybody knew that if a woman enjoyed sex, she was crazy and needed surgery.

Prejudice, stigma, bullying, and oppression are heaped on fat people every day, so much so that just getting out of bed and daring to go outside can be perceived as a revolutionary act. Every day, more or more fat people do this and refuse to be held back by fat shaming bigots who stick their fingers in their ears like a petulant child, refusing to listen to logic or reason and insist on "helping" fat people by warning them about vague future health threats or trying to bully us thin. One last time, let's be clear, I'll know when you're actually helping me because I will feel helped.

My size is not a marker of health. My body is not up for public debate. My rights do not come last because I do not fit the contemporary cultural standard of beauty.

My Fatkini

I did it. I actually did it. I bought a fatkini. And I LOVE it.

Year after year of trying to cover up my  body in "flaw hiding" swim skirts,  tankinis, shirts, long, unswimmable shirts, you name it, finally led me to the decision to purchase a fatkini from Forever21.

Is my body swimsuit ready? Arms? Check. Legs? Check. Torso? Check. Things that go in the top? Check.  Things that go in the bottom?  Check. Neck and head? Check and check. Turns out I'm not just swimsuit ready, I'm over prepared. Not everyone has both arms and legs, you know. But I do hope that all individuals partaking in swimming or swimming - related activities do have a head.

Anyway,  I bought the tomato red fatkini (not Forever21's term, by the way) for under $20. Total. For both pieces. Yes, they were on sale, but even at full price the set comes around $25. The price is just unheard of! Especially in the realm of plus size swimsuits where a one-piece can set you back $80 easily.  The suit itself comes in several color choices, and the shape is modeled after retro pin-up suits from the 1950s. Let me tell you,  my stomach is very much looking forward to the sun.

It does feel unusually subversive,  though, to wear out. When the message perpetuated is that only people of certain sizes are permitted both to have other people and themselves like the way they look in swimwear, being fat in a bikini in public is seditious and takes a surprising amount of many-tiered confidence: the confidence to be fat in public; the confidence to tune out negative comments;  the confidence to know that your body looks damn good because it's your body and nobody can take that away from you.

I don't work for Forever21,  but I am highly recommending this product. Let me be clear, though: no one is under any obligation to wear anything that makes them uncomfortable.  But next time you're shopping for swimsuits, I would suggest a little soul searching regarding the root of that discomfort.  It doesn't make it disappear, but it does make if easier to slowly sweep under the rug, one act of subversion at a time.

It's Really, Really Where I'm Going To

Pashuparti Temple

Kathmandu is an assault on the senses. Smells from the bazaars fill the nose - curry, turmeric, tandoori species - while mud oozes from the loose street stones, squishing beneath shoes and making the narrow streets a slippery obstacle course. Sacred cows, with their long, flirtatious lashes, wander about, undeterred by the numerous card, motorbikes, and tuk tuks that show little regard for pedestrians. Low in the Himalayan Valley, the smog is too thick to revere any of the nature and the rain is too heavy to avoid it.

Kathmandu is a strange convergence of China (Tibet) and India, where the red marks of water blessings adorn the foreheads of most and where dumplings are filled with curried chicken and tandoori seasonings. 

The tourists here tend toward the earthy crunchy, with hemp bags, dreadlocks, and apparently something to find that I'm not convinced is still available in this overcrowded, touristic, once-untouched Mecca for the followers of peace, love, and understanding.

Goats living in the Himalayas

I came to Kathmandu for Krishna. He has a bike shop and a figurine and other things available to purchase that don't bring me any closer to this mysterious, androgynous God. Judging by all the reviews online, I'm one of the only visitors who left unimpressed and unmoved by all that is offered in this Valley. Most of the comments I read feature phrases like "blown away," "purification," and "breathtaking" and I wonder what these people saw, experienced, felt that I couldn't or didn't or wouldn't. And I kick myself for sounding so jaded and unappreciative of what I have been so blessed to have been able to see. On the ground, the touts followed us, selling tours, blankets, prayer bowls, knick-knacks, hashish, knives, tea, anything to make a dollar. A firm, "No, thank you," was rarely an adequate deterrent. For me, the highlight of Kathmandu was the tip of Everest seen from the plane, white rock cutting through the gossamer clouds, 30,000 feet in the air.