I’ve been watching a lot of trash TV this week. We are house sitting at a place in a super residential district with no internet, a big flat sceen, and Direct TV. I never watch broadcast TV, but every so often it’s nice to experience. I like to think of it as a sociological study about American Society and Pop Culture. Mostly, my conclusion is that it’s really fucked up. There are some quality shows, but I would say 99% of television tells you how to be, who to be, how to fix all that is wrong with you, and be as beautiful as the skinny bitches strolling happily along Caribbean beaches in bikinis with hot guys. THIS IS LASTING FULFILLMENT.

So last night I flipped on the Boob Tube and my boo, T, and I started watching Phat Girlz on Oxygen. Intrigued, and yet, also slightly put off by the movie’s title, I thought it would be a hot minute before I turned the channel, but something stopped me. I got sucked in.

For all of you in the dark, Phat Girlz is about three ladies who go on vacation, two of whom are lovely thick women, and one of whom is a tight assed aerobic instructor. They are all surprised when a group of Nigerian doctors at the hotel for a conference introduce them to a different point of view. In Nigeria, they say, the thicker the woman, the richer and more attractive she is thought to be. The aerobic instructor, thong and all, starts getting treated like the ugly chick while the other two are swept off their feet, at which point one of them can’t believe that this hot guy actually likes her and freaks out, sure that his affections are dishonest, and bails.

I related to this movie in two ways:

1. I once had a Nigerian boyfriend too!

And when I told him that usually thick girls are treated like lepers, he didn’t know what I was talking about. He could hardly conceptualize the idea that people would prefer skin and bones to hips and boobs and butts. He thought I was hecka sexy and it felt really good.

2. I still ask my boo, T, if he thinks I’m attractive.

I think he’s super hot, and I often wonder how I get to be with such a beautiful guy. I have never, in my whole life, been skinny. Add to that bad skin when I was a teenager, a few stupid boys treating me awful,  many years being single, jerky comments from jerky jerks every so often, and you know, 24 hour media messages telling me that I am ugly, unhealthy, unattractive, not sexy, and not rich enough, dirty, slobby, unfashionable and pathetic, and you have my crippled self-image. For the longest time I thought I’d never have a date, that no one would ever in a million years want to sleep with me, and I would just be alone and live with my best friend and his lover and whoever else and we’d be like Full House only queer and without any widows. And I was okay with that.

The point I’m dancing around is this. ISN’T THIS FUCKED UP?

It’s fucked that I have spent so many years feeling all these inadequate feelings about myself because this society is so obsessed with LIES! Just looking at the other channels, most of them are dedicated to making yourself feel shitty about yourself, and then trying to sell you something that will make you better. Or trying to make you jealous of a lifestyle you will never have. Or making you buy crap you don’t need because it will lead you to a more fulfilled and happy life.

Lies!

We are all insecure humans, and lots of business feeds off our insecurities. From now on, I’m going to make a dedicated effort to not give a shit how ugly I might seem to some people. I’m going to look in the mirror, say “Hot.” and call it good. I’m also going to tell everyone beautiful I see that they are beautiful, and why. I mean, doesn’t it feel good when someone gives you props? Sometimes it can change my whole mood for a whole day or longer. Why don’t we do this all the time? Why do we have to be jealous and compete and try to bring each other down when we can drive around the city yelling “Hot Stuff!” to people on the street? I think the latter would definitely be more fun. And it would be time spent having fun, instead of just sitting around thinking about all the things that are so wrong about you.

*Not actual tilt-a-whirls, but like, brain spinning media messages and stuff. And it rhymes.

Cindy Crabb's desk

I don’t remember when I got my first issue of Doris zine. I was in high school, and had started going to punk shows at Gilman St. with my sister’s best friend from high school. There were ripped up couches and graffiti all over the walls and people yelling and dancing and smashing into each other. There were little booklets in the shop and my surrogate older sister gave me a bunch of zines, these magazines that real people like me wrote and glued together and photocopied late at night at Kinko’s. I started reading about all these people who did things differently with their lives. They didn’t grow up and buy a house and have kids in the suburbs. They traveled on cheap greyhound bus tickets, putting their fate in the hands of strangers, doing things you weren’t supposed to do like jumping trains and living in tree houses and reading books and planting gardens instead of working. I learned to dance like those kids in the clubs. I learned to yell my heart out and make out on the sidewalk. I learned to cut my own hair and I learned that I didn’t need anyone to tell me that I was good at something to do it. This is what I liked most about punks: they just did what they wanted and made art and music and culture themselves without waiting for permission or approval from anyone.

Somewhere along this path I found Doris zine at the anarchist bookstore by my school. I’d read it on the bus, and it was like I had a new secret best friend. Cindy, who started writing Doris in the early 90s spoke about her adventures. Traveling, running away, reading and trying to teach herself how to do things. She built boats that sank and danced in the rain and bailed water from her flooded tents. She taught me about things I never thought or knew about before, like herbal abortion, learning about your body, questioning society, living outside of meritocracy, anarchism, learning on your own, and doing things for for the sake of doing them instead of waiting or working for praise. Her writing reaches directly from her heart to mine, as she works through all the things good and bad and heartbreaking that happen when you live. She is my greatest role model. I want to be like her, making things with my own two hands, trying to learn even when I think it’s impossible, have courage against any fear to create and make things grow and learn about truth and community and being yourself and healing yourself and understanding other people. Cindy sees the world I see and her writings are a window into this universe I’m always trying to find.

By now, I’ve been reading this zine for 10 years and she has managed still to write in a way that’s so close to my heart I sometimes mistake her for myself.

“I used to worry about – what does it mean to be a real writer? Was I one? Was it good or did it suck? What if I didn’t spend enough time writing? Was I a fake? What if I was stuck? What was the point? I thought there had to be an answer, a key. I read books about writing and books about creating a writer’s life … and I couldn’t figure out, was I real. Was I a real writer or just a fake. Eventually I figured out that the whole question was bullshit. The question “was I a real writer” was part of the competative system I wanted to destroy, where everyone is suppose to strive to do something brand new that’s never been done, to make a mark on history, to be better than everyone else. I didn’t want that shit, so why was I looking to those models for legitimacy. I had to ask questions like – why did I write. and then hold myself accountable to my own reasons and standards.” excerpt from Doris #27 “Writing”

Her words have had such unknowable impact on my growing brain. I probably wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t found her zine. You should read it to, it may change you’re life. Get Doris zines and Anthology here. Buy some for your friends too. And she makes cute skirts you can buy too. And read her blog. She is amazing and has tons of awesome stuff she does.

I have always been a really vivid dreamer. Sometimes a week will go by when my dreams will hold just as much weight as my reality, and I’ll feel like I’m living in alternate dimensions. The things my brain dreams up are incredible. There are foreign nations, complete cities and transportation systems, a huge cast of characters, and tons of insane action sequences. My dreams seem so real. Sometimes I realize I’m dreaming in them, and I’ll pinch myself and it won’t hurt. Then I can control a little of what happens. Usually, though, once I realize I’m dreaming I start traveling back toward consciousness, no matter how much I want to stay there.

Once I’m awake, my dream sometimes stays with me all day. I’ll have little flashbacks. I’ll think about what happened, I’ll remember it like it was the event of yesterday. My dreams become a part of my life. Sometimes I can’t remember if a memory is real or if I dreamed it (or if I read it in a book). I used to try to find meaning in my dreams, picking apart all the specifics and assign symbols and try to decode the secret message. Now I just view it as a reflection of the state of my mind at any given moment. I don’t very often have really happy dreams, or maybe those are the ones I don’t remember as much. What stays with me most is the feeling that I’m running from something, or trying to find someone, usually in an unknown place. Maybe I’m late, or trying to catch a plane, or just trying to avoid someone, but there is always that heightened awareness and that feeling that something needs to be done that isn’t being done.

Last night I had a dream that all of my worst fears were realized suddenly as I walked along on a beautiful spring day admiring the scenery. Wham bam. I woke up totally freaked out. When that happens, it’s good to go back to sleep and change the ending of your dream so that it’s better. It’s so crazy how powerful your brain is, and how it can play tricks on you, awake or asleep. The best part about nightmares is that you get to wake up, but it’s easy to forget to not let your thoughts or your dreams control you. You are not your thoughts or your dreams. You can choose what to act on and what to believe. You can go back to sleep and revise. And you can get up and know that your worst fears will never happen in reality. Dreams are where they will stay.

There are times when you want to do stuff, or put stuff in your body, that seems like it would be fun, but isn’t. Like every time I think it would be really fun to drink a lot. Hangovers can range from a mild headache to waking up still drunk and puking your guts out all day long while you silently pray for a merciful God to just end it now already. Or drugs. However good they may make you feel, you will feel that much worse tomorrow. Or sugar. I ate a block of fudge the other day that made me bounce off the walls for ten minutes before giving me a giant headache and putting me to sleep immediately afterwards. A friend called the other day and said her boyfriend smoked a lot of trees and she couldn’t help but smoke with him, even though she knew it was too much and it made her feel yucky.

Why is it so tempting to do things that make you feel shitty? Of course it’s that high it gives you, the sweet sugary happy feeling, the indulgence, the out of body experience, the lack on inhibitions, the wet t-shirt contest. Doing crap that’s bad for you is fun!!!

But I also think it’s fun because it’s BAD. Being constantly bombarded with messages of eating right and being healthy and skinny and beautiful totally makes me want to drink and eat cake and pizza, in that order. People telling me I have to be rich and successful, or at least productive all the time totally makes me want to do nothing and watch movies all day long.

But this is all reactionary! I feel like if I just tried to figure out what made my body feel really good normally, I could find that whole “moderation” area where I have a balance between the good and the bad. If I did yoga a few times a week and took long walks, and ate things that didn’t give me the shits or migraines or make me puke every few hours, I would totally feel tons better!

I had a friend who once swore she got high eating raw vegetables. Why don’t I try it? I once ate a super spicy jalapeno burger when I was hung over and though it burned out my face, it totally got rid of my hangover!

I guess what I’m trying to say is this. Don’t listen to other people! Listen to your body! It will tell you what you need to feel really good but you have to listen really carefully because if you’re too wasted you can’t hear it. Also, drink lots of water and when opening that big bottle of vodka seems like omg the best idea ever, don’t. Drink water. Put your clothes back on. You’ll feel better in the morning.