Having A Reverend Dimmesdale Moment. Back To Poetry Soon. But, Did You Know Miss Indiana Was The New Normal For America's Women?

It's a terrible thing to get up a Good Head Of Steam--and Self-Righteous Steam at that--and run smack up against a Huge Wall Of Startling Self-Realization. It's a humbling thing, too. But because it helps to illustrate my point all that much more, I'm going to Embrace it and lay it all out there, my own cracked armour on display for all to see.

For some reason, in this Day And Age, we still have women who agree to participate in so-called beauty pageants. I am not going to present nor argue their reasons, nor am I going to entertain the discussions regarding whether or not it is Feminist to be the one deciding to put your own body on display for whatever purpose or reward. None of that is my point, and I can end most of the discussions by asking where the Male Counterpart for these beauty pageants is.

My purpose for raising the topic is due to the uproar on social media following the appearance of Miss Indiana in a bikini during the Miss USA pageant televised 8 June 2014.  Here she is.

To quote one news outlet: "Nia Sanchez, aka Miss Nevada, may have won Miss USA this week, but it was Mekayla Diehl, 25-year-old Miss Indiana, that grabbed Twitter's attention. Why?...Diehl, who is also the first registered Native American to represent Indiana in the pageant, stood out during the bikini portion of the two-hour-long competition for the fact that she had 'womanly curves'."

Here also is Miss Indiana's Facebook page, where it is revealed that she is 5' 8", 137 pounds, and a size 4. She has also inspired a teeshirt that reads I'm The New Normal. People from all over the country have posted positive messages, thanking her for being a role model for normal women everywhere. One woman enthused, "God picked YOU to travel this road and speak for others! You are so poised and a true inspiration."

I have no problem with Miss Indiana, aside from the fact that she makes the egregious lose/loose error in spelling.  She is lovely and seems to be sincere about her Platform for her pageant issue.  (Her shoes in this photo are absolutely unforgivable, but maybe they were not her choice.)

No, Miss Indiana is fine.  But can someone, anyone out there, please tell me how a Size 4 is curvy and The New Normal?  Are American Women so incredibly brainwashed by airbrushed magazine advertisements and anorexic fashion models and wispy, starving film actresses that a Size 4 looks chubbily robust to us?  Was there really someone out there--or several Someones--watching that night saying, "Whoa!  Get a load of Miss Indiana!  Bet her car knows the way to all the buffets in Muncie!"?

That was the gist of my Rant to my husband after I read a few blurbs about the Voluptuously Curvaceous And Womanly Miss Indiana.  I had just gotten into my Zone, using a ton of SAT Words and Emphatic Gestures (for lack of Pretentious Capitalization), when suddenly, I stopped and fell silent.  Shocked, I looked up at Rick.

"Oh my god.  Oh. My. God," I said, as the realization struck.  "I'm no better than any of them. What have I been crabbing about for weeks now?  Why have I been so down lately?  Because I have gained weight. Because I'm not a Size 2 anymore like when I was working.  Because now, thanks to my new migraine meds and menopause and a lack of killer stress, I'm never seeing a Size 2 again. And Size 4 is looking iffy. Because I'm Huge.  Holy Effing Crap.  Do you know how, even when I was twenty, I would have killed to be this size?  What is wrong with me?  I am so much smarter than that, but...apparently not.  Even I have fallen for the years and years of marketing and airbrushing and false representation of the Ideal Woman.  I'm fifty-five years old, educated, well-read, a Feminist, and the most pressing issue on my mind right now is that I hate my body because I can't fit into certain clothes like I used to and that they aren't labeled with a certain number which I find desirable or acceptable."

And at that moment, what made me really, really sick and disgusted was that I knew, deep down inside, if my neurologist told me that I could either be a Size 2 again or have no migraines ever again, at that precise moment, I would have chosen being a Size 2.

Something is terribly wrong.  With me, yes.  I'm admitting that, owning it, and without delving any further into my personal trove of the wherefores behind it, putting it here for the Interwebs to see.  Beyond my faults, however, are those of the Others.

It's Terribly Wrong that, despite the public health campaigns regarding eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia, the bulk of advertising continues to promote only one body type, a sylph-like, slender, and angular female with jutting hipbones and no discernible padding underneath her skin unless it is zeppelin-like breasts for a bra manufacturer.

It's Terribly Wrong that, when Mattel redesigned Barbie's body, it was not so that it was a more realistic reflection of what a young woman's body really looked like. It was in order "for her to have more of a teenage physique," says Mattel spokesperson Lisa McKendall. "In order for [the new doll's debut outfit] to look right, Barbie needs to be more like a teen's body. The fashions teens wear now don't fit properly on our current sculpting."  It's also Terribly Wrong that this occurred in 1997, and almost twenty years ago, the writer of the article observed, "Barbie may not be the cause of eating disorders and body hatred, but her universally recognizable profile makes her a flashpoint, an image of female perfection, a symbol of the drawbacks of any such images, and a convenient scapegoat for our cultural troubles with them."

Pageants are part of the problem.  Miss Indiana is being lauded by many for things like "starting the discussion" and "raising awareness" and "being a role model."  I have to disagree.  Until there is an identical pageant for men in which they are walked in front of a judging panel in various outfits, asked questions, required to showcase their talent, and perform some hokey song and dance in a state costume along with a host of other inane activities, I can't see a true and meaningful purpose for any pageant.  For anyone.  Hasn't anyone--any woman--ever asked herself why there hasn't been a male pageant like the Miss USA, Miss Universe, or Miss America pageant?

What sponsors would pay for time on that?  What network would want that ratings dog?  Who would watch it (besides Mumsy and Popsy of each contestant)?  And let me tell you why it is a ratings dog.  This.  The summary is all you need to read.

But there I go, preaching again.  There's nothing worse than the sinful preacher preaching against Sin.  (Ask Hester Prynne.)

I'm currently on a jaunt in Maryland.  While I'm here, I plan on doing a great deal of deep breathing and re-centering.  It's obvious that I need some Redemption.  And a helluva lot of New Normal.

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Sorry, Walgreens--More Like The Corner Of Confused And Crabby

Sometimes, when a bunch of people gather, I can't help but listen for Blog Fodder. It's not that I'm looking for something to criticize or poke fun at so much as I am--in a Seinfeldian manner--observing things that I can comment upon from a "did you ever notice" perspective. It's like looking at an ordinary drop of rainwater under a highpowered microscope. So much more there than the first look affords.

I belong to two retiree lunch bunches because I taught at two schools in my district. Even though I taught at a junior high only one year, they are gracious enough to include me in their monthly group, and I like their company. Of course, I also attend my high school's monthly lunches. At both, I generally order a bloody mary and settle in for some chatting. In addition to gossip about colleagues or district business, the conversation always comes down to two familiar topics: travel and what everyone is doing to promote health and longevity. If there was such a thing as a Dr. Oz Cruise, these groups would book immediately. I know who is taking flaxseed and chia seed every day, who is using only gluten free products, who is swearing by glucosamine, and who orders everything online from Puritan's Pride. I know that Dr. Bragg's Raw Apple Cider Vinegar With The Mother is the only apple cider vinegar with true health benefits. Oh, and do you want to take a river cruise? Well, forget it. They book so far out now, that it's impossible to plan one any earlier than 2015, and you had better forget the "Downton Abbey" one. That one is sold out for the foreseeable future. Carnival Cruises are just so noisy--too many kids and young people--but you can book a quieter one on Princess or Holland America. But--sigh--it's just sad how some lines treat their employees, who are all foreign nationals. Try to tip them well, if you can. There are horror stories out there that are just awful.

Listening to travel stories is one of my joys. If I can't go, then I want to hear about when you went, and if you have some pictures, even better. My colleagues are generous with their travel stories, and they give good recommendations regarding cruise lines, travel agents, places to see, and places that aren't really worth a stop. They will even give you their guides, books, or anything else that they have that might be of help. The problem is, they never sound very impressed or happy about where they went. I always get the idea that they went in order to have gone, to simply cross it off their list or something.

They get far more exercised when talking about their use of wellness products. I understand. Ten years ago, I didn't think twice about any of that. Now, however, my hair keeps getting greyer. My hands and knees truly hurt with arthritis. My vision prescription changed for the worse, and I have a hard time driving at night. It all seems very unfair to me. That stuff is for Old People. I'm not Old. Then I think about the Simple Arithmetic of it. I have far more years behind me than I am likely to have ahead of me. It's natural to want to tip the scales more in the other direction.

The whole thing makes me feel confused and guilty. Should I be taking supplements, chia, flax, wheat germ, green tea, fiber powder, and shots of vinegar (With The Mother)? How do I know? Every time I watch a little of Dr. Oz, he tells me to eat something else to lose weight. If I ate all of that stuff, I'd weigh 200 pounds. Should I get a Neti pot, or will I collapse and die from a brain-eating fungus? Rick and I eat very little meat now compared with how much we used to eat, and at least three days a week, we eat vegetarian. I start my day with Greek yogurt or a spinach and strawberry smoothie. I use olive oil only. Should I start oil pulling?

Let me say this: I liked it so much better when I was young and talked about makeup and boys. Or when I was a mom and talked about sleep habits and spit-up. Or even when I was in my thirties and talked about work, teenage attitude, and my shoes. And let me also say this: I am deep-bone tired of this winter. It has made me old. Older. Elderly. Aged. Aged and in need of Spring.

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Rantings Confessions Of A Summertime Fatass

Summer is making me a fatass. Our unusual heatwave (double-digit days in the 90s here in my little corner of NEO just in July alone) coupled with rainforest humidity has turned me into a hermit. My slothfulness has reached Epic Proportion here at the Dept. as I putter around with Little Projects in my airconditioned inner sanctum. Along with the usual duties of light Domestic Goddessing, I do nothing more strenuous than water and garden, play and snuggle with the kittens, catalog the wines in the cellar, and concoct (and then eat) new recipes; all of this threatens to nudge me ever closer to needing a...more generous wardrobe.

It's awful. I feel...marshmallowy to myself. Like I should be wearing a toque and a kerchief and, if poked, should giggle amiably. Probably that would not happen. This exchange might be a bit illuminating:

(Scene opens on Rick and Nance in livingroom, watching television. An ad comes on for Red Lobster, announcing "Crabfest" for a limited time.)

Nance: Wow. Their Crabfest is only for a limited time.

Rick: I heard that.

Nance: Whereas the Crabfest around here goes on pretty much endlessly.

Rick: Lately, anyway.

Nance: Are you lucky, or what?

Rick: Umm...yes?

Voice from TV: We know what you want.

Nance: Sigh. How can that be? Even I don't know what I want half the time.

Rick: And the other half of the time, I don't.

Nance: It's when those times coincide that we're really in trouble.

Rick: Don't I know it.

And I am not one for The Exercise. Ugh. Don't even, as they say, "Go there." No, I prefer a Strict Regimen of Total Deprivation And Suffering. (Total Deprivation for me and Suffering for pretty much everyone who has the misfortune to come into contact with with me for however long it takes before I feel less...doughy to myself.) So save it. Spare us both the dewy-eyed yammering about "endorphins" during some pre-dawn 5K and increased energy and boosted metabolism and hyper mental acuity and all that other bullshit that just makes me batshit and urges me to grab one of my chef's knives and carve a roast out of my thigh.

Been there, done/heard that. Thanks.

Perhaps I should, as my Penance/Hair Shirt, start a new food blog and call it Fatass Food Blog. On it, I'll give the recipes (and post the requisite "food porn" pictures) of the Summertime Wonderfuls that are contributing to my Gustatory Shame Spiral, starting with:

1. Antipasto Pasta

2. Warm Brie with Fig, Onion, and Balsamic Compote

3. Guacamole Supreme

4. Grilled Flatbread Pizzas with Fresh Mozzarella and Homemade Pesto

5. Peanut Butter Banana Bread (chocolate chips optional)

6. Rhubarb Nectarine Crisp

7. Sweet Corn and Tomato Salad

Among others.

And the wine is not helping, I'm certain. Oh, and have you tried this? Very pleasant for an easy little patio refresher, sadly, and part of The Problem. (Once I located the missing cap to my good cocktail shaker. Who put it in the small teapot?)

Tonight, we are going to a party. Luckily, it is Outdoors, and you all know how I feel about Eating Outside. Additionally, they are Beer People. Another benefit. Perhaps my Crabfest will be for a Limited Time Only as well.

Nance & The Seven Dept. Dwarves (Even Though Disney Misspells It As "Dwarfs"--No Lie)

Wow. So...that was a bit of a break, wasn't it? Sadly, it was back to The Rock for me today, and while I was busily mining the grey matter of my sophomores for the fine distinctions of indirect objects and objects of prepositions--not to mention the obligatory simple subjects and action verbs, of course--it brought to mind the Miners Extraordinaire themselves and, thus, a Theme for this post was born!

Dopey: For Christmas I received The Book of General Ignorance by John Lloyd & John Mitchinson. Not only is this book filled with fascinating trivia that disproves conventionally believed trivia (no, Thomas Crapper did NOT invent the flush toilet and a rhinoceros horn is NOT actually made of hair), but the writing is delightful. One of my favorite sentences: When surprised, rhinos urinate and defecate prodigiously. What a smart way to say an alarmed rhino poops and pees a lot.

Grumpy: I am increasingly irritated by the number of diet plan, low-fat food, exercise equipment, and other "health"-oriented ads now on television since The New Year. What a load of guilt-driven bullshit. These are the same people who hawked nothing but food and booze for the entire two Holiday Months previous. Leave everyone alone! If the consumer wants to lose weight, he will. He knows what's out there, believe me. Shut the hell up and go back to advertising the Gas-Guzzling Trucks Sold By Obnoxious Country Music Singers even though gasoline is sky-high and our carbon footprint is the size of Sasquatch's. Sigh.

Doc: Would all of You Sick People stop coming to school and work and contaminating me and my work space? You are not heroes, my darlings, really. You are Sick. You need to stay home with your viruses and your bacterials and get better with rest, megadoses of vitamin C, lots of liquids (not sherry or JB), chicken soup (add a knob of fresh ginger; trust me, it is delicious and helps break up that hideous mucus), and lots of lovely movies on the DVD player. We can--we must try--to get along without you. It will be okay. Come back when you feel better and are not contagious and icky.

Bashful: Are you kidding? ME? I haven't been bashful since my last mammogram, and since I'm flat as a board, that wasn't very.

Sneezy: Every morning in the lounge, I have the urge to sneeze and I can't get it to come out. Oh yes, I look at the light, I breathe in real slow through my nose, yadda yadda dah dah dah. It never happens...until my third period class. Then I sneeze. When I am in school, I do NOT sneeze "for real." I have a tiny, little, peep of a sneeze because I am afraid a huge snotful thing will fly out, so when I sneeze in school, it sounds like Tweety Bird is saying "tyoo." It is ridiculous. But...it is better than a huge snotful thing flying out.

Sleepy: Yesterday, I discovered how pathetic I really am. How I am at the mercy of the Caffeine Monkey On My Back. I did not have my usual mug o' coffee, and by 2:45 PM, I was dragging my ass around like it was a toddler in a backpack. But, of course, if I had a cup then, it would keep me up all night, and I had school the next day, so I didn't dare. By 7:00PM, I fell asleep sitting up on the couch, waking up 15 minutes later, totally disgusted with myself. With an enormous banging headache. I WAS IN CAFFEINE WITHDRAWAL. FROM ONE CUP A DAY! HOW SAD AM I?!

Happy: Over break, we discovered that we were down to our last bottle of Cattail Creek Off-Dry Reisling. This is the wine we fell in love with from our last jaunt to Niagara-on-the-Lake. Rick said, "Let's go to Canada the weekend after Christmas and get some more!" So we did! We hurriedly called an inn there for a room, Rick got home from work early that Friday, and we spent the weekend there having a lovely time visiting wineries and relaxing. We snagged two cases of our favorite wine to last us for a while until we can get back there again. If you are ever in the mood for a lovely trip to Ontario and can visit N-o-t-L, please go visit Rosi at Cattail Creek. Their wines are incredible and will make you happy, too.

Speaking of happy...Happy 2008, everyone, from the Dept. of Nance. I'm ever hopeful.

Men Are from Mars and Women Are...Jealous

There was a box of filled doughnuts on the table in the lounge today. Every guy who walked in said, "Hey, allright! Doughnuts!" Every woman who walked in said, "Oh no! Who put that in here?!" or something rueful like that. The women walked up, peeked in, and then began with the Great Debate.

Should I be good or should I be bad? Can I "afford" a doughnut today? If I eat this now, I'll have to do an extra two laps at the gym; is it worth it? Should I eat my healthy snack I brought or should I just say what the hell and have a doughnut?

As one of the female teachers was debating, a guy swooped in and grabbed a cream-filled doughnut with great relish and took a huge cream-gushing bite. She looked at him enviously.
"Why can't I just be a guy?" she said, almost hatefully. "They don't even have to worry about it. If I was a guy, I would never have to even think about it. I don't think guys even have to worry about gaining or losing weight. If I was a guy, I sure wouldn't. I mean, why would I? It doesn't matter."

"Curt can lose 10 pounds just by laying off the beer," I said, unhelpfully, relating a true story about a male colleague in the math department. "That's why he wins the Lose-A-Thon every year. He signs up to lose 10 pounds, and he does it, just by cutting off the beer."

"That just sucks," Dawn replied, digging into the fridge for her pear. "This had better be one helluva pear is all I'm gonna say."

As I put the lid on the doughnut box, I recalled a moment with my husband a few years back. He had just quit construction and become a "desk jockey" due to severe back problems. As a result, he had started to gain some weight. We were standing in front of his dresser as he struggled a bit with the button on his jeans.

"Wow! I'm gaining weight! I'm getting fat!" he said, grasping his stomach with both hands and pretending to jiggle it. "You know what that means!"

I stood there, wondering which tack to take. Did this call for a wifely disavowal: Oh no, honey, you're not, really...? Or perhaps tough love: You sure are! Now drop and give me twenty! Or how about sympathy: You're not fat so much as you are just a little overweight. But it's okay.
My head was filled with what IT meant if IT were my problem: dieting, deprivation, sucking in my stomach, hitting the treadmill every night, drinking water constantly...that's it! I'd offer my expert advice! If anyone knew how to lose weight, which had been my principal activity for the first 43 years of my life, it was ME!

"I sure do, " I said. "I---"

"Time to buy bigger pants!!!" he said heartily.