Things.

Bali was amazing. I barely left the hotel, except to eat and get massages, and it was grand.

Alas, though, the real world beckoned.

I came home and moved house pretty much right away! I am now living in a tiny little apartment near the city all on my own! Here it is on the day I moved in:

casa de beyonce

I’ve dubbed it Casa de Beyonce, because it’s clearly a single lady’s apartment.

That’s the entire apartment. The photo was taken from the bedroom facing out to the door. There’s a bathroom/laundry off to the top right, two giant mirror closets to the left, a TV behind the paneled door there, but other than that you can see my entire abode. It’s little and offensively expensive (my last rental, which was a house, cost less for the entire house than my technically-a-studio apartment costs!) but the location is amazing and it’s really fantastic having my own little slice of the world. It doesn’t hurt that it’s a few minutes’ walking distance from some of Perth’s best cafes, either. There will be so. much. coffee.

Speaking of coffee, my thesis is due in, like, five minutes. 31 May. The next six weeks will be next-level bonkers. I’m surrounded by photocopies and books and paracetamol and coffee mugs and I don’t expect the situation to change any time soon.

But, things are generally good. This is almost over. Work is good. Friends haven’t completely given up on me yet. I’m even exercising again!

Late night study tunes: edn. XIII

I’ve been listening to some great stuff tonight. Random playlists I’ve found on Spotify. Playlists by people whose taste in music I like. Jazz. Classical. Glitch. I don’t normally listen to music in playlist form, actually, as I really enjoy the journey inherent to the album format and generally always prefer to listen to whole albums.

I was suddenly overcome by a desperate urge to listen to an album that I haven’t laid ears on in many years: Orgy’s debut (and, what I thought until tonight was their only) album, Candyass.

CANDYASSIt turns out there are others. I’m probably not going to rush to listen to their other work. However, this album, Candyass. Oh my god, I played it to death as a 15 year old. I got Candyass from my parents for my 15th birthday, and in retrospect, it’s up there with what might’ve been one of the most awkward gifts they ever had to buy for me. I cringe at the thought of them going into a CD store (remember those? It was probably Beat at Karrinyup) and buying a CD called Candyass by a band called Orgy for their 15 year old daughter.

The only purchase that was probably more awkward was when they bought me Marilyn Manson’s autobiography The Long Hard Road Out of Hell for Christmas the previous year. Good god. Sorry, folks. I turned out okay, didn’t I? (Definitely going to listen to Marilyn Manson next.) I also had the 1998 Family Values Tour DVD video. I watched the shit out of that thing until it broke. I need to pirate purchase a copy of it. You know, just in case.

Incidentally, I accidentally wrote ‘Marilyn Mansion’ before, so I Google imaged ‘Marilyn Mansion’ hoping to find something ridiculously funny but this is the best I could do:

marilynmansionBack to Orgy. Orgy were (are?) a band populated by a bunch of glammed up, androgynous men, singing about all kinds of salacious sexual lyrics in a genre of music variously described as alternative metal (hah) and death pop. Even at the time, it felt like they were too old to be dancing around in platform heels and Urban Decay make up (they were, once, official endorsers of the brand. BTW, amazing brand. Their Naked & Naked II pallet? Amazing). And they were: frontman Jay Gordon was 31 when Candyass was released.

Old enough to know better.

But pseudo-heavy music was kind of glam at the time, so it was probably okay. The Y2K-induced end of the world was fast approaching, so why not wear platform heels and latex and make up?

The band were most famous for their cover of New Order’s Blue Monday. I can’t even remember what my favourite song on the album was, but this – Stitches – was the other big single, if I remember correctly. Have fun! Stay pretty.

Would you be pissed off if you had to sit next to this body on a plane?

20130326_171114warning: fatties in the mirror don’t want to pay your fat tax (but they might be sitting next to you on your next flight. doooooooom!)

The debate about whether airlines should introduce a ‘fat tax’ on overweight passengers is nothing new, but the Courier Mail in Brisbane seems to think it is, judging from this news report yesterday.

Now, I know better – way better – than to read the comments on any kind of social media or “news” post relating to weight, overweight, obesity, or fat issues. They make my brain hurt. No other topic, except perhaps Indigenous Australians, gays, and asylum seekers, brings out the hateful bigots in our society quite like we fatties do.

For whatever reason, self-defined “normals” hate fat people, and they’re not afraid to say it… especially when it comes to the fatties encroaching on their personal space. Especially on planes.

I’ve been flying for my entire life. I’m probably reaching, if not passed, 150 flights, which means I take many flights each year, and never in that time have I had my personal space encroached upon by someone’s fat spilling over into my seat. This is a favourite of the fat haters. Apparently fat is like that Gak stuff, and just slides and moulds over barriers and into people’s space.

gakgif

behold! the first gif i have ever put on a blog, ever.

(PS – how great was Gak?? I definitely need to get me some of that.)

I have, however, experienced other people taking up my space. One was a tiny German woman  who sat sideways, curled up on her seat, and poked her bony little feet into my ribs the entire flight while she was sleeping.

Another time, a businessman’s shoulder padded suit jacket brushed my shoulder often, and he used what really should have been my arm rest.

And there was that time that I was sitting between two big bikie blokes, neither of whom were overweight, but both just big men. (One of them swapped with me to the aisle seat so that they didn’t spend the flight talking over me. Rad move.)

Should we also tax tiny Germans, suit-wearing businessmen, and large males in general?

My problems with any kind of fat tax on airfares are many. For a start, how do we decide who has to pay, and who doesn’t?

That’s me, in that picture at the start of this post. Excuse the daggy post-walk clothes and weird face; it’s hard to take a photo of yourself!

I’m 5’8″ and currently 20kg overweight. The healthy weight range for my height is, apparently, 60-75kg.

Lol.

At my lowest adult weight ever I was 76kg and wore size 10-12 pants and top. I was not fat. There are old images of me with the most angular collar, shoulder, and hip bones that a young woman could ever hope to have. I was, technically, overweight. And yet to look at me, you would never have known it.

See, the thing with determining who is overweight and who isn’t is that it’s all really very arbitrary. Yes, it’s a range for a reason, but it really doesn’t take into account very well things like wide hips and shoulders, big boobies, having more muscle or more fat, or many other things. BMI is no better than the healthy range (and why should it be? It’s based on the same thing); technically I am obese, according to BMI calculators. And yet, I look at that photo above and I don’t see an “obese” person in the sense that society has come to regard obese people. Trust me, if I did I’d tell you; nobody hates their own body more than the woman it belongs to.

Chances are that if a fat tax were to be introduce, I’d be subject to it. 20kg overweight and obese doesn’t really put me on the list of people who are allowed to fly at regular prices, now does it? Problem is… I well and truly fit into my own seat. I may not have been blessed with the ability to not want to eat all the food, but I was blessed with a relatively normal sized waist and rear end, as well as the good sense to avoid middle seats on planes. The seatbelt most certainly does up without any kind of extender, and my mysterious roly-poly loaves of gak-like fat don’t spill into the seats beside me. As far as I know I don’t breathe heavily or sweat constantly or exude whatever fat person pheromones everyone’s scared of, so you’re safe on that front, too, if you happen to be sitting next to me.

Okay. So. I’m technically a fatty by weight and BMI and the fact that I wear size 16 pants these days, as well as the fact that I’m a bit more flabby than I’d like and the fact that I have a fat person’s brain and spend way too long thinking about fat issues. Also, in typical fatty fashion, I love food. However I fit in my own seat, which makes arbitrary hate tax fat tax extremely unfair.

lazy skinny

i love how, instead of getting up out of her seat like every other human being on the planet when they’re on a plane and their seat neighbour wants to go past, this woman is all ‘ermagerd, fatty’. god slim people are sooooo lazyAlso, how much damn room is there between those seats?? luxury! //source//

Adding to the unfairness of this entire issue is the fact that I travel extremely light. I rarely take checked luggage these days, and when I do it’s not heavy. Seriously. It breaks my heart if I weigh my bag at the airport and it’s more than 11kg. It’s just a weird thing that I have; I pride myself upon my ability to pack light for holidays. It’s my superhero skill. I went around Europe for 4 months with 11kg of stuff.

One of the “solutions” is that we are charged on the total weight of the passenger & luggage. So, what proponents of this solution are trying to say is that now, when we’ve finally made travelling a quicker process by allowing self-check in of person and bag, is that we eradicate that system and go back to lining up to get ourselves and our luggage weighed? Seems perfectly reasonable. Idiots. (Plus, that would probably mean that I wouldn’t be taxed, owing to aforementioned light packing, which kind of negates the idea of a fat tax on flying in the first place.)

Adding to all of this is the fact that a tax on weight would unfairly discriminate against the tall and the muscle-bound, pregnant women carrying baby + associated baby weight, and, oh, just about everyone.

I suppose what I’m trying to say here is that a fat tax would never work because there’s just no sensible, fair way of implementing one. A number won’t work; you can’t say ‘if you’re x kilos above your healthy weight range, you’re taxed’, because 20kg of excess weight distributes very differently on someone who is 5’2″, to someone who is 5’8″. Same goes for BMI; it’s rubbish.

Maybe I’m just your typical no-good, lazy, delusional fatty-fat, in denial about how big and gross and nasty I really am, trying to make excuses as to why I shouldn’t have to subsidise your skinny-arse travel (jokes, guys, I’m not into body hate), before I go and eat a tub of cookies and cream icecream for dinner and wash it down with two litres of real full-strength Coke and cry myself to sleep.

Or maybe, just maybe, this is yet another example of how people need to shut the shit up about fat issues unless they’re going to come up with a real plan for battling honest obesity problems and circumventing/preventing the potential social and health issues (especially the mental health issues) that come along with it.

Not every fat person is super duper fat. Not every fat person is lazy or unhealthy. Not every fat person eats excessively all the time. Not every fat person hates exercise. Not every “fat” person, by your standards, is fat. But some are, and they’re victimising themselves enough without you doing it too.

Best songs ever: edn. IV

This song, First Day Of My Life, by Bright Eyes, is one of the most truly beautiful songs  ever written.

I’ve only ever really had one chance to see Bright Eyes, when they supported REM way back in the day. I hate seeing bands I like as support acts to other bands I like, especially when those bands are as big as REM, because chances are most of the crowd doesn’t know the support act and it doesn’t make for a good vibe, y’know? I mean, I have vague recollections of people around me yelling for Bright Eyes to get off the stage (but then I feel like people would be too well behaved at REM to do that? It was a very long time ago).

Super cute video clip, too. It even managed to melt the heart of this love-sceptic over here. (Wait, what? You heard it here first: Little Miss Single-For-Three-Years thinks love is a sham!)

Last Wednesday, this.

wpid-20130320_232602.jpg

Last Tuesday evening I flew in to Melbourne to see my favourite band in the world, The Frames.

I spent Wednesday eating delicious breakfast, drinking too much coffee, drinking ciders on a rooftop whilst re-reading Neuromancer (as you do), and catching up with my best friend, who happened to also be in the city.

That night, I went along to the gig all by myself, sat in my seat 7 rows back, and cried my way through almost three hours of one of the best show I’ve seen.

And then, at the end, during the last song, the entire band – there were probably 12 people on stage – picked up their instruments and went to play at the back of the theatre.

Then they took their instruments out in to the lobby, and continued playing there.

Then they took them out on to the street, and played there. And here I was. Just a few metres back, in a crowd full of strangers all singing along to a Leonard Cohen cover. It was wonderful.

The photo, no doubt, is crappy. My phone has a great day-time camera, but at night it’s a bit rubbish. But, that doesn’t matter. It’s the fact that it happened and I was there that matters the most.

Edited to say: They didn’t play Revelate, my absolute favourite song in the entire world, but they did play Fitzcarraldo, which would be one of my other favourite songs. It’s off their second album of the same name from the mid 90s, and I always think it’s a bit of a privilege to see the old songs performed live, so I was very happy.

The Biggest Loser Australia: Perpetuating the myth of fatty uselessness?

Let me begin this post by saying that I genuinely, genuinely hate the TV show The Biggest Loser. I don’t watch it, I block the hashtag on Twitter, and I certainly don’t subscribe to the notion that there is anything positive about the show. It feels to me like just another excuse to fat-shame, by portraying severely unhappy and overweight human beings as lazy, whinging slobs who succumb to caloric temptation with nary a second thought.

I don’t know if they still do it, but I remember in an early season, they allowed the contestants the opportunity to sit at a table and eat their ‘favourite foods’ to their heart’s delight. A last supper, if you will. The table was filled with pasta, chips, pizza, cakes, soft drink, chocolate. Because all fatties are obsessed with eating crap, didn’t you know?

Aaanyway. I was just checking a news website and there was a post about how, zomg, this year there is a contestant who is the fattest biggest loser evaaarrrrr (cue doom music). So, although I don’t care, and although I won’t watch the show, I clicked through to view the contestants. Is it just me, or have they very clearly chosen people who seem to be a little down on their luck?

tbl

 

who ate all the pies? well, you probably think they did.

I don’t want to offend anyone by saying that any job is worse than any other job… but really, look at the occupations of the contestants. Cinema usher, salesman, telemarketer, supermarket customer service, admin. All in all, not terrible jobs, but where are the folks with degrees? Where are the accountants, doctors, teachers? (I do concede that there are a couple of people who probably needed degrees to get their job.)

I’m not saying that you have to have a degree to be a worthy person. I’m saying that, by the looks of things, they’ve chosen a group of contestants who might, by the general public, be perceived as having dead-end jobs, and I really can’t help but feel like this contributes to the negative stereotypes about fat people.

‘Fat’ and ‘stupid’, for some reason, are insults that often go hand in hand, along with ‘lazy’, ‘ugly’, ‘bitch’, ‘disgusting’, and so on. So to choose a group of 14 people, few of whom possess what could be thought of by society as a career in a highly respected field, it feels like yet another excuse to allow fat-shamers to indulge themselves.

Perhaps it’s just that the doctors, lawyers, teachers, academics, engineers, social workers (these are not the only worthy jobs, I know!) aren’t applying. Perhaps it’s that fat people, who often lack confidence because, well, society tells them they’re lesser people, don’t pursue “good” career options. Perhaps this is just me being snooty and judgmental.

I don’t watch The Biggest Loser because it makes me feel sick to see fat people shamed and crying on television – not because I find them disgusting, or lazy, or gross, or ugly, but because it feels unnecessarily humiliating. Yes, they know exactly what they are getting themselves in for when they apply to the show, but is it really possible that the only way fatness is tolerated on our television screens is when they are desperate, crying, brutalised human beings, who are on the path to becoming “better”, slimmer, more visually and socially acceptable human beings?

There’s just no way that a show like TBL doesn’t contribute to the fat-hating society we all live in. For every person who finds the show inspiring, there’s another person sitting on their couch hating the lazy fatties on the screen, and carrying that hate over into their everyday life. I try not to talk about fat issues on this blog. I’ve spent many years talking about them all over social media, but there are a few things up my nose at the moment that I think I need to rant about, so this is probably the first in a series of posts about why everyone needs to shut the shit up about weight — unless they’re actually going to do something to change it.