"Any woman who chooses to behave like a full human being should be warned that the armies of the status quo will treat her as something of a dirty joke. That's their natural and first weapon." ~ Gloria Steinem

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

On Running

I went for a run today.

Now, you need to know that the last time I recall "going for a run"--as in, intentionally running not toward or from anything in particular, certainly not an ice cream truck or a burning building--was freshman year of college. As in, 2002-3. I do not recall when, exactly, this Run took place; I just know it was freshman year. It was probably the spring--I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been running during marching band season.

 So; now you know that I do not Run. However, today, I did.

Here's the thing: I used to run when I was a kid. Not with an iPod and running shoes and schedules, but in the cow pasture across the road from my house. I ran around and around and my dog dissolved into joy and chased me around and around, and it was wonderful, and I was running just because it was wonderful.

Later, I thought about joining track in high school, but spring was when we put on the musical, and I was all into theatre and stuff.

So; today I Ran. I'm doing this Couch to 5K thing I found on the internets, which is designed for people who don't run to start running without killing themselves or hating it. The first week involves alternating walking and running in short increments.

The first 60-second jogging interval was cake. I'm like, hell yeah. I can do this. I rule.

The second 60-second jogging interval was hell. I'm like, fuck. This fucking sucks. I can't believing I'm fucking running. Jesus.

The third 60-second jogging interval was (second interval) - 2suck.

The fourth 60-second jogging interval was awesome. I'm like, shit, this sucks, but it's kind of fun. I will pwn you, legs.

At the end of the 20-minute session, my legs were sore, but I wasn't too terribly winded, and the walk back cooled me down pretty well. Let's see how this goes.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Telling Me To Go On A Shopping Diet Is Like Telling A Starving Person To Go On An Actual Diet

I am a little behind the times [only a little, really], but check this out: Shopping "Diets".

Now, I am all for people doing batshit things that end up as feature stories in the New York Times, but this is a little ridiculous [only a little? more than a little? i guess we'll find out once i get through this, as i haven't actually thought much of this out yet.].

So, here's the thing: I stop buying clothes, along with other things, when I stop having money. It's as simple as that. Christ knows, I'd absolutely love to voluntarily decide I'm buying into this rampant "consumerism" thing, but seriously, I've never had the kind of money that would allow me to both pay rent and obtain more than 74 pairs of shoes--that I wear regularly. [actually, let's say more like 25 pairs.] When I look at my closet and find nothing to wear, it's usually because everything I own is worn out [because i got it when i was 10 years younger], too big [because i got it when i was 20 pounds heavier], or dirty [because i never have quarters for them there laundry machine thingies].

So there's that.

There's also my careful selection of the word "got" [see above], chosen specifically to illustrate that there's really only about a 40% chance that any given article of clothing I own was obtained following an exchange of money. I'm talking hand-me-downs/ups/overs, not theft. Get serious.

[i'm talking about classism, in case you didn't get that.]

Hence, I fail to see how my wardrobe in any way qualifies me for a rampant "consumerism" award. So I guess I just need to take this article with the caveat that this is really only something rich people have to worry about, which is just what we need, another pressing problem of the wealthy, amirite? I'm pretty sure I'll never have the chance to wash my face in Evian water--le sigh.

Anyway, here's my main point: fashion is not something you need money to enjoy. If you're one of those brand-conscious assholes, sure, but shockingly, it's possible to knock 'em dead without dropping wads of cash on designer handbags, designer shoes, designer dresses, designer sunglasses, designer watches, designer perfume, or designer fucking foundation [srsly, YSL? it's spelled with an "e", actually.]. You don't even have to wear clothing that is "in" to enjoy fashion--you just have to take pleasure in your attire. And what's so wrong with that?

And no, my clothes do not define me; I define my clothes. My personality affects what I wear, and, occasionally, vice versa [it's always on purpose, though.]. I could, if I chose, stop caring about what I put on my body, and supposedly that would make me love it more, because I would accept it as it is, without all these furbelows and definitions imposed on it by Fashion. Oh, wait...

...while we're at it, let's knock out an enormous chunk of "consumerism", and really love our bodies as they are, and stop wearing makeup. OH NOES WHAT DID I JUST SUGGEST I AM THE ANTICHRIST!!!

I love my body. My body likes to dress up, and she likes to dress down, and she likes sexy jeans, and ankle boots, and men's cargo shorts, and scarves, and dropped waists, and wifebeaters, and yoga pants, and boatnecks, and short skirts with pockets, and strapless dresses with ruching at the natural waist. Who am I to deny her those pleasures?


Q: If the rich people aren't buying clothes anymore, and the broke fuckers like me are still dressing in hand-me-downs/ups/overs and stuff snagged at thrift stores and Wal-Mart, who's supporting the economy with *gasp* consumerism?!?