4 Reasons Gym Class Failed Me As A Kid

I was never a fan of gym class when I was in school. I wasn't obese at the time, but I was surely technically overweight, and despite the fact that I was a cheerleader from 8th grade through high school I just generally wasn't very athletic. Why didn't twelve years of gym class help me at all?

1. Most gym teachers treated me like I wasn't as important as those who were athletes.

I don't know how it is now, but in my day once you got into junior high the gym teachers were usually also team coaches. That meant that half their time was spent coaching athletes to compete with other athletes, putting them through workouts intended to improve specific skills. The rest of their day was spent with classes made up mostly of unenthusiastic, out-of-shape kids, forcing them into some kind of activity for an hour at a time.

From my perspective, those classes seemed to be something these coaches had little enthusiasm for, themselves. Those of us who weren't participating in team sports were treated like we were either lazy or incapable of actually being athletic. Those who were already athletic were praised heavily and got a lot more activity during gym class, which is actually pretty backwards when you think about it.

Granted, the rest of us had a pretty bad attitude about even being in gym class, but that might have been helped tremendously if the classes had been conducted differently. As it was, I remember spending a lot of time standing around while more athletic kids played games or being talked down to because I couldn't do a pullup or climb a rope or generally perform as well as the proven athletes. I got the clear message that the gym teachers really didn't like me much, being all weak and unable to run a mile in 12 minutes. They certainly liked the kids who were good at those things.

And yes, before anyone comments to correct me, I'm sure I was on the other end of that equation in academic classes. I got plenty of praise from math, science, art, and English teachers, but I don't recall those teachers treating the rest of the class like their brains must just not be capable of learning. If anything, the extra praise got me less work to do, not more. But gym class felt like ultimate judgment. "Climb that rope. No, three feet isn't good enough. You get an F. Sit over there with the other losers and watch these guys show you what a winner looks like."

2. Gym class didn't actually teach me how to be more physically fit.

With the exception of the one weightlifting class I took in high school, most of the time I spent in gym class was focused on either finding a way to make us sweat for an hour or teaching us the rules to various games and sports. All the things I've learned about exercise as an adult is pretty much new to me. We didn't learn about the benefits of strength training (even in weightlifting, really -- we only learned how to do it, not why) or how to properly do cardio. We'd briefly talk about obesity in health class sometimes and why we should want to be a healthy weight, but not in enough depth to really teach any of us what to do about it beyond "eat less and be more active." I remember talking about target heart rate a bit during a semester class I took in high school on aerobics (Not aerobic activity in general, aerobics tapes. We did aerobics tapes for gym class. Seriously.), but we never learned how to actually improve our fitness level. We did activity just to do activity. Until it came time to do the President's Physical Fitness Test each year (or semester? I don't remember now.) our fitness abilities weren't regularly tested or tracked for improvements. We showed up, did some kind of calisthenics or stretches to warm up, and then played some kind of game or did some group activity for the remainder of the class. And that was it. And while for most of us who are now trying to lose weight it's a good thing to just get in the habit of moving around more, that's not all there is to being physically fit. But they didn't really teach us anything beyond "it's good to move around enough so you sweat sometimes."

News flash: learning how to keep score during flag football doesn't improve one's fitness level.

3. They tested us, but didn't make us practice for the test.

Remember the President's Physical Fitness Test? I don't know if they still do this, but back in the 80s and 90s in my area, the school system used it as a test for all students at the end of every year. I remember it consisting of a mile run, a flexibility test, situps, pullups (eventually the girls only had to do a bent-arm hang), and some other things I don't remember. I remember that the test was actually intended to be a program where awards would be given to students across the nation who scored really well on all the exercises. But that's not how it was used in the classroom. If you didn't score well enough to qualify for the award on each exercise, you didn't get a passing grade for that exercise. The only reason I got good grades in gym was that there were usually some written tests or participation points or bonuses you could get for wearing school colors to class every day that made up for my lack of performance.

You know what would have helped my performance? If we'd have actually trained to be better at the things we were tested on at the end of the year. As you know, I'm now training to racewalk a marathon. To prepare, I'm doing a lot of walking. I'm not preparing by playing a lot of raquetball because playing a lot of raquetball isn't going to help me come race day. Unless the spectators will be throwing balls at us as we go by, but I'm pretty sure that's not the case. Anyway, in gym class we were tested on our ability to do situps and run, but trained for those tests by playing frisbee golf, standing on the sidelines of basketball games, and sometimes jogging a couple of times across the gym. If they wanted us to run a mile in 12 minutes, why didn't they make us do more running? If they wanted us to be able to reach past our toes, why didn't we spend time on flexibility? (And I was actually good at that one because of all the time I spent on flexibility for cheerleading. See how that works?) If they wanted us to do pullups and pushups, why didn't we do exercises to strengthen our arm and back muscles? Or if they were going to spend most of the time teaching us to play team sports, why weren't we tested on our ability to play team sports?

4. It sucked, and I hated being there.

I always got the sense that gym classes were really meant to get kids to have a more positive attitude towards physical activity, which is an admirable goal. But even beyond being treated like useless non-athletes and tested over things we hadn't trained for, nothing about gym class was really pleasant or fun for anyone who wasn't already athletic. It wasn't fun to play team sports when nobody wanted you on their team and you spent most of the time on the sidelines or in positions where you were least likely to screw things up. Exercise is fun for me now not because the act of doing it is somehow less painful than it used to be but because I know there's a purpose to it and I can see a payoff. But that's not how it felt in gym class. The only purpose I could see to going through the motions of gym class was to preserve my GPA. I didn't see improvements, I had to do the same activities I didn't enjoy week after week, year after year, with seemingly no purpose other than keeping us corralled and moving around for an hour at a time. It didn't make me enjoy physical activity. In fact, it made me dread it. I dreaded being made to feel fat and incapable.

It's really not that I don't like playing team sports. I do enjoy them in the right context. I used to work for a company that competed in corporate league sports. Okay, I use the term "competed" rather loosely, since we never won a tournament or even harbored the delusion that we might. But we had fun. I played volleyball and softball and bowled. I wasn't especially good at any of it, but I wasn't forced to the sidelines or made fun of. And because I spent time actually playing I did get better over time. I found the things I was good at, like serving a volleyball. I was allowed to play shortstop because I was better at it than being in the outfield. Office sports were fun and I looked forward to them despite my lack of natural skill or athletic ability. Hell, I actually played hard enough that I got injured a couple of times! It's never been the sports I didn't like, it was always the environment in which I had to play them.

It's just that gym class was seemingly engineered to be discouraging. We had to do things we weren't good at in an environment that didn't make us feel like we had any hope for improving. And I was somewhat middle-of-the-pack. God help the obese kids. It must have been forty times worse for them.

I can only hope gym classes are less horrible these days. My gut feeling tells me they're not. Of all the classes I could have benefited from in school, gym was probably the one I needed most. And yet it was the one that totally failed to deliver.

I do have to say I had a few understanding, non-judgmental, encouraging gym teachers. One even fudged my mile run time one year because she didn't want my gym grade to damage my GPA and I had just barely failed the mile by a few seconds. When I got to high school and was able to select what gym classes I signed up for, things were better. I didn't dread going quite as much. But I didn't really learn more. I didn't get in better shape. And those classes didn't teach me what I needed to know about being healthy and active. They did teach me that there were certain physical activities that I enjoyed more than others. Valuable lesson, but not enough to keep me from gaining a ton of weight later in life. And when I did go to the gym as an adult, I had no idea how to really get the most out of it. No gym or health class had ever really taught me how to create a workout regimen that actually did much of anything to improve my fitness level.

It's rather sad to think that we spend all sorts of time in school learning things that aren't directly useful in our adult lives, and yet when it comes to something vital like our physical health we get a small amount of basic information on diet and fitness and spend a lot of time being herded into classes that mostly teach us to play games we won't ever play again.

Dear assfaces at Rockstar, Inc.;,

You suck.

As of a couple of years ago, I swore energy drinks would kill us all and I refused to start drinking them. The one time I had consumed a Red Bull it scared the fuck out of me. I'd gone to a karaoke bar with some friends, and about halfway through the night I was hit with an intense caffeine withdrawal headache because I hadn't had coffee all day (and I'm a long time coffee addict). The bar's coffee machine was broken, so I let myself be talked into a Red Bull. Soon I was bouncing in my seat and singing Britney Spears songs in public. I couldn't fall asleep that night, and spent several hours convinced my heart was going to explode in my chest.

It wasn't until I got a second job working overnights that I got desperate enough to try energy drinks again. You know you're really tired when you're falling asleep while working a cash register. So one morning I headed back to the cooler and picked out an energy drink that looked appealing. The one think I knew for sure is that Red Bull tastes like a mixture of Mountain Dew and what I can only assume goat piss must taste like, and I wanted none of that.

Then I spotted the pretty purple can.

Guava sounded nice and fruity and tropical and yummy. The can boasted a 50% juice content, which gave me hope that whatever was inside that can would taste pleasant and sweet. I only drank about half of it because I didn't want to induce heart palpitations again, but I easily could have kept drinking because it tasted that amazing. Nectar of the gods, that was.

Maybe I'm a hypocrite. Maybe I was right all along and energy drinks contain some kind of super dangerous addictive substance that will eventually send us all to an early grave. But damn if I didn't get horribly, horribly hooked on the contents of that lovely purple and gold can.

I tried other flavors. I tried the other Juiced varieties when our store was out of Guava, but wasn't impressed. Pomegranate is okay, but... meh. Orange is too sour. Punched is too tart. The new lemonade one tastes okay, but contains too much artificial sweetener. The coffee flavored varieties taste pretty good, but don't give me the energy boost. In the absence of my precious guava I've strayed to other brands, but none can compare.

When I gave up high-fructose corn syrup, I was delighted to find that I could still drink my Guava Rockstar. When I started watching my calorie intake, I was delighted to find that a can of Guava Rockstar only had 180 calories in it and I didn't have to drastically curb my consumption. It was perfect.

Last night I purchased two cans of the new formulation. I noticed immediately that the can looked different, but I ignored the warning signs and popped it open, expecting the familiar sweet liquid I love so, so much.

You've fucking ruined it, douchebags. You took the most wonderful beverage in your whole lineup and turned it into crap juice. Yes, crap juice. If I wanted my energy drink to taste more like tropical punch, I'd just buy some fucking tropical punch. Now it's got more calories, less juice, and it tastes awful. Don't think for a minute that I'll grow to like it. No, I'm going to buy up every can of the old stuff I can find, and when that stash runs out it's bye bye Rockstar. You're dead to me.

Go fuck yourselves.

My crazy family: the sad reality of Republican politics

You know that funny nostalgic feeling you get when you think about some of the naive things you thought as a kid, like how you believed in the existence of Santa and the Easter Bunny? I get that feeling now when I think about how I used to revere my parents for their logical, intelligent approach to politics and religion.

I really used to hold them up as an example of how religious parents can be reasonable, open-minded, and tolerant. And then I left home. Traveled. Met people from a lot of different places. Realized that a fervent belief in the correctness of one's beliefs doesn't, by default, make those beliefs correct. Started to see how little tolerance and open-mindedness my parents actually exhibited.

Actually, it wasn't until the months leading up to the presidential election that I fully realized how wrong I'd always been about my parents. To be precise, I lost my childlike naivete the day my mother looked me straight in the eye and said, "Obama is a socialist, just like Hitler."

First of all, Hitler wasn't a socialist. Hitler got rid of labor unions and gave a ton of power to business owners who had to do what he said to keep that power. That's not socialism. That's fascism.

Second, the real inference of the statement is that somehow Hitler was or became a mass murdering fuckhead because he (supposedly) was socialist, and that since Obama (supposedly) is a socialist, too, he's likely to become a mass murdering fuckhead as well. Or, phrased in less heavy-handed way, socialism is evil because everything you can associate with Hitler is evil, so Obama is evil, too. If that isn't obviously absurd to you, read it again. If that still doesn't smell like a ton of bullshit to you, brush up on your logic and history, and then read it again.

Third, socialism comes in a lot of different varieties, and nothing Obama has sought to implement is any more socialist than many of the government programs we already support. There seems to be a real lack of understanding of what socialism really is in this country, and evidently my parents are no exception.

I thought my parents would have been able to see the vast lack of logic in their statement. They're college educated people. Unlike a lot of Americans, they read on a regular basis -- and real non-fiction books, not crap like Twilight. Sure, they're conservative Republican Christians who listen to Rush Limbaugh and such (and Dad is a preacher to boot), but I always thought they were the kind who could smell bullshit when it was thrown at them.

Turns out I was wrong.

Needless to say, it's been a very long year and a half.

It's frustrating to see them spouting half-truths and outright fabrications as if they were absolute truth, knowing that they're completely uninterested in the real truth. And, even worse, knowing that they got these "facts" from some neoconservative pundit on the radio who they believe without question.

The most recent "WTF!?!" moment came during a discussion about my increasing interest in eating more organic foods. I've been paying more attention lately to what I buy at the grocery store, and just recently took my first grocery trip to a local natural foods market. I was explaining to them that the reason I'm committing myself to a more organic diet isn't so much the nutritional quality of the food itself, but the effects of the methods used in producing the food. After all, huge factory farms, especially those outside the U.S. that provide us with meat, are in large part to blame for things like the swine flu, not to mention the impact of chemical pesticides on the environment and the increasingly troublesome production of genetically modified crops.

I remember during my high school years, when the pressure to recycle and plant trees and "save the earth" was ramping up, that my parents patently refused to worry about it. I read Silent Spring in high school mostly because my parents claimed that it was a propaganda piece full of lies. Even then, I understood where their objection came from: religion. If Jesus is going to return, and if the good Christians are going to be raptured before the earth REALLY gets bad, then there is no need to worry about saving the earth ourselves. If you really truly believe modern protestant interpretations of the Bible, there's no way we'll be allowed to destroy the earth before Jesus comes back to save it.

What I couldn't understand even then (when I actually shared their basic beliefs) was why it made sense to carelessly use up the earth's resources when we were admonished to be careful what we did to our bodies. If your body is a temple given to you by god that you're supposed to take care of even though you won't actually have to worry about its condition in the afterlife, why does the same philosophy not apply to the earth we live on?

Ironically, my parents are now far more diligent about recycling than I am, and we don't even have a curbside recycling program here. They actually collect all their plastic, paper, cardboard, and aluminum; rinse, sort, and bag it all; and haul it themselves to the recycling center. Yet the idea of supporting smaller organic farming operations instead of huge factory farms seems to offend their sensibilities in some way.

Initially, when I was talking about what I'd bought at the natural foods market, their response was that they just weren't convinced that eating organic or less prepared food would make me healthier or cause me to live longer than they would, but that if it made me feel better to spend the extra money it was fine. (Condescend much?) My sister actually said she liked processed foods with chemical additives. Then again, my sister just likes to do everything opposite of what I do now, which is ironic considering how when we shared an apartment by ourselves she copied my every interest.

But I digress.

When I explained that it was less about nutritional differences and more about supporting more sustainable farming methods, their response wasn't any less negative. In fact, my parents proceeded to "inform" me that there is actually a negative impact to all this environmental responsibility. Their example? They claimed that since DDT was banned, the threat of malaria in third world countries has increased exponentially and, because nobody can use DDT, millions of people are dying. Furthermore, they claimed that science has proved that DDT is harmless and doesn't kill birds and other animals, and that it's basically the fault of Rachel Carson that all these unfortunate people are being forced to die.

*digs out from under load of bullshit*

My initial response was that I was skeptical of the claim that DDT was harmless and that I'd have to do some research myself before I bought that kind of claim. And, luckily, that was the end of the discussion. They rolled their eyes at me and I rolled my eyes at them, and we continued eating lunch.

When I got home I did some poking around and, indeed, most of their claims are complete crap.

First of all, DDT is not banned for use in fighting malaria and, in fact, because the World Health Organization has recommended that DDT be used to kill mosquitoes in areas where malaria is rampant, many third world countries have long used programs wherein they go into houses and spray the surfaces directly with DDT. So any claim that the ban on DDT is causing all manner of malaria deaths is patently false.

Second, all reputable scientific data points to DDT being a carcinogen. Not only that, but it has profoundly negative effects on birds and aquatic life forms, and is blamed for the near-extinction of not only the bald eagle but also several other bird species. Even the World Health Organization, despite approving the use of DDT to combat malaria, recommends that its use eventually be phased out.

The saddest part is that I strongly suspect that they would persist in their belief that the world would be better off if we went back to dumping tons of DDT all over the place even if I printed out a metric ton of evidence to the contrary for them to see. I did mention to my mother that I'd done some poking around and that the use of DDT to combat malaria has been the status quo in many African countries for a long time now. Her response? "Well, maybe they're spraying NOW." As if Rush Limbaugh talking about it would suddenly prompt the powers that be to give Africa DDT. I told her that no, DDT has never been banned for killing malaria-spreading mosquitoes, only for agricultural use. She pursed her lips, I left, and I'd bet a million bucks she never looked any further into the issue.

It would be one thing if they just held opposing ideas. If they simply believed that it's worth the environmental and long-term health risk of spraying DDT in order to prevent malaria deaths, fine. If they simply believed that it's not worth putting extra tax burden on people to provide increased health care availability or to attempt to boost the economy, fine. What bothers me is that they believe these things because they've "picked a side," and anything fed to them by those who are on that same side is swallowed and regurgitated without a second thought. Not only do they not seem to be interested in fact-checking, they actually believe that any evidence contradicting what they've been told must be fabricated. Their side is good, everyone else is evil, and to question that belief is dangerous.

I talk to some people online who assume that these opinions must be the exception, not the norm, even among Republicans. Well, not so:

http://dyn.politico.com/printstory.cfm?uuid=8FD5BC44-18FE-70B2-A8F16FA9CBA5781E

63 percent of Republicans believe Obama is a socialist
24 percent said Obama wants “the terrorists to win”
31 percent agreed with the statement that Obama is “a racist who hates white people”
36 percent of respondents do not believe the president was born in this country
21 percent think the liberal advocacy group ACORN stole the election for Obama
23 percent want their state to secede from the union
51 percent of those polled believe sex education should not be taught in schools
77 percent want creationism taught in schools
31 percent want contraception outlawed
34 percent believe birth control is “abortion”

If we want to start drawing parallels between modern politicians and Nazi Germany, I say let's start with a discussion of scare-tactic propaganda.

It's one thing to stand up for what you believe in, and a far different thing to stand up for what somebody tells you to believe in without questioning. What happened to independent thought? What happened to freedom as an American ideal?

I'd ask what happened to my parents, but I don't think they've changed. I remember back in high school standing next to them in pro-life demonstrations. I remember the discussions around the dinner table. The only thing that's changed is that the hysteria has increased (and I've since come to my senses). The basic idea, though, is exactly the same. And that saddens me, not just because I thought my parents capable of engaging in a logical debate about actual issues without throwing around insanely illogical half-truths and propagandist bullshit, but because I can't just dismiss them as part of a radical fringe. It's not some exaggerated caricature of "crazy Republican America" the "liberal media" has latched onto in an effort to discredit otherwise logical mainstream conservative viewpoints. No, it's very real. And I'm living in the middle of it.

Ten miscellaneous brilliant ideas, suggestions, hopes, and random thoughts for the new decade:

Okay, maybe some of them aren't exactly brilliant, but whatever.

1. While we're freaking out about climate change and attempting to make more environmentally responsible decisions, wouldn't it also be smart to start thinking ahead to how we're going to live with the probably inevitable consequences? Like not building or buying more real estate in coastal areas that are likely to be underwater if the oceans rise a foot or two. Even starting to relocate inland while there are still a crap ton of cheap houses to buy so that when the water does start to rise we don't end up with a zillion climate change refugees who expect the rest of the world to foot the bill for their lack of forethought.

2. This one isn't mine, of course, but how 'bout everyone commit to wearing their pants with the waistbands where they belong?

3. Selecting and supporting a political candidate, issue, or party should not even slightly resemble deciding whether you're Team Edward or Team Jacob. Seriously, people. It's the government, not a fucking fan club.

4. While we're at it, no more Twilight. We'd all be better off.

5. More NIN music. Less people whining, bitching, and complaining about NIN.

6. As much as the recession sucks, isn't it a prime opportunity to restructure your life so that when the economy does recover you're in a good position to profit from it? You know, accept the consequences now and take it like grown-ups. Face it, even when the economy recovers, it won't be like it was a few years ago. The rules will have completely changed. Might as well get used to it now.

7. By the end of the decade, I'll be almost 45. I resolve right now not to be a bitter hag of a 45-year-old. The world changes. No generation has ever succeeded in bitching and moaning enough to make the world revert to some earlier state in history that they decided was "better," and neither will ours. Besides, humans have an uncanny tendency to view the past with rose-tinted glasses, even when the past was shitty.

8. Since we're in the midst of a period where technology is advancing at unprecedented speed (Moore's Law FTW!) and we're becoming socially dependent on stuff like smart phones, I think it's time for somebody to throw my little software idea into the mix: There should be a small device (something small enough to place in a piece of jewelry or whatnot) that, when discretely activated, would call your cell phone and fake an important phone call so you could get out of awkward situations, boring conversations, etc at will.

9. I kind of hope something weird happens on December 21, 2012. Nothing catastrophic or anything, just something that will make everyone stop and think.

10. If Nickelback is still recording in ten year's time, there will officially be no hope for humanity.

Hibernation

Cosy

I think the animal kingdom has the right idea. When it starts turning colder it's time to fatten yourself up and sleep through the freezing temperatures. Or head for warmer climates, I suppose. Personally, though, I prefer the idea of hibernation.

Not that I don't like winter. I prefer it to summer. It's more fun to dress for cold weather -- hoodies and jackets and boots and scarves and putting layers over layers... You can use your entire wardrobe in the winter, but you can't comfortably use your winter clothes in the dead of summer. And all the good holidays happen during the colder half of the year.

And there aren't many things that feel as good as lying in bed in a slighly chilly room, cocooned in blankets.

How much mentally healthier would we be if we all spent more of our time during the winter just resting ourselves? After all, the nights are longer. The nasty weather makes travel more dangerous. It only makes sense to take advantage of the opportunity to shut out the world and commune with our mattresses.

Well, now I know.

Ever since I started wearing my NIN shirts on a regular basis, I've had various people start up conversations that often lead to the question of whether I like other industrial* bands. And I've always had to say I didn't really know, since I'd never really listened to any.

So, I've been on this little project of broadening my music horizons by checking out a fairly long list of artists vaguely related to or linked to NIN in a "six degrees of separation" kind of way, and now I can answer the question:

No, not so much.


On an only tangentially related note, can anyone explain to me why playing Tool at work seems to be an open invitation for guys to hit on me? If this keeps up I'm gonna delete all of it from my iPod. It's getting creepy.




*Term broadly used -- yeah, yeah, NIN isn't really industrial, blah, blah... Spare me the lectures, I've heard 'em.

Do I need to talk about the wedding on the internet? -- A helpful flowchart

Mooo!

I've always been overweight. Even as a cheerleader in high school, at 155-160 pounds I was the "fat" cheerleader. Because I was bigger than everyone else, I was always the go-to girl for lifting and throwing everyone else. It bothered me, but not enough to make serious moves to change it. I would diet now and then, lose ten pounds, and before long the ten would be back. The only time I was very successful at weight loss was my senior year when I started an after-school job as a telemarketer. I also happened to have a trial membership at a 24-hour fitness center, so after being hung up on and yelled at for five hours a night I'd hit the treadmill and work out my frustrations. I don't remember how much I lost, but I remember feeling really good about the fact that I not only fit into smaller jeans but also became strong enough to do a really good toe touch.

Then I went to college. I wanted to try out for the squad there, but when the coach announced in the informational meeting that she was glad all the girls there were thin because she'd just ordered new traveling sweats and they were all size medium, I knew I wasn't going to make it. So there went my daily practices and games, and instead I spent time studying and chugging down Mountain Dew. Oh, and working my work study job at the cafeteria bakery, which didn't help at all. I didn't gain the freshman fifteen. I gained the freshman forty. By the end of the first semester, none of the clothes I'd moved in with fit anymore. Still, I was just barely in the "normal people size" range, so I didn't try very hard to lose any of the weight.

Every year it seemed another five pounds snuck on. By the time I graduated I was about 210 or 220. Now and then, just like I'd always done in the past, I'd try a diet and lose ten pounds, hit a plateau, and give it up. In 2002 I did the low carb diet thing and dropped a quick 20 pounds. But again, I stalled out for a week or two and gave it up. I didn't gain it all back right away, but eventually I just stopped paying attention and there it was again.

A couple of years later I tried again, more sensibly, and did the same exact thing all over again. 20 pounds gone fairly quickly, then a couple of weeks of no loss at all, and before long my diet had gone right back to what I'd always eaten and the weight was back.

Then I opened my business in 2006, and for the last three years I've done very little in the way of taking care of myself, or even paying much attention. I stopped wearing makeup, even, because with two jobs and a zillion places to be I just didn't have the time or energy to care anymore. I've worn pretty much nothing but baggy jeans and t-shirts and hoodies, none of which are good about letting you know that you're slowly expanding.

Through all of this, though, I've recognized something very strange about myself. When I was 155 in high school, even though I knew I was technically overweight, when I looked in the mirror I didn't see a fat body. Even up until a few weeks ago when I tipped the scales at 255, what I saw in the mirror was not an obese person. I've never had that part of my brain that looks in the mirror and sees a reflection that's worse than reality. I always see better. And it's not until I see a picture of myself that I see the awful truth (and wonder if that's really what everyone sees or if the camera just caught my "bad side").

Or, I suppose, until I reach 255 pounds and stand in front of a 3-way dressing room mirror in a little black dress that just cannot cover up the reality of how much weight I've gained.

I've spent twenty years believing that I would always look like I weighed less than I really do. I've spent twenty years halfheartedly attempting to diet and never getting past the 20 pound mark. Except now I DON'T look like I weigh less than I do, and 20 pounds isn't going to cut it. But it ends now. It has to, because I know that if it doesn't I'll soon find myself at 300, and I can't even imagine letting myself get there. But I know that three years ago I couldn't imagine letting myself hit 250, and yet here I am.

This time, I'm not going to let the 20-pound curse stop me. I know it can be done, and there's no reason I can't be successful at it. It's been my own lack of real motivation that's allowed me to get off the wagon before, but this time around I finally understand how you have to feel for this to work. I'm disgusted with myself. I'm uncomfortable with how I look and how I feel. I honestly would rather give up all my favorite foods forever than look like this for the rest of my life.

It's great to feel comfortable in your body no matter how much you weigh or what you look like, but I think as a society we've gone too far with the attempts to boost the esteem of the overweight and obese. You can dissect all the reasons we overeat, but you can't argue the fact that those of us who are overweight are overweight because we eat more than our activity level will burn off. Period. It's that fucking simple. I'm fat because I eat too much and I'm not active enough. And you can tell me I'm beautiful all you want, but it doesn't negate the fact that this is not the way my body is supposed to function. My feet hurt. My knees hurt. If I drop something and I have to lean over in my chair to pick it up off the floor, I have to hold my breath. I'm pushing the weight limit of just about every piece of home fitness equipment you can buy, and when you're too heavy to even be able to safely operate the only fucking eliptical machines you can actually afford to buy, you know you need to do something.

But most of all I'm tired of being the fat girl. I'm tired of standing behind everyone in pictures so you can't see most of me, and trying to figure out the perfect way to hold my head for photos so I don't have a double chin. I hate the fact that in the picture Rob took of us with NIN at the KC show I look like a fucking cow next to Trent. One of the coolest memories of my life, and the souvenir of it shows me at my absolute fattest.

So I'm done. No food in this whole world is worth all of this.

I'm not about to believe that without Nirvana the prevalence of mall bangs would have done us in.

Those of us who lived through the 80s remember when everyone in the world was up in arms about the hole in the ozone layer and how we needed to stop using so much damn Aqua Net before we destroyed the planet.

Guess what? It's 2009, and it seems the problem was slightly overstated. Granted, the grunge era pretty much put an end to the stifling clouds of cheap aerosol hair spray, but I'm not about to believe that without Nirvana the prevalence of mall bangs would have done us in.

I wouldn't say that's the only reason I'm not just totally terrified by the panicked response to global warming, but that's part of it. Do I think we should be trying to do better as far as our negative impact on the world around us? Sure. Do I think using less fossil fuels is a good idea? Absolutely. Do I think the earth is going to be totally unlivable if we don't all change our light bulbs and buy hybrid cars? Eh.

In some ways, I'm a big recycler. I'm not so great about sorting my garbage and such, but I use a lot of materials in my art and craft projects that would otherwise be thrown out, like old magazines and aluminum cans. I support things like Freecycle(TM), because if we're concerned about filling up our landfills we should pay attention to how many large items we throw away that could be used by somebody else. I like to buy used stuff. It's got more character, first of all, and it's a lot more environmentally responsible to get all the use we can out of things we've already produced.

I try not to drive a lot. Even at the price gas is at now, it's kind of expensive to use my car all the time. Plus, it's not like I can't use some exercise. My two jobs are a half-hour walk apart, so when the weather is nice enough I take the opportunity to get in an hour of good exercise and quiet time, just me and my headphones. Honestly, I'm less concerned about how our dependence on oil effects the environment as I am about how it effects international politics and economics, and what we're going to do when we inevitably run out of feasible places to drill. I'd get a hybrid if I could afford to buy one, just for the fact that it would save money on gas. In fact, I wouldn't even own a car if I didn't have to. I liked not having one in Chicago. Buses and trains FTW!

I've switched to compact fluorescent bulbs, but only because I'm sick of changing light bulbs all the time. I figure if it's ultimately cheaper to buy a more expensive bulb that lasts longer and doesn't use as much power than to buy cheaper bulbs that have to be replaced all the time, there's no reason not to switch.

And honestly, I think that's pretty much how most people are. Don't scream about how we're all going to destroy the planet if we don't make changes. Just make it logical and economical to switch. I don't think there's anyone out there sitting in their huge houses with the sprinklers running 24/7, lights on in every room, air conditioning cranked down to 65, sixteen SUVs in the garage with their engines running, cackling with evil laughter at how they're going to bring on the end of humanity. It's just that humans are lazy and you have to make it easy and economically beneficial to do "the right thing."

Really, it's the most god-awful song ever to hit the airwaves.

THREE SONGS I WANT ERASED FROM MY MEMORY:

Sitting at a Bar by Rehab

I'm not the hugest country fan.

Okay, that's a severe understatement.

With very few exceptions, twangy music hits my ears like fingernails on a chalkboard. So that's strike one against this song.

Secondly, I've become quite picky in my old age about the message in a song's lyrics, and these are about as lame as they come.

Sitting at a Bar by Rehab

Really, it's the most god-awful song ever to hit the airwaves. And the fact that they play it on the radio station I listen to -- which is supposed to be playing ROCK music -- just pisses me off. You have never seen a convenience store clerk move as fast as I do when that song comes on, 'cause I don't even want to hear one note of it if I can avoid it.

Sitting at a Bar by Rehab

Seriously, it sucks.

Adventures in corporate mergers, part II

I'm almost done with my second week as part of the transition team for this lovely little takeover, and I'm longing to get back to my own store. However, I can't say I haven't learned a thing or two through this whole process, and I'm going to share my insights with you. I'm sure you're excited.

THINGS I'VE LEARNED FROM THE CODY'S TAKEOVER:

• Change must be statistically the single scariest thing in the world, just based on how many people have trouble with it. It's amazing how much people rely on their routines and traditions, even to the point of not being able to handle cosmetic changes. Take their usual convenience store, make the staff wear a different uniform, move the shelves around, change the name, and switch a few product brands, and people freak the fuck out. Some even freak out so much that they make completely illogical decisions. For instance, when their favorite "local" convenience store gets sold to a larger corporation, they threaten to show their disgust at the change by going to a different larger corporation's store. So now, instead of just accepting a new name and a few new faces and maybe buying a different brand of honey bun, now they're going to completely change the route they drive to work and buy a completely different brand of EVERYTHING. Yeah, that makes sense.
  
• Even if ads are stretching the truth, most people eat it up. A multimillionaire real estate developer can buy a little local corner store and turn it into a pretty large chain -- despite not knowing a damn thing about running convenience stores -- with the sole intent of growing the company and then selling it off for a profit, and still get everyone to think of the chain as a quaint locally-owned homegrown store. In fact, he can convince people of that to the extent that when that same real estate developer offers the chain to a larger company and not only succeeds in selling the company for a profit, but manages to strike a deal whereby the larger company still has to lease the properties themselves from him, people will be outraged at the big, bad corporation that "took over" their little hometown shop.
• A necktie is evidently one of the worst methods of torture ever devised, as it seems at least 50% of the population simply cannot handle having anything touch their neck. I've heard more than one person verbally consider quitting and taking their chances in this horrible job market simply because they had to trade in their black pants and polo shirts for khaki pants and white dress shirts with ties.
• Most guys these days have no idea how to tie a tie.
• Tater tots are pretty yummy. But if you put melted cheese inside them, they're more addictive than crack.

Hey, Live Nation?

What the hell, man? I mean, I understand the scam you're running. I get it. But with the nin.com presale you're supposed to at least sell THOSE tickets on the up and up, right?

*shrugs* Guess not.

Kourt and I both logged in for the Camden presale at 3:00. We both get in, and both pull up seats. Not a problem... if we'd wanted seats. Call us silly, but we want lawn tix. We can't afford pit, so we'll sit in the back on the grass where we can have some fun with the other fans we know. And we need three tickets, so Kourt was going to buy one and I was going to buy two. Thinking that maybe your computer system would start spitting out lawn tix after the seats ran out, we emptied our carts and kept trying.

Now, here's where it gets weird. After a little while, we're on the phone (logged on from different places) talking about what we're going to do and contemplating trying to pull up three adjacent seats, and suddenly Kourt says the tickets are sold out. She's getting the "not enough available tickets to fill your request" message.

Funny, I'm looking at a pair of seats. Section 202, Row R, Seats 1 and 2 or something. So I dump my cart and go back and see if I get the sold out message.

Nope, now I pull Row R, Seats 32 and 33 or whatnot.

Kourt tries again, still nothing. I try again, now I'm on Row Q.

She keeps trying, I keep pulling tickets. Single tickets, pairs of tickets, Row P, Row Q, Row R, all different seats...

So I figure maybe she's got something in her cache or her cookies or hasn't emptied her shopping cart or something, so I tell her to try logging out and logging back in and trying again.

Still sold out for her.

I'm still getting available seats. In pairs.

By now it's 3:15.

I go upstairs to my other computer and log in under her name there, still logged in as myself on my laptop. She's about to blow a fucking gasket. I try to pull up some tickets.

Under her account, tickets are sold out. I try again and again, singles and pairs, different price levels, all sold out.

Under my account, I'm still pulling various seats in Row R.

So what's the deal, Live Nation? Kourt's not good enough for tickets? Did you tag her account to sell out early? Or am I just that special?

Sockpuppet Douchebag Theater Presents: NIN fans bitch about NIN/JA tickets

"Treeeennnntt... Why do the tickets for the NIN/JA tour have to cost so much? If I have to pay this much for my ticket, I want a bunch of flashing lights and lasers and dancing girls and my very own beer wench and for you to personally dedicate Closer to me in front of the whole arena! It doesn't matter that I'm getting to see Jane's Addiction, too, and that the ticket prices are still lower than most big shows. I'm gonna feel personally shortchanged if this show isn't at least twice as flashy as the Lights In The Sky tour! If you don't do this for me... I mean us, your loyal fans, then you suck!"

"But if I can't get a good seat before they sell out, what am I supposed to do without buying from a scalper? If I can't get close enough to the stage to be able to count your nose hairs, then I just don't want to go at all. If I can't get the exact ticket I want, I'll just have to stay home and listen to The Fragile in the dark and cry. I'd rather do that than sit with all the losers that are dumb enough to buy cheap tickets where they can't possibly get splashed by even a drop of your sweat! I need to be splashed by your sweat! It's important to me!!!!!"

"Hey, what are you guys even bitching about? At least you can afford the tickets. I don't have any money. Trent gives us everything else for free, why couldn't he make it so everyone can go to the show without paying him? I've been his absolute biggest fan for eleventy million years, and it's wrong for him to deprive me of the opportunity to see this show. IT'S HIS FAULT! DO YOU HEAR ME, TRENT? IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"


"Shut up, loser. I love him more. And because I love him more I need to be able to get way close so he can see me and know how big of a fan I am. And for the record, I've been his biggest fan for eleventy million and one years, so you can kiss my ass."


"You're just an elitist asshole. Just because you can afford to spend a lot of money doesn't make you better than me. I listen to NIN 24 hours a day. I tape headphones to my ears when I go to bed so I can listen in my sleep. I pick all the letters out of my Alphabits except N and I because it just means that much to me. I'm just so mad that now Trent has made it impossible for me to see the show. Doesn't he know that the economy is bad? Isn't he a multi-kajillionaire? Can't he just afford to keep giving us free stuff forever and ever? DOESN'T HE REALIZE THAT I'M SUFFERING HERE?"

"Idiot. Of course he can't do this for free. It's a big concert. He's got to get paid. But damn it, Trent, if I'm paying you then I should be able to get exactly what I want!! I PAY YOU!! I'M THE BOSS!! GIVE ME LIGHTS AND LASERS AND THE DANCING GIRLS!!!"


"I hate you all. I have box seats that I paid for. They cost a lot of money, but I'm rich, so I can afford them. And now I might have to be moved out of the way of all you stupid peons who don't make as much money as I do. Trent's a jerk for putting you ahead of me. Doesn't he know that I paid for the priviledge of flaunting my douchebaggery for everyone, and he's interfering with that? If you all want to be as cool as me, you should just get out there and make a lot of money. I'm tired of rock stars paying attention to poor people who care about their music when they should pay more attention to rich people like me who don't actually care."

"If rich bastard gets food and drinks and special seats, then I should at least get a beer wench! I want a beer wench! Wearing flashing lights and lasers! The music isn't enough!"



"If the Spiral were still around, we'd get beer wenches with lasers and meet and greets and little vials of Trent's saliva to take home with us. Bring back the Spiral, Trent! We're special and we deserve it!"



"Paying for a fucking fan club doesn't make you special. Anybody with money can do that. I carved the NIN logo into my left pinky toe with a spork. THAT makes me special! Send me a free ticket, Trent! Please!!!!"



"Did one of you just touch me? Oh, god, now I have poor people germs on me! Get away from me, all of you! This is all your fault, Trent! It's your fault poor people are touching me!"

"LASERS! LASERS! LASERS! LASERS! LASERS! LASERS! LASERS! LASERS!"





"I'M GONNA HOLD YOU PERSONALLY RESPONSIBLE IF I CAN'T BE FRONT AND CENTER ON THE RAIL, TRENT! I LOVE YOU!!!!"



"MY LIFE ISN'T WORTH LIVING!!!" *sobs*






"I'm going to go spend a weekend doing really expensive rich people things. You all disgust me."



*sigh*

Ticket brokers can go fuck themselves

And Trent Reznor agrees:

"Thanks to those of you pointing out the obscene ticket reseller prices. We are actively trying to combat these parasites."

"I will post more on ticket-resellers in a bit, I'm trying to take the day off. In the meantime, do your part - DON'T BUY TICKETS FROM THEM!"

Considering some of them were selling NINJA tickets before they were even available, it cannot be considered in any way ethical to do what these parasites do.

Thank god for artists like Trent who understand that the good seats should be in the hands of fans and sold at face value, not sold to ticket brokers who will turn around and assrape fans with obscene prices.

For what it's worth, Kourt and I have ninth row seats for the KC show, purchased through the nin.com presale for the regular ticket price. And that's how it should be.

All over the place...

For some reason I feel like blogging. Don't know exactly why, as my thoughts are really pretty scattered right now. I can't even decide if I'm in a good mood or not. I'm not in a particularly bad mood -- just vaguely apprehensive or stressed about something I can't put my finger on. It probably has to do with money. It always has to do with money.

On the mostly good side, today is the presale for the NIN show in Columbia. Totally pumped about the show. Totally wishing the presale wasn't until next week or the week after. But whatever, I guess. Can't argue with it. But the amount we have to spend to get the tickets (while not the most we've ever spent on that sort of thing) is an amount we probably shouldn't be spending. But it's pretty much buy now or not go, so...

I'm getting into another phase of being totally addicted to internet time-wasters of various levels of stupidity. I'm pretty good about only checking stuff inbetween doing more important things, but I still have a certain amount of guilt over it. First it was Mobsters, and then I got a couple of bimbos to take care of (one on the French site and one on the British site), and then it was the new nin.com forums (nothing says time waster like spending time on a forum with a bunch of other geeks, debating which is the best track off of each NIN album or laughing at badly photoshopped pics of Trent or trying to figure out if NIN fans generally fit into certain Myers-Briggs personality profiles...), and yesterday I signed up for a deviantart account. Yeah, okay, that last one isn't really a waste of time, but I'm sure it will take up plenty of it.

At least we're past the exhausting month of August, where Kourt and I tried way too hard to pretend we had an active social life. I don't know what we were thinking. Probably that we didn't really need sleep, which is totally false. Really very totally false. Heck, we went to a little informal get-together to celebrate Kourt's b-day and another friend's b-day, and I was so tired I kept dozing off. How sad is that?

I guess that's what's good about keeping one's social life centered on the internet. You can interact when you want to, and then turn the computer off and do all those other things you have to do in your life without interruption or disruption. And if you doze off in your chair while in a chat room, you don't have to worry about somebody writing on your face with a sharpie.

Not that anyone did that, but I heard that the idea was discussed.

Anyway, I suppose I should stop aimlessly blogging and actually get some sleep. My to-do list really isn't getting any shorter.

The whole story...

So, Kourt skimmed the highlights, but I figured I'd weigh in on the whole Linkin Park concert experience. It had it's highs and lows -- actually, by the time I got home I wasn't the happiest camper on the face of the planet, but that could partly have been due to sleep deprivation. I get cranky when I'm tired.

Anyway, we had GA tickets, like Kourt said, so since I knew she and Jerry were pretty excited about the concert I suggested we leave around noonish, so as to be there and in line by about four. Actually, the last time we drove to a concert in KC, we got there in about two and a half hours, so I was counting on a long afternoon of sitting in line in the sun.

Don't worry. I remembered to get sunscreen. If I'd burned to a crisp in addition to all the rest of what happened, I'd probably have passed out in the pit during Atreyu.

I planned to catch four or five hours of sleep before leaving, and then catch a few more while Jerry drove us up, since I had to work the night before. Well, I guess adrenaline got the best of me or something, because all I caught was about an hour and a half before we left, and it proved impossible for me to sleep in the back of a VW Beetle. **insert Mall Rats joke here** But I was pretty solidly awake all day, despite all that. However, during my attempt to sleep in the car, I wasn't paying attention to where we were going. All I knew was that Jerry said he knew a way to cut some time off our drive, so I just crafted in the back seat and paid no attention.

If not paying attention to what route we were taking was mistake number one, number two was not drinking enough on the way up. I had a Guava Rock Star (best stuff on the planet, by the way), and then a strawberry shake with lunch. No water. Don't know what the hell I was thinking.

We arrived in the late afternoon -- I think maybe somewhere around 5-ish. Granted, since Kourt and I can't ever seem to get on the road in a timely manner (this time it was getting me awake, and then having to run around for things like a bag to carry our stuff in and the sunscreen and a bandanna so my head wouldn't burn), we didn't leave until 1 or maybe a little after. Still, seemed like it took longer than it should. But hey, when we got there they hadn't even opened the gates to the parking lot, and we were only two cars back, so it was all good.

And yes, we do all know the words to "As Long As You Love Me," but only when the windows are all up.

They let us line up at about 6:30, I think, so we really weren't in line that long. Good thing, too, because by then I was already getting dehydrated. Kourt had about half of a one liter bottle of diet Mountain Dew in the car, so I got that and drank it all, which helped a little, but not quite enough. First thing I did when we got through the gate was go drop six bucks on two little 20oz bottles of water, since they made me throw the empty Mountain Dew bottle away at the gate. Even with us stopping for water and a t-shirt, though, we ended up just about four people back from the rail.

Not too shabby, I say.

Now, it should be said that, since I'm not really a veteran concertgoer, I'd never been in the pit before. In fact, this made the first non-pop arena concert I'd ever been to. The Neurosonic show was GA, but that was just a club show. And even though we were GA for a Justin Timberlake concert (VIP, actually, to be accurate), it's not like JT fans get rowdy. They just deafen you with the uber-high-pitched fangirl hysteria.

So, yeah, four rows from the rail. I felt like we'd done good, and Kourt would be happy to be that close to Chester.

The first opening act was Ashes Divide. They were really good, the crowd was in a pretty laid-back mood at that point, just enjoying the show, and didn't even crush in when Chester came out to sing with them. All was good, except that I'd finished off my bottle of water and was still thirsty and, even though I'd gone to the bathroom and come back once before the show started, I hadn't even thought to refill the thing at the sink. Yeah, I can be dumb sometimes. But really, everyone was having a good time.

And then they started setting up for Atreyu.

And the hoard of Atreyu fans began to descend. In little groups, like fan-tanks, burrowing through the pit. As if a few 100-pound waify chicks in Atreyu t-shirts with their bony little elbows are going to move 250 pounds of me when I've got my feet planted. Ha.

Yes, we did make a girl cry, after she spent the better part of what felt like half an hour digging her elbow into my bicep to try and muscle in front of me. And then there was the drunk guy with his girlfriend on his shoulders, who kept breathing his beer-breath down my neck. I can muster an extreme amount of patience if it means pissing off assholes.

Oh, and then there was the guy who got through the crowd by coming up behind people and just informing them that they were to move aside. Nearly came to blows with the guy beside us.

Plus, to win the award of "Worst Suggestion Ever," the band encouraged the entire pit to form a big mosh circle. I could be totally smoking crack on this, but I thought moshing was one of those consentual things. If you want to, fine. If not, stay the hell away from those who do. I'd have been really pissed if I'd been one of the LP fans caught up in the hurricane of Atreyu fans that, indeed, managed to get the whole middle of the pit moving in a circle. Or so I assume from the way we got pulled around down front. Thankfully, we managed to hold our spots, but it wasn't easy.

And frankly, the band sucked copious amounts of ass. I just don't even get it. But I was having fun being a bitch in the pit. Turns out that despite what I've been saying for the past few months, I am not too old for the pit. I do have a bit of an uber-bitch confrontational side. It used to only come to the surface when dealing with tech support operators on the phone, but it was in full force in the pit that night, too.

Unfortunately, by the last song in Atreyu's set, Kourt had had enough and wanted out. So we bailed and sat on the grass for Linkin Park. Frankly, if I'd realized we were going to do that, I'd have suggested we leave three hours later so I could have slept.

The concert was good, though. And in retrospect, I was bordering on real dehydration by the time we left the crowd behind, so who knows if I'd have stayed conscious through LPs set anyway. Next time I'll remember to hydrate myself in the morning. But it should be noted that a) the asshole factor in the crowd seemed to drop dramatically after Atreyu left the stage and b) at one point Chester came down off stage, right where we'd been standing.

Anyway, yeah, concert was good, Chester's voice held up well live, and we had a pretty good view even from the lawn. And then we headed back. I got us back on 71, and told Jerry to just let me know where the turn-off for his little shortcut was. Kourt sacked out in the back seat (she hadn't really slept at all the night before). Somewhere around Rich Hill, I think, we suddenly spotted something strange in the road in front of us. I swerved as far as I could to the left without rolling us into the ditch, but still clipped the HUGE PIECE OF LUMBER with the front passenger tire. HUGE hole. Had to stop and change the tire, and all I can say is thank god for a full-size spare.

We got back on the road without too much hassle, though. I was freakin' exhausted. I figured since we left KC at a bit before midnight, we'd be home by three or three thirty, even with the tire malfunction. Except we weren't. And it didn't occur to me until after we went through the "shortcut" that we'd gone all the way down almost to Carthage!!! No wonder it took more gas than we'd budgeted for. My plan had been to go up 13 to 7 to 71. You know, because the quickest route is usually the one that's the closest to a straight line. I REALLY wish I'd paid more attention on the ride up.

Sigh.

So much for getting to bed way early (well, early for us third shift workers) the night after the concert to make up for the sleep we didn't get the night before. I think we rolled into the Kum and Go at around 4:30. And so much for having t-shirt money for NIN this week, because I'll have to scrounge more money to cover the gas to St. Louis and back since Kourt's pretty much out of cash now. Well, maybe I'll still be able to do it, since my parents generously stepped in and got a new tire for Kourt's car -- hers gets better gas mileage so we don't have to take mine, and now we don't have to worry about scraping up the cash for a new tire ourselves. And I still have one more plasma donation I can squeeze in before Wednesday. Still, I think we'll have to pack bologna sandwiches or something to eat on the way instead of stopping for fast food, and just hope for no major catastrophies.

For a little while I was a little disappointed that we have seats for NIN instead of being on the floor, 'cause now that I've survived the Atreyu pit, I'm DYING to be down on the floor for Trent. But hey, he just announced yesterday that they're adding another leg to the tour and are swinging through Columbia in November. And if the crowd doesn't look to be full of assholes on Wednesday night Kourt might be game to hit the floor with me then. If not, it's cool. But I'm kinda hooked on the rush. By my reasoning, Nine Inch Nails fans should be a bit, you know, more mature about the whole thing. Smaller percentage of those "hey, I'm cool because I'm into the same flavor-of-the-moment band that all my friends like, and even though I'm really too much of a wimpy girl to survive by myself in the pit, and didn't get there early enough to be down front because I took too long to do my hair and pick out some really awesomely dangerous hoop earrings to wear, I'm okay because I've got my drunken frat-ape of a boyfriend to protect me and back me up while I piss off everybody else" girls.

Or at least that's my hypothesis.

And shouldn't crowd surfing have died off in, oh, 1999 or so? Seriously. Taking a crowd surfer limb to the head isn't my idea of fun, and I don't know about everyone else, but lifting people over my head all night does not add to my enjoyment of the show. Might be fun for the surfer, but everyone underneath just gets pissed off.

A note from a gallery owner who would like to save you artists out there some trouble...

Hello all. Yes, it's me, the shopowner who almost never updates her blog.

Today, though, I wanted to take a moment to share some of my thoughts with those of you out there who are local artists/artisans/crafters who would like to ever have a gallery or boutique consider selling whatever it is you create. And in the interest of brevity, I'll do it in the form of a list of DOs and DON'Ts.

Pay attention, please. Seriously.

DO...
...call ahead or drop by ahead of time to find out who you need to talk to, what to bring, and when they're available to meet with you. This also saves you from wasting a lot of time in the event that you don't meet the basic requirements for inclusion. And in terms of artists exhibiting for the Art Walk, it helps to make contact ahead of time so that you can find out important things like the fact that we're currently booked up until January.
DO...
...know how to talk about what you do. Be ready to answer questions about technique or your inspiration or how you got started, even if you think those answers might be lame. They're not. Just be honest. It's fine.
DO...
...have an idea in your mind about what your work is worth. If you're not sure, look around at the work of others around you who do similar things, check out the internet sites like eBay or Etsy for similar items, or just figure out how much you spend in materials and time and put a number to it.
DO...
...be professional, polite, organized, prepared, and friendly. This isn't about how you look -- hell, I've been known to dye my hair blue from time to time -- although cleanliness and not smelling bad are a good thing. But you should still be able to come in, introduce yourself, shake my hand, show that you're organized and have a professional mindset about what you do, and speak the most proper English you're capable of. And smile.
DO...
...look around and see what else is in the gallery/boutique. Be interested. Don't fake interest in the stuff you don't like, but it does pay to show that you're curious about how your work will fit in with what's already here.

DON'T...
...drop into a store unannounced with a box full of your work, hoping the shop will just fork over some money for it to help you pay some bills.
DON'T...
...be an arrogant bastard. It doesn't matter to me if you trained at some obscure knitting commune in the Himalayas or if your granny taught you when you were three, I just want to see what you make. If you're good, it'll be obvious. And frankly, some of the best artists and crafters I know were self-taught. So spouting off about how you got your degree in New York and how that is supposed to set you apart from all the ignorant locals around here isn't going to win you favor points.
DON'T...
...badmouth the work of other artists already in the gallery/boutique. One of the worst things you can do as an artist hoping to have your work in my shop is to look at one of my artists' or consigners' work and tell me their technique/eye for color/choice of materials/etc sucks. After all, I liked their work enough to put it in my shop. So keep your opinions to yourself, because they don't matter to me, or anyone else, and they make you look like an ass.
DON'T...
...treat me unprofessionally. Yes, I'm a short female who doesn't look her age (or so I'm told.) I can't grow taller, I'm not interested in a sex change operation, and I haven't yet found a way to make myself look like I'm 45 (nor do I want to). Deal with it. And by "deal with it" I mean leave the sexist comments and condescending attitudes at home. I own the place. I don't have to deal with you if I don't want to. And if you talk to me like a child, I won't want to.

That is all. For now.

No more tornados, please / I kinda want to buy my Neurosonic tickets now out of spite!

If you've read my blog on my store page from Monday, you know my store flooded in the first round of storms that came through. I was in here hunkered down while tornados ripped up everything around Springfield -- like they always do, never really coming close to downtown. I'd sandbagged the back door of the store, which is what we have to do in heavy rains because of how far below street level the back of the store is, the inadequacy of the drains, and the fact that everything back there seems to be constructed to dump water and debris directly into my stairwell. Well, the rains came up so fast and hard at about 7:30 that the stairwell got about 18" of water in it, which is far higher than we have ever had to sandbag before. It gushed in around the door and flowed through to the front door. No damage, luckily, but definitely a pain in the ass.

Thinking things were pretty much over for the night (once I squeegied water out the front door for a half an hour, leaving solitary puddles to mop up), I headed to the Kum & Go. Second shift had endured a short power outage and dealt with some water of their own, but things were under control when I got there. I figured the shift would proceed as normal, since usually these kinds of storms kick up in the evening, tear shit up for a while, and then move on up I-44.

About 2:30am I was counting down the registers and doing shift change. There were a couple of police cars in the lot, three paramedics in the store, and one customer. Two girls came in out of the rain (which had just suddenly kicked up), totally drunk and saying they'd walked from Ziggies because one of the girls refused to let the other girl accept a ride from a creepy stranger, and they didn't want to get a cab. They proceeded to make complete idiots of themselves for about fifteen minutes before finally heading down National. On foot, because by then the rain had stopped.

Evidently that was the calm you always hear about right before a tornado hits.

We were there at the counter laughing about the girls when the rain suddenly kicked up again. Hard. Winds, too, to the point that the rain was going almost horizontal.

Then it went something like this:

"Oh, man, those girls are going to be sorry they didn't get a cab." ::wind starts blowing doors open, can barely see through the rain:: "Um..." ::everyone backs away from doors:: "Guys, I think maybe we should..." ::80 mph winds slam both doors open, debris appears out of nowhere, definite feeling the windows were about to shatter:: "AAAAAAHHH!!!" ::everyone runs for the back room::

Okay, nobody actually screamed, but we ran like hell. Everybody but one of the EMTs, who was in the bathroom convinced he was about to die a very undignified death while peeing.

I don't know if it's been confirmed, but whether or not it actually touched down I'm pretty sure it was a tornado that demolished Harry Cooper Supply, skimmed over the Kum & Go (luckily), and then hit the AT&T building, whatever other warehouse it tore down, and the Krispy Kreme. I know the only reason we didn't lose all our windows was that the doors open either way on both sides of the lobby, so the wind just threw them open and the pressure didn't build up enough. We lost power for about five minutes, the EMT who was just getting off duty had her car window smashed by a flying trash can, we lost most of the panels from our sign, a bunch of the metal face plates on the gas pumps were torn down as well as one of the endcaps, and a crapload of insulation and wood from Harry Cooper ended up in our parking lot.

I took those with my cell phone, and they really don't adequately capture the scene, but whatever.

The good thing was, though, that I had an ambulance crew and a half there with me, so if anything had happened I wouldn't have had to wait for a dispatch.

So, you know, I was really glad when my shift ended. I was exhausted by the time I fell into bed.

Then yesterday (and here comes the big rant -- I thought maybe if i let it stew overnight I'd be less pissed off, but no) I go to my store only to be ambushed by my mother over wanting to see Neurosonic in Oklahoma City in March.

See, a few months back I ordered a K&G polar fleece to wear at work. Well, actually, I mistakenly ordered two, and couldn't return the extra. I was going to post it on eBay or something, but my mom volunteered to buy it instead and rip out the logo stitching, since they really are very nice jackets -- thus the $55 price tag. She wrote me a check. I thought I deposited it right away, but evidently I forgot about it because she called my Sunday night saying that it hadn't cleared her bank yet. I found the check still sitting in my purse and, Monday afternoon, told her that I had located it and would deposit it. She said, "There, now you have an extra $55." And me, like an idiot, said, "Yeah, I can use it towards those Neurosonic tickets."

After 32 years in this family, you'd think I'd know better.

See, I've had to borrow quite a bit of money from my parents to get Fashioned By Jaye running. I still borrow just a little here and there to fill the gaps. I don't get much money for myself. The only reason I was able to buy Kourt a Christmas gift, dye my hair, and go out for New Years (the subject, of course, of another of mom's little financial lectures) was that Kourt's parents sent me a monetary gift for Christmas. I mooch food off mom and dad on a regular basis, and otherwise I mostly eat Kum & Go food that I don't have to pay for. We've eaten out recently only because, again, Kourt's parents sent us restaurant gift cards. They bought us Guitar Hero III as well, or else we still wouldn't have it. I buy gas and cigarettes, food and litter for the cats, household necessities, and occasionally fast food or snacks at the Kum & Go when I feel like I've got the five bucks to spare. Other than my work uniform and the stuff I got for Christmas (thanks to Kourt's parents sending a gift card), I haven't bought clothes in probably a year. Haven't made an iTunes purchase of over a dollar in at least six months. Honestly? I didn't even buy Neurosonic's album. I got it from Lindsay. Every concert I've seen in the last couple of years -- a grand total of 2, mind you -- were on either Kourt's dime or her parents'. If it weren't for Kourt's parents, I wouldn't really have much in the way of non-necessities, and Kourt can attest to the fact that I really don't like accepting so much stuff from them. Really, the vast majority of my money funnels right into the store.

But evidently I don't know anything about making sacrifices or setting priorities or any of that. I'm not entitled to occasionally do something I really want to do, even if it's not expensive, unless Mom approves, because she basically owns me. And, of course, there's no way in the world she would understand why going to a concert might be something I really want to do.

I'm 32 fucking years old! What the hell?!?!

And the money I've borrowed is a loan. A loan. Like, we have a contract and an amortization schedule and the whole nine yards. No bank would be able to swoop in and tell me I couldn't buy tickets or spend gas money to see a concert. It's not like I wanted to be indebted to my parents like this, and it's not like I'm not trying like hell to get to the point where I'm not under their financial thumb. And I know that if I was this gung-ho about going to see some gospel quartet in concert, she'd just buy me the tickets and give me the gas money, because that's an entirely noble thing to want to do. Rock concert? In a bar? Nope, can't possibly be worthwhile.

I know I pissed her off pretty royally, too, though, because the last thing I said after a twenty-minute yelling match was, "You know now that you've brought it up and we've argued about it, even if Kourt bought them or somehow I got the tickets for free, you'd never believe me that I didn't just go buy them myself, which is exactly why your kids don't tell you things!" Which, yes, was a teensy bit meaner than I usually get when arguing with her, but also very true. And no matter what happens, I'm sure we'll have this fight all over again in March, 'cause there's no way in hell I'm not going.

I don't know why I didn't just do the smart thing Monday afternoon and say, "Yeah, that's $55 you won't have to lend me this month," buy the tickets anyway, and then make up a story to tell her in March about getting them for free or really cheap or somebody else buying them.

God, it's like being in junior high and high school all over again. Back then I chalked it up to me hitting puberty at the same time she hit menopause (oh what fun it is to have parents old enough to be your grandparents), but really I think she's just like that. Encouraging and supportive right up until you make a choice she wouldn't make if she were in your shoes, at which point she steps in to make you conform to her way of thinking. I told her that, too. She ought to still be nice and pissed off when I come into the store tonight.

It's not like I don't appreciate the fact that they work in the store with no pay so that I can work a second job, because without that help I'd have been totally screwed a long time ago, due to quite a few circumstances I had no way to forsee (it's not like I didn't spend extensive time writing a 60 page business plan or anything). But most of the time I don't even feel like I have control of my own business anymore. Not to be discriminatory, but a 70-year-old couple would not be my first choice for employees, from the standpoint of the store's image. She shares way more of my life story with customers than I'm comfortable with, and feels way more entitled to making off-hand decisions about the business than any real employee would. But I don't have to pay my parents, so that's what I'm stuck with.

I guess on the positive side, she does clean like there's no tomorrow and I know she's not stealing from me.

Anyway, I've come to the conclusion that dealing with the stress of working a full five days at the Kum & Go (life really got a ton easier when I dropped down to four nights a week) is better than the stress of being financially shackled to my mother, so I'm putting myself back on the "work myself to an early grave" track. The less free time I have, the less excuse I have to deal with my mom. So there's two bonuses.

Maybe with the raise I'm getting, I can get her off my back totally.

Well, that was an interesting night

If plans had gone off without a hitch tonight, we'd be almost in Poplar Bluff right now. Blah.

Art Walk went pretty well, evidently. I missed most of it. I did get to witness the first sale made to somebody not related to me, which did actually reduce my stress quite a bit. I was a little worried that tonight might pass without any sales and then I'd be pretty upset. Luckily that wasn't the first of the crappy news for the night.

Probably we shouldn't have left the store, 'cause it kinda went downhill from there.

We stopped to get burgers, and the chick at Sonic put cheese on Kourt's burger. We were running a few minutes late, so we didn't turn around to get a new burger. We just swapped, which wasn't exactly a perfect solution.

Then, before I was even done with my burger, though, I noticed an odd noise from the car. Okay, yes, Kourtnie's bumper is held on mostly with various colors of duct tape. But this was a different noise, and it was accompanied by a scraping and some resistance on the front left tire. So we pulled over into the parking lot at the Missouri Sports Hall of Fame to see what was going on.

Well, long story short, we couldn't easily fix the flap of plastic which had disconnected from the taped-on bumper and was rubbing and flapping against the tire, so we ended up sitting in that parking lot for an hour and a half waiting for my parents to drive downtown, get my car, and then drive it out to me.

Of course, by the time they did all that, we'd decided to drive to PB in the morning instead of arriving two hours late tonight.

All in all a really great night.

Blah.

Thank goodness Amy sold a bunch of stuff at the store. Otherwise I'd be in a royally crappy mood.

This festival had better the hell be fun.