The Lie That ‘Gilmore Girls’ Tells

 

 

I love Gilmore Girls. I’ve seen the entire series at least three times over. It was a huge bonding experience with my mom. It’s portrayal of mother/daughter relationships is the most accurate I’ve ever seen. I love how all of the characters have massive flaws, making the whole show more realistic, albeit frustrating at times. But in the midst of the relationship truths and daily obstacles there is a secret lie that Gilmore Girls tells and it has to do with women’s bodies.

Lorelai and Rory eat whatever they want, whenever they want and however much they want. Breakfast is donuts and pop tarts. Cheeseburgers, pizza, and take-out are a daily thing. There’s some sort of TV/junk food binge every other episode. There are jokes galore about the “Lorelai Effect” which is some sort of cosmic force which permits them to eat anything and not get fat.

Then there is Sookie, an amazing gourmet chef that obsesses over perfect ingredients. She goes out of her way to find locally grown produce and hormone free poultry. Everything she makes is a gourmet concoction which every Foodie would love to try and have the recipe for. She is never shown eating junk food, or even eating for that matter – not that I recall. She’s on her feet all day long, cooking and directing her kitchen staff and then often goes home and makes huge, healthy dinners for her husband.

And she’s the fat friend.

 

 

Am I the only one who finds a problem with this?

Sookie is the fat friend, yet she is the only character besides Richard and Emily who maintains a long term relationship throughout the show.

Sookie is the fat friend, yet she doesn’t binge watch TV or eat chemical laiden junk.

Sookie is the fat friend, yet she rescues Lorelai in every food dilemma she has. (Her mother’s events, her father’s health issues, making her breakfast whenever she has a fight with Luke…”

However, repeatedly throughout the show Sookie is made out to be the ridiculous one because the character is not only fat, but accident prone and demanding in her profession.

Melissa McCarthy is one of my favorite people. She’s an amazing actor who’s not afraid to get down and dirty (Bridesmaids). I was so excited when I found out that she’s launching her own clothing line and horrified to find out that she was not included in the Gilmore Girls reunion. Recently I’ve seen “articles” about McCarthy’s weight loss being attributed to diet pills – which is not only a false representation of the actor and her work campaigning for body positivity but also takes advantage of all of the women who see her as a role model.

 

 

Recently my mom and I were talking about pop tarts for breakfast and the Gilmore Girls. I usually have them on hand for the kids and sometimes I’ll grab a package too if I’m rushed…or if I just want one. Lorelai and Rory eat pop tarts and they’re thin. Why can’t we do that? What’s wrong with us? Why can’t we eat what we want and look like Lorelai?

Because it’s TV.

And it’s a lie.

I Don’t Want to be Washed Out

I am deeply in love with Womanist Theology, but I cannot call myself a womanist because I don’t have the experience of a black woman. And experience is central to the hermeneutics of suspicion. Alice Walker in In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens says “Womanist is to feminist as purple is to lavender.” And when I consider the experience of white women, this washed out definition seems accurate. In my class at seminary, “Reading the Bible from the Margins” one of our first topics of discussion was African American Spirituals. In listening to the spirituals and reading about how they are created I was struck by how their development depended so much upon both emotion and community involvement. Spirituals usually begin with someone saying/singing/shouting something out from a place of faith and emotionally charged worship. Then others pick up that phrase and add to it affirming that person’s addition.

This doesn’t happen in white communities. White women, for the most part, don’t have that affirmation that would give them the confidence to speak out to that degree. Walker, in coining the term, “womanist” describes it as an affirmation to a young black girl by an older relative, “Girl, you actin’ womanish.” As in, “You are a woman.” The moment that most white girls are told that they are a woman is when they get their period for the first time. This “rite of passage” Effectively links the word “woman” to embarrassment, sexuality, and something that has to be hidden.

White women are taught to be reserved and hide their emotions. If we are too emotional then we could be seen as incapable and histrionic. We live in fear of being misunderstood or thought of as too smart or too stupid. In Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones Bridget repeats the phrase “Inner Poise” to help control herself in social situations. Inner poise, inner poise, inner poise. But really Bridget’s aspiration to inner poise is an illustsration of how women, white women in this case, are expected to keep our expressions placid and our bodies elegant.

So we get our periods (something that is just now starting to be accepted as normal and not something to be ashamed of), we grow up, and we don’t know how to handle our emotions. When we don’t know that it’s ok to be angry or sad, years of emotional repression manifests into panic attacks, anxiety, depression and very real physical issues like fibromyalgia.

As an example, I have a little story featuring my beloved Aunt Chris.

When I was in the ninth grade, my Aunt Chris surprised me by coming to my biology class to give me my new clarinet which she bought when mine broke. I was so excited and it was so beautiful and I felt so loved but I didn’t know how to express it. Chris said later that she was surprised at how reserved I was.  I didn’t know how to not be reserved. That’s how my mom taught me because in her experience if she was too emotional she would not be taken seriously. People would think she was crazy. She would be met with sexist comments. The list goes on.

Chris was the ultimate rebel. She didn’t hide her emotions. People would say she had no tact, no filter, etc. But really she was living her life, audaciously  by refusing to conform to the expectation of a white woman’s inner poise. She wanted to be purple. She didn’t want to be washed out.

 

 

 

 

 

under the shade of the birthday balloon tree

Life is sweet here under the shade of the birthday balloon tree,

far away from the real world of want.

The light shines in and tosses primary colors on the walls, the books, the laundry

Cartoon jingles mix in the air with the vital smells of coffee.

Momma can you help me, let me show you, do you want to see?

Misadventures in Indian Cooking

It’s part of my genetic programming to make sure that everyone is fed. It’s just as well since my future career is the mom from My Big Fat Greek Wedding. I go to the extreme though because on any given night (assuming I have the energy and we’re not doing take-out) I’m making at least three different meals; one that’s kid friendly, one that’s Joe friendly (Joe friendly cuisine is similar to kid friendly cuisine but with seasoning), and one for me that’s a little crazy. So in this age of self care I am actually making myself more stressed out because most of the time I don’t want to eat “kid food.” Eating what I want is part of my self care. Indian food is my comfort food. And there may come a time when we don’t live near an Indian restaurant that delivers (WOE BE THE DAY). So I have taken it upon myself to learn how to cook it.

So last night I attempted an important Indian staple; Tikka Masala. I’ve made it before, but I don’t remember what recipe I used. So this time I kind of did whatever I wanted. It didn’t work too well. I’m not sharing this post because I’m a cooking guru and I must impart my wisdom unto the world. I’m sharing this post because I can tell you how to NOT make tikka masala.

I will say my rice turned out pretty well. I did basmati rice – of course – and I cooked it in light coconut milk instead of water. I put in a little Chinese five spice too – Joe’s suggestion. A damn good one. Cook this for 20 minutes until you realize it’s not done and there’s not enough liquid. Add a little water, put the lid back on and cook it for an undetermined amount of time until it’s perfect.

Perfection is a subjective concept.

For the sauce, first roast a red bell pepper. I thought that this was GENIUS. I don’t like things super spicy and I thought that this would be just awesome. So I drizzled a gorgeous red pepper with olive oil and put it in the oven at 425. Meanwhile I watched an episode of Dear Genevieve while the kids played with Megablocks on the floor. It came out like this.

On the underside were gorgeous burned edges that Francis Mallman would be proud of. I let it cool, diced it up, and set it aside. (In the end, I couldn’t tell the difference. I think I would have been better off with actual chili peppers).

Step two, have your significant other peel and mince several cloves of garlic and an onion. (Delegation is key whilst keeping children happy.)

Throw the garlic and onion in a hot skillet with some ghee (ghee is clarified butter. I just happened to have this in my fridge from when I was on my Paleo kick. It’s a staple fat in Indian cooking) Then you add your spices. In an episode of The Mind of a Chef a tip given was to think of all of these spices as colors. So when you’re cooking try to use all of them. Here’s my color wheel.

Starting from the bottom left: coriander, curry, garam masala, cumin, chili powder, paprika, and in the middle is a smattering of aleppo (aleppo is a mild ground pepper). As my kleptomaniac great grandmother would have said, “Now, isn’t that pretty?” There is a fault here and it’s not with the huge amount of garam masala and curry. The cumin and chili powder need to be replaced with more garam masala and curry. I will tell you why. Later.

So I mixed all of this up until the onions were translucent – as much as I could tell covered with spices as they were. Then you add the pepper. And these babies.

Ooooooh. Organic. Fancy.

Let me be perfectly clear. This is too much damn tomato. Don’t do it. Next time I’ll do the big can but not the small one. Anyway all of this went in and I suddenly didn’t have any room in the skillet for chicken or cream. So everybody got moved to a stock pot.

Let this cook for a while. Then, if you have an immersion blender use it to get the sauce all velvety. I have an immersion blender, but I couldn’t find the damn thing so I poured the whole pot into a blender for like, a couple minutes.

Then return it all to the pot and you get to add the cream.

Now, isn’t that pretty? Keep adding cream until it’s the right color. Don’t ask me what color – that’s a personal preference. I like mine a little darker than vodka sauce.

Then you add the chicken. Did I marinate raw chicken overnight in a lovely mixture of yogurt, lemon and spices? Hahahahahahahahahahaha.

No.

This is where Vishnu cries ladies and gentlemen. This is where the entire nation of Great Britain openly weeps. I DESECRATED tikka masala by using CANNED CHICKEN. SHOOT ME.

Yeah and I bought the naan too.

I don’t have a final picture because I can tell you what it looked like. It looked like what it tasted like. Chicken chili. This is how Joe described it, and it’s accurate. I was edible. It was a good attempt. And for my dear sweet husband who will only tolerate tandoori chicken and abhors curry, I was touched that he liked it.

But for the love of all that is good and holy, don’t make tikka masala the way I did.

A Post for Joe

Consistently posting to my blog is a learning process. The last few weeks have been exceptionally busy and I’ve somehow managed to also load them with “timewasters” contrary to a previous preachy blog about not binge watching anything anymore. I am a hypocrite and that has gone completely out the window. We all need ways to counteract stress (or load more on, whichever one comes first).

When I was finishing my undergrad there was a guy in one of my English classes that would write a list of stupid things that people said for his own amusement and to help keep him awake.

I do something similar, but instead of stupid things it’s a running list of brilliant ism’s from the man who helps me combat stress on an hourly basis. So as an Ode to him, my Joe, I want to share this list.

1. Daddo turns bottom wiping into a union operation.

2. That panic attack yesterday brought back a lot of nostalgia.

3. Breathing is extracurricular.

4.You know what Sonic needs? A liquor license.

5. It was Mount Sinai in her diaper. There were two stone tablets at the top. It was the              ten commandments. It was a holy shit.

6. That’s a coherent thought I just made, right?

7. I love how you have to be government contract specific with the boys.

After I had Petal and Joe got to see me manage the baby, which he never got to see before with the boys, he told me this, “You have another dimension of beauty I’ve never gotten to see.”

Thank you for calming me down when I’m upset, angry and stressed: you help me to put things in perspective without making me feel guilty about the things I’m not getting done. You are my partner, always sweet and funny.

Love.

Playlists for Posterity – The Car List

This morning Daddo held his hands over his ears emphatically saying, “Men Without Hats? AGAIN?” It’s true I’ve become more than reasonably obsessed with “Safety Dance.” I’ve discovered that Men Without Hats Radio on Pandora is one of the greatest station choices I’ve made. Ever. New Wave should make a comeback. But my kids, young as they are, have a very distinctive musical taste on their own. And apparently they’re not too young to criticize mine. When they’re teenagers I want to be able to say, “When you were five we listened to this song TWENTY NINE BILLION TIMES.” So I thought I’d make a list of their favorites for posterity. The following is our car playlist – because the car is where we ask them the most, “What do you want to listen to?”

1.  Hey There Delilah – Every single morning for a year, after dropping Pickle off at school, Daddo and I would listen to this gem from my high school days over and over again on the way to his pre-school. He LOVED it. Every now and then he’ll still ask for it.
2. Ring of Fire – This is the song that is helping the boys grow out of their “literal phase.” I spent half an hour explaining to them why Johnny Cash isn’t talking about an actual ring of fire. Besides, of course they like it. They’re Texans.
3. Gangnam Style – I take no responsibility for this. For the longest time this “song” was the bane of Joe’s existence. But man, the boys thought it was HILARIOUS. It’s currently banned.
4. Roundtable Rival – I can turn on any Lindsey Stirling song and Pickle will say, “It’s Lindsey Stirling!” We all love “Roundtable Rival” for it’s sheer awesomeness and I never mind repeats.
5. Skyrim – AKA “The Knight Song,” another Lindsey Stirling favorite. The boys always want to watch the video too. Dylan likes knowing names and wanted to make sure he knew who Peter Hollens was when I first introduced him to this.
6. My heart was a lonely hunter – This is actually one of mine because A Love Song for Bobby Long is one of my favorite movies. But Pickle loves this song and you can tell it calms him down.
7. Let it go – Not so much anymore but during the Frozen craze the boys loved this song as much as any Elsa crazy little girl. Daddo is also a really big fan of Olaf.
8. Rio – Another song from a movie with a surprisingly awesome soundtrack.
9. Whiskey for my men, Beer for my horses – I hate, loathe, and despise country music so the fact that I will endure this song over and over should be a testament to how much I love my children. Plus it’s pretty adorable when Daddo starts singing this on his own.
10. Budapest – This is Petal’s favorite. At just seven months old, I have to applaud her taste. George Ezra has an incredible voice.
11. Dark Horse – This is another song that the boys think is funny, especially after seeing the Katy Perry Baby

I leave you with this.

10 things you should be able to do one-handed as a parent

Petal is my third child. And it’s been a while since I’ve taken care of a baby. There are things that I remember and things that I’ve conveniently forgotten. And I’ve been thinking about when the boys were babies. I remember everyone telling me when I was pregnant with Pickle, “Oh, it’s going to change your life!” And I remember thinking, “Duh.” The thing is, it’s easy to tell new parents platitudes like that. But I think there’s a conspiracy at work here. People who have had children don’t really tell people who are about to have children exactly what’s going to change. Instead they sit back and watch the hilarity with a glass of wine in their hand thanking God that they don’t have to do it anymore.

The major cliché for new parents is this: two jetsetters with stable careers deciding they’re going to have a baby thinking they know exactly what they’re getting themselves into because they won’t be able to up and leave on spontaneous weekend excursions anymore.

Who the hell does that, anyway? I mean really.

This particular fantasy makes people think two things. 1. That they are more successful and fabulous than they really are at their jobs, so of course they’ll be fashionable and awesome at parenting. 2. That the little weekend thing is the only thing that will change in their lives. Clearly they won’t be able to go on short notice anymore. They’ll need at least 24 hours to call a babysitter.

So back to reality…. no one tells you how it will change your DAILY lives.

But I will.

You will lose an arm.

I’m not kidding.

Unless you want to hear crying and screaming and pitiful whimpering you will lose an arm because you’ll be carrying a baby on your hip 85% of your waking hours. Of course there are baby carriers that you can wear – but what attachment parents won’t tell you is that sometimes, just sometimes babies don’t like being in them. Like two of mine.

So I wrote up a handy little list of things you should be able to do one-handed as a parent. Anyone who is not yet a parent should attempt to do all of these things while carrying a 20lb sack of rice.

1. Brush your teeth. This can actually make a crying baby stop crying. Petal thinks it’s fascinating.
2. Apply make-up. There’s a reason why the bottom of mascara tubes are flat. It’s so that you can set it down while holding the brush in your free hand so that the baby won’t stick her fingers in a bunch of black goo.
3. Use nasal spray. There’s an art to this. What you do is while your first and middle finger are poised to push down, you hold one nostril closed with your ring finger. It also takes a bit of coordination to hold, push, sniff, and breathe all at the same time.
4. Wipe. I’m talking honestly here. I haven’t had to do this with Petal, but Pickle was a traumatized baby from a couple of hospitalizations and there were days when I literally NEVER put him down.
5. Wash dishes. This is an absolutely necessary skill if you want to be able to cook/eat. It helps if you balance the dish/skillet, etc on the already full sink of dishes as a sort of platform with which you can leverage against the side of the sink so that what you’re washing doesn’t slide all over the place.
6. Open a box of diapers. This is a long and arduous process, but necessary because you can’t survive without diapers. First you have to get through the outer tape which sometimes you can peel off and sometimes you can rip by holding the box firmly between your knees and yanking the flaps with your free hand. Then comes the fun part of trying to poke a hole through the plastic with your fingernails (if you have fingernails). An alternative is grabbing the tiny baby nail clippers and slowly snipping an opening big enough to tear open the diapers – which still takes a log time one handed. You have to do it in sections. Rip a section of plastic then jump ahead several inches and rip that section, continuing thus until there’s a space large enough from which to pull the coveted object through. The other day Joe watched me do this, not because he’s mean or unhelpful, he was just enjoying the free entertainment.
7. Unload the dishwasher. This actually isn’t that difficult. The hard part is the bending and stooping to put things away while carrying a grabby baby.
8. Start a load of laundry. As with #7 you kind of have to get in touch with your inner yogi which in normal circumstances wouldn’t be a thing.
9. Pump gas. This isn’t always necessary. Usually you can leave the baby in the car seat, especially if they’re sleeping. But if you have offspring like mine that start crying as soon as the vehicle isn’t moving anymore you will at one point have to attempt this. But again, it’s FASCINATING.
10. Shop. Both online and in person. Shopping online with an awake baby is like juggling. Except that you’re juggling a live baby, a computer with BUTTONS, and a credit card that looks really delicious. With shopping in person you have a little more flexibility because generally babies will tolerate riding in a cart or stroller for an amount of time that seems to have been predetermined by a secret baby committee. What you do have to deal with while shopping out in the world is a variety of mostly unanswerable questions. Is there a changing table in the restroom? Can I leave my cart/basket full of unpaid items so that I can go change this blow out diaper? How am I going to change this diaper without a changing table or the stroller? I can go out to the car but what about my cart/basket of unpaid items? if I forfeit the cart/basket am I going to have to go back through the store and do all of the shopping over again? This is to say nothing of the Olympic caliber skill of holding a cranky baby on your hip while pushing a heavy cart ONE-HANDED.

The Best Sporting Event Ever: 3 Sites to Get You Started

Let’s get something clear, and for anyone who knows me they already know this. I could care less about sports. Superbowl? Who the hell cares? But there’s a sport out there that is as dangerous and thrilling as skydiving. It’s a race that if you say the wrong thing your fall will be as quick and deadly as if you were falling from a plane without a chute. Politics, baby. And for anyone who wishes that they were more involved in politics here are three vital links to get you started.

1. The 2016 U.S. Presidential Race: A Cheat Sheet

The first step is to get to know the players and the non-players. This article by David A. Graham is the short and sweet version (and pretty spectacular). If you want something longer and a little ridiculous go to The 2016 Republican Candidates. I say ridiculous because apparently Carly Fiorina “stands poised to bring the rare blend of feminine gender and high-level business credentials to the race…” I wasn’t aware that that was a rare blend – but it sounds delicious, like a pipe tobacco or spice mix….

2. 2016 Presidential Debate Schedule

The debates are the playing field. The stadium. The ring. For all of the other obsessive planners out there that like to put everything in the world on their calendar. This way you can actually plan to watch the debate instead of pretending like the reason you missed it was because of your indifference. Even though we all know you’re interested.

3. 2016 Debates

WWE Chairman Vince McMahon, center, held by “Stone Cold” Steve Austin, prepares to have his hair cut off by Donald Trump, left, and Bobby Lashley, right, after Lashley defeated Umaga at Wrestlemania 23 at Ford Field in Detroit, Sunday, April 1, 2007. (AP Photo/Carlos Osorio)

The debate coverage by Politico is a really hardcore sports section. It’s old school. And when I say ‘old school’ I mean the really good old days when Preston Brooks beat the crap out of Charles Sumner with a cane in 1856. People get all shocked and excited when the candidates take a verbal jab at each other but we’re forgetting how vicious politics has always been. When Trump described the debates as being a little bit like pro wrestling I’d say that’s a pretty accurate description. It’s also like hockey. People only watch it because of the fights.

Don’t be afraid of getting involved people. You may not understand everything, you may not be up to date on all the issues. There’s nothing wrong with that. Don’t be afraid to comment – you can’t possibly be stupider than the candidates themselves.

A Random Smattering of Laura Ingalls Wilder, Monty Python, a Feminist View of Pinterest and WEIRD People

Checking In

Reading: Walden, Attfield’s Environmental Ethics (Class), Haidt’s The Righteous Mind (Class)

I started reading Tender Buttons by Gertrude Stein last week and quit after about a page. Then I googled it and found out that it’s a toss up on whether or not this is a literary joke or a brilliant experiment with language. I also found out that the first poem (according to Wikipedia which I am well aware is not a legitimate critical source), “A Carafe, That is a Blind Glass” is one of the most famous and is “often cited as one of the quintessential works of Cubist literature.” I’m convinced that this is only the case because everyone stopped reading after this first poem. Anyone who got any further than that was reinforced by at least one bottle of wine.

Projects: Drawn thread/pulled work sampler

Drawn Work Sampler – progress

You can see I had some tension issues with the honeycomb pulled work but I’m loving the diamond hem stitch stripe which is underneath the needle.

I actually cleared off the dining room table for a family dinner last night and moved the boys’ unfinished dreamcatchers which had taken up residence there for oh…. a long time. I will finish those soon though because I told Pickle and Daddo that I would.

Also worked on my mohair shawlett while watching The Physician.

Watching: The Physician (on Netflix, halfway through, really like it so far), Fear the Walking Dead pilot episode, AbFab mostly for background noise.

Time Wasters: Yes. There has been quite a bit of Facebooking, Pinterest, Modcloth, and I recently discovered the Ikea app, unfortunately.

But ah Pinterest.

This morning I was perusing Pinterest during breakfast, as is often my custom, and I started thinking (always dangerous and never permanent) that Pinterest is a community. A huge and impersonal community mind you, but a teaching/learning community which has been missing in our lives for a while.

Think about the Little House on the Prairie. The Ingalls’ knew how to do things. They knew how to build houses, grow food, make things, survive in the depths of winter. They learned these things from their parents and their community in Wisconsin. Most of us don’t know how to do things anymore. Most of our parents don’t know how to do things anymore. They spent their lives (are still spending their lives) working. Jobs. For Money. And during that time in which they were working they were instilling in us (my generation) the desperate need to get a college degree. My mom doesn’t have a degree and to her the Bachelor’s Degree was the Holy Grail, the Golden Ticket to any career anywhere. That’s not the case anymore. My degree in English is largely useless on its own. English majors can talk about Emerson and Marx, Kant and Dickens but we can’t build things or preserve food. So here’s my generation with our college degrees and no real-life tangible skills to speak of and we don’t know how to do things. And to answer this need here’s Pinterest with unlimited access to blogs and tutorials. Our own little community of Wisconsin wisdom to teach us how to tap trees for syrup.

(My mom did teach me how to cook, sew and crochet but she hasn’t gone to an office from 8 to 6 in about 10 years, so we’ve had time to do some things.)

Peruse Pinterest carefully however.

I recently ran across a blog whose tagline I strongly disagree with – “Helping women to find contentment in what God created them to be.”  This is really bad theology. First of all it is an extreme generalization indicating that God created all women to be homemakers. Where is it written that all women must be housewives and homemakers? This is insulting. God created women to be prophets and teachers (Deborah), leaders in the Church (Lydia), Rulers, Businesswomen; our vocations are as varied as men’s. Therefore if you’re not finding contentment in what someone thinks God created you to be then maybe it’s time to discern what your vocation really is.

Goals (It’s good to have them apparently): 1.) more family dinners – at the table – without Iron Chef or Chopped on TV. Last night we did just that with Melody Gardot on Pandora and you would have thought it was Christmas by the boys’ reactions. Felt So Guilty. Once again, see Perfect Madness: Motherhood in the Age of Anxiety. I keep pushing it because every mother in the western world needs to read it.

Sidenote: In Haidt’s The Righteous Mind, he writes about studying the Ethic of Divinity (different from the ethic of morality) for his dissertation and uses the acronym WEIRD to describe the group of people that had the strangest views on ethics as opposed to the majority of people who thought another way. Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich and Democratic. Haidt says, “The WEIRDer you are, the more you see a world of separate objects, rather than relationships.” I would love to write a research paper on how this statement relates to motherhood in the WEIRD world.

I digress.

Another goal is to start reading the news more and Facebook less. I could lie and say it’s to be a more active participant in the world, but really it’s because I need to choose a topic for my final paper in Environmental Ethics. A class which I cannot sit through without singing the “Philosopher’s Song” in my head.