You Should Be Ashamed of Yourself

If I could wish one thing for my nieces and nephews it would be to grow up without shame. It's an amazingly sensitive subject that makes me a little jumpy to explore. It's very edgy for me.

I guess I'm like a lot of people and I feel shame for feeling shame.

I started thinking about it after a short interaction I had with someone and after reading this article in the New York Times today. The article talks about whether doctors should lecture their patients about being overweight and it makes the point that people who are too heavy are already very aware of that fact. Because it's not a surprise revelation, making them feel shame about their weight is a shortsighted and ineffective approach. In fact, it will most likely have the opposite effect of the one intended, making the person feel even worse about themselves resulting in more self-loathing and self-destructive behavior.

Shame is such a harmful and agonizingly painful feeling. I think it's that harsh inner judge repeating the critical comments we have heard from others. Things like: "Why would you do such a thing." "What is wrong with you." "You should be ashamed of yourself."

And it's handy. As a discipline it works extremely well. Someone who has been shamed has the appropriately contrite reaction. The unacceptable behavior stops, replaced by blushing, head hanging and penitent acceptance. There is nothing like shame to keep someone in line.

I found myself using this technique myself recently (I'm ashamed to say) by asking someone how they could be so blasé about something. It wasn't a fair question and it was teeming with accusation and judgment. I wanted to immediately take it back, but it had already elicited the "correct" response and I was stuck with their reaction and my remorse.

I have been on the receiving end as well. I was publicly shamed by someone on an airplane to Hawaii recently and it's an experience that will stay with me for the rest of my life. But hand-in-hand with that excruciatingly painful experience came an incredible affirmation of the power one change agent can have.

As we deplaned, a woman caught up and walked with me to the baggage claim. She had heard what the other woman said to me on the plane and was kind and bold enough to tell me just how wrong she thought the other woman's comments were. "I know I wouldn't have been able to hold my tongue in your place," she said. "And I just want you to know that I thought her behavior was rude and unacceptable."

The tears I had been holding back from the bitterness of the first experience leaked out with this woman's kindness. That sour experience was immediately turned sweet and the lesson learned entirely different than it would have been otherwise. I'm indebted to her for both her compassion and for her poetic apologue. From that small experience we became friends and she even invited me to the North Shore for a home-cooked meal.

Her example is a roadmap through shame. I hope someday I can be that same agent of change with a gun to shame's head.

Deserve It

Vanity plates and bumper stickers are curious forms of expression. Most of the time they are cliche and unnecessary. They don't tell you much more than you can already surmise just by looking at the type of car and the person driving. The little white people stickers in the back window of minivans and suburbans are the funniest. It's certainly a Utahism to have so many kid stickers they stretch the entire width of the oversized back window. It's even funnier that they want to document every one of the 14 occupants inside.

Today as I was driving to work I pulled up behind a car with a vanity plate that said "DSERVET." This was the message on a little white Hyundai with a blue fender and a smashed-in side door. I guess they truly feel that they deserve it.

The Jonas Brothers Trump Miley Cyrus

My nephew, Jeremy, had a great idea the other night at the Stadium of Fire. As we were waiting impatiently in the 100 degree heat to go in to the stadium, he looked up at me and said, "When we get in there let's find your president and tell him to get the Jonas Brothers to come sing instead of Miley Cyrus."

I told him that was a great idea and made a mental note to figure out who the Jonas Brothers were. I told Jeremy that unfortunately this year it was too late for the Jonas Brothers to come, so we were stuck with Miley. "Well then, let's find your president and tell him that next year when we come, we want to see the Jonas Brothers."

Another great idea.

So, after a long night of funny blue men, a screechy teenager prancing around the stage and flipping her hair, and a spectacular fireworks show that left us covered in ashes, we were finally walking back to our car when Jeremy said, "Wait. We didn't tell your president about my great idea to get the Jonas Brothers next year."

I guess I better go meet the president and give him a message from Jeremy.

The Little Brown Dress

Tonight my friend Rob introduced me to the most interesting blog about a woman who decided to wear the same "little brown dress" for a year--every day, all the time. Here is the link to her blog in case you are as enthralled by this concept as I am. I think it's brave and interesting. And, it's such a commentary on consumerism and feminism and poverty and a plethora of other "meanings" you can attach to this kind of performance art. I wish I would have thought of it. Or more accurately, I wish I was brave enough to embark on such a journey and stick with it for a year.

She designed and sewed the dress herself and then wore it while working and playing and dancing and gardening and everything except swimming and sleeping. She started on her birthday in June and ended one year later with a "un-dressing" party. She documented her journey with daily pictures and frequent blog entries.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since Rob showed it to me. I greedily read her blogs and looked at her pictures and felt stirred by the meaning behind her simple experiment.

Here is a quote from her blog: "So, here's the deal - I made this dress and I wore it every day for a year. I made one small, personal attempt to confront consumerism by refusing to change my dress for 365 days. In this performance, I challenged myself to reject the economic system that pushes over-consumption, and the bill of goods that has been sold, especially to women, about what makes a person good, attractive and interesting. Clothes are a big part of this image, and the expectation in time, effort, and financial investment is immense."

I think I want my own experiment. No, I won't be wearing a little brown dress every day for a year, but I want to do some kind of challenge. I'm not sure what it will be yet, but I'm hoping to think of it by my birthday in August. I have some ideas, but they are still running around in my brain for now. I do know I want to spend a year with an intentional framework. I want to have something to contrast changes against and something progressive to document. Something that will force me to think on a higher level and sacrifice a bit of comfort in favor of expression and higher purpose and meaning.

I'm open to ideas.

Tofu: Not Just for Cool People Anymore

I cooked with tofu today and it wasn't a total disaster. It was actually pretty tasty. I've had this beautiful block of organic semi-hard tofu for a while now. It would glare accusingly at me every time I opened the fridge as its use-by date crept closer and closer. But I haven't really cooked with the stuff since my year of vegan fanaticism in the early 90s. And even then it was usually a paltry attempt that ended in a mushy, tasteless blob.

This time was much more pleasurable right from the start. It was a blast to cube. My cheap and unreasonably dull knife slid right through, making perfectly uniform little mini-cubes. I quick-fried it in olive oil and added it to a pesto and sundried tomato sauce and tossed it together with whole-wheat pasta. The cubes picked up just enough of the basil and sundried tomato flavor. They were a little crisp on the outside and tender inside. Very satisfying.

Now I just have to figure out what to do with that log of polenta I have.

Someday I'll be the girl who...

Someday I'll be the girl who has beautifully manicured fingernails. Really I'm the girl who picks my cuticles until they bleed and have jagged nails no matter how hard I try.

Someday I'll be that girl who wears dainty high-heels. Really I'm the girl who has a couple pairs of high heels in my closet that never leave there. Besides, I'd be 7 feet tall in them.

Someday I'll be the girl who looks elegant and understated and polished. Really I'm the girl who usually goes for comfort first and wears whatever hand-me-downs I get.

Someday I'll be that girl who is comfortable in every social situation and always knows the right thing to say. Really I'm the girl who blirts out things I shouldn't and gets way too loud and obnoxious.

Someday I'll be the girl who has it all together. Really I'm the girl who is constantly picking up the pieces but never quite getting it together.

Someday I'll be the girl who appreciates myself for exactly who I am. Really I'm getting there. I really am.

Hypocritical

I wish I had some insightful political high horse to ride off on today, but it's hard to be deep and philosophical just five hours before the Hannah Montana concert. I'm taking my cute-as-hell 7-year-old nephew and he's pretty excited, so I'm pretty excited too. Just in case you are wondering, no, I didn't grab up these tickets during the 37-second frenzy when they were actually on sale. I got them as a perk with my new jobby job. (So far this job rocks. Four days of work = paid time off today, free party tonight.)

This whole Hannah-arama makes me realize just what a hypocrite I am. I mock pop-culture and yet could answer any and every question on a pop-culture trivia challenge. I claim to care about the environment as I drive off in my SUV. I make fun of America's blatant consumerism as I run to Costco for just a few mega-things. I criticize WalMart and Starbucks and McDonald's and All-a-Dollar while I sit back and watch as Zions closes the little SunCrest Market. I worry about world hunger as I throw away half a box of spoiled strawberries.

But rather than getting eaten up by all the guilt and doing nothing, I'm trying to make a few changes. I gave up my bottled water habit. I stopped using plastic shopping bags. I've gotten religious about recycling. I turned up the thermostat on my air-conditioner and turned down the frequency on my lawn watering schedule. I think really hard before I buy anything and try to either get things second hand or do without. I'm changing out my incandescent light bulbs with CFLs. I mostly stopped watching TV.

I know these things are tiny and kind of pathetic, but every little bit helps I think. Hopefully bigger changes are on the horizon for me.

Motorcycle Diaries

I think I want a motorcycle. I might have my brother talked into selling me his. But I'm not sure I'm exactly motorcycle material. Here are the pros and cons.

Pros
1. Gas, duh. Saving the environment and all that.
2. Fun. Riding up and down this mountain has to be a blast.
3. Included. Not being left out of rides with my brothers.
4. Exciting and cool. Those speak for themselves.

Cons
1. My hair. Who wants to go to work with helmet hair?
2. Skirts. Since most of my work clothes are hand-me-downs from Kim and she only wears skirts, that's what I wear most days. Pretty sure I can't get away with a skirt on a motorcycle.
3. Scared of wrecking. I know how bad it hurts to get mangled in an accident.
4. Exposure. I'm not sure I like the idea of being right out there where everyone can see me.

I'd be happy for opinions on this one.

Ugly American

It's big news here in America: Angelina Jolie is in the hospital in France to prepare for the delivery of her twins. Hundreds of journalists are already camping out near the hospital in Nice and Angelina's doctor decided to give a press conference. It's really so damn exciting. No other news in the world could be bigger or more important than this.

Fox News was there, of course, with microphones in hand. But a lot of good that did them. The press conference was in French, and it just so happened that nobody there from Fox spoke French.

But really, who would have expected that a French doctor giving a press conference in France would speak.....FRENCH?

Obviously not Fox. They couldn't understand a word he was saying and rather than break the story immediately they had to send their feed back to headquarters and try to round up someone who could actually speak something other than ugly American.

Reality is Overrated

I have a confession to make. I look up at truck drivers when I'm on the freeway. I catch myself doing it all the time. And it's just like the definition of insanity--doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Without fail as I see a big semi ahead of me I have this picture in my mind of the extremely gorgeous, tan manly man looking down at me from his big truck. He winks at me and I smile back and...well that's about as far as I get.

So today I find myself doing it again. I drive up next to a big truck and I look up expectantly. And then, WHAM, my fantasy gets run right over by reality. I'm pretty sure that steamy hot is actually NOT in the truck driver job description at all. I guess that's why they are driving the trucks and not modeling for ads about trucks.

I'm going to keep looking up though.