Papaw

Papaw died on May 18, 2015 at age 84. 

My Papaw, Thomas Dewitt Hankins, had a unique and gentile drawling accent. He always spoke with an economy of words.  He was handsome and always made a point to look his best and smell good.

Papaw loved music. He played guitar, even after losing his right hand.

Papaw loved horses and puppies and babies. And that squirrel named Flash. And that goat named Cracker Jack who was a jerk.

Papaw often worked multiple jobs to support his family. He was a cowboy who broke horses. He was a welder. He was a game warden and worked in law enforcement, among a number of other terribly interesting jobs.

Papaw was an American hero. He volunteered for military service and fought for our country in Korea where he was seriously wounded during a mortar attack. The explosion left his body scarred and full of shrapnel that remained for the rest of his life. He received a Purple Heart and the Louisiana Veterans Honor Medal in recognition of his sacrifice.

Papaw had a marvelous sense of humor. Not a soul could resist that grin accompanied by that mischievous twinkle in his eye, always present whether he was up to something or not. Smart, silly, creative and able to hold an audience. He was a raconteur, a skill he passed to successive generations.

Papaw was tender-hearted, sensitive to the pain and needs of others, even feeling guilty about having so many blessings in his life when there were others in the world who had so little.

Papaw adored his family above all. We were his treasure. Each one of us was his favorite. Nothing was more important to him than family.

Papaw loved my Mamaw. Seems odd to talk about Papaw in the singular, because he was half of a duet. Thomas and Ruby, Mama and Daddy, Mamaw and Papaw. They were a grand-parenting dream team. We were the luckiest grandkids ever, and I was their first one.

Papaw was one of the two most influential men in my life. He and my daddy showed me that good men love strong, independent women. Papaw always thought I was exceptionally talented and destined to be a star. My original biggest fan. I thought he was like a magician because having only one hand didn't stop him from doing anything as far as I could tell. He was always sad when we left his house because he missed us so much when we weren't there. Losing him is losing one of the primary sources that forged the person I am in this world. My identity. My heart.

I hope I love the way he loved, with reckless abandon. I hope I'm kind and give people the benefit of the doubt, like he did. I hope I'm worldly, and curious, and loyal, and silly and devoted beyond all good reason. I hope I have the strength to endure hardship and emerge on the other side with a depth of character that inspires others and gives me compassion and patience. I hope I'm worthy of this legacy he leaves, but I know for certain that he believed I'm worthy and capable of magnificent things. I love him for seeing all my beauty and will strive to see that in others as well.

Take your well-earned rest, sweet Papaw. Until we meet again.

Take a Hike!

I have a tendency to write things and squirrel them away, only to rediscover them later. Here is one such item. It's an article I wrote that was never published, but helped land me some freelance writing gigs...  

Take a Hike! Tips for taking your exercise routine outdoors, by Debbie Tullos

The changing of the season sparks a primal urge to commune with nature and abandon the gym for the great outdoors. One of the easiest ways to do this is head to the nearest park. City parks, gardens, and myriad other outdoor spaces are available to most people year-round. Before jumping onto the trail, take the time to do a few easy, common sense things to stay safe and maximize enjoyment of the experience.

1) Map your trail. The idea of driving right over to the park and cranking up the pedometer may be tempting, but mapping out a route for your walk or jog is essential for a couple of reasons.

• Many parks have lots of trails that vary widely in length, difficulty, and even the type of traffic allowed. You really don't want to be surprised by a group of horseback riders coming up on the left. 
• Losing your bearings is easier than you may think. Multiple trails, multiple parking lots, multiple entry points...they can all start to look alike. Before you know it, a 45-minute walk has turned into 3 hours of trying to find the way back to your car. 

2) Use trail etiquette. Check for specific rules and regs for any particular park, but some practices are useful on all trails.

• Keep to the right. This allows faster users to pass on the left. If you approach someone from behind and intend to pass, give a verbal warning of, "On your left!" 
• Mind your pets. Keep dogs on a leash and please pick up behind your pet. Please. 
• Be mindful of where you stop. Stopping on the trail is occasionally necessary to tie a shoe or get a bug out of your eye. Stop in appropriate places away from blind corners. No one wants to turn a corner at full speed and slam into someone standing still. 

3) Don't be a target. Although being attacked on a trail is unlikely, it does happen. There are a few simple things that will further minimize this risk.

• Take a buddy. Would-be attackers seek easy targets and they know that a buddy is an instant alarm system, and self-defense times two. 
• Be easy to see. Wear light-colored clothing and avoid being on the trails at night. 
• Be aware. To put it another way, leave the iPod at home! Nothing says, "Sneak up on me," like wires hanging from ear buds. 
• Don't wear jewelry. Just like barracuda, unsavory types are attracted to shiny objects. If you aren't fishing for trouble, leave the bait at home. 
• Be confident. Predators observe body language. A person who has a confident carriage is much less attractive than someone who looks afraid and insecure. 

Exercising in the great outdoors is one of the great pleasures in life, good for the body and soul, if you remember to be prepared, be courteous, and be careful.

Fair Marketing Value

Today, we bid adieu to that annual marketing monster event, the North Carolina State Fair. Those of you who do not live in Raleigh, NC or the surrounding area may not be able to grasp the magnitude of this event. More than 1 million people attended the Fair during it's 10-day span.

Um...that's a LOT of people.

Why do I care about the State Fair? Because I do promotion and marketing for WRAL-TV. So much of our success is measured by how many people like us. It's quite subjective. One of the ways we can foster warm, fuzzy feelings is personal interaction with viewers. The more we can personally interact with people, the more likely they are to like us. That is, if our interaction is a positive experience. The State Fair is a big deal because we have the opportunity to have a positive, personal interaction with hundreds of thousands of people...and THAT can make a difference in our ratings....worth the price of admission.

So, this means that the Fair ranks as our TOP promotional event of the year. We have a huge tent full of giveaways, meet & greets with our on-air personalities, contests, live broadcasts every day from the fairgrounds...it's a huge undertaking. And is hugely stressful for those of us in charge of making sure we look good out there and make the most of the investment.

Given all of this, I breathe a sigh of relief to see the Fair come to an end, pleased that we pulled it off once more, pleased that we made the most of it, pleased that I don't have to think about it again for about 6 months.

Now, on to the next thing...November Sweeps begins in 2 days. Bring it on!

Deck-cation

Here I sit on my deck, Labor Day weekend. I sit, in my collapsible blue lawn chair. I have my laptop, my up-cycled hand-made book journal, and my sketch book all stacked up on a circa 1950-something end table. This little table has been dragged around with me to all five of the places I've lived since going off to college. Now, I've dragged it out onto my deck for the evening. Oh, yeah, and I have my little (big) rum drink on this table as well.

The Amy Winehouse Pandora station is playing in the background.

Because I do not have proper deck furniture, getting out here is a bit of a production, therefore, I don't do it very often. The large volume of spider webs I fought through this evening testifies to that. Such a shame, because the view from my deck is lovely. Thick woods with lots of interesting wildlife. My deck is also unusually large for a one-bedroom apartment in Raleigh. This is one of the reasons I chose to live here. I need some deck furniture.

"Amy, Amy, Amy," is playing on Pandora. Delicious.

Why am I on this deck alone? The door and the window are wide open, so there should be a cat or two out here with me. Sam is chillin' on the floor inside. I call him to come out here and keep me company. He promptly obliges. Best cat ever.

As the evening progresses, the air is getting cooler. We are getting the first little bitty taste of fall this weekend. This tank top won't do after a while.

"The Way I Am," Ingrid Michaelson on Pandora. Perfect.

...time lapse...

Ok, back now. Just sliced up some onions and popped those and some brats in the oven. Freshened up the little (big) rum drink. Munched a few jalapeno kettle cooked chips.

I see that my neighbor still has the action figure clothing laying out on his deck. I noticed a few days ago that this apparently single, mid-thirties dude who lives next to me had carefully laid out some doll-sized clothes (cargo pants and a gray hoodie) to dry on his deck. Now the cargo pants are missing while the hoodie remains. There very well may be a squirrel out there somewhere wearing a freshly laundered pair of cargo pants. Not cold enough for the hoodie yet.

"4 + 20," Joss Stone on Pandora. Sweet.

Holy crap, those brats and onions already smell freakin' awesome. Sam is still hangin' out here with me, dutifully.

Have felt a bit blue the past few days. Very stressful at work this week (although, I kicked ass), struggled with nightmares. Not feeling very well-rested. Off-center. After doing a goodly amount of laying around on the couch yesterday, I felt worse. Did some more laying around today and realized I was seriously struggling with "What's Next" Syndrome. You know, the antithesis of "Living in the Moment." Now THAT is straight-up manufactured stress.

"The Fear," Lilly Allen on Pandora. Pandora is reading my mind.

Jarring myself from my wallowing, I planned my little re-centering party, in which I am in the midst right now. Soooo working. I am definitely feeling better.

Cicadas. Sam is now curled up right next to my folding blue lawn chair, enjoying the towel I put there earlier to give him a comfy place to hang. He's been sick this week and I'm afraid he's a little dehydrated. He's such a sweet boy.

"New Soul," Yael Naim on Pandora....*sigh/smile*

Ever throw yourself a "re-centering" party? What did you do? Did it work?

Burning

This could go anywhere... Am I about to talk about a failed meal? A criminal act? A medical condition that is best left undisclosed to anyone other than my doctor and my boyfriend?

None of the above. I am am talking about desire. Burning desire. Still, the place I'm going here is not as sexy as it sounds. I'm talking about a burning desire to travel.

How's that for a teaser campaign? But, I digress.

I really haven't done much traveling. Never left the country...haven't even been to the Caribbean. Don't have a passport and never have.

This isn't a typical "I need a vacation" vent. My motivation is not to take a break from the burden of daily life. My daily life is not such a terrible burden. My motivation is to experience more. To be challenged. I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing out, and for a very good reason. I AM missing out! There is a whole big, wide world out there that I am missing.

I put this out there as an acknowledgment of this place in my evolution. As I move forward in my life, I am moving away from materialism. Not that I was ever materialistic, but that I have come to reject material as a gauge of my success or happiness. I reject the societal goal structure that measures milestones by material gain...buying a house, getting a raise, bigger, bigger, more, more. Don't get me wrong, I want to be comfortable and have what I need, but my definition of "need" has drastically changed in the last 5 years. I need to make sure I don't come to the end of my life knowing that I missed out.

Now, back to that burning sensation. Each year in the last week of August, thousands of people converge in the Nevada desert for an artistic free-for-all called Burning Man. There was a time when this event sounded to me like the most bizarre, outrageous event and I couldn't imagine the draw. Now, I get it. It represents this desire...this desire to measure milestones in experiences. It represents complete freedom from materialistic society, from being judged, from limitations, real or imagined. I hope to count it among my experiences, sooner than later. Until then, I'll just be burning toast.

Red Light

A friend of mine died today.

I hate this. This acute awareness of mortality. I can't help but believe that we are not meant to have this awareness so close to the skin. How are we supposed to walk through life, pulling ourselves along our little assigned time line knowing that the...stuff...the stuff that urges us along that line is so fleeting, and so much of it of no consequence? If I were not here tomorrow, the TV station would still be on the air, a new person would move into this apartment, all my possessions would go in the trash or to Goodwill. Life would continue just fine without me.

Ah, but.....mortality wouldn't be so big, so powerful, so painful, so influential, so...present, if that stuff were the only thing on our little time line. There are people on each time line. Our little lines intersect, weave in and out, entangle with every other life we encounter. When one time line comes to its end, every line entangled with it comes to a sudden stop. Depending upon the degree of the entanglement, the stop may last a moment, a few days, months....or the remainder of a life.

I am sad to think that most of the world will continue on as though my friend were never even here. Those lines that never crossed his will not pause. I will go to work tomorrow and do the things I do, but tonight, I paused. I stopped. I stared at a red stop light, transfixed by it while aware of a constant stream of cars racing by in both directions underneath. I welled up with tears and felt the loss. I felt a bit angry at the cars racing past as though nothing had happened. They should all stop, but they didn't.

I am unconcerned with how many pauses happen at the end of my time line. What difference will it make to me? I'll be gone. I am, however, VERY concerned about when I may have to stop again. I dread coming to a place where another person's mortality will stop me dead in my tracks. A mortal line so closely entwined with mine that I can't imagine dragging on without it. This is the awareness I hate.

I am so glad my life intersected with yours, Eddie. You are, perhaps, the most unique person I ever met. You were a big man with big flaws, perfectly balanced with big love, loyalty and joy. Rest in peace, my friend.

Like a Pig in Mud

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Then if everything goes to hell, well, at least you have some lemonade. But, what if you don't feel like making lemonade? What if life gave you the lemons, stole all your sugar, broke your pitcher, and hid your spoon where the sun don't shine?

Sometimes, seeing the bright side is much easier said than done.

Yes, I'm all for positive thinking and I do believe it is very powerful. When something rotten happens in my life, I always get through it by finding the light and following it. You know, the light at the end of the tunnel. In my experience, that light is usually NOT a train, so I would say this is an effective life strategy....however...there is always that period just before I find the light. That period of time, usually only about a day or so, when I wallow in self-pity like a fat, pink pig in mud.

I declare that taking a little time for a pity party is ok. You heard me. That theory is contrary to what we're told we should do. Friends see you down and try to boost you up with love and happy tawts. Your mom tells you to quit feeling sorry for yourself and do something about it. Your grandma bakes you cookies. No person who loves you wants to see you sad, so they work tirelessly to get you over it. Ah, maybe that's part of the appeal.

I think brief moments of self-pity are therapeutic, as long as they are short-lived and you have the ability to pull yourself out of them, motivated to forge ahead. A pity party can simply be a request for a little help from your support system to refill your emotional tank in preparation for a difficult road ahead.

After all, pigs wallow in mud to protect themselves from overheating in the harsh rays of the sun. Wallowing in a little self-pity for protection against the harsh realities of life seems reasonable. Pigs are smart. They freak me out a little.

The Thing with Feathers

Life and Hope. Heavy subjects. Heaviness abounds. Not for one person, or a few people, or even many people. I venture to say most are feeling this heaviness to some degree or another. Whether due to direct experience or as it oozes over from a neighbor. Inescapable.

I have lately felt the heaviness of my own situation, but today the shadow of someone else's burden eclipsed mine. This brought to mind ideas like the fragility of life, coping mechanisms, perspective, insecurity. I sometimes peruse collections of quotes to see if someone more brilliant than I has managed to articulate a particular situation or feeling perfectly. Here are a few quotes about life that spoke to me today:

• Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets. -Arthur Miller
• We are born wet, naked, and hungry. Then things get worse. -Author Unknown
• Puritans will never believe it, but life is full of disagreeable things that aren't even good for you. -Mignon McLaughlin
• The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing. -Marcus Aurelius
• Expecting the world to treat you fairly because you are good is like expecting the bull not to charge because you are a vegetarian. -Dennis Wholey

Ok, those aren't very cheerful. Obviously, we are not the first in history to feel this heaviness in life. Maybe we could use some with a bit more "glass half full" emphasis:

• There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats. -Albert Schweitzer
• Life's challenges are not supposed to paralyze you; they're supposed to help you discover who you are. -Bernice Johnson Reagon
• He who has a why to live can bear almost any how. -Friedrich Nietzsche
• Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. -Helen Keller

Getting closer. Perhaps this isn't the right approach. Yes, life has a lot of suck in it. While much good and happiness do exist in every life, the dark heaviness often seems to overshadow. How do we deal? Cope? ...Let's try HOPE:

• Never deprive someone of hope; it might be all they have. - H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
• Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for. -Epicurus

Hope isn't something to seek and find. Hope is just there, ever present. Maybe some of us are better at recognizing it, seeing it, claiming it, feeding it. The most apt reference to hope I've found, as it relates to me and my experience is this simple verse penned by Emily Dickinson:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul.
And sings the tune
Without the words,
and never stops at all.

Inspired by Niersteiner

I wrote this a while ago, but just now decided to publish it.
___________________________________________________

Wouldn't it be cool to be a world traveler...and further cool to choose destinations based on some whimsical inspiration that zaps you when you least expect it? I was standing in Total Wine when such an inspiration struck me.

Adolf Meuller 2007 Rheinhessen Niersteiner Gutes Domtal Kabinett.

A German wine, obviously. Off-dry with citrus, peach and spicy notes. Recommended to be enjoyed with spicy Asian dishes, perhaps like the spicy Thai curry I will be polishing off for dinner.

Where is Niersteiner? Is it a small mountain town? Near a big city, or maybe remote? I've never been to Germany. It would be soooo cool to go get on a plane and just go to Niersteiner and see where this wine was made. I probably wouldn't have too much trouble getting around, even though the extent of my German language skills is "Wilkommen!" Would be odd to say "Welcome" to someone who already lives there.

This spontaneous travel notion is something I ponder at least once per day. I am a member of the online travel community called Matador. Not because I am a traveler, but because I am living vicariously through all those other people in the community. Many of them are writers, location independent. That represents the ultimate freedom to me.

Well, I do not have the luxury of that kind of freedom. I will just keep reading about the exploits of others, dreaming of a day when life gives me a break and lets me explore the world a bit. When that happens, I'll be sure to tell you about it....from a little table in a little town in Germany, perhaps.

Brain-Sucker

"Guess what this is?" My uncle would ask this question while his hand was on top of my head doing a weird pulsing motion. Then he'd say, "A brain-sucker starving to death!" *Insert knee slap here.* That annoying brain-sucker was actually harmless. I have, however, encountered more detrimental brain-suckers in my adult life. The most difficult, of late, has been my television.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love TV. I always have, and now it's my livelihood. Not only do I love television, but I want everyone else to love it, too. This affection for that warm, flickering glow is the reason I have difficulty admitting that too much of this good thing is not good for me.

Maybe I'm being too hard on television. "Brain-sucker" is a bit of an exaggeration. A more accurate description of TV's effect on me is "brain-clogger." The television doesn't actually remove material from my brain. It just causes cessation of creativity, productivity and inspiration. I find that a lack of stimulation around me prods my brain to fill the gap. If I am not occupying my mind with Homer Simpson's hi jinks, then my mind will occupy itself with dark forms of little birds sitting in swirls of a thick, blue-green atmosphere, paint and canvass, brushes. If Stewie's attempts at matricide aren't commanding my attention, then my attention drifts toward a more keen awareness of my real emotional state; why I feel that way; what words express it best.

Please understand, this musing isn't a damnation of television. I certainly don't have a melodramatic view of TV as some sort of destructor of society, family, or whatever. I actually believe TV is a glorious portal to a small world. A portal with tremendous power, and those of us who wield that power have a tremendous responsibility (yes, that's from Spiderman, but it happens to be true.) I must sometimes remind myself that this medium for which I have so much respect has a tremendous power over me, just like so many others. Ben & Jerry's ice cream has a similar power over me.

Everyone has brain-suckers. Mine is television. Someone else's may be video games, internet surfing, gossip. As is the case with many of the yummiest things in life, moderation is a necessary virtue. Less television means more art, writing and introspection. Less Ben & Jerry's means wearing the little red bikini without a t-shirt.

I think Homer will have to entertain someone else tonight. I'll catch up with him on Sunday.

Voices In My Head

That inner voice. Different people call it different things: intuition, God, your gut, psychic ability, the Shining. However you attribute its origin, we all have it to one degree or another. I believe that learning to recognize that universal gift in yourself, and then learning to trust it, are two of the most important lessons to learn in life. I, unfortunately, have learned these lessons the hard way.

I won't go into the gory details on such a public forum, but I recently bore the consequences of dismissing a strong gut feeling. I had an intuitive knowledge that I should not enter into a specific contract. Why did I do it? I let desperation, emotion, and a trusting nature override what I now know was an unmistakable directive from a higher power, a sixth sense, to walk away. The misery I've endured as a result is beyond anything I could have imagined, but I am getting out of this situation, and I am accomplishing that by trusting my gut.

Why do we ever dismiss intuition?

We dismiss it because intuition isn't logical. It isn't rational. When you stack the facts, inclusion of a gut feeling as a factor isn't possible, and often not defensible as a reason for taking a particular position. And yet, there is very little risk in trusting your gut. Even if a situation doesn't work out the way you expect, you can usually look back with the satisfaction of knowing you did what was right and good for yourself.

So, I now have the proof I need to confidently to go forward trusting my intuition, God, my gut, my psychic ability and the Shine. If I ever tell you to avoid a particular room in big, old remote hotel in the dead of winter, don't question it. Just switch your reservation to the Holiday Inn Express.

Coffee House

I wrote this the old-fashioned way: pen and paper, then typed it here later. It is of no import, has no philosophical point, is not even a compelling story. Just a literary snapshot of a quiet moment in my day....

I am sitting in Starbucks. An empty brown paper bag containing apple fritter crumbs is on the small table to my left next to some crumpled napkins and my half-consumed grande Sumatra. I am so tired, I can barely push this pen across the paper. My eyelids are heavy, as are my arms, legs, and head. A bluesy, soulful cover of "Yesterday" is playing, a bit too loudly, threatening to lull me into a stupor.

As much as I usually enjoy the opportunity to sit alone in a coffee house to read, write, or just think, I am wishing very much that I were instead reclined on my couch, or still in bed. This week has been exhausting in every way, and the madness has just begun. I really wish this caffeine would kick in.

The Starbucks is filling with people now, along with all of the chatting, rustling, chair-scooting noise that fills the space around such groups. Did that guy really just order a skinny vanilla latte with extra whipped cream, then ask for a fork to eat it? One shouldn't have to eat coffee.

I like this Starbucks. It has a lot of these velvety upholstered chairs. It's cozy.

I think I've killed enough time. It's time to go find my couch for a while.

Jaded

The usual afternoon exhaustion crept over me at about 2:00. I could feel the weight of my eyelids as the sounds of the TV on my desk began to merge with the workplace white noise behind. Time to stand up and walk around or I'd soon be waltzing with Albert Einstein at my high school prom.

After fishing around in my purse for a couple of bucks, I hiked to the vending machines upstairs. There was a rush of delight as I spotted the 3 Musketeers, quickly tempered with an expectation that the machine would likely take my money and give me no candy. Or the wrapper would get caught on the dispenser and the candy would not fall. Gotta risk it. I put in my dollar after carefully flattening all four corners and entered "131" for the 3 Musketeers. The lever began to turn....and hung up!! Damn it!....Wait....it started turning again...my candy bar fell....then it kept turning! A second candy bar fell! WTF?? Did I just get two candy bars for the price of one? I looked around with a sort of half-smile on my face, completely shocked that fortune actually smiled on me. Cool.

I then turned to the soda machine, and once again, carefully flattened my dollar before inserting it. I heard the Diet Dr. Pepper make it's way down and land with a rather loud thunk. I tried to retrieve it but the bottle was in there at an odd angle. As I fiddled with it, I realized that there were two drinks in there! Again?!

I don't understand. This doesn't happen to me. The way the world works is that BAD things happen to me, not fortuitous twists of fate. Never does anything come to me from the universe without my having to work my ass off to get it. Not even very small things. If a strange, random event occurs in my life, it usually is to my detriment. Very often to the specific detriment of my financial stability. But, out of nowhere, I actually got something for nothing.

I pondered this while walking back to my desk. Then a very sad thought came to me...what a shame that I am shat upon so often that something as simple as a vending machine malfunction in my favor made me feel like a lottery winner. What a shame that I have come to expect misfortune to befall me. I'm an optimist, really. I've weathered some overwhelming pain, sadness, fear, loneliness, frustration, helplessness....and survived with a smile on my face, for the most part.

Even a puppy with the sweetest nature will become hand shy after being hit enough times.

Well, however small, fortune DID smile on me, so I'll take it. The next time my toilet spontaneously overflows, or my car jerks, or my cat gets sick, or the Town of Wendell threatens to charge me $200 for my grass being 1 inch too tall, I'll think fondly back on this day. The day the vending machines at work cut me a break when I've had so much difficulty catching one anywhere else.

Stock Footage of Fat Torsos

At least once each day I see this video in a newscast. People walking down the sidewalk, shot between the neck and knees. The camera is focused on one person, or two if a couple of overweight people happen to be walking together. There is usually at least one fanny pack in the series of shots. Women are typically shot walking away from the camera to illustrate what a fat ass would look like, men are generally shot walking toward the camera to illustrate the classic cheeseburger beer gut. Sometimes you may get a bonus "muffin top" shot of a woman in too-tight jeans and a too-short shirt, still shot from behind.

Many different types of stories can be backed with this type of footage. Obviously, any story related to obesity or weight loss, but there are so many more! Any stories about weight-related ailments (cholesterol, diabetes, cancer), stories about the fast food industry, studies of certain prescription drugs and their side effects. Hell, maybe even stories about fat people having fat pets.

Here are just a few reasons I hate the use of the fat torso footage in a newscast:

1) It's boring. Not only is the same type of footage used over and over, but the EXACT same footage is often used over and over.
2) It has no informational value. I'm pretty sure we all know how to identify obesity.
3) It's mean. The people in these videos are being treated as though the only significant thing about them is their weight. As a former fat person (I once weighed 60 lbs more than I do now), I wouldn't want to suffer that humiliation, even if my head was cut out of the shot.
4) It's lazy. No, not the people in the video. The people putting together the news story. Yes, I get that it is easy to fall back on predictable stock footage like this to meet a deadline, certainly in favor of spending time on more relevant stories....but that's the point, isn't it? The stories that include this footage are usually filler material and not terribly newsworthy anyway. We'll see the footage again next week when a new study comes out saying that people who dieted while wearing orange shirts tended to lose 15% more than those who dieted wearing red shirts.

Oh, well. I guess using this tired, irrelevant material in a newscast is preferable to filling time with endless discussions of what the president's dog had for breakfast. Maybe that story could be illustrated with fat dogs shot below the neck. Now that, I would watch.

Happiness Is...

Happiness is... a warm puppy. That's what Charles Schultz said. I'm not a dog person, so that warm puppy thing doesn't necessarily do it for me, but I get his point. True happiness is found in simplicity. Simple pleasures. This is the kind of happiness characterized by contentment, calm, security and freedom.

My life has been so complicated lately, well, for several years now, that any moment of happiness shines like a little piece of glitter catching light. A little piece of glitter on a vast, dark, dirty veil, the edges of which are impossible to distinguish at this point. I take note of each little sparkle because they are so few, and I think about other sparkles I can seek. Here are a few of the things that make me feel that kind of happiness:

Happiness is...a warm cat snoozing in my lap.
Happiness is...a cup of Community Coffee.
Happiness is...eating fruit right off the vine, still warm from the sun.
Happiness is...my nephew's smile.
Happiness is...my grandmother's biscuits.
Happiness is...a salty sea breeze.
Happiness is...napping under a ceiling fan on a hot day.
Happiness is...the smell of crawfish boiling.

There are more. Sometimes I don't know what they are until I experience them again. So often they are things that transport me back to childhood, or at least the feeling of childhood. The contentment, calm, security and freedom of childhood. That Charles Schultz was a smart guy.

Sigmund Freud & Giant Squirrels

I had an interesting Facebook Wall conversation not long ago about crazy dreams and possible Freudian interpretations of said dreams. If the giant evil squirrels chasing me had been trying to have sex with me, we may have been more successful in our analysis.

I've always had bizarre, scary, disturbing dreams. Some of the dreams I had as a kid are as vivid in my mind as real memories, sometimes more so. I barely remember my sister cartwheeling through the living room and breaking her collar bone at 8-years-old, but I will never forget that huge green, dripping, blob alien standing in my bedroom door saying, "...beedy, beedy, beedy, beedy." I can still feel how I felt at that moment...absolute terror. That nightmare terror that paralyzes you, preventing you from moving a muscle no matter how hard you try to get up and seek refuge in Mama and Daddy's room. Frozen so that you can't even scream, even with every cell in your body trying to will it so.

I still have dreams like that. Night terrors, I guess you'd call them. No more aliens, though. Now they more often involve someone breaking into my house to kill me or demons swirling around my bedroom. They still create the same physiological response as that alien. That paralysis. Even when I wake up, the physical feeling of the nightmare may have a grip on me for a while. Lucky for Dream Girl here, not all of my vivid dreams are scary. Some are just weird.

Last night was one of those "streams of unconciousness" dream nights, as I like to call them. A lot of random things loosely strung together. Here are a few highlights:

Scene One - The Pregnant Eating Binge. I was pregnant (obviously). Huge-ass, eat everything in sight and don't give a f**k pregnant. In this state, I had gone to one of those fundraising events, like the Chocolate Festival for Komen, where a whole bunch of vendors let everyone eat desserts at their booths. Accompanying/enabling me was my usual partner in these events, Anita. We were eating everything in sight and she just kept bringing me more. I really would like to get my hands on that one particular cookie-brownie combo thing.

Scene Two - The Stray Cat. I don't really remember the setting, but I stumbled upon a very tiny black kitten who was in need of some care. I spent some time in that struggle every animal lover faces at some point. "I can't really take in another pet right now, but I can't leave it to fend for itself. He needs to eat. He needs to see a vet. He needs a bath. He needs...me."

Scene Three - The Snake. This is a very mild version of a recurring snake dream. Usually, the snake is huge. This time it was very, very tiny. Thinner than my pinky finger and only about a foot long. Rather than wrestle it in an attempt to kill it (as I usually do), I carried it around with me a bit before finally deciding to step on its head.

I don't know if dreams really mean anything. I think they probably do. At least for me, they usually seem to be the result of my brain processing emotions, memories, and any random bits of information that have entered my head. Freud probably over-analyzed the meaning of dreams and ascribed more significance than warranted. Even so, I wonder what he would have said about Scene Four....I'm just gonna keep that one to myself.

Dancing Queen

I approach most endeavors from a decidedly humble perspective, particularly my art, convinced that no one will like it but me. Having realized that such an attitude is stifling, I now just put it all out there. After all, not every stroke of Picasso's brush was genius, right? Surely Hemingway penned a lot of crap before The Old Man and the Sea finally emerged. The creation of art can be a slow, ugly process. Last night's dance rehearsal must have been a fine illustration of this point.

We learned the big kick line number (for Raleigh Little Theatre's production of Cabaret, for those of you who don't know what I'm up to these days). I always feel a little lost and out of my element learning choreography because I've never danced. What the hell is 2nd position?? If ignorance makes me feel like a fraud, then doing dance moves designed for 6-foot Amazons (I am 5' 3" on a good day) makes me feel deformed. Difficulty contorting my body into the warm-up positions isn't a good sign of things to come.

I managed to actually do most of the choreography reasonably well. Most of what I did not do well will get better once it is all memorized. I know this now that I've had a good night's sleep and doped with too much ibuprofen, but I sure as hell didn't feel that way while doing that one particular kick, spin, circle, kick, spin, run, hold hands, goose step series. At one point I thought, this must be what it feels like to be inside a dryer with a bunch of other people. Spinning, dizzy, pain as arms, elbows, legs, asses slam against everybody else. Did I just lose a toe?? Everyone needed a hug by the end of rehearsal. As I took off my dance shoes to put on flip flops, I noticed the imprint of a heel on top of one foot. When did that happen?

Near the end of the evening, I noticed the choreographer laughing while talking to the director. I told him that laughing at us doesn't help. He enthusiastically said that he was not laughing at us. He said he is giddy with delight at how great the number looks and how well we are doing it. I'm gonna choose to believe he wasn't just blowing smoke up our bruised asses. Apparently this ugly process is getting us to a beautiful work of art.

Wet Buzz

The struggle was epic. Due to the slight chill in the house, the extreme exhaustion from the previous night's work, and the sweetness of both cats snuggled up to me, getting out of bed seemed like the worst possible choice. As a result, I have been preoccupied today with various forms of caffeination.

I have never had an addiction to a traditional drug. Can't relate to the physical and mental need to self-medicate in that way....or can I? Isn't addiction marked by an inability to function "normally" without your fix? Always planning how to get the next dose and negotiating the obstacles to get there? Pondering different delivery methods if your preferred form is not readily available? Check, check, check, check....I'm an addict.

I've had a cup of coffee this morning and am now sipping caffeinated water, wondering if I have a dollar in my purse to get a Diet Dr. Pepper this afternoon. I feel actual pangs of jealousy and resentment when someone tells me they went to Starbucks without me. (I have called my significant other a bastard numerous times for this offense, and he deserved it every time.)

Conventional wisdom states that the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. Done. I guess the next step would be a desire to recover. I'll ponder that as I wait for my grande triple skinny vanilla latte.

Break, Broke, Broken

"I can't catch a break."

A phrase that just came to me. Or rather, broke over my head and caused me to have a breakdown.

I have already passed the point of going broke: legal fees, vet bills, mortgage I can't afford, upkeep on an old house, pay cuts, car repairs, income tax bill...I could keep going. The harder I try to break out of the constraints of living paycheck to paycheck, the harder the universe seems to push back.

I'm tempted to make a break for it. Abandon this life entirely and run away, although I'm not sure how much sanity and freedom that would buy me. I'd probably trip over my own feet and break my leg.

Explosive Diarrhea

"The promise of a new day..."

That phrase sounds so....promising. It evokes thoughts of the sun peeking over the horizon, birds chirping, strains of Vivaldi's Spring floating in the background as you stretch to greet the grand potential of the day to come. But promises, however positive the connotation may be, aren't always heralds of good things to come.

I awoke with Sam the sick cat meowing directly into my ear. Unusual behavior, but his sickness of late has prompted odd behaviors from him that aren't necessarily significant. This behavior was significant.

The next hour was spent on my knees, scrubbing the floor, gagging, lighting candles, scrubbing the cat, crying to the heavens, "Why?!? Dear God, no! How could there be more?!!" Poor Sam was doing his best to get it all in the litter box and clean himself up (as evidenced by the 5-foot long skid mark on the carpet he used as toilet paper), but it just kept sneaking up on him.

I am not looking forward to seeing what wonders await my lunchtime return home.