Manolo for the Big Girl

From Why I Hate Fashion by Tanya Gold

“But I got so fat that even fashion wouldn’t pretend it could fix me. You can get so fat they don’t actually want you in their clothes. It is bad marketing; if very fat people wear their clothes, thinner ­people won’t buy them. There was no point rattling through the rails any more, seeking a satin redemption – nothing would fit my unfashionable bulk. I was ­consigned to M&S smock-land, across the River Styx. And it is lovely here; no heels, no stupid dresses-of-the-moment, certainly no thongs. Fashion has died for me, with an angry little hiss. Ah, peace.”

Okay, it’s time for Miss Plumcake to give an Important Life Lesson to all you budding writers out there, so take heed because I’m only going to say this once:

Don’t

be

pathetic.

Seriously, just don’t. The one exception is if you’re funny. Really funny. Funny to the point of inspiring incontinence, and not just in old people on cold days, because you know how they like to dribble. Then SOMETIMES you can get away with it, but even then, it’s better to err on the side of NOT sounding like you own fourteen cats and have an impressive collection of cobwebs in your lady garden. See,  professional media is not myspace, you’re not a 14 year old girl and no one gives a patent leather damn about your speshul speshul poignant pain.

Oh, uh, too harsh?

Let me explain.

I don’t care that this lady has decided fashion is eeeevil. I really don’t. I don’t care that she blames the accidental death of a sixteen year-old on her high heels –heels I’m sure Anna Wintour personally FORCED onto her feet because surely a young woman can’t make her own informed decisions– instead of just marking it up to a sad accident. I don’t care that she calls the models who appear in fashmags “anorexic children” because apparently it’s okay to judge people’s bodies when SHE’S doing the judging. I don’t care about any of that.

What I care about is crying in baseball.

You know how there is no crying in baseball? Well, I come from the newspaper biz and let me tell you, there’s no crying in journalism, either, and there’s ESPECIALLY no airing of your own depression/anxiety/unresolved abandonment issues from that one time in 1987 your dad missed your ballet recital.

Do you know how you deal with that when you’re a REAL journalist? Alcoholism and failed relationships, that’s how. None of this namby pamby moaning on the internet under the guise of journalism. No, it’s cirrhosis and child support and eyebags so big they’re being knocked-off in Chinatown, THE WAY THE LORD INTENDED IT.

I don’t even have the energy to talk about the problems with the bulk of her emo screed article, like how just because SHE doesn’t like something doesn’t make it evil (as opposed to when I don’t like something, because, to quote Lady Beauchamp: “I’m right because I’m always right and anyone who says I’m wrong is mad and wicked.”) and that for propagating the stereotype that big women are happier wearing tent dresses and shunning fashion she deserves to be taken behind the woodshed and beaten soundly by a pair of size 42 Christian Louboutin peep-toe glitter pumps (which you may then send to me) until she realizes that being frumpy is not the same as being superior, and caring about fashion is not the same as being owned by it.

Fashion isn’t going to make you beautiful any more than eschewing it is going to make you interesting, ducklings. Remember that, and will someone please fix me a cocktail? Mama’s feeling a little piqued.

…and all through my house

The only creature stirring

Is my cat chasing a new catnip mouse.

It’s been a good time this year. While we weren’t precisely drowning in luxury items, we had enough to go around and enough left over to spread a bit of cheer to others. In the days to come, we will enjoy the leftover food and the thoughtful gifts…and probably chuckle a little bit at the ones that mystify us. We’ll snuggle close and appreciate the time Mr. Twistie has off from work and the fact that my writing career allows me to be flexible in my scheduling. The aforementioned cat will be blissfully spoilt with all the tandem petting we will give him.

Then it’s time to turn our thoughts to 2010.

People tend to make grand resolutions in the week or so before New Year’s Eve…and break most of them before Groundhog Day. Admittedly, I love that movie, but even if I didn’t, I still wouldn’t want to break its heart by lying to it (Query: How many Surrealists does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Answer: Fish.).

So it is that I approach the whole notion of resolutions with a bit of trepidation. And yet it really does seem to be expected of one. I thought I might get mine written down a bit ahead of schedule. What? My mother had me so terrified of being late as a child that I was regularly half an hour early to nearly every function. I’ve relaxed a bit as an adult. Now I consider ten minutes early sufficient in a pinch. For major events like an entire change of calendar, I like to be Johnny-on-the-spot three or four days before anyone else.

So here, without further ado, are my New Year resolutions:

1: I resolve to fly my freak flag high. I love bright colors, bold styles, big jewelry, hats, and loud classic rock. Anyone who has a problem with this, or any other aspect of my personality is cordially invited to suck it. I am a (mostly) gentle soul and I’m not hurting anyone, so how I dress or what I love is between me, myself and I. I do not apologize. I do not slink. I do not have to explain to anyone in the world what a grown woman is doing with a rubber duckie collection or what a fat woman is doing wearing orange.

2: I resolve to do good for my community. It’s easy to remember to give to good causes at Christmas and the New Year. There’s a Santa with a donation bucket or a Good Soul coming to your door or a reminder from your favorite cause everywhere you turn at this time of year. When I shopped at Borders, I threw in a stuffed panda bear for an abused child. When I got some coffee at Peet’s, I donated a couple bucks to the local shelter for victims of domestic violence. I love it that giving is made so very easy at this time of year, but I need to remember to do more in the other eleven months. I’ll be clearing some older, but still perfectly wearable clothes out of my closet in the next month or two. Luckily, I remembered to take some literature on that shelter so I can contact them to see if they can use anything. And I’ll keep being a good neighbor. They need someone to look after their cat sometimes. I’m happy to do that. Maybe I can do…no, scratch that. I definitely can do more. It’s time to make it happen.

3: I resolve to take better care of myself this coming year. Over the last few months I’ve been a bit cavalier about my own welfare. I stay up into the wee hours, rise when Mr. Twistie starts getting ready for work, pour myself a massive mug of coffee and remember to have breakfast slightly after noon. There have been reasons for this personal neglect, but it’s time to stop and pull myself together. Regular sleep and regular meals are important. I deserve them. And since my mommy has been dead for nearly twenty years, it’s kind of my job these days to make sure I get them.

4: I resolve to rediscover my own creativity. Again, there have been reasons I haven’t pulled down my lace pillow or written a short story in longer than I care to think about. But those reasons are no longer there to stop me. My life has changed for the better and I’m about to bloom again. Watch out world!

I think that’s enough to be getting on with. What about all of you? Are you making any resolutions this year? Tell me about them.

With Christmas just a few days away, Francesca reminds you:

You can control only yourself, no one else.  Do your part and let the rest go.

Keep your eyes on the prize. In this case, the prize is love, peace and joy among you and anyone you encounter on the holiday. Nothing is as important as these things, not even the turkey burning or your inability to find a Zhu Zhu hamster or whether you finish polishing the silver before your mother comes. (Do not be this person’s brother.)

Do what you need to be fully “present.” A nap or a hot bath might do more to make Christmas meaningful than last-minute tinsel. And if you are the guest in someone’s home, offer to vacuum or chop vegetables or load the dishwasher.

Reach out. If you are spending Christmas alone and don’t want to be, make some calls or emails now, and make arrangements with others (such as your internet friends?) to get together at your house or at a restaurant. Just popping some popcorn, and a movie into the DVD player, will be nice if you have company.

Eat as much of whatever you want this Christmas. You are a grownup person, and a beautiful one at that.

Give yourself and others lots of hugs!

xoxo!

…I thought I would let you know The Basement of the Bargains is back, baby!

[Note: A new "From Francesca's Inbox" is coming tomorrow morning!]

A while back, Francesca and Plumcake each blogged about avoiding loneliness. Among other things, Francesca mentioned a course she has taken called “Understanding Yourself and Others.”  Commenter avi wrote:

I would like to know more about the “Understanding Yourself and Others” events. To my surprise, I might be ready for something like that. But from the outside, it seems a little cultish. Would you tell us more about it?

Finally Francesca has had a moment to compose her thoughts about this wonderful experience. She prefaces by emphasizing that this is her own experience and she does not represent anyone else.

Francesca first heard of it from a friend who is a member of the clergy. He is a serious, thoughtful, no-nonsense man, so when he told me about how much he had gained from it — as well as his parents, his sister, and his wife — I was intrigued. I trust his judgement — and his parents are among the smarter, more grounded people I know–  so I went into the course with a very open mind, ready to learn something. This is important because in the course they do some corny (cultish-seeming) things sometimes, but because someone I believed in believes in the course, I was open to “going with the flow.”

Before the course, one fills out a long form, including one’s goals for the experience. For example, one’s goal might be to develop more self-confidence, to come to terms with a particular family member or trauma, to become a better listener, to figure out what one wants to do with one’s career, etc. Up to 22 students may register (plus 2 “reviewers” who are retaking the class after a time, to work on themselves more with different goals), so there is lots of personal attention.

It’s 2  1/2 days of learning to be completely honest with others (scary!) and with oneself (even scarier!) in a loving, helpful way. The instructors are warm and funny but also will call you out on your, eh, issues when appropriate! There are lots of whole-group exercises, and some times when individual or small groups (for example, several people who have similar relationship issues they are working on) will be the focus. It is intense and a little draining and feels fantastic — like a good emotional workout.

Once one has finished, one can return (for free) as a “course assistant,” basically there to act as a support to the students. I have found that being a course assistant is at least as interesting and helpful as being a student, since I can watch and listen –learning so much about human nature — and then apply what I can to myself without any pressure. Francesca has gone back to assist four times! One leaves with a happy,  glowing feeling.

Does the feeling last? No. It dissipates after a  while. But the tools one learns do last, if one uses them. There is no magic pill that can make anyone feel confident all the time, or reconciled with a family member all the time, etc. But the course has helped Francesca reframe and embrace her “issues,” and deal with them with some optimism and self-acceptance and a sense of humor. She gets along better with her parents, she sets boundaries for herself better, she accepts her fatness better, she takes insults less personally. (This was all a process over a few years of returning to the course a few times and other helpful things like therapy.)

Yes, people who first come back from a UYO weekend, flush with the emotional high, do sometimes sound as if they’ve encountered some sort of cult, much to the annoyance of friends and family members! (Francesca must point out, though, that the aim of the course is to help one connect with others, and never isolates one from one’s family. Also, returning to “assist” is free, so no one is being milked for funds. You don’t have to keep spending money in order to be part of the program.)

On the other hand, loved ones are usually pleased (if a bit confused) to see one feeling good. Francesca knows many couples for whom this course saved their marriage, or brought it to a new level, even if only one member of the couple took the course.

Anyhow, that is Francesca’s two cents! More information is here!

xoxo

When you go to make that Thanksgiving feast, you know what you’ll be making, right?

Turkey, stuffing, green bean casserole, yams with marshmallow topping, pumpkin pie, cranberry sauce, and rolls.

Well, that or something extremely similar is expected. Then again, just because it’s expected doesn’t mean it works for you.

“But Twistie!,” some say aghast, “It has Always Been This Way! You cannot go changing it willy-nilly!”

To which I reply the same excuse has been used to explain enslavement of populations, female circumcision, and Richard Simmons’ hair and exercise outfits. Do you really want to fall back on an excuse that allows this to continue?

I thought not.

There are reasons why the typical Thanksgiving menu evolved as it did, and they have little to do with pilgrims or Squanto or Plymouth Rock.

You see, the holiday wasn’t formalized in America until 1863, when Abraham Lincoln declared the third thursday in November as a national day of Thanksgiving. It wasn’t the first time a president had declared a national day of Thanksgiving. George Washington had already done that on October 3, 1789. He proclaimed another national day of Thanksgiving in 1795. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson also declared Thanksgiving days during their presidencies, and a number of state governors did so in their terms, until in 1858, some 25 states and two territories held  Thanksgiving on one date or another.

At the urging of Sarah Josepha Hale (editress [her preferred title] of the influential Godey’s Ladies Book and author of [among many other poems and prose pieces] Mary Had a Little Lamb), Lincoln came to the decision that it was time to go ahead and make Thanksgiving a permanent, annual event. Mostly Lincoln said everyone should thank God for their blessings and didn’t say a lot about eating, but feasting has always been a popular way of celebrating and of expressing gratitude, and everyone had heard about the feast the pilgrims had, so it didn’t take long for the whole food thing to be adopted.

This was a time when massive grocery stores and refrigeration did not yet exist. People ate what they had access to, and what they had access to was a great deal less exotic and season-negotiable than what we have today.

Turkeys roamed wild, though they had also been domesticated by then for eating purposes. Root vegetables like yams and sweet potatoes come into season in the fall. Cranberries had become a popular crop that came into season with the colder weather. It’s not difficult to see how the standard menu developed. After a couple generations, it got set more or less in marble with a few regional and familial variations.

But what about today? The Menu made sense in 1863. It was an elaborate version of the things that were most readily available. Today we have a great many more options. We have access to cooking techniques that hadn’t been invented when Great-great-grandma developed her stuffing recipe. We can get strawberries in November, if we please. We have tasted flavors from cultures other than our own. We don’t have to eat what Great-great-grandma ate.

Am I saying there’s anything wrong with the standard Thanksgiving fare? No. Of course not. I love turkey and pumpkin pie (and not just because my two most freakish abilities in the kitchen are turkey that never dries out and pie crust that is always flaky and delicious) and cranberries. Okay,  not so hot on smothering innocent yams and sweet potatoes with marshmallows, but that’s personal. If they’re your thing, have at them!

What I am saying is that if you’re a vegetarian, or require a gluten-free meal, or just aren’t wild about roast turkey and cranberries, it’s okay to eat something else. Serve butternut squash lasagna and vegan cupcakes, sit yourself down to the best Thai food you can drum up. It’s all good.

The point of the day isn’t turkey, it’s taking a moment to appreciate and celebrate the good things we have in life, wherever we think they came from, whatever we consider the important ones. You get to choose whether the food that sums that up best is roast turkey or a steak or cheese enchiladas or the perfect PB&J.

Don’t be afraid to think outside the box. If you pick the expected, it should be because you love it. If you don’t, you’re not going to make the planets spin out of control and hurtle themselves into the stars. Eat what you love, and love what you eat.

After all, it’s hard to drum up much thankfulness for food you dislike or that actively sickens you.

Before posting the Big Reminders, Francesca acknowledges that many of our readers come here for the pretty pictures. So she will oblige with the plus-size fashions from the Spiegel.

Silk Georgette Skirt

Reminder: Change the oil of your car!

Silk safari dress available in 6 colors

Reminder: Do a breast self-exam!

Leopard-print jacket from Spiegel. Ability to impersonate Jill from The Young and the Restless implied but not included.

Reminder: Buy a new toothbrush!

This pencil skirt is designed for the office, but is somewhat reminiscent of Kate Winslet's first costume in Titanic, is it not? Francesca loves the Edwardian clothing!

Reminder: Dance!

Last weekend you may not have realized it, but I was not sitting at my computer typing feverishly for your entertainment. No, I submitted my articles ahead of time and scarpered off leaving most of you none the wiser.

You see, I had a wedding to attend.

It’s been some thirteen years or thereabouts since a boy with a guitar at least as big as he was marched up to Mr. Twistie in a coffee house where he was playing and asked to sit in on a tune or two. Mr. Twistie came home that night gushing about the kid. We immediately took him under our extremely odd wings and did our best to make sure he got the benefit of our combined eccentricities.

Well, in spite of all that, last week the kid got married in Los Angeles to a lovely lady who lets him get away with precisely nothing.

It was a great wedding and a terrific reception. Mr. Twistie and I pooped out maybe half an hour before the festivities were scheduled to end. When we left, the mother of the bride was boogieing enthusiastically to Play That Funky Music, White Boy while a circle of admiring much younger folk watched.

But that’s not what I want to talk about today. I want to talk about my screen debut.

Technically it’s not my first film. That was about twenty years ago when a friend of mine asked me to appear in his class project for his film course. I had a leading role in a parody of Das Boot.

On the other hand, that film was only ever seen by one class of film students at San Francisco State University twenty years ago and half a dozen people involved with the making of it in the living room of one of the actors. It’s not precisely a legendary piece of filmmaking, though it was quite good for a new filmmaker with a nearly nonexistent budget and volunteer actors.

As Mr. Twistie and I and a couple we are friends with were leaving the church after the wedding last saturday, we were stopped by a charming lady in a vintage dress that she wore quite well and asked if we would like to appear in a film.

Since we had four hours to kill until the reception started, and since we were assured this would only take a couple minutes, our response was enthusiastic agreement.

It took more than a couple minutes. This is a real film (albeit a small, independent one) that required filling out real releases and real liability forms. And then Mr. Twistie and I were in one scene while our friends were used in a different scene. Still, it was less than an hour all told out of our day, and we were left with plenty of time to catch up and refresh ourselves before dinnertime.

So why (other than an intense need to brag) am I telling you all this? Because quite simply we were stopped and asked to be in a film because we looked interesting. I know that I in particular looked interesting because of all the women in that church that sunny afternoon, I was the only one who had thought to wear a hat. It was a rather spectacular hat, too, in ruby velvet with a glorious self-double-scroll in front and a wide brim.

Let this be a lesson to you all. Wear great hats. You never know whose eye you’ll catch.

If you want me, I’ll be in my trailer.