Hi, my name is Jenny, and I'm fat.

I am fat.

I'm not chubby. I'm not plump, zaftig, Rubenesque, full-figured, thick, a "woman of size," or anything else you might think of as a synonym for the three letter word FAT.

In our culture, it's generally frowned upon to be fat, much less to acknowledge it. After all, we live in a capitalist, consumer-driven society in which food is plentiful. In agricultural societies, or where food is scarce, fat is seen as a sign of wealth, of abundance. But the fact is, we don't live in those cultures.

I wish I could say that knowing that, I have made my peace with being fat. I have not. I hate being fat. I hate the way people stare at me--or don't. I hate that I think people are examining everything on my plate. I hate the Food Police, mostly because they only exist inside my head. I hate looking at pictures of myself and cringing. I hate that I "let myself" get to this weight without even realizing it. I hate having hope for a thinner tomorrow, yet it's so reassuring to think of the possibility that some day, I might not be fat.

I realize that the only person who can make me not fat is me, and I also realize that without making peace with my body, I will never be comfortable in it or happy with it, regardless of the number that appears on the scale. Realizing that and making it happen, however, are two different things.

What's the point anymore

When I tell people that I don't know what I want to be when I grow up, and that I'd be happy to take their suggestions, they usually think I'm kidding. I'm not. Since I graduated from college seven years ago this May, I have done the following:

• Applied to PhD programs in sociology at University of Notre Dame, University of Minnesota, and Loyola University Chicago. Got into Loyola. Maybe if I'd gone, I wouldn't feel like such a failure now.
• Spent a year substitute teaching, mostly lonely and alone.
• Applied to PhD programs in sociology at New York University, Boston College, University of Wisconsin, Portland State University, University of Chicago, University of Texas (Austin), Georgia State University, Arizona State University, and University of California-San Francisco. Got into Chicago's MA program; actually went.
• Got my MA, then worked in a small law office, mostly catching up on reading and boring myself to death.
• Applied to law school at Indiana University, University of Kentucky, University of Washington, Ohio State, Tulane, Georgetown, American, Northwestern, and Hamline. Got into Hamline, then discovered that it's a Tier 4 law school. Didn't want to go that badly.
• Went to work at a job I hated, with people I didn't like. But it paid well.
• Applied to the only PhD programs that accept mid-year applicants at Emory, University of Maryland, and University of Louisville. Got into U of L, am about to finish my second MA, this one in Women's and Gender Studies.
• Applied to only one PhD program for the 2009-10 school year, University of British Columbia. Got rejected.
• Applied for the Masters of Science in Social Work program at U of L. Will start Marriage and Family Therapy program in the summer.

I still feel like I've failed, because I've wanted a PhD for so long. (The law school thing was an ill-advised offroad adventure from that, I'll admit. Though I did like the law classes I took, and I liked the kinds of things I encountered at the law office where I worked, in hindsight it's a very good thing that I didn't get accepted to law school.) Doing the MSSW/MFT thing almost feels like settling, especially since what I really want to do is teach. (However, I don't know if that's actually what I want to do. It seems like something I'd want to do from the outside, but past experience has shown that what a job looks like from outside is usually pretty different from what it's actually like. I need a professor who will turn their class over to me for a semester. Then we'll see how I feel about it.)

So at what point do you give up on the dream? It's been seven years, and I'd estimate that I've spent close to $3000 applying for schools, not counting the sheer amount of work-hours I spent working on applications and the like. That's half a year's rent for a nice one bedroom in Louisville. Maybe I just don't have it in me. 

Maybe I'm not cut out to get a PhD. It's getting harder and harder for me to find professors who were willing to write letters of recommendation for me. I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure that's a bad sign. It doesn't mean that I can't go back later and get a PhD, but for now, all signs point to 'stop.'

WHAT? INSIDE VOICE?

While I was on a break at work today, I found myself suddenly missing England. This is weird, because I pretty much loathed every minute I lived there. I counted down the months, weeks, days until I got to go back home. (Sidebar: Within the past month, almost a dozen people have asked me where I'm from (or the variation, "Where's home?"). I find it difficult to answer this question, after moving around so much. Home is...wherever.) But what I miss about England is the people.

It's not that I dislike Americans, or subscribe to the idea that all Americans are ill-mannered and uncouth. There is, however, a big difference in the way Americans behave in public areas and the way the English behave in public. Some of it, I'm sure, has to do with the space available to Americans. There's simply not the amount of room available to the average Londoner that's available to the average person in Louisville. People in the Midwest take up more space, possibly because more is available to them. However, this doesn't quite explain the difference in volume.

The thing that I observed today is how LOUD American families tend to be. Rather than saying the child's name in a clear, audible voice, the American parent shouts across the room to the child. Whereas an English parent might expect the child to come over immediately, the American parent continues to deliver instructions or corrections LOUDLY and across the room. This could be a class thing, or perhaps I'm being overly critical of other people's parenting techniques. (As I tend to do, honestly.) 

But I'm inclined to believe that the difference is cultural, at least in part. My only evidence of this is that when American parents pull their children aside as English parents do, people start visibly. Their interactions are considered to be intense, and passers-by look at them the same way they look at people who smack their children in public.

Aside from parenting techniques, I miss England because when two people were talking to each other at a table in a London coffeeshop, I couldn't hear what they were saying. In comparison, I've learned way too much information about a great number of strangers, including the state of their bowels, their marital problems, etc. So, people of America, I ask you: Please use your inside voice.

This American Life

I have an addiction to "This American Life" on NPR.

At first, I was just a casual user. On Saturdays, I would be driving, and suddenly find myself listening to the melodic tones of Ira Glass. Soon, though, I started scheduling time to listen. Before I knew it, I was downloading podcasts every day and listening to them everywhere. It didn't matter where I was--in the car, before class, waiting at the doctor's office...I had to listen.

And now I find that I want to write my own segment for "This American Life."

The only thing is, where do I start? Should I start with some of my favorite episodes, like the one about how childhood misunderstandings carry over into adulthood? (Oooh, then I could tell my story about how I thought that fire trucks started fires.) Or about how "No One's Family Will Ever Change"? (Then I could talk about when I first realized that my family was a bit...unusual.)

Please, Ira. Call me.

Post Con update

After Comic Con, I've become aware of all the tv shows that I should be watching. Now, I know what you're saying...who needs to become addicted to more tv shows? Well, after going to panels, I've become aware that there are some amazing shows out there that I've been missing. Like "Weeds," for example, which we watched on the plane there and back. I don't get Showtime, so DVDs have been a fantastic option. So here's a list of other shows that I need to start watching:

1. Pushing Daisies

2. Saving Grace

3. The Closer

4. (Not out until 2009) Dollhouse

5. Mad Men

6. Breaking Bad

7. Chuck

Geek-tastic

We got back from Comic Con last night at about 10 pm, after having spent four days in geek heaven. We saw Kevin Smith, Judd Apatow, Frank Miller, and Zac Snyder, all in one panel, and I had my very own fangirl moment when I met Gail Simone. But that's not when the geek-o-rama started.

Technically, our geek fest started the previous sunday, when we went to see The Dark Knight (along with everyone else in the world). It's difficult to describe the experience of watching The Dark Knight, even when one is talking to someone who has already seen the movie. I've seen every Batman movie since 1989's Batman, and until the Christopher Nolan/Christian Bale Batman Begins, I saw all of them with my father. Seeing as how I was 9 when the first Batman movie came out, I shouldn't have been shocked that people brought their kids to see The Dark Knight. And yet, because I knew that it closely followed Alan Moore's The Killing Joke, I also knew that The Dark Knight was not "suitable for children."* It's not that the movie is particularly violent--300 and other recent graphic novel-into movie projects have had considerably more violence. (Hey, The Dark Knight isn't even as violent as the trailer for The Punisher, but I'll cover that later.) What would make me reluctant to take a child to see The Dark Knight is that it is deeply psychologically disturbing.

And for some children, the psychologically disturbing nature of the film would bring up interesting and difficult questions--about the nature of heroism, about hero worship in itself, and about the nature of madness. Hopefully, the same questions were brought up for adults who saw it. (I almost believe this, just based on the number of people who've seen it multiple times.) 

This is why I read comic books. Because they're not just stories with pictures. They're not just for kids. (In fact, most of the authors that I adore--Frank Miller, Gail Simone, and Alan Moore, among others--are definitely not for children.) They're intense stories with cultural icons and archetypes, accompanied by illustrations that, outside of printed books, could be displayed as art work--if the stigma of being a "comic artist" didn't exist.

And this is why I loved going to Comic Con. It wasn't just the panels that we went to (which included Kevin Smith's "Zac and Miri Make A Porno," a panel that featured Frank Miller, Judd Apatow, Kevin Smith and Zac Snyder, "Battlestar Galactica," and "Doctor Who") or the people we saw (Jeff had his fanboy moment less than 2 feet from Ed Brubaker); it was the overall experience of the Con. People are committed to their love of the medium, and they're unabashed in their joy. More than that, everyone we met was genuinely nice. Despite the fact that there were over 200,000 people at the San Diego Convention Center and it was almost impossible to get anywhere without bumping into people or walking through groups of people, everyone apologized for bumping into one another and everyone was generally quite polite. Overall, Con attendees are awesome. 

And the Con rocked.

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* Note: Because, after all, children are different from one another, what might be inappropriate for one child might be perfectly accessible for another. I'm generalizing here, of course. 

Knitting in public

I'm going to try to blog more, particularly about my knitting projects. Right now, I'm making a scarf for my sister out of bamboo yarn, a lovely grey blanket for myself, and seafoam green socks. The socks are not going too well--I got the ankle part done, but have come to a full stop at starting the heel. Not good. Everything else is going well, and the blanket will probably be done soon.

My biggest concern right now is not being able to take my knitting on the plane with me. Must look into that.