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genes and joy
Jan. 24th, 2011 11:29 amOn the plane back from the land of sausages and mash I watched the movie Eat, Pray, Love, Fart... scratch. You know that movie. The one based on the book of that lady who got a book advance to go and find herself because she realized one day that she didn't want to be married to her husband. I don't begrudge her for waking up and realizing that she didn't want to be married to her husband because stuff like that happens. Marriages end for a variety of reasons and people (hopefully) get on with their lives and find some sort of contentment along the way. It can be hard that a marriage ends in that fashion but it is what it is. The whole "getting a book advance" to find herself is a bit much though. Most people don't have that luxury. Most people have to go and find a new place to live, deal with paperwork and figure out who gets the kitchen-aid mixer.
The movie was kind of interesting but mostly I found myself wanting to smack the main character around. It was a bit like someone had made a movie of Stuff White People Like. I am a white-ish person (technically mixed race like most Americans but I look mostly white and I aware of my privilege that come with my hue-related status) and I like stuff. (scarves, farmers markets, Oscar parties) Which is fine. Gotta know who you are and be cool with it. After all I was born and bred on the West Coast of the United States, raised in a fairly arty town on a healthy diet of liberation theology and non-sugary cereals. I am going to be inclined to listen to the occasional bit of World music and proclaim my love of Pho like I "discovered" it or something.
I did like Richard Jenkins' character in the Pray section of the movie. He is one of those reliable "Hey it's that guy" character actors. He could show up and give weight and meaning to a commercial for Tide laundry soap. I suppose the main character eventually dealt with her pile of stuff but not everyone gets to travel to exotic locations and listen to the wisdom of others about dealing with your nonsense and being a grown-up. Maybe that is my beef. Some people have to sit at home and do the dishes and learn how to forgive and grieve and acknowledge their weaknesses and also come to terms with what is awesome about their self and being vulnerable to love again and finding pleasure in everyday life. They don't get to hang out in Bali or see ancient ruins. whatever.
That being said there was some stuff in the Eat section of the film that I found kind of interesting. It kind of awoke some stuff in me; especially after a conversation with my Mother and sister. There was a whole thing where the main character and her friend are eating delicious Italian food and the one friend is afraid to eat because, "OMG she gained a few pounds." The main character talked about all the time spent in her life counting calories and worrying and eating the salad and essentially being scared of food and not truly enjoying it. And then there was another part of the film where she was talking about feeling guilty for eating all this delicious food and OMG isn't she so bad. Her Italian friends pointed out that "you Americans know entertainment but you don't know pleasure." And gave her a ration of crap about making food sinful or guilt-worthy. I realized in that moment that I don't really feel that way about food. I don't make comments about being so crazy/dangerous/bad because I am eating a slice of cake or something that might have some extra calories. I realized much of that goes back to my Mother. I remember we were having dinner together (I was probably eleven or twelve at the time) at some restaurant and I said something about some dish being so sinful and she said, "No it isn't. This (and she was paraphrasing Ben Franklin -one of my favorite poonhounds of the American revolution) is a sign that God love you and wants you to be happy." She made a very distinct point that good food was never ever a bad thing. She never laid into us about not eating something because it was bad bad bad. She grew up with a Mother who gave her a proper head trip about food/weight and so on and I know my Mom made it her mission not to hand that particular thing onto my sister and I. It wasn't like she didn't teach us to take care of ourselves and to not eat well -because she did. She made it a point to teach us about the pleasure of eating and cooking. I often wondered about why my Grandma was so worked up about my Mother and food and it wasn't until recently that my Mom said that Grandma always felt big. Grandma wasn't big. She (like my Mother) had a powerful presence and gave off the impression of being... tall/powerful. I remember being surprised that she was only 5'4 because she always seemed... taller and magnificent. Yet Grandma obviously had some self-image issues. Which is kind of funny. She also loved to eat/cook good food and when I would visit her she would make wonderful things and encourage me to enjoy everything. It was intriguing to see how that stuff can be passed down so easily.
I am thankful my Mother decided to end that. I find the idea of applying such morality to food to be a dull way to spend life. Some of it may be my anxiety induced sense of mortality but all I can think is, "time is so short, I want all of it to be exciting and good." I think I only feel guilt when I eat crappy food. I suspect this is why I avoid places like Applebees. I just don't have the energy to look at a beautiful piece of pie and think "I will regret this". Maybe it is like sex. I have only ever regretted sex when it was bad. Good...I will brag about it.
Which brings me to another recent realization about food and self-image and all that dreary fun stuff. I was struck in some random moment that I don't hate my body. Sure there are bits of it that make me go, "what happened there...oh yeah child-birth/age." I may not be a size two but my body works pretty well for the most part and it is all right. I spent plenty of years hating the sight of myself and now I think, "I am all right. and I am pretty comfortable with it."
Now to eat some toast!
The movie was kind of interesting but mostly I found myself wanting to smack the main character around. It was a bit like someone had made a movie of Stuff White People Like. I am a white-ish person (technically mixed race like most Americans but I look mostly white and I aware of my privilege that come with my hue-related status) and I like stuff. (scarves, farmers markets, Oscar parties) Which is fine. Gotta know who you are and be cool with it. After all I was born and bred on the West Coast of the United States, raised in a fairly arty town on a healthy diet of liberation theology and non-sugary cereals. I am going to be inclined to listen to the occasional bit of World music and proclaim my love of Pho like I "discovered" it or something.
I did like Richard Jenkins' character in the Pray section of the movie. He is one of those reliable "Hey it's that guy" character actors. He could show up and give weight and meaning to a commercial for Tide laundry soap. I suppose the main character eventually dealt with her pile of stuff but not everyone gets to travel to exotic locations and listen to the wisdom of others about dealing with your nonsense and being a grown-up. Maybe that is my beef. Some people have to sit at home and do the dishes and learn how to forgive and grieve and acknowledge their weaknesses and also come to terms with what is awesome about their self and being vulnerable to love again and finding pleasure in everyday life. They don't get to hang out in Bali or see ancient ruins. whatever.
That being said there was some stuff in the Eat section of the film that I found kind of interesting. It kind of awoke some stuff in me; especially after a conversation with my Mother and sister. There was a whole thing where the main character and her friend are eating delicious Italian food and the one friend is afraid to eat because, "OMG she gained a few pounds." The main character talked about all the time spent in her life counting calories and worrying and eating the salad and essentially being scared of food and not truly enjoying it. And then there was another part of the film where she was talking about feeling guilty for eating all this delicious food and OMG isn't she so bad. Her Italian friends pointed out that "you Americans know entertainment but you don't know pleasure." And gave her a ration of crap about making food sinful or guilt-worthy. I realized in that moment that I don't really feel that way about food. I don't make comments about being so crazy/dangerous/bad because I am eating a slice of cake or something that might have some extra calories. I realized much of that goes back to my Mother. I remember we were having dinner together (I was probably eleven or twelve at the time) at some restaurant and I said something about some dish being so sinful and she said, "No it isn't. This (and she was paraphrasing Ben Franklin -one of my favorite poonhounds of the American revolution) is a sign that God love you and wants you to be happy." She made a very distinct point that good food was never ever a bad thing. She never laid into us about not eating something because it was bad bad bad. She grew up with a Mother who gave her a proper head trip about food/weight and so on and I know my Mom made it her mission not to hand that particular thing onto my sister and I. It wasn't like she didn't teach us to take care of ourselves and to not eat well -because she did. She made it a point to teach us about the pleasure of eating and cooking. I often wondered about why my Grandma was so worked up about my Mother and food and it wasn't until recently that my Mom said that Grandma always felt big. Grandma wasn't big. She (like my Mother) had a powerful presence and gave off the impression of being... tall/powerful. I remember being surprised that she was only 5'4 because she always seemed... taller and magnificent. Yet Grandma obviously had some self-image issues. Which is kind of funny. She also loved to eat/cook good food and when I would visit her she would make wonderful things and encourage me to enjoy everything. It was intriguing to see how that stuff can be passed down so easily.
I am thankful my Mother decided to end that. I find the idea of applying such morality to food to be a dull way to spend life. Some of it may be my anxiety induced sense of mortality but all I can think is, "time is so short, I want all of it to be exciting and good." I think I only feel guilt when I eat crappy food. I suspect this is why I avoid places like Applebees. I just don't have the energy to look at a beautiful piece of pie and think "I will regret this". Maybe it is like sex. I have only ever regretted sex when it was bad. Good...I will brag about it.
Which brings me to another recent realization about food and self-image and all that dreary fun stuff. I was struck in some random moment that I don't hate my body. Sure there are bits of it that make me go, "what happened there...oh yeah child-birth/age." I may not be a size two but my body works pretty well for the most part and it is all right. I spent plenty of years hating the sight of myself and now I think, "I am all right. and I am pretty comfortable with it."
Now to eat some toast!
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