Over the weekend I had hoped to make it to a showing of Wall-E. After my last entry that talked about the fatphobia in the film, I decided that I should see it anyway, to give it a fair shake. I mean, perhaps they didn't *mean it that way*.

Well, apparently they *did* mean it that way, and I'm glad I didn't get the chance to fork over $12-$15 to see it. Via Liss's Monday Blogaround, I found an article by jessicamelusine, who had seen the film and was so bothered by the message of it she wound up sending a letter to Pixar in protest:

The first half hour took my breath away—exquisite, beautiful, heartwrenching and full of beauty even in the midst of a nightmarish dystopia. I loved the tenderness and love that went into creating Wall-e and Eve and the hope that they had.

Then, the Axiom.

This broke my heart. Completely.

Do you know what it feels like seeing a shipfull of fat people who exist to show how dissolute and horrible and wasteful people can be? I’ve had fat jokes directed at me. I’ve had people laugh at my pictures. Since childhood, I’ve even had family members poke fun at my body, where I’m supposed to “take a joke”.

At this point, I don't care about whether or not the film shows that the same habits that made humanity fat also completely destroyed the world. Pixar is STILL using fat as a metaphor for overconsumption, intellectual and physical laziness, and chronic disregard for others. From comments on Melusine's thread, the fat fat fattie humans are also in a state of arrested development and are almost baby-like.

It just seems like one of the most damned depressing things to me... last summer you had Ratatouille, which had some issues that I outlined a few weeks ago, but by and large it was really good. It was about the *sheer pleasure* of food, about that amazing thing that happens when ingredients mix together in just the right way. It showed Remy cooking with heavy cream and olive oil, for fuck's sake.

I guess they felt they had to follow it up with a cautionary tale about HOW THE EARTH WILL BE DESTROYED if you enjoy too much of Remy's legendary soup.

So here's my letter to Pixar:

Dear Pixar,

Fuck you.

I am fat. In spite of that fact, however, I run on a regular basis, share a car with my husband, enjoy a good discussion about various nerdy literary subjects (random: I just finished Possession by A.S. Byatt... fookin good book!), question myself on a regular basis, re-use Ziploc and plastic bags until they fall apart or become soiled and am generally very, very worried about whether or not my actions hurt other people or the environment. While I *am* easily amused at times, I do not find your fat jokes amusing in the least. I am not a slob, a glutton or a baby. I am fat, which is not the same thing.

But I suppose we can erase that entire paragraph due to the statement made in the first sentence. I am fat. And therefore any realities about my lifestyle that conflict with the projections you have made onto me should just shut up and get the hell out of the way.

Seriously. Fuck you.

Kisses,
Andrea

You know what I really hate? That part of me feels fucking guilty about not seeing the film. I mean, it's Pixar and Pixar is usually SO GOOD. Maybe if I were just less sensitive the world would be so much less threatening to me. Maybe I just need to get over it. Or maybe there are other themes in the movie that would outweigh the fatphobic stuff.

I'm going to smack that part of myself around for a bit. Because, well... NO. I don't deserve to pay money just to spend 90 minutes of my life being fat-shamed to the point of tears, TYVM. Rather, I deserve a kitty.

Over the weekend, Jon and I spent a semi-disgusting amount of time at the Westside Pavillion, the chi-chi mall with very few quality offerings for plus-sized women such as myself. I mean, don't get me wrong, there's a Lane Bryant and a Torrid, but they're not as well-modelled as the same stores at the Fox Hills mall. The Macy's and Nordstrom are absolutely laughable... but hey, there's a yummy Italian restaurant, swanky bar and a nice movie theatre. There's also a Lenscrafters, and that was the main reason we were in the mall to begin with.

Jon got new glasses over the weekend... the optometrist also dialated his eyes, which gave him the same look as a cat in super playful mode and made me giggle. But after the (three-hour-long) appointment, we had dinner at the yummy Italian place and wandered the mall a bit while waiting for his glasses. This is also the mall that has the designer dog store. Part of me still likes going into this store because, well, puppies, and who doesn't love puppies? But every time I go in there I get more and more of a sinking feeling as I become more and more convinced that this place is *not* a happy place for the puppies in question. I mean... they're basically in glass boxes that many times wouldn't be tall enough for them to get on their hind legs. And the puppies don't come *out* of the glass boxes unless you're "very serious" about buying them.

All of this hit home this past weekend because, for the first time, there was a kitten in the designer dog store. A cute little Persian boy; he was fluffy with a silver tabby print and green-yellow eyes that stood out against his otherwise cool coloring. Persians can often be ugly as all get out with their flat faces and A-shaped mouths, but this guy was a-freaking-dorable. His face wasn't terribly flat, but his eye area was and it made him look kind of mischievous... if we had gotten him, I think Matrim (aka "Toy") would have been a good name for him. And he was, like, completely playful. I stood there for about ten minutes running my fingers along the glass so he could chase them.

But it was just so sad... parts of his fur were matted, like he'd splashed through his water bowl and then his litter box. And even though he's obviously social as hell, you aren't allowed to play with him because you're not "serious" about buying him. Like... they're selling him for an obscene amount of money, but they apparently won't take him out of his glass box to groom him or socialize him. What the hell? I know there's some risk of disease -- as in, if you have a cat at home that has some sort of communicable disease, you don't want to give that to the kitten... but it just seems very suspect. Like, perhaps the cat (and the puppies) weren't bred very humanely, possibly haven't been vaccinated and are being sold before 16 weeks of age, all of which means their immune systems would be extremely weak.

It really sucked. Because a) he's freaking cute, the kind of kitten that just pulls at your heart with his little paws, and b) I feel like he needs to be rescued (read: brought home with Jon and me so we can play with him and love him), but rescuing him involves giving money to the designer dog shop (and that's before you get into the "we aren't allowed to have cats" issue). Poor baby. I hope someone takes him home and loves him...

Does anyone know if there are minimum standards of treatment for breeding and selling pets? Is there a way to find out if a given pet store adheres to them? Are those minimum standards in themselves humane?

Senators Larry Craig and David Vitter cosponsor federal marriage amendment.

So, Robin IMed me with this... I'm tempted to just post the AIM theatre instead of commenting on this, because seriously... the snark level is so damn high the snark lobe in my brain has actually cramped up. I'm in pain.

Like, I really want to snark about how Craig and Vitter think that whatever they do is perfectly fine from a moral standpoint, because they're MARRIED to women. And it's totally normal for men to have sex outside marriage because it's not like married people have sex after Wifeypoo has popped out a couple of heirs. I mean, who wants to fuck a cunt that a baby has come out of?

Yeah, I'd snark. But it falls flat because they actually seem to believe this to be true. At that point humor gives way to fear and disgust. Monogomy between homosexual people is wrong. But cheating on your wife with a man (because you're actually attracted to men) and paying a prostitute to wipe your shitty ass (because your wife doesn't act like enough of a mommy)? Totally okay!

Remember last week when I posted about my total zomg girl crush on Lara Logan, and I posted a video of her interview with Jon Stewart, in which she talks about how she'd have to "blow [her] brains out" if she tried to watch American coverage of the war in Iraq?

Apparently that kind of pissed off Rupy Murdoch and his cronise; in yesterday's New York Post there was an article about her having an affair with TWO! MEN! AT! ONCE!, and how they FOUGHT! OVER! HER! in Baghdad, and how the wife of one of the men thinks she's a HOMEWRECKER!

The best part? The foundation of the article is based on rumors that started circulating at freerepublic.com about seven months ago. Yeah, the Murdoch press sits on this rumor for seven months and just happens to bring it out days after Logan publicly accuses the American media (rightly) of being criminally stupid in its coverage of the war?

Yeah. And if you believe that, I've got some lovely beach-front property in Arizona to sell you. I suppose it's nice to know, in some strange way, that uptight, overpowered swaggering peacocks like Murdoch can still be scared pissless by an intelligent, brutally honest woman like Logan. This whole thing would be highly amusing for me if it weren't likely to put Logan in danger.

But make no mistake; they *are* scared. If they weren't, there'd be no reason to publicly humiliate her.

Check out the link above, which goes to an article at Shakesville by Zuzu, and from there, a link to Digby.

I went to bed right after SYTYCD last night, but I saw your IM this morning about whether or not you missed anything good. You did. :o) So here's the good stuff:

Tabitha and Napoleon are at it again with their lyric hip-hop madness; this time, though, they have Chelsea Hightower and her partner Mark in their clutches. It's fabulous (and it might make you cry).



I think you'll like the concept of this piece; a new guest contemporary choreographer was brought in to work with Kourtni and Matt. Also, I think you'll like Kourtni's tattoo. I want a tattoo.




And lastly, can a hip-hopper do a samba? Why yes, yes I think he can. And PS: he rocks those dance pants! *dies*

Are you guys okay? Safe? Not up to your armpits in flood waters?

Okay, that seems incredibly trite, given that, well, if you *have* been flooded out you won't be able to read this.

Sending warm (dry) vibes your way all the same.

Another reason to love Lara Logan.

In the video I posted last night of her interview with Jon Stewart, Logan references a time she was asked if she felt responsible for the public's negative veiw of the war. The link I provide above is a rough transcript of that interview and a link to a WMP file that shows the interview. Laura Ingraham spent eight goddamn days in Iraq and felt like she had a better idea of what the situation was than journalists like Logan who had been in country for three years. (The interview is from two years ago; to date Logan's been in Iraq for five years).

Logan makes a good point: on one hand, you have people like Ingraham saying that journalists don't know what's going on because they're on their hotel balconies writing about explosions. (It apparently hasn't occurred to Ingraham that part of the reason journalists are stuck in their hotels is because of said explosions making it deadly to go out). But when Bob Woodruff embedded with a security force to get out and take a "real" look at the country (whatever that is) and got injured, people were screaming about what an irresponsible moron he was for putting himself in danger, like he'd gotten hurt on purpose just so he could write about how dangerous it is to move around in Iraq.

You can't fucking win, can you?

Dear Journalism Gods,

If I could be just a little bit like Lara Logan -- just a little bit as tough, smart and tenacious as she -- I would be very well pleased. I do not ask for the fortitude to embed with Navy Seals or keep a calm head after a hotel as blown up right under me. But just enough grit to be bold, self-confident and cool-headed while dealing with local politics would be wonderful.

Much love,
Andrea

So, I have gaming on the brain today, which is normal since it's Friday and Friday nights are usually spent gaming until quite late.

In February, Jon found a thread on the City of Heroes forum entitled, What My Six-Year-Old Has Learned From CoX.

The poster Wyll has three daughters, two of whom play City of Heroes/Villains with him. The OP is regarding his middle daughter who plays the toon Sister Flame. She learned to read by playing the game, has developed in-game social skills (she can hold her own on a team and gets compliments on how she handles her toon, who is a fire blaster) and an impressive imagination in the two years she's been playing the game. The guy gets weird looks when teachers find out her reading skills have been developed with the help of a superhero MMO, but meh.

I think it's good to remember that, while there are a lot of problems with geek culture, there are bright spots where good things happen. This is one of them. The thread is really sweet (if you have time to read it all; if not the OP is enough to make you warm and fuzzy for hours). It kinda makes me want a wee babe I can plop in my lap for a Friday night gaming session.

Just thought I'd share some warm fuzzies on this Black Cat Day.

ETA: So, Wyll posts updates in the thread after the OP. I thought this was too cute... add a squee cherry on top of the warm fuzzy sundae. :o)

It all began when our dear War Witch [a CoH dev] sent me a PM about Flame. She offered to send along some sweet things and Flame loved them. Nothing means more to my little girl than getting a letter in the mail. Getting one from her favorite hero really made her year.

I sent pictures to War Witch of Sister Flame with her comics and one of her standing in front of our huge snowbank. In her reply, War Witch also offered to pop by and meet Sister Flame in game. I didn't want to be an inconvience, so I was reluctant to accept. Afterall, dropping by in game to meet a six year old seems kind of less important thatn working on I12 and stuff like that.

Still, I accept her offer and dropped the Witch a quick line before Flame and I entered the game. I told Flame that War Wtich might meet her in the game and the exchange went a little something like this:

Wyll: "Hey Flame. Would you like to meet War Witch in the game?"

Flame: "You mean stand by her at Pocket D while she drinks?"

Wyll: "No. The real War Witch might pop by, but it is only a maybe."

Flame: "REALLY? To Pocket D! Go go go!"

So, with Flame leading the way, we hit Pocket D and find War Witch with her mug. Flame buzzes around her and clicks on her, which causes an automated response.

Flame: "She's talking to me! Cool! Look at her go!"

Wyll: "Uh honey? That's just an automated process. The real War Witch isn't here."

Flame: "Oh... are you sure?"

I chuckled and went to grab a quick glass of water. As I come back into the computer room, I am greeted to Sister Flame turning into the Tazmania Devil.

Flame: "She's here for real! There are two of them! Come see! Come see Princess S! Come see Jem!" [Princess S and Jem are Flame's two sisters]

Flame begins spinning around the room, bouncing on computer chairs and shouting at the top of her lungs. Her two sisters come running into the computer room and stare in amazement as the real War Witch pops by.

With me at the keyboard, Flame, War Witch and I all have a little chat. Flame was so excited, I knew she wasn't going to go to sleep that night. The oldest sister was susprised and a bit jealous that a "real hero" came to visit her younger sister and my youngest (Princess S) sat in the computer chair with Flame and watched the exchange like it was one of the best kids flicks she had ever seen.

It was only a five to ten minute visit (quite generous given the devs busy schedule and deadlines), but I know Flame will remember it for a life time. She was beaming as War Wtich commented on her costume and we had to head to Steel Canyon after she was told that War Witch use to have a place there. I think that Flame's teacher would like her to tell the class about "City of Heroes" for show and tell sometime.

War Witch, if you're reading this... you are amazing. :oD

A random Google search found the below poster, in which Strawberry Shortcake sits in a bubble bath with her cat pawing around cutely outside the tub. The caption says "Life is Delicious". I thought it was cute enough when I first saw it, but the more I look at it the more I fall in love with it.

WANT. WANT WANT WANT WANT. If I can figure out how to turn it into a livejournal icon, I'm so doing it.

You choreograph the most beautiful, poignant dance numbers I have ever seen. Every routine I've seen you do has touched me profoundly, and last night's was no different.

Thanks for the beauty,
Andrea

Via Fatshionista, I found this article from the New York Times: Fictional Stars Get 21st Century Facelift.

80's cartoon characters like Strawberry Shortcake, TMNT and the Care Bears are getting revamped to be more "relevent" to today's world. Because pizza, warm fuzzy feelings and caring for one's pets is so LAST CENTURY. No, seriously:

Strawberry Shortcake, part of a line of scented dolls, now prefers fresh fruit to gumdrops, appears to wear just a dab of lipstick (but no rouge), and spends her time chatting on a cellphone instead of brushing her calico cat, Custard.

Just what we want to teach our kids! Be a spoiled brat chatting on your cell phone to your friends and neglect your pet. But hey, it's all fine because she eats fruit, so she won't be fat. Huzzah!

The article also mentions that characters in Strawberry Shortcake who can't be revamped to be more "fruit-forward" will be downlayed in order to make sure kids understand that cake and sweets are shameful and bad. I can only assume this is why Custard doesn't deserve to be cared for anymore; her NAME is synonymous with full-fat heavy cream, and she herself is a kitty of the charmingly rotund persuasion. Like any fatty, Custard probably doesn't notice that she's not getting brushed and groomed. Fat people don't care about that, right?

We'll put aside for the moment the fact that I owned a real-life cat who was very much like Custard... and she noticed when I didn't brush her. The experience was traumatic for both of us. However, like a human and its deamon straining against their invisible bond in The Golden Compass, the trauma eventually gave us a stronger relationship with each other. That relationship and how it was cruelly cut short by my mother giving her away behind my back is part of the reason Custard's treatment strikes me so deeply. It's fat hatred, stupid homogonizing of an iconic character, and still-raw pain from my past all rolled into one.

And 4Kids Entertainment, which licenses the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, will revive them next year in new video games, where they will have more muscles and less attitude.

Oh look! More outstanding messages to our kids: be boring, but make sure you bulk up, boys. Otherwise we might mistake you for Angelina Ballerina. (Who is also getting a svelte makeover). I would be completely unsurprised if they changed one of the turtle's names to Ahnold.

American Greetings is dusting off another of its lines, the Care Bears, which will return with a fresh look this fall (less belly fat, longer eyelashes).

THEY'RE FUCKING BEARS AND THEY'RE LOSING WEIGHT, TOO? I mean, if children saw all that corny warm fuzzy shit coming from fat bears, they might think that fat people have feelings. And we wouldn't want that. Then who would shame the nation's fat kids into being skinny?

Goddess forbid our children have chubby, cuddly teddybears. They might get the horrible, possibly deadly idea that fat isn't EVIL.

George starts pulling the wings off of bats, giggling gleefully. A distant relative says, "Hey George, you can't do that."

"Yes I can! I'm the Decider and Torturer of Bats. I can do anything I want, right Supreme Court?"

Supreme Court: "No."

George: "But they're bats. They live in the dark and suck your blood and they're evil."

Supreme Court: "You can't do that. The rules of this house forbid the torment of any animal. At all. We've even signed joint rules with other households saying that we'll treat each other's bats humanely."

George uses duct tape to tape the bat to a wall, so at least it's upright and looking at him as he pulls the wings off. "How about now?"

Supreme Court: "No."

"Aw, nuts." George gets a bunch of friends to review the duct-taping process, pulls off one of the bat's wings. His friends approve the process as humane. "How about now?"

Supreme court: "No!"

Unfortunately, like every ineffective parent, the Supreme Court is long on admonition and short on action to actually stop the abusive behavior of its child. The same is true of all the adults in little George's family.

-----

In layman's real-life terms, the Supreme Court today, for the third time in the past five years, ruled AGAINST Bush's policy toward enemy combatants. They ruled that detainees can challenge the validity of their imprisonment in federal court and that said detainees have limited rights under the United States constitution. Justice Kennedy, writing for the majority, noted that "the laws and Constitution are designed to survive, and remain in force, in extraordinary times.".

Justice John Roberts thinks that's a bunch of hooey, criticizing the majority for striking down "the most generous set of procedural protections ever afforded aliens detained by this country as enemy combatants."

It's kind of funny; with the word "ever" in there, Mr. Chief Justice seems to be implying that this country has a long history of detaining enemy combatants. He should check his history; prior to 9/11 this country only detained prisoners of war who had very clear rights under that quaint international law document known as the Geneve Conventions. And, of course, if the current system of kangaroo courts and the torture that precedes them qualifies as generous in Roberts's mind, I shudder to think what his parsimonious behavior is like. He must give really shitty birthday and holiday presents.

Last week I blogged about my pretty new white pencil skirt. mayakda asked for pictures... so here they are.

Additionally I'm modeling a shirt I bought from Torrid last weekend. I took some of the stuff I bought with Jon's mom and exchanged them -- sorry, Mom! If you're reading this, I just couldn't get used to that purple shirt! -- for some pairs of underwear (which will *not* be modeled) and a hot black shirt with a tiger on it. Yay tigers!

( Anyhoodle, pictures! )

Via Fatshionista (and via Rachel at F-Word before her), we have a few teasing spoilers about the storyline of Pixar's upcoming film Wall-E.

( The spoilers contained herein are general hints about what the film's conflict will be about, no specifics as to what happens in the film. Still, click at your own spoiled risk. )

I was reminded of this by the discussion taking place on Robin's Griswold blog entry.

So, I'm a slave to the show "Boston Legal". I'm not even going to pretend that it's at all balanced in terms of the political ideology it puts forth -- for the most part progressive/liberal ideas are given the most sympathy, and the resident Republican character, Denny Crane (played by William Shatner), is an old scotch-swilling, womanizing man in the early stages of Alzheimer's. While I personally find him strangely endearing, I'm well aware that many (if not most) Republican-leaning people would be offended at the characterization. On the other hand, the resident Democrat and the resident Republican are inseperable best friends and end every episode sitting on Crane's boucony sipping scotch and savoring fine cigars, irrespective of their differences in opion. So maybe there's a moral in there somewhere. :o)

Anyhoodle, in this past season Alan Shore (the Democrat) appeared before the Supreme Court arguing a death penalty case. It was actually a really damn cool episode -- they brought in actors to protray the justices, and the actors who protray Roberts and Scalia are almost eerily accurate. While a lot of Shore's argument is basically an airing of the shit many progressives such as myself would absolutely LOVE to say to the justices ourselves, the last twenty seconds of the following video get into the politicizing of the Court from both sides.

So let's skip over the part where Shatner's character is flirting with Justice Ginsberg and get right to the meat of Shore's argument, shall we?

That's me this morning. You see, yesterday Jon and I got locked out of our apartment by UCLA. Not as in we were stupid and left our keys in the apartment. As in, without giving any kind of notice whatsoever, UCLA Housing decided that two years is long enough for a person to finish graduate school and turned off our keys. Through a slightly complicated set of scenarios, we were also completely sans cell phones. Oh, and in another completely *fun* twist of fate, Jon has his second qualifying exam today at 1:30 (to advance to doctoral candidacy).

So, no phones, no ability to get into our apartment, and the maintenance office is closed on the weekends, and it was at that point about 8:30 on the night before Jon's big talk/grilling session. Uhm... yay?

Fortunately, some of our neighbors were really nice and let us use their phone to call the after-hours people. Apparently this same thing happened to some friends of theirs as well. So we got someone to let us in (this week's after-hours guy was fortunately living in our complex), and I get to spend my lunch hour today at the rental office getting our keys reactivated. Bah.

In other news, think warm thoughts for Jon around 1:30 today. If you could also join me in hoping that there are leftover cookies when everything is said and done, I'd appreciate it. :o)

Dear friends and readers, if I ever get to be like the journalists shown in the video below, please do us all a favor and remove me from the press corps. Please.



Seriously. I am allllll in favor of a vigorous and independent press corps that no doubt drives politicians crazy with their nosiness and snooping ability. It acts as another check against tyranny. But this? This is not vigorous and independent. This is the whining of a spoiled brat who is way too convinced of its own self importance. "We follow the president and presidential candidates EVERYWHERE, even when they go BIKE RIDING. Don't you know who we are? We DESERVE to be in that motorcade! Waaahhhh!!!"

Props to Robert Gibbs for not telling them to STFU. The whinefest would have been the perfect time to say something scandalous like, "Well, whiny little reporter, that's why we didn't tell you he wasn't here until you were locked in. We don't trust you to respect the privacy of something that is meant to be private. Can I get anyone a binky to tide them over 'til we land in Chicago? How 'bout a blankie?"

In other news, I love that Clinton and Obama gave both their organ grinder crews the slip. Obama's crew was locked on a plane to Chicago and Clinton's group was eagerly filing reports from the front of her empty DC home. WIN!

I like to announce when I'm adding a new blog to my blogroll. So here it is:

The Adipositivity Project.

This site has been around for awhile, but I just now got around to visiting. It's an ongoing photo collection by Substantia Jones, a New York City photographer. According to her introduction, the aim of the site is to "promote size acceptance, not by listing the merits of big people, or detailing examples of excellence (these things are easily seen all around us), but rather, through a visual display of fat physicality. The sort that's normally unseen. The hope is to widen definitions of physical beauty. Literally."

A lot of the images are NSFW -- a lot of naked or barely-clothed bodies. It's just amazing. I saw images from Leonard Nimoy's Full Body Project, which I hope to purchase as a coffee table book at some point, and it was beautiful, but the Adipositivity Project struck me in a very personal, profound way. The bodies shown are beautiful (image #168 is the blogger Fillyjonk from Shapely Prose), and those beautiful bodies *look* like mine (especially #159). I know it's silly and narcissistic, but today, for the first time, I've considered the idea that my body could be beautiful. I mean really considered it -- not thought it reflexively as a desperate defense against fatphobia, but turned the idea over and examined it in a place of calm and relative peace. For once I felt the curve of my belly and allowed that it was part of me, as opposed to something I need to fix or get rid of.

I'm still not entirely sure what to do with it. It could be gone tomorrow morning when I wake up. But then I'll just go visit Substantia Jones's Web site again. :o)

Stephen Colbert interviews Salman Rushdie.