I Thought It Went Without Saying

Apparently, the notion that men who plead guilty to drugging and raping 13 year-old girls should be forced to serve out their sentence is controversial in some circles.

For-Dee

Like any abusive relationship, I am having a hard time ending it. Hell, it is 3:14 pm and I needed a ruling from Wes to do it, but I am officially ending the diet. I hit my weight goal of 185 this morning.*

I have lost 40 pounds over the last 18.5 months. This was the goal I set for myself September 7, 2008 when I just one day decided that I was going to lose forty pounds and set about doing it. I have lost six pant sizes, from 40 to 34, although my 34s are kind of loose on me. Two shirt sizes, from XL to M, although I find it silly that I would wear a medium, partly because since circa 1991 I have only worn clothes that are big enough to not actually touch my body (and, yes, I wore an onion on my belt, as was the style of the day).

Those who have followed the diet exploits, or have been forced to listen to me prattle on endlessly about it, know that it has not been easy. I could say that I did it with diet and exercise and not be completely lying about. I walk to and from work each day and play two hours of full-court on Fridays. When I am "on-diet" I eat little-to-no fat, never having even the littlest of treats, diet cola, American-style lager most of the time, apples, oranges for snacks. I try to keep it under 1200 calories a day. When I am "off-diet" I try to do all of these things as well, but not quite so religiously. I have been alternating 100 days on, 100 days off (or so).

While I could say "diet and exercise" and be done with it, that would really be a lie. When I am on-diet, I rival the worst teenage girl when it comes to what I eat. I obsess over it constantly. When I weigh-in a pound up, I beat myself up for snacking (a bag of microwave pop corn, 240 calories) the night before. I know the calorie count of most foods. I cook meals for others that I don't eat, having a bowl of soup instead (220 calories for the noodles, just 200 for the rice, 160 for the "chicken and vegetable"). I know exactly how much to subtract from my scale weight when I am wearing clothes (8 pounds for sweatshirt, pants, and shoes. 5 pounds without the sweatshirt and shoes. 3 pounds without the pants) so that I can estimate my next-day weight. When I feel good about myself and how I look, I remind myself that I am x pounds overweight. Did I mention that I talk about it endlessly?

Which is to say this, thanks for putting up with me. Jesus, thanks for putting up with me. Thanks for encouraging me, even if it was only to discourage me from going too nuts about it. At least I will be living longer to bore you with my food habits.

As effing cheesy as it sounds, I did this mostly because of health concerns and a desire to be around for a long time to see my daughter grow up. I had quit smoking, and cut way back on the drinking, but I knew that my liver and weight were still issues. I think (still too afraid to go into the doctor for fear of bad news) that I have eliminated those concerns. Cholesterol and blood pressure were always good.

As I mentioned in the opening, I will still struggle with this. You don't just go off Focusin. My weight will creep back up. I will try to tell myself that if I weigh 195, that's 30 pounds less than I was. I will try to stop reminding myself that I am still 10 pounds overweight when I am feeling good about myself. I doubt I will accomplish these goals and we may be here again some day, talking about my weight and diets, but for now, I did it. Hopefully I will be able to feel good about it, for now my brain still won't let it go, a large part of me wants to keep going. This is the part I fear. As I said, I ahev to get out before it destroys me.

Which is a pretty fucked up way to end a post celebrating the end of a year-and-a-half long diet, but there it is. My name is Dave, I weigh 185, and I am trying to be okay with that.


*Partial transcript of an IM conversation with my wife I had this afternoon might explain some my ambivalence, and give some insight into my mental state, in the comments.

Unadulatered Wa[n]kery (You Know That's How I Like My Wa[n]kery)

Oh sweet Jebus. I heard this story on OPB yesterday on my way to Portland and I was tempted to abandon my job interview (more later) and drive to the studio and beat the crap out of whoever (whomever? fuck it) approved this story. If you are capable, listen to it; it is much worse listening to this chick babble about how awesome she is than to read it.

The movement to pay reparations to African Americans for slavery has not picked up much political momentum in this country.

Backers of the idea say slavery is America’s equivalent of the holocaust, worthy of payments to make up for generations of human horrors.

In cities across the country Wednesday, about 70 people sat on street corners asking people to pay reparations...right there, on the street. They collected money from white people and handed it on to black people.

The organizer of the event is Damali Ayo, a performance artist in Portland. Colin Fogarty caught up with her outside Nordstrom in downtown Portland.

The crosswalks that surround Pioneer Courthouse Square represent cross sections of Portland. Shoppers pass dollar bills to valets. Construction workers buy coffee.

Men in suits and women in dresses look down at the brick sidewalk as a MAX line edges through the streets.

Nearly everyone here is white. But sitting against the wall of Nordstrom is a fashionably dressed African American woman, with a cardboard sign.

Damali Ayo: "I hold a sign that says reparations accepted here. And I accept reparations from white people as they come by. And they put the money in my can. And then I pay that out to black people as they come by. Would you guys like to pay some reparations today?"

Man: No, I’m OK.

Damali Ayo: "Well you’re OK. But that’s not the point really?"

To artist Damali Ayo, this isn’t panhandling for survival, nor does she consider it a political protest. It’s a performance piece. Ayo has been doing this since 2003. Now, she’s organized dozens of people in cities from California to Connecticut, asking the same question to passers by.

Damali Ayo: "Hi would you like to pay some reparations today? People act like I can’t see them. I see you. If you put your head down, I can still see you."

Colin Fogarty: "Why should people pay reparations?"

Damali Ayo: "I think that it does something to say, yeah, we’re accountable for our history. We’re accountable. I was thinking, recently I was listening to an article about the holocaust and how people talk about the Nazis and how they were so evil and how they were animals and how could do they do that. I mean, look at our own history. We don’t talk about the white slavers that way. We give them the benefit of humanity. So I don’t think we’ve owned up to it. And when you put your money down...we know in this country, when you put your money down, you’re owning up to something. You’re it. And so that’s what this is for."

As we talk, two women from Nordstrom come out to kick Damali Ayo off the property.

Woman: "I represent Nordstrom here. I can’t have you sitting up against our wall or soliciting in front of our doors."

Ayo stays put for awhile. But before she goes, she convinces one white man to give her some change. Later, Ayo finds an African American woman and gives her the money.

Damali Ayo: [to the woman] "White people have been paying me reparations. And I can give you some money that I have. No. no. It’s not my money. It’s white peoples’ money."

Damali Ayo: "And that’s what I love the most about this piece is that anybody who walks by I don’t have to talk to them, I don’t have get money from them, they all have an experience with it. And they’ll go home and say, 'Frank, I saw the weirdest thing today.' And they’ll hopefully have a conversation, which is what I think art should do."

Damali Ayo has panhandled for reparations in more diverse cities than Portland, including New York and Boston. She says in Portland, though the reactions she gets are the most extreme...ranging from accepting to angry.