Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

Hungering For Understanding

There is a very ugly stripe that runs through human beings, one especially prevalent these days.  If something isn't MY reality, then it isn't reality at all.  So why care?

It is born of privilege.  And we all have some varietal of it.  Some of us enjoy a meritage of all different kinds of privilege.

Privilege that you are not black so you don't worry about a simple traffic stop.

Privilege that you are not gay so discrimination is not a worry.

Privilege that you are not brown so you don't worry about being apprehended in an ICE raid.

Privilege that you are not trans so you don't think a thing of going to the bathroom in public.

Privilege that you did not bring your children to this country so why care at all about the ones in cages.

Privilege because you are not on food stamps, so why care about 3 million people on the verge of being thrown off.

I could go on and on.  As the saying goes, Not my circus, not my monkeys.

It's wrong headed, it's hardhearted.  And at some point, your circus is going to be targeted and your monkeys are going to be involved and you will be looking around for someone to care, to sympathize, to empathize.

The latest example of this mindset came across my desk this morning.  A set of dishes being sold by Macy's.

At first glance what do you see?  Nice, clean, simple plates with rings and words.  I won't even fault you for thinking, "Oh, cute. HA HA HA."

That would have been me not so many years ago.  But then, I had a small ass, a thin waist, believed all it took was Chew less, Move more!  So, HA HA HA - cute plates!

Gradually, however, my eyes were opened, my brain was enlightened.  I watched a dear friend starve herself yet still gain weight.  A lot of weight.  Her self control was not the problem, as so many who saw her would openly castigate.  Her body was out of control all on its own and needed surgical intervention for the tumors on her pituitary.  I listened to her, I learned from her.  I watched as my daughter, pursuing her Bachelor's in Psychology began focusing on eating disorders.   I listened to her, I absorbed the facts, the data, the research she shared.  And my cavalier, privileged attitude began adjusting.

Just because it wasn't my reality, didn't make it NOT reality.

The plates are problematic.  We live in a society where we literally put a higher premium on physicality than we do on humanity.  It drives all of our advertising.  It saturates the big screen.  We raise children who believe their worth is translated by their jeans size.  That being softer makes them less deserving of consideration, respect, opportunity.  Approximately 30 million people, OF ALL AGES, in the USA suffer from an eating disorder.  (Children, men, women, 13% of women over 50, 16% of transgender college students, 6% of minority men and women, 10% of military members, and on and on.)  That means roughly 10% of our population at any given time is battling disordered eating on some level.  And every 62 minutes, someone in this country dies because of it.

That is why the plates are ill conceived.

I asked my daughter, Kendall Sharp, now a grad student at Harvard, working towards her Master's in Public Health and ultimately her doctorate specializing in eating disorders, to weigh in (no pun intended). 

"These plates perpetuate the diet culture that is rampant in our society. Some mom is going to buy these plates because they think that it's funny, but it could have a real negative impact on anyone who comes into their kitchen. This is not just a "funny" set of plates, it is an example of the constant messaging surrounding thinness and dieting that heavily contribute to disordered eating and exercise behaviors."

She's not wrong.  I, myself, battled an eating disorder as a teenager.  Refusing to eat, demanding my body get smaller.  This went on right in front of my parents, yet they saw nothing, until the day I passed out.  I battled again after my third child was born, eating little, exercising compulsively, getting as low as 93 pounds.  I look at those plates and think of how bringing them into my home as a teen or seeing them as an adult would have done nothing but reinforce what was already tumbling through my brain.  That I would have literally used the rings on the plate to gauge how much I was eating, rate my success.

The plates were called out on Twitter by Alie Ward, a correspondent for CBS’s Innovation Nation and who has written for LA Weekly and The LA Times.  In her tweet she tagged Macy's and asked How can I get these plates from @Macys banned in all 50 states.

What poured forth was predictable.  40,000 likes, 5,000 comments.  So many people who immediately saw how the dishware was insensitive, problematic, and contributing to our culture where thin is in.  But for every person who got it, there were the equally predictable ones who chimed in with "Lighten up!" "How about this. Just don’t buy it?"  "That's funny. Does nobody have a sense of humor anymore?" and "Imagine being offended by this".

Basically, this is not my problem, so it's not a problem.

It was when star of The Good Place, Jameela Jamil, a champion of body positivity and someone who had an eating disorder as a teen, chimed in, retweeting and amplifying Alie's original and tagging Macy's with "F**k these plates, f**k these plates to hell" did something happen.

Now, Alie never dreamed this would be the response from Macy's but is thrilled to see that someone at the company got it, someone at Macy's immediately understood they had been tone deaf, and decided to do something about it.

And that's important. Because it does take a village.  A village in which we actually care about issues that may not affect us personally, but are real and affect others.  A village in which we seek to help, not harm.  A village in which being a dick is off the table and understanding fills the plate.

We all know someone who struggles.  We may be the one who struggles.  It may be our child, our spouse, our sibling, a co-worker.  With 10% of the population suffering, it would be naive to think we don't interact with someone every single day who is mired in an eating disorder - genetics, environmental factors, and personality traits all are factors that contribute.  And just because you have never had one does not mean you won't at some point.

Care.  Care about the world around you, about the people in it.  Care about those who don't look like you, don't come from where you come from.  Care because that is what decent people do.  Care because you don't have to hurt to know what it means to hurt.

Because if that point comes, if you find yourself targeted and afraid, if you begin to spiral and feel helpless, hopeless, when your circus and your monkeys are in peril, it sure would be nice to know that a buffet of empathy, understanding, support, and kindness are waiting from which to fill your plate.

Who’s Yer Daddy?

It’s no secret that few things send me on a “don’t get me started” rant faster than a useless scientific study.

Watching tax dollars being frittered away to study the impact of fish genitalia size on the lifespan of a guppy (I’m serious), makes no sense to me, especially when more serious and life affecting scientific research, like Morgan Spurloch’s Supersize Me, receives no grant money at all.

But every now and then, a study comes along that actually piques my interest and makes me reconsider my disdain for all doctorate bearing labrats. For when I read about this one, my disapproval quickly transferred from the scientists to the subjects of the study.

As reported by Reuters today, a study undertaken by the Centre for Public Health at the Liverpool John Moores University in the United Kingdom, has shown that nearly 1 in every 25 men have been duped into thinking they have fathered the offspring they are raising or supporting.

Yes, that’s right, after dissecting and wading through data dating back FIFTY FOUR years, they have come to a very startling conclusion.

British men get screwed around on alot.

Now while their research is meant to draw attention to the potential serious complications of this “paternal discrepancy syndrome” - and it does have far reaching social and medical consequences - I think people should be taking a closer look at what it says about sex, commitment and betrayal.

Not to mention the groundbreaking revelation that alot of British men are getting laid.

Seriously, the statistic skeeved me out because of the obvious level of bed hopping going on in the global society - face it, this cannot just be a British phenomenon, we sex obsessed Americans can screw circles around every country in the world.

Personally, I cannot even fathom the level of hurt, hate and heartache my husband would experience were he to discover one of our children was not his. (Let me pause here to stress: THEY ALL ARE). None of those emotions would be directed at the child, mind you, as he could never stop loving or caring for any of them. Rather, it would forever damage, rape, pillage, destroy and incinerate what he and I have built together over the past 16 years: TRUST.

How any woman can cat around, get knocked up and then knowingly allow another man to think he had fathered their child, is beyond me. Not just because it is a financial betrayal with lifelong implications, but because we are talking about human beings here.

I realize I am the first to make fun of men as not being the most enlightened folk in the world and that they all run around with skidmarks in their underwear, but that does not mean they deserve to be lied to. In fact, in light of this 1 in 25 statistic, I would say women have just received a gigantic scarlet skidmark of shame to wear on their outer garments.

I would encourage any woman, who has swapped spit and other bodily secretions with more than one man, and then turns the stick blue, to come clean immediately about questionable paternity. Yes, I realize that telling the truth sets you up to get your ass kicked to the curb, but it also sets your ass up to be a decent human being.

I mean there are lies, and then there are LIES, and this one is an unforgivable doozy. Not only do you risk the medical implications of lying about half of a child’s genetic heredity, but you also deny the child of its true familial heritage.

I have a better idea. Shit or get off the pot in your relationships. If you are so dissatisfied or simply so horny that you feel compelled to drop trou for a cadre of men, cut the main man in your life loose first.

And look into some serious birth control, will ya?

Because no man deserves the heartache and betrayal of paternal discrepancy and no child ever deserves to have people question, “Who’s Yer Daddy?”

Seeing Red

I have always believed that in order to excel at anything in the physical realm, ie: sports, the most important factor was intense mental committment to practice - the drive to be the best. Of course workouts, natural talent and steroids obviously play a factor, but I always assumed the ones who won were the ones who worked the hardest at it.

You know what they say about that word "assume" making an ass out of u and me? Well, hee-haw, scientists have again proven me wrong.

Apparently all it takes to excel in your chosen sport is to the don the color red.

Right, I said red, Fred.

British anthropolgists with too much time on their hands turned the 2004 Olympic Games into their own personal petri dish, using a Crayola Box Criteria to assess winners and losers.

What they found might actually be startling if I could get past rolling my eyes and laughing out loud.

Apparently, after observing four sports: Boxing, Tae Kwon Do, Freestyle Wrestling and Greco-Roman Wrestling (distinguished by participants dressed in togas and strappy sandals as opposed to ‘do rags and lowriders in Freestyle.), these scientists were able to conclude that by wearing red you can seriously freak out your opponent.

And God help them if they are decked out in light blue or baby pink - they might as well forfeit the whole match and go suck their thumbs in a corner.

According to the British Brain Trust, red has long been associated with vigor and danger. So maybe the opponent gets wigged out, confuses the jersey for blood, and not wanting to be the next victim, rolls over and wiggles his legs in the air like a turtle?

This could explain all those golf matches where Fred Couples was seen on the ground as Tiger walked down the course in his signature red Sunday shirt.

Maybe there is something to the implied strength in the color red? After all, stop signs are red and, for the most part, we obey these metal hexagons of highwaydom. Although, if you are one of those people who completely stop at one, in the middle of a cornfield, with no other car, truck or tractor visible for miles, you have some serious intimidation issues.

Black widows spiders have a red dot on their belly, although if you get close enough to see it, you deserve to have your ass handed back to you by the spider.

And aren’t most Ferarris painted red? Zoom, zoom - by golly I think they are, which somehow translates into all red car owners (Minis to Maseratis) paying higher insurance premiums. That really doesn’t make much sense, if this research is to be believed. If your car is red, then all the other drivers on the road should be intimidated and therefore pull over to let you through. This results in the road being clearer when you drive, ergo, your premiums should be lower.

Someone get that lizard from Geico on the phone for me.

While the statistic of 16 out of 21 matches being won by athletes supported by the color red (no word on whether their athletic supporters were red too) is notable, what exactly does it prove?

Not a damned thing - just ask the scientists - who have to admit they don’t know.

Their faces, of course, were red.

Stupid Is As Stupid Does...Not

I love it when researchers make proclamations about "startling discoveries" that the rest of us have known or surmised all along.

Take the one about seatbelts saving lives. Wow - can you say revelation? I believe it is fair to say that even a three year old with common sense can draw the line between being restrained and not traveling through the windshield in an accident.

And how about that bombshell they dropped regarding cigarette smoking as it relates to an increased chance of emphysema, lung cancer and death? Whoa. I need to sit down. I mean come on, I don’t for one second believe anyone ever thought that inhaling smoke on a regular basis could be good for you.

Well, now comes the latest grant financed research data from the University of Richmond, and it’s a doozy. According to scientists, motherhood may actually make women smarter!

May I hear a collective "DUH" from all the moms out there?

It’s true. After studying rats for prolonged periods of time, they have ascertained that the ones who have a lovelife, get pregnant and give birth have better memory retention and are more nurturing to younger rats. The mother rats are far more likely to protect their offspring than are babysitter rats who have never given birth. They also believe that the "hormonal wash" the rats’ brains go though while pregnant make them far less susceptible to developing the symptoms of Alzheimer’s.

So to paraphrase Forrest Gump, I guess "Stupid is, as stupid does not", which in this case is does not procreate.

Where was I when they were handing out the grant money for this one?

I mean for a couple hundred thousand dollars, I would have been happy to chart my existence from singledom to motherhood for them. And I would not need to waste money on mazes and cheese either.

Let’s just start with their first nugget of data: Mothers are more nurturing.

Before I became pregnant, children were cute, sometimes bothersome, whiney little people. I used to babysit them all the time insuring they did not burn down their houses or kill each other. That’s about all the nurturing $5 an hour will get you.

Then I got married, got pregnant and gave birth to my own baby. Those four words are very important because they make it personal. I made these people and there is nothing I would not do to protect them or insure their happiness and safety. Like a mother bear, I would defend them with my life. That is not called hormones, research or genetic alterations. That is called LOVE.

Next, Mothers have better memory retention.

We’d better.

Someone has to know where Johnny and Janie’s homework, spelling list, fundraiser sheets and permission slips are at. Someone has to keep track of their doctor appointments, allergies, likes/dislikes, activities. And only a mother knows the answer to any question beginning with "Have you seen my..." or "Do you know where my...". Again, this is self preservation, not a hormone bath to the brain.

Finally, the part about being less susceptible to Alzheimer’s symptoms.

I totally believe this is true for one reason only.

If the years of raising children from babies to teens into adulthood has not driven her crazy, she is surely not as likely to be taken down by a little brain plaque.

I do, however, believe that all men - fathers or not - suffer from Alzheimer’s their entire lives.

"Honey where is my...?" "Today is our anniversary?!?" "What was I supposed to pick up at the store?" "You never said your mother was coming to visit."

Then again, maybe it should be called Sometimer’s, since they are able to remember decades old sports scores, their college roommate’s favorite beer and the measurements of all of Charlie’s original Angels. But I digress. . .

My point is simple, of course we are smarter. Only those with a highly enlightened intellect would go into this business to begin with. It takes brains, know-how, stick-to-ittiveness, creativity and stamina to get through this maze of life called motherhood.

I’m suddenly craving some cheese.