the body as a worthy place to live

Every time I put on a pair of pants, I analyze whether or not I think they fit me the same, better, or worse than the last time I wore them. I think about seasons past, when I am sure that I remember that there was at least an inch more room around the waist of my Bermuda shorts, and I despair. There is the occasional high associated with slipping pants up over your behind and realizing that putting your hands in the pockets of these pants might not actually prove a feat. This occurrence is, for me, rarer than the former.

I am so over this tug of war. When I say "over" it, though, I mean that I am so tired of it; not, unfortunately, that I am beyond feeling this way. That, however, is my goal.

Last spring, in my senior seminar for WGSS (Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies), we read a book called Appetites, by Caroline Knapp. A specific fragment, "the body as a worthy place to live" pretty much highlighted itself on the page when I read it, enough so that I wrote it on a sticky note and put it on the wall next to my computer. When I moved out on the bright afternoon following graduation, I removed it from the wall and put it in my wallet, sure that I would need it. It's still there.

Over the last several months, I've thought about this little note, and have been unable to place the exact syntax of the phrase (I guess I was too lazy to get up and read what it actually says). In my head, I kept thinking that it was "a body worthy of living in." Now, not only is that incorrect grammar (never end with a preposition), but it's actually, I've decided, the exact opposite of what Caroline Knapp meant (I write "meant" and not "means," even though I am fairly sure that is incorrect, because I cannot forget that after overcoming her eating disorder [for the most part, I guess?], she died of lung cancer following a long smoking addiction, and this is one of the most poignant facts about this work for me, somehow).

And so, the last few months, I've been going to the gym and thinking about this phrase in the exact opposite way that I meant to when I put it in my wallet. I always knew that it connoted positively, but I don't know what somehow made me reverse it in my head.

Now that I've reminded myself of what it actually says, and means, I'm working on the way in which I make it mean what it's supposed to in my own head, in my own body, which is, I'm deciding, a worthy place to live. Gym-going or not, extra inches in my shorts or not. Unconditionally worthy.

Do I sound convincing?

How do you say "embarrassing" in French?

I love The Hills. Okay? I do. I am unabashedly a big fan, stemming from those early days of Laguna. And no, don't talk to me about Casey or... I don't know, I don't even know any of the names of the wannabes from the more recent seasons. If you're not talking to me about Ste-PHEN or Kristin or Lo, I'm not that interested. It's like the "New Class" of Saved By the Bell way back when. I didn't even like the girl who wore the boldly 1990's boxy leather jacket with the zippers. Alex, maybe? And if I didn't even like a cast member who was around early enough to be so lucky as to share the small screen with Mark-Paul Gosselaar and Mario Lopez, why would I be interested in the little jerks that Screech regrettably returned to teach?

I seriously digress. Laguna. Anyway, they had a good thing with LC, and I'm glad that they held out for her and the resulting Hills. LC gets a lot of flack for being supposedly uninteresting and opportunistic, but there's something a bit charismatic about her that gets me. Partly, it's the fact that I've enjoyed watching her progress from her days of C&C tanks to interlocking C's.

Admittedly, however, there have been the moments that hurt. Standing out most dramatically was her lacking enthusiasm and disrespect upon meeting Marc Jacobs last season. I mean, she didn't even stand up to shake his hand. There was speculation that perhaps she had actually already been acquainted with the famed American designer (to borrow a line from Heidi... Klum, not Montag), hence the lackluster introduction, but really? Meeting MJ on one's own reality show, when said show was largely based on one's desire to make it in fashion, and paying no respect? Really? Anyway, since I never got to put down my thoughts on that moment in Hillstory, I've digressed a bit more. Because really, this is about the worst part of tonight's premiere of The Hills:

Whitney's absolute butchering of the pronunciation of Givenchy. I wish I had a YouTube clip, and I'm sure this will get some press on other blogs, but this was a serious, serious "Really?!" moment for me. And it's times like these when I understand all the cynicism about these girls' positions in fashion, and all the opportunities that they are handed. I mean, Whitney's whole angle during the premiere was about how she "sees herself in styling" and dealing more with the fashion end than the logistics of magazine publishing. Come on, now. Would you like someone to make you some flashcards, Whit? Jhee-von-shee, more or less. You can do it.

So get it together. Brush up on your grown-up Vogue. Do SOMETHING. Because let's be honest: I want to forgive you, and I want to forget... that you ever said that.

I blog in my head.

I do. Really. In fact, it has been 19 days since I first began this blog, and all it consisted of was the title of this post. This is because I have been pondering the idea of a blog for so long that it began to seem almost a bit too overwhelming. I've blogged in my head while driving; I've done it in the shower. I'm hoping that I can give myself a bit of a break by actually putting it down here, but we shall see.

You see, I read so many good blogs, and I am consistently impressed with the quality of their writing. I often go to the first posts on those blogs, and it's interesting to see the ways in which they have progressed. Progress is great, and I look forward to that, but part of me also feels as if this first post should be momentous. But really, I'm building it up too much, as I do often. And so, I find myself almost done, and lacking in content. Oh well!

You can look forward, in theory, to a little bit of fashion, and a fair amount of me. (An aside-- to whom, exactly, am I speaking? [Writing?] That's part of the trouble of this; the unknown nature of my audience. I suppose, if you find yourself here... Welcome.) Alright... enough now.