WWJ(ennifer)D?

Yesterday, as I was flipping through television channels looking for something that wasn't reality television, a talk show, or a teen angst drama, I found a station showing back-to-back episodes of a classic show, WKRP in Cincinnati. The show originally ran from 1978-1982, a sit-com about  the misadventures of the staff of a struggling fictional radio station in Cincinnati, Ohio. As we all know, the station's new program director Andy Travis tries to turn around struggling radio station WKRP, despite the well-meaning efforts of the mostly incompetent staff: bumbling station manager Arthur Carlson, oily sales manager Herb Tarlek, and clueless news director Les Nessman. Rounding out the cast are super receptionist Jennifer Marlowe, enthusiastic junior employee Bailey Quarters, and spaced-out veteran disc jockey Dr. Johnny Fever, and the too-cool Venus Flytrap.

I hadn't seen this show in years, but watching brought back memories, including one big one. As a 10-year-old-girl, watching this show for the first time, I saw the character Jennifer Marlowe, as played by Loni Anderson, as the epitome of all things classy, elegant and adult. I wanted to be her. She was smart, sexy, and in full control of her life. The people around her were in awe of her; she was the station's highest paid employee. I was mesmerized. I wanted to be Jennifer, but not blonde.

For a long time, my guiding principle became "What would Jennifer Do?"  Would Jennifer wear that? This kept me from some HUGE fashion mistakes in the 80's! At some point, I abandoned this philosophy, and chose something else. After watching  WKRP yesterday, I think I will return to my roots.

But I'm still not going blonde. 

Read All About It, And Watch It, Too

I got some weird email this week from someone who follows my Twitter feed @BossyBookworm, and was disappointed when I'd mentioned watching television once too often. As a reader, she said, I shouldn't even have a tv set! WHAT? How will I know what's happening on True Blood? How would I see every single minute of the lives of the Kardashians? Or the latest episode of  RuPaul's Drag Race?! Not having a television is un-American.

I  am a reader, from an early age. I do not remember not being able to read, or having a love of books. Some of the first pictures of me show me with books; either being read to, or reading. Mom & Dad read to me, my grandparents read to me, my older brothers and sisters read to me. And when my baby sister came along, I read to her. We are a family of readers. Books have been with me through everything. I never buy a purse unless it will hold a book--or these days, my e-reader. Somewhere there exists a photo of me, in my wedding dress, an hour before the ceremony, reading a Stephen King novel.  I took two books along on my honeymoon, something my then mother-in-law found odd, but those who knew me well weren't at all surprised by. I am never more than a few feet from reading material. My worst nightmare is not being able to read; going blind, or having no access to words. When I read The Handmaid's Tale for the first time, the thing that bothered me the most was that these women were not allowed to read.

Yes, I love my books. But I am also a television junkie. I am of the first Sesame Street generation--  I was a year old when it first aired, and according to Mom, we were watching. That same year we watched the moon landing on television. Two historical events, both televised, and I don't remember either. I do remember watching a wide variety of well, variety shows as a child. We watched anything that had music or skits: Carol Burnett was my favorite, but we also watched Lawrence Welk, Glen Campbell, Hee Haw, and the Barbara Mandrell show. Those shows fueled my love of music and drama, and inspired my imagination. I'd write plays that I coerced my friends and relatives into performing. One other show that inspired lots of skits was Rocky and Bullwinkle; something about that made me love melodrama. I wrote a Snidely Whiplash-esque plat for my nieces and nephew. That play is still talked about in our family, mostly because Shelley screamed so loudly and threw her tea cup so far we never found it.

My love of books and television has always been intertwined. One of the first times I recall this happening is with Laura Ingalls Wilder.  I loved the Little House on the Prairie books, and read all of them in second grade. I still have the set my mother gave me for Christmas! The next year the television series based on the books began, and I was a faithful viewer for years, although I often pointed out differences between the show and the books. This set a precedent I still hold to today:  if I see a film or watch a tv show and discover it is based on a book, I have to read that book. Or vice versa: if a book has a film or television version, I have to watch it.

Sometimes, this leads to a wonderful discovery, an author I truly like even though the movie might have sucked. I'd never read Agatha Christie until I saw a film version of  And Then There Were None; how could I stop once I began reading Aggie, how could I stop?  Sometimes, it's the other way around. The shining example of this for me, as far as movies goes is Forrest Gump. Most people don't even know it was based on a book, and after reading it, I understand why. That was one of the worst books I'd ever read, and how the  funny, touching film came out of it, I do not know. In television, I compare Bones. I love the show, don't care at all for the books. (They're better than Forrest Gump, but not my cup of tea.)

I also read Gone With the Wind for the first time because of television. Blame Carol Burnett for that. I remember being blown away (no pun intended) by her famous 'Went With the Wind' sketch, even though I had no real idea why parts of it was funny. (Something that happened a lot back than. And happens now, when I watch Comedy Central, but for a different reason.) I found a hardback copy of the book at the library the summer I was 10 and checked it out. It was huge, at least 6 inches thick, and the librarian looked at me oddly, asking if someone as young as I was could read something that big. I assured her I was capable, and trundled it home. Read it all in about three days, mostly sitting in the tree house in our back yard. It's stayed with me since then, as I eventually saw the movie, and saw Carol Burnett again. Now I understood that curtain dress!

I've always loved the interaction of the two. One of my favorite television shows is True Blood, which is based on Charlaine Harris' Sookie Stackhouse novels. I have read all of her books, and even got to meet her at a reading last year. This is one of those times where a show lead me to an author; I'd never heard of Charlaine Harris until I began watching True Blood. I began reading the Sookie books, which I loved, and then her other novels, which are even better, if not as well-known. Through a television show I love I have been introduced to many books I love. It's the circle of life.

My current fascination is Dexter. After years of hearing about how great the Showtime series is, I decided to give it a try. I had an ulterior motive, I must confess; the actor who plays Dexter, Micheal C. Hall, was one of the stars of another of my favorite shows, 'Six Feet Under.' I love a good mystery or thriller, and I do enjoy books and movies about serial killers. Dexter brings them all together. I am enjoying it, in the twisted way I always do. And to follow my rule, I began reading the book on which the series was based, Darkly Dreaming Dexter, by Jeff Lindsay. Happy to say it is just as dark and twisted as the show, maybe even more so. Another circle.

So, I testify that I can be a reader and a watcher. I have a brain, and know how to use it. Which is why I've never actually  watched the Kardashians.

Feeling Icky

I'm sitting here, watching Seinfeld, feeling positively icky. Like the sticky stuff on your shoe when you leave the movie theater. Not because of Seinfeld, although this is one of my least favorite episodes. The one where Kramer is accused of murder in California, and Jerry & George are there trying to find him. Personally, I always thought Kramer was too obvious a choice for a serial killer--the weird guy with no job, and odd habits? In a slightly different universe, Cosmo & Costanza would be a killing team.  And Elaine, she' s a rage killer; you just know that she's be bumping off boyfriends and bosses and neighbors! Of the four, only Jerry is serial killer material: he seems relatively normal, and most people would say he's a nice guy. Of course, he's a seething mass of insecurities and narcissism, with OCD tendencies, and enough money to travel. The Comedy Killer.

But I digress.

I'm feeling icky because I've not been sleeping, and not sleeping leads to seizures for me. Some time today, I had one, I think. All the signs point that way, but I'm not positive. I'll know for sure tomorrow, if my legs and arms start to ache. I already have a huge headache, which is fun. NOT! Maybe this will break me out of the not sleeping rut. Either that or I'll be unconscious a lot more in the next few weeks.

Either way, I'll be thinking a lot about sitcom stars as serial killers.

 

In Case of Fire

People always ask what you'd save if your house were on fire, as if you wouldn't choose to save like, YOUR FREAKING HOUSE! I mean, I realize the point of this question is to figure out what's really important in your life, and crap like that, but honestly, having a place to live is right up there at the top of my list. I know I can't carry my bed, and even though it has wheels, it won't fit out the door. Not a chance I'm gonna be able to lift the sofa I've sat on my entire life, or that coffee table that has bruised my shins since I learned to walk. The china cabinet that belonged to my grandmother, or the few pieces of furniture that my grandfather made. Actually, I might be able to lift one of those, but my television is sitting on it, and I can't budge that. We have family photos up and down the hall, and stacks of photo albums in a bookshelf in the office. Most of my photos are packed away now, with my books, and other things, in the garage, in boxes. They'd go up like fireworks if the place caught fire, I'm sure.

I'm not sure what made me think about this, but there I was, in the middle of the night, wondering what I'd grab if the house went up in flames. Assuming my family, and Miss Google, and Daisy the dog got out okay, and I don't have to worry about saving lives. Because, really, does anyone want me to be responsible for saving their life? Me, who can barely get out of my pajamas most day? Me, who has a hard time finding matching shoes, or remembering if I've eaten today. Would you want me to be responsible for your life? Sure you would. Because in times of crisis, I rock. Normal days, I am worthless. Send me a hurricane, and I'd be the person gathering up puppies and getting them to high ground. Well, maybe not puppies. I'm not a dog person. Okay, yeah, I'd take the puppies, but only after I made sure all the kids, and kitties were okay, and saved the library first. I have my priorities in order.

What I decided in the dark of night was that if my house was struck by a meteor, or god forbid, the garbage disposal should burn up and explode like Max is scared it will do if we run it for more than a minute, I'd grab the following things:

My laptop, because, well, I'd need to tell you guys about this, and I like my laptop. My tablet/eReader, because it has all my pictures and my books on it, and I'll need something to read. And the pretty purse that has all of my meds, because well, without those I'd be a big ol' mess. And nobody want that. Most of that stuff would fit in my other purse, and I always know where that is, even when I can't find my shoes.

What I Am

What I Am

Somebody sent me a link to a bunch of  ”pro-ana” websites today (For those of you who don’t know, that’s pro-anorectic.), saying that they’d noticed I was having a hard time losing weight, and this might help. First of all, let me say, no thanks. And secondly, looking at those sites, with images of bodies that could be straight from Dachau, and all that self-hatred, makes me want to cherish every single pound I have! There were lists of tips and tricks for how to starve yourself, some silly, some  scary, some just downright dangerous. Posts from women and girls, mostly teenage girls, talking about how horrible their tiny little bodies look, even when they weigh less than the toddler next door, or their hair is falling our due to malnutrition. How to fool your parents, your doctor, your friends, into thinking you are eating, your are okay. How to best binge and purge. The self hatred on these pages was overwhelming. Stunning. I may be fat, and I may not look like a supermodel  in a bikini, but damn it, I like me. I have never at any point, hated myself, or my body, the way these poor women do. Breaks my heart.

I had started a new, fairly restrictive diet today, but after seeing those, I decided to quit. I am healthy (relatively, anyway), and my eating habits are pretty healthy. I consume a ton of water, very little red meat, lots of fruit, and not nearly enough veggies. I don't exercise, but I have good intentions. I meditate, I pray, I journal, I am kind to animals, and I recycle I try to be the best version of me I can be, whatever that means. Somehow I doubt that has anything to do with if I have a gap between my thighs or not, and depends more on the people I love, the things I do, the way I behave. Fat does not equal evil. Thin does not equal holy.

Recently I read a book called "Two Whole Cakes: How to Stop Dieting and Learn to Love Your Body",  which talks about fat acceptance, body image and the war on obesity.  The author, Lesley Kinzel, made perfect sense, as she discussed how, in an age on The Biggest Loser (I hate that show), fat is seen as the biggest sin someone can commit. All health problems seem to somehow be related by the medical community to weight, even those which have nothing to do with it, something I've experienced first hand. I related to her lifelong struggles with weight, dieting, and health issues. But honestly, I was not converted to the world of "fat and proud" at that time. I like myself, sure, but am not thrilled with the santa belly. or the flappy arms. A big part of me would rather shop in the regular women's section, and I have no problems saying that.

There must be a middle ground between the fat activists, embracing every roll and dimple, and the skinny or die scary chicks, seeking concentration camp chic. I'm aiming at healthy. Able to walk up a couple flights of stairs without being out of breath;  get a tattoo without being embarrassed. Be able to walk in heels. Run for the bus. Go to the pool. Take a yoga class and be able to do the stretches--hell, take any exercise, and be able to make it through!



I can manage health. That's something to aim for. Screw skinny. I'll be thrilled to be healthy. Happy, healthy, here.

 



 

 

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