I’m just asking for bizarre Google searches with two posts that mention boobs in one day, but I had to throw this up here. Apparently Glenn Beck and Matt Drudge are trying to cause a kerfuffle because they believe Michelle Obama is disgracing America with her slightly-cleavage-revealing attire at a recent state dinner. Before you go assuming she looked like J.Lo in that Versace dress, here’s what FLOTUS wore that has caused the uproar:
Image via the Examiner.com.
Beck said on his radio show: “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the first lady with her breasts all smooshed up, I mean, what is that?”
My first thought was, really? Does Glenn Beck even know what the fashions were in the late 18th and early 19th Centuries, back when his heroes, the Founders, were still around? Because seriously, get a look at the racks on some of these first ladies:
First Lady Dolley Madison, with her “breasts all smooshed up.” Image via womenshistory.about.com.Thomas Jefferson’s daughter, who acted as official hostess while he was in office, wears a pretty low-cut gown here. Image via womenshistory.about.comThis is Helen Taft’s inaugural gown. I’d imagine it showed some cleave. A Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike (2.0) image from kubina’s photostreamEven Eleanor Roosevelt got into the deep-V action! Image via womenshistory.about.comIs that some cleavage I see on Mamie Eisenhower? Image via womenshistory.about.com
I mean, I know it’s not even necessary to bother to point out how ridiculous Glenn Beck is, but geez. C’mon.
Even if I dressed like this, I have a feeling I'd still experience street harassment. Image: Women on the street, a Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike (2.0) image from zoomzoom's photostream
I’m a long-time subscriber to the Christian publication Relevant magazine, and got my first start in the world of internet interaction as a commenter on their message boards back in high school. I receive their email newsletter, and when it popped up in my inbox this afternoon, I clicked through to read a piece on modesty that was billed with the following: “Ed Gungor says the key to modesty lies in our hearts—not necessarily our dress.” I was immediately relieved, thinking this would not be yet another piece telling women it’s our job to hide our shameful bodies to keep men from “lusting.”
As I read the beginning of the piece, I was even more relieved, as the writer described a time he had been upset by what he thought was immodesty on the part of some teenage girls, only to later realize the real problem was with him and his own history and issues, causing him to perceive their dress as immodest and use it as an excuse for his own sinful thoughts.
However, later, the piece took a turn for the worse as the author suggested that there is something about people’s souls that causes them to be “hit on,” in public– “hit on” being a nice phrase for street harassment, the kind of thing I’ve writtenabout, and something I actually experience fairly regularly. The author writes:
I have spoken to many men and women who told me they were frequently “hit on” as they traveled and went out into public. Though some of them were exceptionally nice-looking and fashionably dressed, many were not. On the other hand, I have spoken to both men and women who were attractive by anyone’s standard—even some who dressed more revealingly than I was comfortable with—but they were seldom “hit on” or ogled by others. Why? What was the difference? It wasn’t their clothing; it was their souls. It has just as much (or more) to do with the person they wanted to present and their own struggles with lust as with what they wore.
Ah! So it’s my SOUL that causes men to scream at me from their trucks as they drive past me while I walk down the sidewalk on my way to the bus stop. Clearly, my soul cries out, “Please! Call me sugar tits!”
I could make a whole defense, posting pictures of myself in my usual summer clothes, which tend to be jersey dresses from J.Crew and skirts paired with form fitting crewneck tees. But the thing is, with so many experiences of street harassment, or “being hit on,” I’ve come to realize something: when I am harassed on the street, it has nothing to do with me. It’s not about what I’m wearing. It’s not about my soul. It’s about the men doing the yelling, and their desire to intimidate me, to make themselves feel like big burly men, to prove their own patriarchal power to themselves.
And the only thing that is going to stop this behavior from street harassers is for us to call it what it is. It’s harassment. It’s inappropriate. It’s designed for intimidation. And it’s not about me, or what I’m wearing, or my “soul” which may or may not be visible from a pickup truck going 35 miles per hour down Calhoun Street, anyway. It’s about despicable people who get off on intimidating and humiliating women who dare to be female and in public. Articles like this one posted on Relevant may be well-intentioned, but ultimately they give harassers excuses– this time, instead of “she was asking for it in that skirt,” it’s “but you should have seen her SOUL!”
Some weeks, there’s just no way we can eat all of the CSA goodness that comes in our box, and this was one of those weeks. Jon was gone for most of the week, and I was out of town over the weekend finding us a place to live in Little Rock (mission: accomplished!). So I gave away most of our veggies to neighbors and coworkers so the food wouldn’t go to waste. Here’s what we got:
strawberries
3 carrots (gave away)
4 onions
1 bunch spinach
1 head romaine lettuce (gave away)
1 butter crunch lettuce (gave away)
4 zucchini (gave 2 away)
8 squash
2 bunches beets (gave away)
2 bunches chard (gave 1 away)
1 bunch cabbage (gave away)
As you can see, I gave most of that away. Here’s what I did with what I kept:
One night, I seriously ate a plate full of spinach sauteed with garlic, olive oil, and a squeeze of lemon juice for dinner. So good!
I also baked Smitten Kitchen’s Poppy Seed Lemon Cake, which was AMAZING, and I served it with sliced strawberries soaked in a bit of sugar over night to make them nice and syrupy. She adapted the recipe from one at Cafe Sabarsky, which is a cafe inside the Neue Galerie in New York, and Jon and I actually have been there! Here’s what we had when we were there:
And for our first meal back home, together, after all our traveling, I made a pasta using the chard and onions with a little bacon, garlic, olive oil, red pepper and parmesan cheese. It was inspired by this pasta recipe which I use a lot with collards. I also sliced up the squash and zucchini and made Baked Summer Squash, which turned out pretty good as well!
We’re looking forward to picking up another box of goodies this week and getting to eat most of them this time! It turns out I’m not crazy for thinking we’re getting a ridiculous amount of veggies in our smaller-sized (compared to the last season we did) boxes– in this week’s email, the farmers told us that they’re having a bumper crop, and they’re passing on the bounty to us. No complaints here! I’m always happy to find a friend to share some local veggies with.
In Denmark, Mukhtar the bus driver had a birthday, and his regular riders had a great idea to make it a special one. I dare you not to mist up:
I haven’t ridden the bus in a month, because I need my extra minutes in the morning to keep our house clean enough for showings, but one thing I miss about it is the community riding the bus creates among the regulars and the drivers. We were never all close enough to plan and execute a birthday flashmob for a driver, but we knew each other, knew each others’ stops, and chatted with each other each morning and evening. I miss chatting with my bus friends and joking with my favorite drivers.
Even though I’m not a bus rider right now, this sweet video has inspired me. What a great way to show someone you appreciate that they do their job! I’m going to try to make a point to thank someone just for doing a great job at their job, no matter how “menial” it may be considered in society. Why don’t you do the same?
Through Twitter I’ve come in contact with Ryan Byrd, the pastor of a new church in Little Rock called Eikon. I’ve been reading Ryan’s blog and the posts on Eikon’s website, and getting pretty excited about the kind of community they are and the things they are up to, thinking they’re the kind of group I might like to be a part of after we move to Little Rock. Anyway, all these internet connections have led to me having a post up on their site as part of a new blog series called CityView. So, go check out my post, about how my faith makes me an environmentalist and a foodie!
I was a very busy beaver on Tuesday when I picked up our latest CSA box from Pinckney’s Produce at the Glass Onion. I had yoga class after work, then stopped by to pick up the box, then zipped home to lay everything out and see what I got. Here’s the bounty:
It included:
3 heads lettuce
2 bunches mustard greens
cauliflower
broccoli
beets
turnips with greens
radishes
strawberries
The sheer volume of produce seemed greater than our first few boxes, and I was slightly concerned that we wouldn’t be able to eat it all. Again, I can’t freeze any of it for later, because we’re moving at the end of the season. This week was an Iron Chef challenge for sure! Continue reading “CSA: Charleston — I will not be defeated by fruits and veggies!”
I've found Twitter to be a very "uplifting" experience (groan).
Although I was born and raised in Arkansas, for the past three years, I’ve been living in Charleston, SC. Now that my husband is finishing his residency in pediatrics, we’re moving back to Little Rock, AR, for him to do a fellowship in pediatric emergency medicine at Arkansas Children’s Hospital, and, thanks in large part to the fine folks on Twitter who participate in the #LRTweetup community, I’m excited about the move (even as leaving Charleston is breaking my heart).
I’m really not sure how I found these people, but I’m pretty sure I found most of them through my childhood friend, @SavannahB, who had already gotten pretty connected with the #LRTweetup folks by the time she and I reconnected via Twitter after I joined sometime last fall. I noticed that she had all sorts of fun exchanges with various Little Rock folks on Twitter, and started to follow some of her tweeps. I assumed Savannah had met these people before, and DM’d her asking how she knew them. That’s when I found out she had met most of them on Twitter first, and then met them at tweetups.
As I followed more and more of the funny, inspiring, engaged, and sweet people who make up the #LRTweetup community, I found more and more people to follow. These days, my Little Rockers friend list contains 69 tweeps! And as the date of my move (the end of next month) approaches, the #LRTweetup people couldn’t be more welcoming, especially considering they’ve never even “met” me! I’ve had tweeps recommend Realtors, scout out rental houses, pass along my resume to potential employers, and offer to meet up for drinks when I come to town to look for a rental house. Today, my mother in law had surgery, and so many tweeps offered to pray for her.
When I first moved to South Carolina, I had a really rough time. My husband was working a lot, and I didn’t know a soul. The move to Little Rock will probably also be rough, and my husband will be working a lot, but I have a feeling I won’t have such a rough time. Because I know there’s a great group of people ready and willing to hang out with me, as soon as the next #LRTweetup. I only wish I could be there tomorrow night for the group’s Tweetie awards– I still can’t get over the fact that a group of people I’ve never “met” nominated me for an award, though I guess it’s a testament to my tendency to insert my loudmouthed self into the center of things, but more than that, a testament to this group’s welcoming attitude. I can’t wait to meet each and every member of the #LRTweetup community.
Julia and me at the exhibit of her kitchen at the Smithsonian.
I’ve seen “Julie & Julia” three times now, having watched it yesterday for the third time. And I’ll probably see it again. It might be my new favorite movie, right up there with “Elf,” “Zoolander,” “10 Things I Hate About You,” and “Center Stage” in terms of films I watch over and over (my taste, as you can see, is nothing but the highest quality in films).
At first I thought I liked the film because of Julia. I mean, Meryl Streep is freakin’ fabulous as Julia Child, and really, Julia Child was just amazing. I said the first time I saw the film that I’d have rather just watched Julia, and had the Julie part left out altogether. Amy Adams is a lovely actress, but her Julie just didn’t stand a chance next to Meryl’s Julia. Julia is/was vibrant and vivacious and in love with her husband and with life. I’d happily watch a whole movie of Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci grabbing each other’s butts and holding hands and making out and making jokes about cannolini being “hot as a stiff cock.”
Julie, on the other hand, drove me a little insane. She was whiny and petty and mopey. She was selfish, snippy with her husband, and given to throwing lying-in-the-floor tantrums when things weren’t going so well in the kitchen, even though she was cooking for fun, as a hobby, and no one was freaking making her do it. I found myself annoyed by her the entire time I was watching the movie for the first time, and for most of my second viewing as well.
But yesterday, while watching the film for the third time, I had a revelation. One thing I managed to pick up from all the Jungian psychology I learned as a lit major is that usually, the things we most hate in the Other are things we hate in ourselves.
Basically, I am Julie.
Like Julie, I’ve had to move and will move again because of my husband’s more prestigious job. Like Julie, I’m a writer, but I’m not really a writer, not in the sense of getting paid to write things, and instead, like Julie, I work in a bureaucratic job that I don’t really love most of the time. Like Julie, I feel that most of my friends are more successful than I am. Like Julie, I feel I could be a magazine cover girl for a piece on failing to live up to one’s college potential. Like Julie, I lack a best girl friend to confide in. Like Julie, my hobbies include blogging and cooking. Like Julie, my husband encourages my hobbies and reminds me that I am too a writer and a good one at that (seriously, he even reads my academic papers, even though I’m sure they’re about as comprehensible to him as his medical journals are to me).
And that’s just the superficial stuff. I even realized, while watching the scene where she drops a chicken on the floor and lays down and cries, a scene that annoyed me the first two times I saw it, I have done almost that exact same thing. I can’t remember what I was cooking except that I burned it badly, and as I flipped out and opened windows and banged things around and generally acted like a toddler, my charming doctor husband informed me: “YOU ARE JUST LIKE THE HOSPITAL!” This was shocking, as it made no sense to me. How was I just like a children’s hospital? He then explained that the hospital where he works has an ICU and a normal floor, but no “step down floor.” That is, there’s no level between “oh my God, things are serious and someone might die” and “things are probably going to be fine, everything’s routine, no need to worry.” He was trying to tell me that I lack a level between HYSTERICAL HISSY FIT and lalala nothing to see here. Like Julie.
Maybe like Julie I’ll end up a bestselling author. Maybe I won’t. But from now on, when I watch “Julie & Julia,” (and yes, I’ll probably be watching it again) I’ll be a little kinder and less judgmental of Julie. Because the things that bug me about her are things that bug me about me. And we’re both just doing the best we can.
And now, my fair governor is in the news once again. His wife having filed for divorce and written a tell-all book after their efforts to save their marriage failed, he is trying to reunite with the Argentinian woman he calls his “soulmate.” And the thing is, I’m fine with that. I can’t say why exactly, but somehow, I’m less bothered by a man who simply fell in love with the wrong woman at the wrong time, than I am with an Elliot Spitzer screwing prostitutes behind his wife’s back after making a career going after prostitution rings, or John Edwards cheating on his dying wife with a bimbo, and then failing to wrap it up, all the while thinking that he could still run for president and no one would know about his love child. Somehow, I’m sympathetic to love, even if it’s narrated by poorly-written email poetry about tan lines.
This is a slide from a presentation my husband gave on the subject of childhood smoking.
What I’m less sympathetic to are Sanford’s policies, particularly his veto this week of a proposed tobacco tax increase in a state with the lowest tobacco taxes in the nation. As someone concerned about childrens’ health in particular (and the wife of a pediatrician), I know that higher tobacco taxes are a proven way of keeping tobacco out of kids’ hands and a great way to fund tobacco use prevention programs. According to the SC Tobacco Collaborative, “Studies show that every 10 percent increase in the price of cigarettes reduces youth smoking by about 7 percent and overall cigarette consumption by about 4 percent.” Keeping kids from smoking is a key way to prevent adults from smoking and make our nation a healthier place, keeping health care costs down for all of us. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, most smokers have their first cigarette between the ages of 11 and 14! Thankfully the House overrode his veto, and there is hope the Senate will do the same.
It’s just a shame that yet again, the governor’s love life is detracting attention from his more serious missteps, like the ones that put SC children at risk.
erniebufflo's south & west kitchen 
