Thursday, December 15, 2005

This is what the modern 'pastoral' looks like. This is the big Eakins landscape now. This is the branching tree arts majors take deep, black-and-white photos of. Note: This is in fact a color image; it was just a really cloudy, monochromatic sort of day.
Is this person opposed to slavery? War? Two different people opposed to different things? Knowing this town, it was probably painted by rival gangs of radical anarchic syndicalists. Sometimes they get out switchblades and rumble. But then, in mid-dance, they realize that they're pacifists and the real enemy is The Man, man, and then they sit down and smoke some pot and paint signs together. Not a single street sign will be left unaltered! That's letting The Man win--telling us when to stop, and when to go, and when to yield, man, it's like living in a dictatorship.
Randomly sighted around Ithaca, New York. Who doesn't dig jive, man? You've gotta be hip to what's goin' down, cats and kittens. I really love this town. I want to come back next semester.

We'll see. The big meeting with mother and nutritionist and therapist and M.D. didn't go horribly, even considering that every last one of them agreed I should take a semester off and work on my shit. C'est la vie, mon cherie. And I, of course, went in feeling all adversarial and defensive, and ended up talking them down to letting me take a decreased course load and go to some program in a nearby town where I can eat two meals a day, twice a week, and have extra-strength super-duper therapy. Eh. More later. Or not, since I'll be in the hospital for a few weeks.

Catch you on the flip side, as they say. *Tired*

Friday, December 09, 2005

Pot for anorexia?

21. H. Gross, et al. A double-blind trial of delta-9-THC in primary anorexia nervosa, Journal of Clinical Psychopharmacology 3 (1983): 165-171

Look it up on PubMed if you don't believe me. The bad news? The majority of anorexics are going to be strong-willed enough to hold the munchies at bay even if they do get high. I suppose the point might not be the munchies per se, but rather the seretonergic and dopaminergic activity of marijuana in general...hmmm. It would be hard to moderate the dose of THC, too, especially if you're dealing with subjects who are drastically underweight. The body pulls some neat metabolic tricks out of its hat when in starvation mode, and there's no reason to think drug metabolism wouldn't also be affected...though there is research saying pot is fairly effective in treating patients with AIDS and cancer-related muscle wasting and appetite loss. The difference, I suppose, is where the appetite loss is coming from. In cancer and AIDS, patients aren't hungry but aren't averse to the idea of food. In anorexia nervosa it's just the opposite...someone is absolutely starving, stark raving mad with hunger, but can't stomach (pun happily intended) the idea of eating.

Women with eating disorders sho' won't be lining up for bites of Alice B's "Tokeless" brownies, at least I don't think so--though I could try and smuggle some into the hospital and conduct my own study. (That's a joke, son!)

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

It's true, you know. Once upon a time I was absolutely enamored of the idea that one could make public statements through graffiti--not mindless statements, but real political stuff. You could foment a rebellion with nothing but paint! Then I realized do you say?...slightly immature it is to make public property your own through such actions. Private property, with someone's OK, or on your own house? Sure, whatever, fine. But to breed enmity against your message just because you put it somewhere stupid seems ill-considered to say the least.

That said, I agree with this graffito, which I pass frequently on my way downtown. Another picture courtesy of Amy's camera. I'm not sure if this is directed against the war in Iraq, or the ongoing hostilities between Israel and Palestine, or at the world in general. It seems to fit all those situations; that's what's so disheartening. Does every generation feel like theirs is bound to be the last one? Is that why apocalyptic narratives grab our attention over and over again? Sometimes just living makes me feel like crying.

And as I'm PMSing again (or would be, if I were having periods) it's time for another installment of *drumroll* Things (and People) That Piss Me Off.
1. People who actually say things they saw on T-shirts, or that could be on T-shirts (example overheard recently: "There's too much blood in my alcohol system." Loser.)
2. Excessive negativity
3. The incorrect use of the apostrophe. Any mispunctuation, but especially the apostrophe. Nacho's is not the plural of nacho. Nor do the Smith's live anywhere. You don't form plurals with apostrophes, people.
4. Those who mindlessly appropriate from other cultures. "I wear this talisman of Brother Eagle because I want to HONOR, you know, Native American wisdom. And stuff." This especially bothers me now that I'm trying to get my (legitimately deserved) Certificate of Degree of Indian Blood.
5. People who buy organic food but don't recycle. I know people like this.
6. Emoticons. WHY? If you can't convey your emotional state adequately with words, maybe you need to work on your vocabulary.
7. When the people at the bakery don't separate the onion bagels from the rest of the bagels when they make a delivery. The inevitable result is a horror not even Mary Shelley could have anticipated: the blueberry garlic bagel. As effective as Ipecac, I swear. Keep one around in case of accidental poisoning.
8. Instructions that begin: "In case of accidental poisoning..." What, if someone ODs on purpose the instructions are different? Are you supposed to just leave them there to die?
9. Anything written by Dave Eggers. Ever. Also, I am chagrined to say, a good number of Wes Anderson movies. Cultural artifacts that are actually of poor quality but try to foist the responsibility for their inherent shittiness onto you, as in, "You just don't..." *sniff* "Get it."
10. Meat that looks unapologetically like meat (we had steaks for dinner last night *shudder*).

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

An artsy-fartsy picture I took near my house with Amy's camera (thanks, Amy!)
More to follow.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

So. Haven't written in a while. I've been a bit preoccupied. With what? With this:
Current weight: 107
Current height: 5'5"
BMI: 17.9 ( "severely underweight," the CDC says helpfully.)

("Does this body make me look fat?" she asks. Do you like the shirt, by the way? It's from my elementary school. Boone Elementary, named for Daniel Boone, who owned a cabin just up the road from my house. I used to wear that T shirt as a nightgown; now it's at the satisfying state of hipster-tightness, clingy in places but loose in others, and soft as all hell) I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory, but there's something strange going on, either with my body or my perception...I don't know how I can weight what I do and still be as fat as I am, teetering at the edge of obesity.
These are the numbers I obsess about, day and night; I dream about them, fantasize about them. How did I get here? I don't quite remember. I know there were periods when I was running seven miles a day, eating 1000 calories a day, eating nothing for days...until my body said "Hey, you. Yeah, you. Cut this shit out." Which it communicated through a stress fracture (and tendonitis--double trouble!) of my right foot. This kept me off the streets (away from running, I mean) for all of a week and a half: now I'm back, running a cool, easy three miles a day. It hurts a little. But as Courtney Love says, "It might as well, it might as well hurt..." Although I'm not certain Ms. Love is the person to look to for advice on major life choices. Ahem.

I'm definitely going into the hospital on Dec. 19th: my doctor here has arranged it with my parents and with the eating disorders unit back home. This means I'll be IN the HOSPITAL over f*cking CHRISTMAS. Deck the halls with boughs of hell-y. I really don't want to go, as any person who's acquainted with my stubborn ass knows. And I know it's juvenile to drag my feet and say "I don't wanna," but I DON'T f*cking WANNA! When I imagined my Christmas, I imagined myself taking baths when I wanted, watching TV when I wanted, cuddling with my beloved beloved cats and dog whenever I desired. I could drink what I wanted, eat (or not) what I wanted, take naps and go shopping and hug my mother and for hell's sake PEE when I wanted (not a given in the hospital...last time, when I was on a 24 hour watch--what they do the first 24 hours you're in the hospital, when I guess you're most likely to try and trick them or revert to old behaviors--the nurses wouldn't let you into the bathrooms for an hour after meals. They actually locked all the bathrooms. After that, if you needed to pee or whatever, you had to sing while you went, loud enough for the nurse standing on the other side of the bathroom door to hear you).
But enough of that. Another post later today, about less depressing topics. If you consider organic chemistry less depressing.