Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    
        In the meantime, I myself see no reason to abandon what's become one
of the most engaging and energetic topics around.  One question that
echoes for me: Okay, men don't like super-skinny women.  Women don't
like trying to become super-skinny.  Super-skinniness is not a
biological survival trait.  So where in hell, in the last 30 years or
so, has this damagingly dominant paradigm come from?  Can we really
blame it all on fashion photographers?  Has it been a progressive
skinnification, a pound at a time?  Is it one of those massive CIA
mind-control experiments the streetcorner crazies keep trying to warn
us about?
  

    

Thank you so much, Lori, and I hope to see you around the Well for many
years to come. Maybe you can start your own conference, stick.ind or
something, where we can keep talking about all this stuff. Then we can have
whole topics on things like nudist camps, salsa, tanning, men & weight, body
image in other cultures...no end to it.

And speaking of nudists and salsa (though it might just possibly be illegal
to do so in the same sentence): I've been going to Wilbur Hot Springs for
over a decade. And here's what I've observed. 99.9% of all people look a
hundred times better naked than they do in a swimsuit. People just simply
look wonderful. It's not sexual, it's almost artistic. You go there and you
see people who are old and wrinkeled and weathered, with all the character
and interesting details that adds. You see people who are enormous, sitting
on the edge of the tubs like big happy majestic mountains, and you're just
stunned by their beauty. You see all these people without clothes or makeup,
their hair is wet or wrapped up in a towel, and every single time, you're
amazed at how much better they all look without their artifice and
disguises. And there's nothing quite like the feeling of freedom you get
when you realize you can do it too. It's like a huge weight is temporarily
lifted when you realize you can walk around naked in the moonlight. Flabby
thighs, stretch marks, scars, cellulite, birthmarks, pot bellies, none of it
matters. You don't feel self-conscious about that stuff any more than a tree
feels self-conscious about flaws in its bark. You don't realize what a heavy
burden that self-consciousness is until you're allowed to drop it for a day
or two and just walk around feeling sunlight and cool breezes on your body.
It's one of the most magnificent sensations I've ever experienced.

And a whole new paragraph for salsa. I could write a book about my
experiences learning how to dance. But briefly, I think the main value in
it, if you can stick with it, is that it forces you to get over a certain
kind of narcissism we all carry around. You go into a class and you're an
absolute beginner. There will be two very beautiful teachers and maybe they
dance competitively. You try the first steps, you stumble a little, you lose
the rhythm, you look in the mirror (they have those giant dance studio
mirrors that cover the whole wall) and see that your clothes are all wrong,
your hips are stiff and jerky, your hair looks funny, your head is too small
for your body (probably some serious medical condition They have been
keeping a secret from you since birth), and you can't dance. The whole thing
is so humiliating, you won't feel like going back to the next class. I used
to have to sit in my car and cry for twenty minutes before I could drive
home. The only way to stick with it and get over the fear of being a klutzy
awkward pathetic beginner is to Get Over Yourself. You develop a lot of
humility, you learn to accept that you're nobody special, you learn to
forget about your body and just concentrate on the music and the dance. At
least, that's the way it happened with me. I suspect it may be the opposite
for people who have a lot of natural talent and good looks. Dancing can
increase or at least be an expression of their narcissistic tendencies. But
for me, it has been a very liberating exercise in humility and detachment.
And once I got past that first year of struggling and started to get kind of
good at it, it's been the greatest source of joy in my life. And it's forced
me to stop comparing myself to others. This is a very good lesson in life.
  

    
When we say an inkwell conversation is set for two weeks, we're talking
about the commitment we need up front from the author and the leader of
the conversation, in this case Lori and Molly, who've done an absolutely
terrific job here.  But this no way means that the conversation must end
in two weeks. We politely wander in after two weeks and thank everybody
for coming, but hopefully we make it clear that we're not asking you to
leave. We'd be delighted if you stayed and kept jamming... in fact Neil
Gaiman's topics have evolved their own sense of community, and they maxed
out the original topic, and have almost filled the sequel... we're about
to start, not one, but TWO more topics for Neil!

So Lori, Molly, et al. ... we really hope you'll just ignore that
arbitrary two-week thing and keep at it like nothing had happened. 
  

    
i'm happy to keep at it! but i spend a lot of time here on the well as
is. 

i've greatly enjoyed the last two weeks, the conversation, the
community here. i've loved getting to know lori -- how could i not? and
i'm looking forward to an eventual face-to-face get-together the next
time i'm in her city. 

leroy, i love what you're saying about salsa. this is all relevant to
my life... when i was home in minneapolis a couple of weeks ago, i was
having a conversation with a male friend of mine who learned how to
salsa dance. he loves it (and points out that it's a great single guy
thing to go do). strangely enough, the day i got back from minneapolis,
i was with a group of people, and just guess what the evening plan
was? salsa, yup. you got it. salsa.

there were maybe eight of us in the group, some who were salsa
dancers, some who just liked to dance, a couple people who would try
anything, my boyfriend (who is a self-conscious kind of guy, especially
in those situations) and me (i'll try anything). now truly, i'm very
shy about dancing. "i can't dance," i'll tell people. "not well. i look
like a dork." so boyfriend and i were standing on the sidelines,
watching agnes, the french vigilante dance instructor, cut in on
couples, efficiently show them the moves, and then continue onto
another couple, finishing things with a perfect little smile. 

i was getting antsy. i wanted to dance. i couldn't convince my
boyfriend to do it, so finally i went to hang out with a woman in the
group of us. she was from argentina and was dancing by herself, having
a great time (and spilling her martini). within a second, i'd been
grabbed by some guy (who seemed more into using it as an excuse to feel
me up). but still, a few strategic repositionings of his hands made
things better.

as he turned me, i realized our salsa dancing friend had taken my
boyfriend out on the dance floor! and she was teaching him the moves,
something i'd been unable to get him to try. it was fun watching them,
and at the end of the song, mr. crotch dancer found another partner
while ms. salsa dancing friend spun me over to my boyfriend. 

he and i were klutzy. we sure didn't look great. but it was great fun
to dance with him, and who cares if we look stupid? it felt good and we
were having fun.
  

    

Damn!  I want to learn to dance and yet I don't.  Puzzles me no
end.  Fear, I'm sure of it.

And those kudos for pairing Molly with Lori belong to my co-host <jonl>,
not me.

And still, I want to dance.
  

    

Great post <202>, Elizabeth.

There's a popular bumper sticker type saying these days, which I can't quote
exactly but it includes the phrases "dance like no one's watching" and "love
like you've never been hurt."  Good advice.

I am typing this in a hotel room in Portland, where I am not at all happy
with the amount of weight I've put on lately.  It's hard to eat wisely on the
road, and self-discipline sems to go to hell a little too readily.
  

    

>>"I think it was Kurt Vonnegut who wrote in one of his novels about a dog
>>that couldn't wag its tail."

>God, what a powerful image!  Which Vonnegut novel?

I can't remember.  Anyone else?  Bueller?



>>"It's related to the fact that once you become attached, you become more
>>attractive to the unattached :^)"

>Gans - Yeah, but then you've got this co-dependent dynamic going on.  Two
>attached people (attached to themselves so they can then attach to others)
>are the best combo.  Otherwise, one is always relying on the other for
>validation, when the validation needs to come from inside first.  Of course,
>I'm analyzing what was simply some clever wordplay, which must be pretty
>annoying...

No problem.  I was just describing one of those "Murphy's Law" situations,
y'know?

In my own life, I had to do a lot of work to get comfortable enough with
myself that I could participate meaningfully in a shared life with another
person.
  

    
Hey, you folks came back!

<streak> wrote: "Okay, men don't like super-skinny women.  Women don't
like trying to become super-skinny.  Super-skinniness is not a
biological survival trait.  So where in hell, in the last 30 years or
so, has this damagingly dominant paradigm come from?"  

If only the world could be explained with logic!
  

    
<leroy> - okay, you've sold me on both salsa and the nudist thang. 
But probably salsa first.  Baby steps, ya know?  (Although, from your
description, the nudist colony experience might be less humiliating for
the rhythm-impaired!) 

Something occurred to me about nudist colonies last night.  Don't
people get COLD?  I mean, I sleep naked, and that's with covers on, but
often I'll get cold and throw on a t-shirt or something.  What happens
if it's cold outside and you can't throw on sweatshirt?  Does it get
cold at night?  Do people only do this during the summer or are these
places located only in very warm climates, like the desert?

Is the stupidest question you've ever heard?  Like asking where ducks
go in the winter when the lakes freeze?
  

    
Molly - That sounds SO romantic.  The klutzy part makes it more so.
Romance for me isn't what I see in the movies - it's the "real" stuff
that creates the intimacy - not the "perfect" scenarios we see
onscreen, especially because no one in real life acts or talks like
that.  Or if they do, I'm not interested.  I just can't relate.  But
when I read your story from the other day, my heart went, "Aaaaah." 
Sigh ... but I'd imagine it's still fun going alone. I need to check
into this next week.  
  

    
Ah, misplaced kudos.  Well, you can still have 'em, Castle, for your
excellent co-hosting.  

But belated thanks to co-host <jonl> for the pairing with moderator
Molly (that sounds like a doll, doesn't it - Moderator Molly?).  
  

    
"dance like no one's watching" and "love
like you've never been hurt."  Good advice.

Gans - AMEN!
  

    
        The full version runs "Work like you don't need the money.  Love like
you've never been hurt.  Dance like no one's watching."  I want to say
it's Gary Snyder.  I don't know why I want to say that.
  

    

Lori, the "nudist colony" I always go to is Wilbur Hot Springs. It's a
lovely old turn-of-the-century hotel, and you have to wear clothes
everywhere except the area outside by the pools and tubs. Yes, it gets very
cold in the winter. I love to go there when it's snowing. But then you don't
spend a lot of time naked outside the hot water. You hang up your robe on a
peg and quickly submerge yourself in a trough of very hot water that's thick
and black with minerals. After a half hour or so of soaking, you're so hot
you love to get out and stand in the cold air. I love it when my feet crunch
on the frost and the steam comes pouring off my skin. I think it builds
character, in kind of a Scandanavian sense.

As for dancing, saying "I can't dance" is a lot like saying "I can't play
the pianao." Of course not. First you have to learn how. It takes much more
than just two or three lessons, and it takes hours and months of practice. A
good salsa dancer makes it look so easy, almost improvisational, like she's
just making it up as she goes along, and it all comes naturally. Not so.
It's very much like playing a musical instrument, if you're serious about
it. A lot of practice and hard work in the beginner stages. Not something
you can easily pick up on the fly, but that doesn't mean you're rhythm
impaired or can't dance.

Learning to dance really ties in with the whole body image thing because
it's all about learning that it's ok to be imperfect, to be less than the
best. It's about not tormenting and rejecting yourself when you don't meet
some impossibly high standards. It means giving up this need for approval
and admiration form the outside, and learning to follow a certain need for
life and joy and vitality that's on the inside. Very good things to be
working on.
  

    
that's just it: the learning not to be perfect part. i've realized
that i'm a perfectionist, that i only want to do things i'm really good
at... but lately, i've been trying to break out of that. i've been
taking jazz voice lessons, and that's been a great exercise. my voice
is good, but i won't be putting out any albums... still, there's a joy
in just singing for the sake of singing. it's my voice, it belongs to
me and it feels great to use it!

lori, your description of romance reminded me of the last song i
worked on in my jazz class -- "my romance" (which goes "my romance
doesn't have to have a moon in the sky..."). great, sweet song!
  

    
lori, I hope you'll stick around on the Well, too. I've enjoyed this topic
and your postings a lot. (I never came to this conf before, but I came here
to read this topic!)

The places I go to are "clothing optional" - you don't HAVE to be naked,
you're just allowed to. I go both to a traditionaal "nudist camp", Lupin,
and to a "clothing opptional resort", Harbin Hot Springs. At both places
y9u'll see some people clothed, some not. I go to these places in the
winter, too, and people wear robes or something to the pool if they need to.
You also see people playhing tennis or volleyball (at the nudist camp -
volleyball is huge among nudists for some reason) in t shirts only.

I couldn't have put it better than leroy did - you look around and see
people of every shape and size, even sometimes people with disabilites, all
naked, and they all look fine. After a while you don't noticed that they're
naked, they just look normal.

I forget where you are, but if you're in the bay area, you could come to
Lupin with me as a guest. the gauntlet is thrown down!@
  

    
re: how did the superskinny thing get going question ---
i read somewhere that it's equiv to desexing/depowering women.
that is, in the 20s, when women got the vote, got a little ah untrammeled
---
the new model of the skinny body came in i.e. you've lost yr corsets,
and certain overt kinds of social controls --- now other ones will
be asserted. the author's thesis was that women suddenly needing
to be slight and boyish was away to do away with the Threat of the
Powerful -Woman-.
along these same lines, i have thought that the skinnification
culture goes along with the puer/puella culture: all music/media/
imagery/ways to be seems to be teenyboppery/eternal adolescent.
and it is true that many girls say 14 yrs old are naturally
not as filled in as their 25-yr-old selves would be. or 45-yr-old
ones. so it's a way of saying we all should be as 14-yr-olds, forever....
  

    
Lori -- see, if you keep your subscription to the New Yorker, you can
keep tabs on pieces like this one (from the current edition):

<http://www.newyorker.com/THE_TALK_OF_THE_TOWN/COMMENT/>

in which bikini clad "women whose 'adolescent years are a dim
memory,'" are featured because they are pictured on the front page of
the NY Times -- "because the wanted to."

"What gave the Times license to put three bikinis on its front page
was its assurance that you could look past the bikinis to the minds of
the women who were wearing them."

I'm not sure what you might think about Gopnik's contrasting the
womens' substance with shallow movie review quotes, but hey -- this
kind of stuff might allow you to treat your subscription as a business
expense (but be sure to consult your tax advisor!).
  

    
the gauntlet is thrown down!@

<crow> - I think I'm gonna check out salsa first, and if that's not a
TOTAL disaster...
  

    
Stuart - As I haven't yet reliquinshed either my New Yorker
Subscription or HBO, I DID see that Gopnik piece.  And justify it how
you want, but in my opinion, bikini-clad women are bikini-clad women
are bikini-clad women, no matter how you dress 'em up (no pun
intended).
  

    
I was thinking about this discussion today b/c I've been doing
celebrity interviews for a magazine column I'm writing and I do them
all by phone.  So I'm sitting here with my hair doing funky ringlet
stuff and my face in dire need of being washed and my clunky glasses
sliding off my ears, talking to these women who probably look fabulous
in the "Hollywood" sense of the word.  

And it occurred to me that they had NO idea what I looked like while
we were talking, no idea that the interviewer who sounded like them and
laughed with them and said, "Oh yeah!" over universal experiences
shared with them, looked nothing like them.  Wouldn't it be interesting
to live in a world where the only thing we could "see" about each
other would be our personalities?  Where looks were literally, like
today, invisible?  Wouldn't the oddest of friendships form?
  

    
        You're in that world now.
  

    
You know, if you were interviewing them by phone and they were at home, they
might not have looked all fabulous at all.  They can't pop in the
supermarket looking non-fabulous for fear some tabloid will run a picture to
demonstrate they're dying of some horrible disease or something, but,
sometimes, they're at home and no one can take their picture.
  

    
Ditto <streak>. Several of my incredible friends are people I met in
this faceless venue (the Internet in general - not the Well
specifically). And the funny thing is - you can be talking away happily
with someone for months (years even), you see their picture one day
and that old snap judgement kicks right back in. And you think to
yourself, horrified, "Did I just think that about my friend?"
  

    
I was thinking the same thing, soukup.