This morning I awoke from anxious dreams to discover that in my bed I had been changed into a monstrous verminous fish. Lying awkwardly on my back, I twisted a long flexible spine while trying to move legs that were fused into a greenish-gray tail. I could catch only glimpses of this speckled body for my eyes were strangely immobile, showing mainly side views. There amongst the pillows I spied a small feline sniffing the air happily while creeping toward me. When its rough sandpaper tongue licked the whisker-like projection now growing under my chin, I felt a surge of panic. Oh God. Is this how it is all going to end?
What was happening to me? I tried to cry out loud, but my thick oval mouth could only open and close, wordlessly. This was no dream; it was the result of a transformation that had, I finally realized, begun about four weeks earlier, when QMR Continue reading
This title is a misnomer, for my eating is incredibly orderly these days. Everything is weighed, measured, and consumed at appropriate intervals. It might interest a few of you to know exactly what my diet consists of, though I try not to write the typical pre-competition blog, filled with such monotonous bullshit as: ‘Did double cardio today, then ate 5-7 almonds! or ‘I am hungry—hungry to visualize my success on stage!’ QMR is a nutrition expert who does not give it away for free and neither will I, at least not in complete detail. Today, however, was a medium food day, so I had 170 grams of bison, 8 egg whites, 60 grams of sweet potatoes, 115 grams of basa, 140 grams of chicken, 215 grams of brussels sprouts, 100 grams of butternut squash, 55 grams of wheat bran, and one scoop of protein powder. This is not a massive amount of food, nor it is particularly small. So when people wonder—or secretly ask one of my friends—if I have an eating disorder, I can only respond with a stunned expression revealing that I think they are idiots. Because they are idiots.
Just look at a recent picture of my body to see what I mean. This 8-week-out frame is visibly muscular, relatively lean, and hard. It is the result of years of working out, targeted weight training, and clean eating, notably during the last 80 days. It looks nothing like the bulimic body of my unstable housemate in graduate school, who would cook incessantly—often with the mushrooms and flowers she found outside—and then vomit her creations Continue reading
Have you ever read that amusing site called ‘Fuck My Life,’ which asks you to ‘share your everyday life unfortunate moments and other fail funny stories?’ While I might not approve of this ungrammatical request, I usually enjoy the contents posted by ordinary people, including stories of pain, humiliation, and blind grandfathers who can smell you having sex with your new boyfriend on the couch. Although I consult this site on a regular basis, I never thought I would contribute to it. Unfortunately, I have had quite a few FML moments since starting my pre-competition diet in January.
Incident number one: It is Friday evening and I am at a VIP opening for an exhibition of Continue reading
I started my pre-competition diet 22 days ago and have lost 7.1 pounds so far. I am allowed to eat precise amounts of chicken, bison, egg whites, protein powder, basa, and skim milk for protein, along with brussels sprouts, sweet potatoes, and butternut squash for carbs. I have six relatively small meals per day, enjoying low, medium, and high food days. So far, it has not been too difficult, though I admit to having drafted another post called ‘FML [Fuck My Life] Diet Moments,’ in which certain challenges will be explained, hopefully in amusing detail. One small problem is that continually cooking sprouts makes my kitchen smell like German baby farts. More about that later. First it is important to note that the diet includes an extensive regime of supplements, taken at seven intervals throughout the day. I am not even sure what they are, and will shortly research them online, reporting my findings to you. Here is a picture of my organizational system, designed with containers purchased in the Alzheimer’s Aisle at the drugstore. It is right beside ‘Incontinence Corridor.’ According to my family history, I will soon be suffering from confusion and an inability to use the knobs on the stove, so this diet is helping me prepare for the inevitable.
I consider Sigmund Freud a genius and I don’t use that term lightly. In fact, I often historicize and undermine the concept of genius in my art history courses, especially when I am talking about such mythological creatures as Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo. But I invoke it in relation to Freud because his ideas were so novel, earth shattering, and influential. They changed forever the path of thought about the body, sexuality, and identity in the west. Who cares whether or not his theories are completely accurate or verifiable? That is not the point, and anyone who thinks that way about Freud is: 1) unimaginative; 2) mudane; 3) unlikely to have read any Freud; and 4) no longer my friend. Continue reading