Heather
I ' LAMPE
Catwalk of tragedy
Obsession with weight affects society’s psyche
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I looked in the mirror this
morning and made the same
promise I make to myself just about
once a week.
“I will stick to my diet. I won’t
get upset. I won’t beat myself up. I
won’t compulsively eat.”
It’s a war that I’ve fought with
myself since high school, and it’s a
fear that I believe most American
women have. It’s a fear of gaining
weight and a fear of being unac
cepted.
1 have dieted since I was 16 years
old. I’ve been on juice diets, Slim
fast diets, pasta diets and vegetarian
diets. I have popped diuretics,
laxatives, herbal energizers and diet
pills. I haven’t ever made myself
throw up — but it isn’t because I
haven’t tried.
I’ve run. I’ve biked. I’ve lifted
weights. I’ve purchased every piece
of exercise equipment known to
u
We live in a country that successfully feeds itself and large
portions of the world, but still we have thousands of young
women starving themselves i/n,pursuit of the perfect body.”
man. My parents’ basement looks
like a miniature Gold’s Gym.
At times I’ve succeeded in my
quest for thinness, but more times
than often I’ve failed. My weight
has fluctuated like a giant yo-yo.
And now I’m tired.
I’m tired of feeling obsessed. I’m
tired of feeling ashamed. I’m an
intelligent, educated woman who
knows better than to be swayed by
the picture that the media has
painted for me. I know that I
shouldn’t care so much about the
shape of my thighs or the size of my
chest, but it seems that the rest of
the world does.
You can not turn on the televi
sion, go to a movie or open a
magazine without seeing the
skeleton-like models that have
become our motivation. If Marilyn
Monroe was a movie star today, she
would be considered fat. Jayne
Mansfield and Brigitte Bardot
couldn’t get a job.
We live in a country that success
fully feeds itself and large portions
of the world, but still we have
thousands of young women starving
themselves in pursuit of the perfect
body. Anorexia and bulimia are t
20th-century diseases that we’ve all
had a hand in creating. We perpetu
ate the ideals set forth by Holly
wood, and because of that, there are
little 12-year-old girls making
themselves vomit.
We lecture on how to stop racism
and how to stop sexism, but we’ve
yet to accept that we live in a society
that hates overweight people. Our
society sees fat people as lazy slobs.
Several years ago I watched an
episode of Oprah in which she
interviewed people on the street
about what they thought of over
weight people. It was the saddest
show I have ever seen. A significant
number of the people said they
thought fat people were lazy and
that they smelled. People felt that
because overweight people couldn’t
control their weight, then they
couldn’t control other aspects of
their lives.
I come from a family of over
weight people, and they are the most
hardworking, hygenic bunch of
people you will ever know. My
father has struggled through two
heart attacks and a life centered
around weight control, and he has
still managed to spend 20 years
finding success in his career.
I recently read a book by Mary
Pipher, a psychologist in Lincoln,
called “Reviving Ophelia: Saving
the Selves of Adolescent Girls.” It
contains the stories of girls she has
helped in therapy, and it is a sad
commentary on women’s lives in the
United States.
Pipher writes, “When I speak at
colleges, I ask if any of the students
have friends with eating disorders.
Everyone’s hand goes up. Studies
report that on any given day in
America, half our teenage girls are
dieting and that one in five young
women has an eating disorder.”
And if you think that this
problem isn’t prevalent in the
Midwest, you must remember that
Pipher practices in Lincoln.
Turning to the news, we see the
public’s outrage at the footage of
little JonBenet Ramsey performing
in child beauty pageants before her
death. People are shocked that
parents would submit their child to
that kind of scrutiny. Yet, they look
past the fact that our nation as a
whole puts every young girl and
every woman under that pressure to
be beautiful.
Everyday life has become a sort
of beauty pageant for women. The
tragic part is that most of us are
losing.
Lampe is a senior news
editorial and English major and a
Daily Nebraskan columnist.
Steve
WILLEY
The last supper
Garcon, there’s a basset hound in my soup...
Anyone who has ever seen me
from the shoulders down can
probably make the easy assumption
that I like to eat. Off the top of my
head, the only thing 1 can think of
that I won’t eat is year-old cottage
cheese.
(Spellchecker’s note: Steve’s
phobia is no doubt the result of a
gruesome incident in 1993 when he
ate a package of cottage cheese he
found in a discarded refrigerator
behind die Federal building.
Doctors pumped his stomach for
weeks but the rancid cheese had
already done its damage, lb this day
Steve still can’t look at cottage
cheese without shrieking like a
Rhesus monkey undergoing a hernia
exam.)
I’m unscrupulous when it comes
to eating. I’ll fight a starving 3-year
old for government-provided peanut
butter, and I’ve been known to
attend die funerals of complete
strangers.
You see, I don’t view death as a
sad and somber occasion. I see it as
a new beginning for the departed,
and a chance for the fortunate livinf
to get lota and lots of free food.
‘J ' . ' .
u
I don’t care if they’re feeding me antelope vomit — for $75,1
better get a crock pot full of it!”
i
MOURNER: (Crying) “I can’t
believe Frank’s gone!”
STEVE: (Shaking head) “It’s
awful. Just awful... say, could you
v pass me one of them there finger
sandwiches? (shoveling in a spoon
ful of potato salad) You know,
(swallowing) Fred was a fine man.
A FINE man!”
But the thing I enjoy most about
eating is dining out. You know, at a
nice restaurant with a server who, il
you give a big enough tip, will fork
feed the hamburger to you.
All college students are familiar
with dining out. Since we don’t hav<
a lot of time to prepare meals,
dining out is usually our best option
typically ranking a few notches
above starvation but falling well
below purchasing a plane ticket to
Mama’s.
Dining as a college student is
much different than dining as a
regular person. Few example, college
students’ food must be cheap. Also,
our choices are further complicated
by the fact that we have to eat at
places that serve lots of booze.
; As you can no doubt see, we’re
already screwed because the only
place in the world that serves cheap
food and tons of liquor is Boris
Yeltsin’s hospital room. (And we all
know that’s invitation only.) So
where do we go to eat?
The first step is choosing a good
restaurant. Experts will tell you to
lode for such things as quality of
food, quality of service and belching
policies before making a choice. But
I think the most important aspect of
a good restaurant is the portions.
Nothing’s worse than going to
one of those ritzy places, dropping
75 bucks and having them serve you
s a bouillon cube with a parsley leaf
for supper.
’ I don’t care if they’re feeding me
antelope vomit — for $75,1 better
. get a crock pot full of it!
After you’ve found a place with
ample portions, the next step is
making a reservation. (WHAT ARE
YOU DOING YOU IDIOT? I WAS
TESTING YOU! NEVER EAT
SOMEPLACE WHERE RESERVA
TIONS ARE NEEDED!)
Once you arrive, it is important to
be couth and instantly use you
napkin properly — and here I’m not
talking about placing it on your lap.
The proper way to use the napkin is
TO “snap” the tushes of your servers
whenever you need a refill.
When ordering, try to avoid those
menu items that have a heart next to
them. In most restaurants, this heart
means, “if you have a pulse, don’t
choose me.” Instead, opt for items
that have the regurgitating stick
figure next to them; they’ll prove
much more tasty.
Another important and otten
overlooked aspect of ordering is
being especially polite to your
waiter. Most servers are decent
people and will work hard to please
you, but you must be cognizant of
the fact that you don’t know what
kind of day they’re having.
For example, on any given day,
your waiter could have been indicted
for having “sexual relations” with a
cantaloupe and could be looking at
several years in a federal joint.
Or maybe he just lost his entire
family after playing a mindless
game of “tackle the lawn mower.”
You just don’t know and the
slightest hint of rudeness could set
them off.
(My father could never undo:
stand this concept. He’s always rude
to servers. To this day he still thinks
chicken cordon bleu is SUPPOSED
to have dish soap on it.)
Once you’ve eaten your meal, the
final step is to tip your server.
Generally, tips should range from 0
to 15 percent of your total bill —
depending largely on the number of
times scalding coffee was dumped
on your crotch. For exceptional
service—foot massages between
courses — it is customary to buy
your server a Porsche.
Here’s a helpful guide I found on
the Internet which covers how much
you should tip:
■ Your server saiu you remina
her of Brad Pitt. TIP: 87 percent.
■ Your server was attentive to
your needs, efficient and friendly.
TIP: 15 percent.
■ Your server was rude and often
referred to you as “dipshit.” TIP: 5
percent.
■ Your server was a basset hound
with a tray strapped to its back. TIP:
Kick it down a flight of stairs.
I hope this brief guide will offer
some assistance during your next
dining experience. This advice has
always worked for me, though I
should point out that most of it was
fabricated. As long as you stay away
from year-old cottage cheese, you
can’t go wrong.
Willey is a senior news-editorial
major and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist