Nor should cornbread. And not everything needs cheese. Examples of two things that do not need cheese: cornbread and grits. Cornbread and grits do not need sugar and/or cheese. Blasphemy.
Food is tied in with identity, as is the case of my insistence that grits and cornbread needn’t have sugar in them. My husband begs to differ on the grits and made me try grits with sugar in them the other day. He made the argument that was how it was done when he was stationed in Georgia many years ago, which was to counter the argument that I spent my summers with family in Tennessee when I was growing up and was not taught to add sugar to grits. We have had this disagreement for several years. I finally agreed to try them. They tasted like a five year old crushed up stale kettle corn in a bowl of water and squished it all together with tiny fingers. To each their own, I guess.
A lot of rules about food come from broader culture, faith traditions, and family norms. Food keeps us alive, food keeps us connected. Food is ritualistic and communal – wedding cakes, barbecues, Thanksgiving dinners, and potlucks. Rules for a particular food can vary by region, like sugar and grits (Which admittedly is no less Southern as grits without sugar, it just happens to be gross). Food has a funny way of bringing people together.
Except people who more or less don’t feel togetherness don’t often bond over food. Food-prominent events are at best awkward and at worst prompting events for self-destructive behavior. There is no quick advice for these people that hasn’t already been heard a million times over. Cope ahead, positive/rational self-talk, just eat anyway and don’t hate yourself for it, stay in the moment, etc. etc. Not bad advice, just won’t fix anything in the long-term.
Not long ago, I made a bold political statement: “Just for the love of all that is holy, make sure people have access to mental healthcare.” I swore I wouldn’t get political again, that I would stick to blogging about bits and pieces of research, talking about myself, maybe throw in some cat pictures. But I can’t keep my mouth shut about this one. Brace yourselves.
Slut-shaming is wrong.
Melania Trump’s portrait is all the Internet buzz today. Much criticism of the photo is related to the extent to which the photo was edited. However, it wouldn’t be an ordinary day without the Internet making derogatory comments. Topics include:
Something about modeling in the 90’s.
Previous experience in the pornography industry. (Didn’t happen as far as I know)
Oh what a terrible person for having had pictures taken in minimal clothing for money.
Mrs. Trump had a successful modeling career. She married someone who was later elected President of the United States. A lot of people do not like her husband. Not liking the president does not make it okay to slut-shame his wife. Not liking her doesn’t mean it’s okay to engage in that type of behavior, either.
Women are frequently on the receiving end of slut-shaming, but it’s not uncommon in other genders as well. People’s obsession with sex extends to the sexual “morality” of others, and those who have different values need to be removed from the group immediately. Calling a person [insert slang for prostitute here] is a quick way to oust an undesirable. It’s also hurtful, degrading, and completely unnecessary.
Regardless of who you are, who you have loved, and what you have done in the past, present, and will do in the future, being slut-shamed is unacceptable.
I think it’s true for many procrastinators. Though I found it didn’t entirely reflect my procrastination experiences, because hey, we’re all different and what not. That said, I don’t think my experiences are particularly unique.
I procrastinate. Sometimes for hours, sometimes days. In college and grad school, weeks. Feedback on my work in college included such gems as:
“The paper is still warm from the printer.”
“I would not have guessed you had written this in forty-five minutes.”
“Great Job! 100%”
It was the 100% assignments that kept me afloat throughout school. And reinforced the procrastination to a degree.
Overall, procrastination was a means of avoiding work. Very aversive work.
It didn’t seem to make a difference whether or not I started assignments the day assigned or the night before they were due – my thoughts were still a distorted train wreck. So I put things off – I wasn’t exactly going to rush into self-deprecation and misery.
Things improved when I was no longer in college, when what is now considered important is incredibly different than what was. Things also improved when I figured out how to work without the thought train wreck – I learned to change my thinking.
The cover of the book I’m reading has a picture of someone cutting grass with a pair of scissors. It’s called Cognitive-Behavioral Treatment of Perfectionism, and it has the most amusing cover of any clinical book I’ve read to date. The content is not particularly humorous, but it’s interesting.
Reading the section on the causes of perfectionism prompted my mind to go back to Monday, when I was having talking to my dad about cloned lifeforms, identity, family skeletons that paraded out of that closet years ago, and personality traits. And a slew of other things, but the personality discussion sticks out. My dad and I tend to be competitive and tend to make it a point to focus energy on things in which we are skilled at. We differ in that my dad used to be impulsive – things change with age – and I am not.
Avoiding risk isn’t entirely an anxiety thing with me – it’s lack of interest. I just don’t find impulsive behavior appealing. I can put off enjoyable things for extended periods of time. My idea of a good time after work is looking at pictures of cats on the Internet. I’m not sure if I can explain it any better than just saying meh.