On Life As A Mixed Bag

I was prepared to hunker down with a nice tumbler of single-malt and watch the debates, and the subsequent media evisceration. Was fully prepared that no matter how well Kerry did (or how badly Bush performed) that the media spin would quickly declare Bush the winner. Wow, was I pleasantly surprised! Not only did I witness Kerry mopping the floor with the Sock Puppet, but was stunned to find that the polls in the mainstream media were overwhelmingly reflecting the aforementioned janitorial act. Despite my momentary pleasure, I know better than to gloat, and know better than to be complacent. The right is organized, well-funded and tenacious...they aren't going to give up without a fight, and a dirty, rigged fight at that. (I'm reading David Brock's "The Republican Noise Machine" right now, and it's an eye-opener.)

Then comes the bad news: the death of Doug's best friend's sister, a vivacious, good-natured, intelligent woman who was only 33 years old. She was healthy, and her death was not only tragic, but unnecessary: a result of complications from a liposuction procedure earlier in the week. She was home and sleeping in a chair per the doctor's instructions, and apparently threw a clot. She went to sleep Tuesday night and was dead when her mother came in to check on her Wednesday morning.

I'm sad, but also angry. Sad for her family's loss, four years to the day that her father died. Sad for her mother and brothers and sisters and friends. Angry because she didn't have to die. Angry because of the messages bombarding us that our bodies are not OK, that we should strive for physical perfection, that how we look is more important than who we are or even whether we live. Angry because of programs like "The Swan" and "Extreme Makeover" that downplay the pain and risks of these surgeries, and angry at a culture that plays lip service to "health" but drives home the notion that "beauty" trumps health every time. Last night I was lying in bed contemplating the stomach that I've always hated and realized that whoever said that loving our bodies is a revolutionary act was spot on. I need to dust off and polish up my revolutionary self.