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I Think This is the Beginning of a Beautiful Tradition
by Sarah Mason

I know it's a cliché to say, but every year it seems as though the stores are pulling out their Christmas displays a little earlier. I was barely ready for Halloween and suddenly I'm faced with tinsel and fruit cake. I'm not ready for it.  Partially because I'm alone. My family is 3000 miles away and I'm finding it hard to muster the spirit. What I loved most about this time of year growing up were all the traditions. We got our tree at the same farm stand every year. I loved all the ornaments my mother collected. The tree lighting was special. We'd have warm eggnog and cookies. The cats would play in the wrapping paper. And I found one night to myself where I'd sit alone with the tree and marvel in its glory. There was baking. There was caroling. There was family.

When you grow up, things inevitably change. I no longer return to Boston for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Originally, I thought I'd never stay in LA over the holidays. I felt that Christmas just didn't feel like Christmas without the snow and cold weather. After a few years in the California sun, I got over it. I've had to create my own traditions and that's been a challenge.

Thanksgiving is always a scary holiday for those of us with eating disorders. It's one I would gladly pass over uncelebrated if it weren't for the one tradition, of the holidays, that I hold dearest to my heart. Every Thanksgiving, I place a call to a long time friend of my family, Barbara. We see each other very infrequently so it's really nice to catch up on the phone. After our discussion (which is always discussion), she gives me her tsimmes recipe (pronounced sim –mess). Tsimmes is a Yiddish word – from the German words zum, “to the,” and essen “eating”. It's comprised of sweet potatoes and traditionally prunes, (some recipes call for apricots) and a mixture of other ingredients that give it a sweet and sour, spicy kind of taste.   It's delicious.

Honestly, I don't remember where Barbara got the recipe and I don't remember how it was originally introduced to me. But we've been carrying out this tradition for over 12 years now and it's become the most meaningful one for me. On the one hand it's sad that the Tsimmes call comes at the beginning of the holiday season. On the other, it's a relief because it gets me through. It's a bright light that inspires me to remember that traditions are meaningful to me, no matter how cynical the world is. I look forward to making that call every year. I talk about it to my friends and this has made it something bigger. Because now my friends know about this tradition, and their in on it. Every year they ask, "Did I have the Tsimmes call yet?"

I miss my family at the holidays. That's been a hard adjustment. But at the same time you can't relive your childhood traditions in the same way. My brother and sister have their own families, their own traditions. It's not the same. The Tsimmes became my first own, adult tradition. It's not my family's tradition. It's mine. And I love that. It makes me feel like I have created my own home--regardless of whether or not I have a husband and a family. I still have my own traditions.

Isn't it amazing that something so simple as a phone call and a recipe can grow to be something so significant? The truth is, the holidays should be about simply significance. Lavish gifts and festive parties don't even compare to the joy I feel in anticipation of the Tsimmes phone call. If more people concentrated on the abstract meaning of giving versus the tangible, we may be able to spread that holiday giving out a little more sensitively.

Happy Holidays and may your traditions bring you love, hope, peace and gratitude.

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Inspired by recent current events....apologies in advance. Sung to the tune of Janis Joplin's Mercedes Benz

Oh Lord won't you buy us a new President
Ours is a big fat liar and his cronies won't confess
We voted him into office cause he said he was blessed
So Lord, won't you buy us a new President

Oh Lord won't you buy us a new cabinet
After all of the indictments, there won't be anybody left
We've tried voicing outrage, no help from the press
Oh Lord won't you buy us a new cabinet

Oh Lord won't you send Tom Delay to France
He's had lots of time to find it but his elbow's still his ass
He's spent all our money teaching Conservatives to dance
So Lord, won't you send Tom Delay to France

Everybody!
Oh Lord won't you buy us a new President
Ours is a big fat liar and his cronies won't confess
We voted him into office cause he said he was blessed
So Lord, won't you buy us a new President

A Prayer for the Underdog
by Sarah Mason

Last night, from the ESPN sports bar in Downtown Disney, (Anaheim, California), I watched the Chicago White Sox defeat the Anaheim Angels (now called LA Angels) winning the American League Championship to secure their spot in the World Series. I was somewhat rooting for the Angels because they are, after all, my new home team. Truth be told, the only baseball team I have any real loyalty to is the Red Sox.

Honestly, I'm glad Chicago won. And I hope they go on to win it all like the Red Sox did last year. The White Sox haven't won a World Series since 1917. It's one of baseballs longest droughts, second only to their fellow Chicagoans, the Cubs, who haven't won since 1908.

There's something about cheering on the underdog that makes me feel good. Maybe I associate myself with underdogs, maybe I just like to see David beat down Goliath. In this case, I think it's a little of both.

The country needs some inspiration. There's so much turmoil, mistrust, disbelief, anger, disillusionment. Seeing the little guy come out on top makes everyone feel good. Not that Chicago is truly the little guy. They were number one in their division throughout the entire regular season and their pitching has proven to be the best in the post season on both sides of the MLB fence. Still, the fact that they haven't won a World Series in so long, or even made it to the World Series in such a long time is underdog enough for me. Plus, the 2005 White Sox have character. This country needs a little influx of good character right now.

So I offer this prayer for the White Sox in hopes that it will elevate them to champion status and further, gives the country a much needed boost of spirit.

Dear God,

We humbly ask for you to shine your light on Comisky Field (ahhem, sorry, U.S. Cellular Field).
Give the White Sox pitchers arms of steel and and hitters bats of cork
Anoint the city of Chicago with a rein of victory
Calming shall your gifts be to all who dare to dream
For we shall see the dawn of a rebirth of spirit

For this we pray.

Amen

It's that time again, Major League baseball playoffs. I don't know if I can take the pressure this year. Being a lifelong Red Sox fan has had very little ups, many downs. The biggest up, of course, being last year when by miracle we came back from a three game loss in a series of seven games against the NY Yankees to win. The Sox then went on to defeat the St. Louis Cardinals for the World Series championship--an unrealized dream for over 80 years.

Honestly, I still can't believe we won. I constantly have to pull out my 2004 World Series Champs t-shirt to convince myself. So here we are again, in the playoffs. But we're not lookin as good as we were last year. So to give our boys a boost, I offer up this prayer by writer/producer/director and fellow Bostonian, Paul M.J. Suchecki.

We humbly ask your favor to honor your name. Also:
May the Damned Yankees be haunted by Damon, prowling base paths.
May we dig deep in the Wells for a win.
May Wang wimp and big Johnson hang limp.
May Schilling’s pitching be worth a Pound Sterling.
May Mirabelli call a miracle.
May Tim leave baffled hitters in his Wake.
May Rivera’s closing, open time for him on the Riviera – by Monday.
May Big Papi pop long balls to fifty
May Heaven bless the son of woman known as Manny.
May Jeter jitter and A-Rod kiss the sod.
May Papelbon of Louisiana and Millar of Texas be buoyed by strong winds.
May Sierra’s focus be on his namesake mountains.
May Nixon play his full term, solidly and truly.
May Small’s hurling honor his name.
May Renteria own the land at Short
May Mueller mill gold at the Hot Corner.
May John be as blessed at First as he was in your Son’s day.
May Torre be full of bull.
May Francona notch triumph after victory.
May Captain Jason lead his crew to the Golden Fleece.
May the feet tramping home at Fenway be wearing Sox of Red.

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Sadly, the prayer didn't work. The Chicago White Sox swept away our chances beating the Red Sox today (10/7/05) to complete a 3 games to 0 sweep in the American League division playoffs.

My two favorite teams now are, the Red Sox and anyone who plays the Yankees.

As we Sox fans says, Next Year!

September 1, 2005

I'm Gonna Make it After All
by Sarah Mason

There I am, in the middle of a busy Santa Monica street, flinging my Red Sox cap into the air with poise and precision--NOT. Enter sound of car horn and angry drivers. It's never as pretty as Mary Tyler Moore's flowing, ebullient display in the opening of the show bearing her name. My reaction to my less than graceful attempt to emulate Mary is just another reflection of my depressed mood of late. For some reason, I'm just not feeling very Mary. How’d that theme song going again? Ah, here it is

Who can turn the world on with a smile
Who can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile
Well it's you girl and you should know it
With each glance and every little movement you show it

....You're gonna make it after all

I don't know what bothers me more, feeling like I can't relate to the words of the theme song, or the fact that I know the words to the theme song.

The Mary Tyler Moore Show, was and is one of my all-time favorite television shows. Mary Richards, (Moore's character on the show) was the woman everyone wanted to be, attractive, full of integrity, loyal, sweet and, most crucially...always well put together. But me? I have much more in common with Rhoda. Rhoda Morgenstern was the ex-New-Yorker-slightly-less-polished-than-Mary, best friend and neighbor. Oh yeah, that's me, "slightly less polished than Mary". In the opening credits of the spinoff show bearing her character's name, Rhoda attempts to fling her hat in the air oh-so-Mary-like and it goes nowhere. Just kinda flops over on her hand and lands in the street. Boy can I relate.

It was a recent chance meeting with Rhoda, aka Valerie Harper that rekindled my fond memories for The Mary Tyler Moore Show. Ms. Harper and I happened to be seated next to each other at a restaurant one evening and by coincidence bumped into each other again later that same night at a local supermarket. I seized the opportunity to say hello and tell her how stunning she is--66 and looking 40 something. "No work!", she exclaimed. She was so gracious and warm. She's the kind of person, (celebrity factor incidental), who turns a light on inside of you.

After I left the market I went home, turned on the TV mindlessly and as fate would have it, there it was, The Mary Tyler Moore Show. It was a sign--Time to re-examine my life. First priority, BE MORE LIKE MARY. I grabbed my notebook and concentrated on Mary's every swan-like move. Luckily for me, it was the episode in which Chuckles the Clown dies in a bizarre and somewhat comical incident. Mary, who had shamed her colleagues for joking at the poor man's expense, ultimately breaks down at his funeral into hysterical laughter. Ah relief. Even Mary was fallible.

The Mary Tyler Moore Show premiered on CBS in September of 1970. In addition to featuring characters who were complex and evolving, (something new for situation comedy at the time), the show presented a new image of women on television--a 30 something, single working professional woman, not widowed or divorced, determined to make it on her own.

Set in Minneapolis, the show opened with Mary Richards having relocated after her boyfriend, whom she helped through medical school, left her upon receiving his degree. Mary takes a job at news station, WJM, as an Associate Producer for the News. It's a huge promotion for working women on television.

This was the hook that made my mother an instant fan. I was too young to understand this concept. I was only 10 when the show ended in 1977. I connected on a completely different level, one I couldn't conceptualize until now.

Recently, Barbara Radtke, a professor of Religious Studies and colleague of my mother's, made a arbitrary comment about me that got me thinking about my kinship with Mary Richards. She said, "I see Sarah as someone whose philosophy on life is centered on the value of friendship and the building and nourishing of relationships."

Initially I was merely flattered by her remarks. But I quickly began pondering the depths of the meaning. Simplistically, yes, that is very much how I see life. I've always been someone who brings people together, both professionally and personally. I faithfully keep up with friends from many different periods of my life.

Barbara's take on who I am and the chance meeting with Valerie Harper got me thinking. Mary Richards was the ultimate connector of people. She was like the north star keeping all the constellations aligned. It was her ability to nurture all these relationships that I related to so completely. At this young age, watching Mary on TV, I saw a reflection of myself for the first time.

Nevertheless, I've never seen myself like Mary Richards, as a polished woman. I've got my own sense of style...and I do mean my own. My hair, if it's not hidden under a baseball cap, is all over the place. Especially if I throw that cap in the air. Yeah, I can "clean up nice" if need be but for the most part, I'm not turnin the world on with my stylish image. And of course, Mary never had to deal with addictions. The only disorder in today's diagnosis-happy world that could possibly be associated with her would be Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD). Although, Mary might see that as a compliment.

Okay, so in terms of image, I'm no Mary Richards. But like Mary, I make relationships my priority. Also like Mary, I place tremendous value on people. Wanna see the world light up with a smile? Got a great one right here. I keep it tucked under my buried self-esteem for safe keeping.

The great thing about The Mary Tyler Moore Show, and other exceptionally written shows of any time period, is that it doesn't matter whether the show is dated in some ways or not. The spirit of the characters is what inspires us. Who knows, a Mary Richards of today be someone more like me. Ironically, I find it easier to relate to her as a 1970s woman than to many of the female characters on television today. It's all about the writing.

So when I'm sitting around surveying my life, staring at 40 looming on the horizon, feeling like I have nothing to show for it, moping and generally feeling depressed, I've always got Mary to remind me that in truth, I have much more going for me than I think I do.

After Mary disrupts Chuckles the Clown's funeral with her intermittent giggling, the Minister puts her on the spot. He encourages her to keep laughing as he believes Chuckles would be happy knowing that even in the end, he made people laugh. At this, Mary breaks down into uncontrollable tears. I love that about Mary! She's the ultimate maven of decorum yet in the end, her emotions over rule her sense of propriety.

So thank you Mary, for being a wonderful role model. You showed me that it's not about the things you have or the status that matters, it's the people whose lives you touch. Thank you Barbara, for your insight and faith in my character. And thank you Valerie Harper for your kindness, warmth and inspiration.

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August 2, 2005

Starved
by Sarah E. Mason

Just when you thought it was safe to watch comedies again...cable network, FX Networks, LLC ("FX") part of the News America Group, has created a new series called Starved which is a satirical look at eating disorders. Because, of course, eating disorders are hilarious!

Starved, set in Brooklyn, chronicles the lives of four thirty-something friends who suffer from various forms of disordered eating. I've been struggling with an eating disorder for over twenty years and I can say with the utmost certainty, ain't no humor in having your head sucked down a toilet. But in case there's any confusion on the part of the executives at FX or the series Producers, Eric Schaeffer, Daniel Hanks and Dan Pasternack, here's some of the side busting details; chest pains, ulcers, gall bladder dysfunction, kidney stones, gum disease, root canals, skin problems, hair loss, orthopaedic injuries, and of course endless psychological damage.

HAHAHAHAHA!

The shows creator, actor/writer, Eric Schaeffer, admits struggling with disordered eating. He believes, that, "While addiction, like life, is often dark and terrifying, recovery comes from mining our true humanity, with all its pathos, hope, love and humor" I think that mine came up empty for Mr. Schaeffer. Do you think that alcoholics and drug addicts would feel the same way about a show depicting their addictions as comical? And more crucially, would such a show be tolerated?

FX's website calls Starved, "an adult comedy series with an often poignant take on food addiction." In the trailer for the premiere, Eric Schaeffer's character confessing in his support group for food addictions that he ate cake from the trash bin. The counselor replies, "if you were a dog, I'd kick you in the face." Now that's good writing!

If you thought the premise of the show was offensive, check out Starved on FX's website there is an interactive game called, "What's Your Obsession". You can drag different food options onto a plate and a little blurb appears telling you what your obsession means. For example, pizza: "The office party food for the late night crowd, pizza is something that you not only want, you CRAVE it. A vampire needs blood to survive, and you have a Jones for that red sauce, that fresh baked dough, those toppings--No doubt you are a spicy one, and you live to love almost as much as you love extra toppings."

Okay, I am not making that up. The above text is word for word what is written on FX's website. If I were still actively bulimic, I would be in my car right now on my way to Dominos--bad joke but point being, this show is not only in bad taste it's dangerous. What the hell kind of message are we sending here? Likening people with eating disorders to vampires, freaks and dogs who eat cake out of the trash? No wonder no one takes us seriously!

Even the negative reviews of the show suggest a prejudice against people with eating disorders. Brian Lowry, who writes for Variety, had this to say, "watching a guy induce vomiting isn't exactly fun, and the level of self-absorption in these characters would be more bearable if they were saving lives, not binge eating coffee cake...." He's right! Who wants to see that? Much less live it--Especially in comedic form. Maybe it's me, but I didn't laugh a lot after purging.

But therein lies the problem, we're already battling an image issue. So now you put a show on the air ridiculing diseases that are already being judged. "Oh come on!" They'll say. "You're taking this too seriously. If you can't laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at!?" With credits like IF LUCY FELL, Mr. Schaeffer, I think the jokes on you. Shame on you! Shame on everyone involved with this show. Is FX really that starved for material? If so, there's lots of diseases besides eating disorders to pick on. Here's a few suggestions, Leukemia, Diabetes, Parkinson's, Cancer...Oh wait, maybe the producers feel that eating disorders are brought on by people themselves thus making them fair game to mock. In that case, how about, alcoholism, drug addiction, sex addiction, you could even make a case for AIDS. Curious how's there's no comedies about those diseases. There's certainly no lack of material out there about eating disorders.

Perhaps, we can help you Mr. Schaeffer and FX, with future episodes...

Okay so your main character ate cake out of the trash? That's nothing! Once I ate 12 double double In and Out burgers, two boxes (a dozen a box) of krispi kremes, a box of wheat thins, a bowl of brownie mix, a container of honey roasted peanuts, cheese popcorn and washed it all down with a gallon of lemonade. I almost choked to death trying to throw it up and felt like I was having a heart attack. Unable to purge and in agonizing pain, I was rushed to the emergency room. The doctors were about to pump my stomach until they discovered I was bulimic in which case I was told that I would have to "ride it out." I was left essentially unattended in the hospital ER for almost 15 hours. I was in excruciating pain. My friends who had brought me to the hospital finally convinced an attending nurse to check on me. She immediately raced off to get a doctor who quickly shuffled me into another room where they did a CAT scan on me. My stomach was quickly becoming necrotic and I would most likely have to have emergency surgery. They finally pumped my stomach, although at this point it had been so long since the binge. I was given all kinds of crap to drink to make me sick. In the end, I did not need surgery. But the effects of that incident still haunt me. And I very well could have died.

People have died from similar events. So I ask you, FX, Mr. Schaeffer and everyone involved with the production of Starved, do you really think this is funny?

Working through addictions by fostering creativity is something I am deeply committed to as an activist, an artist, and an addict. Starved, is not promoting recovery. It is perpetuating fear and ignorance. It is pouring salt onto the wounds of millions of women and men who suffer with eating disorders. I don't see myself as a victim and I certainly don't feel sorry for myself. I'm proud of Payson Road and what I've created. I've found my balance and I have helped thousands of women and men find theirs. But I have gone through hell to get here and I will be dammed if I stand by while someone makes a joke out of our pain.

If mining your true humanity is the path to healing, as you suggest Mr. Schaeffer, then every one of us fighting for awareness, prevention and recovery of eating disorders have mined enough to heal the world--and we're still mining. What are you doing to help humanity?

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Please let your voice be heard! We need to send a LOUD, strong message that shows like this will not be tolerated.

NEDA has provided a draft of a sample letter on their website. They are also doing an enormous amount to fight this battle. Visit NEDA's website for more information and press releases.

Remember that Billy Joel song, We Didn't Start the Fire? I disagree. I think we did start the fire and here's proof...sung to the tune of, the same song....

We Did Ignite the Fire - lyrics by Sarah Mason (to the tune of Billy Joel's We Didn't Start the Fire)

Karl Rove, S Hussein, Donald Rumsfeld, GI Jane
China Wall, Gaza strip, polling in Ohio
Britany Spears, Nick Lachey, SUV, G'tmo Bay
Red States, Blue States, First Amendment shit canned

Arlen Specter, Darfour, Britain's on the terror tour
Tiger, Venus, Pakistan, Ranger hits a cameraman
Jesus Freaks, Left Behind, liberals running outta time
G8, Live 8, Desperate Housewives, Catholicgate

(chorus)
We did ignite the fire,
Then we left it burning while our heads were turning
We did ignite the fire,
Even though we light it we refuse to fight it.

Brooke Shields, TomKat, Scientology is whacked
Oprah, high tech czars, ILM and Xbox wars
Michael Jackson, Robert Blake, justice system is at stake
Boob jobs, rich slobs, hypnotists who lobby hard

George Bush, Sandra Day, now we're back to Doris Day
Sean John, Death Row, prescription drugs replacing blow
Michael Jackson, nanny cams, North Korea snubs Japan
Lance, France, Bono cries, Americans are Super Size

-chorus-

Autism, Obesity, bulimia and heart disease
Face lifts, krispi kreme, little girls with no esteem
E TV and porn stars, not sure who's the bigger whores
Poverty, children bleed, Barry Bonds and corporate greed

Kobe Bryant, Palestine, athletes get away with crimes
Kim Jong-il, Achille's heel, Bill Gates and consumer fate
Barak Obama, John McCain, health insurance down the drain
Space walks, mars talks, biowarfare hazards

-chorus-

Domestic violence, video games, puritans say sex to blame
Abu Ghraib, Condi Rice, donkeys giving up the fight
Franken Air, Patriot Act, Michael Moore, loads of crap
Teddy K, found his way, Arnold in the White House

-chorus-

Paris Hilton, Donald Trump, collective conscious in a slump
Cell phones, ring tones, four hour erections
Saudi oil, Alaskan drill, forget the earth and take a pill
Spam, scams, Nigeria, AIDS and Tsunamis

Paparazzi, Martin Sheen, Rwanda hits the movie scene
Hypocrites, taking trips, squandering the proceeds
Fox News, Sean Penn, who the fuck cares where he's been
Christian rock invades our heads, same sex love tests moral threads
Iraq attack unjustified, journalism loses pride

Step it up America, this country needs an enema!

We did ignite the fire,
Then we left it burning while our heads were turning
We did ignite the fire,
Even though we light it we refuse to fight it.

I have recently forayed into the, somewhat odious world of online dating. Although I've met a couple of very sweet gentleman, the bulk of my experiences have not been favorable. In fairness, I should say I went into it with somewhat of a bad attitude--putting things on my profile like, "Must be ambulatory" or "All my body parts are original, except the fake leg". Stuff like that. If you can't make a joke out of online dating, you're doomed. In a way it's a bit of a social experiment. It was surprising to see how much crap both men, and women dish out to get a date with a perfect stranger.

First of all, everybody lies. Woman say they are 20 pounds thinner then they are and men say they are four inches taller than they are. Everybody is and wants someone who is outgoing and outdoorsy. Women cater their profiles to meet these ridiculous and unobtainable ideals that they think all men want. Here's a common thing women say in their profiles, "My friends would say..." Women never boast freely about themselves always through the guise of "a friend" and very unsubtly; "I wouldn't say this myself, but I've heard others think I'm beautiful, loyal, maternal, caring, giving, sexy, domestic, smart, baggage-free, sporty and fun loving". "Fun loving" is a big online dating buzz term.

As far as online dating etiquette goes, men are simply stupid. They say things like, "It's all right here." And they are all seeking the "PERFECT WOMAN". You know; independent but maternal, out-doorsy yet domestic, sexy but tomboyish...and feminine, and without fail, ready to give it all up so they can start that family! Doesn't that describe all women?!? Well maybe in a land called "Every Man's Fantasy", but down here on earth it's a little different.

The protocol of online dating is annoying as well. Most of the men who write me send a very stark, effortless message, something to the effect of, "hey, liked your profile, 555-5555". Call me old fashioned, but if a guy can't put some effort into writing me an introductory email then forget it. I'm not asking for much. I'm pretty easily entertained. But sh*t, at least make me laugh. Even in a bar you gotta throw out some charm to get someone to give you their phone number. Also, I don't feel comfortable calling some completely unknown person who won't even tell me their name.

Online dating is an inevitable by product of the internet revolution; accessible, efficient, cutting edge but also, detaching, numbing and, (I feel), dummying (my IQ just dropped three points). Technology, in its infinite wisdom, has made us lazier and less intelligent. You don't need to know how to spell anymore...SPELL CHECK! You don't need to know your friends phone numbers by heart because they're all on speed dial in your cell phone. You don't need to write well because email etiquette allows for informality. Online dating follows these same guidelines. You've got someone's profile fully equipped with all their stats, needs, desires right down to pet preferences and bodily art. So, why waste time with intellect and wit!?

Match.com emails weekly reports with profiles of men who match my profile by percentage. Hey bosstowngirl (my handle)! Meet iamanassguy! He is a 76% match. His faith is Catholic, he lives within 850 miles from you, he's not sure if he wants kids someday and he leaves the toilet seat up. Wink at him for free! Where do they come up with these percentages? These stats mean nothing when it comes down to actual interaction. One guy had the nerve to write me and say that he was from Arizona but would be visiting LA for two days and wanted to get together. I wrote him back and suggested he contact a local escort service. Another guy asked me to go to Aruba with him for the weekend. I have a strict policy on going to Aruba on a first meet, Jamaica maybe, but definitely not Aruba. Both of those men were 95% matches. I'd hate to see Mr. 34%.

Here is the crème de la crème of all the online dating emails I've received and my response. This is a real person, who actually wrote the following profile statement, word for word.

Dame Fortune has been kind: fine education, broad experience, world travel & military service; years as CNN war reporter, without a scratch. Now an entrepreneur in the information business, I concurrently author books, articles & lecture on US national security in the Information Age. You will find that I am a Romantic. There is much more...

I seek a unique female: A very tall, daddy's girl/tomboy who has blossomed into a sexy, nubile, sensuous woman with great energy & a charismatic presence. Though she is perceived by some as a Junoesque ice princess, that image melts away if you are lucky enough to be on the receiving end of her wide, incandescent smile. She is highly educated, speaks at least another language fluently and can hold her own against guys in most sports; the kind of girl who shows up at the ski slope in an eye-popping outfit and then blasts down the fall line fearlessly; no whimp this lady! When she walks into a nightclub in a scintillating Versace dress, the place lights up from her presence; followed by the staccato clinks of dropped forks as she glides by on her long dancer's legs accented by a pair of ultra tall Prada heels. If you manage to best her with an unexpectedly cool move, she'll simply toss her long hair to the opposite side, and give a little lick to her sumptuous lips; and then she'll smile that Lauren Bacall smile and her sweet eyes will glimmer a willing message. But the Ice Princess has a secret: she wants to trade it all in for the right man with whom she can have and then carefully raise her long-dreamed-of children. If you ask me why I want her, I'd simply quote Ayn Rand: "The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer; because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of an achivement, not the possession of a brainless $1ut." Too hard? Not for a guy whose life motto is "No Guts, No Glory."

Thank you for the wink. I am the girl of your dreams! Look no further! Let me address your shopping needs.

1. I'm not very tall, but I can wear platforms. Unfortunately I don't own Prada, will they be provided with the date?

2. I've definitely popped out a few eyes blasting down fall lines, unfortunately, they were mine.

3. Wow, haven't heard the word "nubile" since the Victorian era or in reference to farm animals. I would say, in response...if I were a cow, perhaps I would no longer be nubile, but being human, and in this day and age of modern thinking, perhaps yes! I am!

4. Junoesque...hmmm, that's a tough one. Okay yes, I'm down with Juno. Do you mean the internet provider? In regards to the ice princess comment....I'm no ice princess, but I am willing to learn.

5. I was a dancer for many years so I guess my legs might qualify but I'm not sure either one of them could fit into a Versace dress.

7. You're looking for someone who is highly educated, speaks at least one other language fluently, but wants to give it all up for the right man so she can raise those long-dreamed of children? That's me! Before we get crackin on the long-dreamed of kids' education, could you learn how to spell achievement...and wimp?

8. I love the Ayn Rand quote. Here's another one, "It is not advisable to venture unsolicited opinions. You should spare yourself the embarrassing discovery of their exact value to your listener." -Ayn Rand

Oh! If it doesn't work out with us, I've got a cousin who is almost 18. You might have to wait a couple years for her to be highly educated, as she's only got the high school diploma.

July 6, 2005

Pity Ain't Pretty
by Sarah Mason

Pity is overrated--said she who just spent a weekend with an out of control alcoholic friend whose actions ruined the friendship.

Seriously, at what point is it okay to say, "No, I'm sorry, but I don't feel sorry for you"? This weekend really tested the level of my compassion for people with addictions. Of course, being a person with an addiction, I've always been sympathetic to others who suffer from them. Maybe my intolerance can be attributed to just getting out of a two year relationship with an alcoholic. Maybe I'm tired of being stuck in my own cycle of co-dependency.

Who knows. I'm just tapped out.

The problem with dealing with alcoholics vs. bulimics is that they've got the victim thing down way better than we do. Oh yeah, they do. Generally bulimics' behavior does not outwardly affect the people around them. This is not the case with alcoholics--which has been made abundantly clear to me by my alcoholic friend who I spent 4th of July weekend with.

I've been asking myself lately, why have two alcoholics been put into my life? What lesson was I supposed to learn from these experiences?

Ironically they both came into my life at the same time. She was dating my boyfriend's roommate and helped facilitate our hook up. It didn't take long to figure out she had a drinking problem. She spends the majority of her nights at the nearby bar and gets drunk or at least, on her way to drunk, pretty much every time we get together. My boyfriend's addiction wasn't as easily revealed. It took several months to sniff that out and then several more before acknowledgement set in.

Their two stories are completely different. My boyfriend is more of an episodic drinker. He goes on binges. My friend is a daily drinker and her addiction is advanced to the point where she literally gets the shakes in the morning and has to have a beer to combat it. Obviously, my life was more impinged on by my boyfriend because of the nature of the relationship. Also, we lived together. So arguably, I should be more angry at him. Strangely, I'm not. Sad, hurt, tired, and okay I do have moments of anger but I still believe he is capable of recovery. Of course, I'm not sticking around to wait that one out anymore. And although I don't respect some of the things he's done, I do respect him as a person. I feel differently about my friend.

Is my lack of respect merely my own succumbing to a cultural prejudice that a woman who drinks is worse than a man who drinks? Or maybe it's something deeper.

My friend is also bulimic. This is not something she's admitted to doing recently but, it takes one to know one. She has multiple addictions including, I think, possibly a sex addiction. It could be a bi-product of the alcohol. Regardless, there's a lot going on there. Being her friend has been difficult, not so much because of all this but because all this is not acknowledged. It's the big pink elephant in the room that you pretend isn't there. She keeps a lot of space between herself and her friends, I suspect, to avoid having to actually introduce herself to that elephant. She disappears for weeks at a time just in time to avoid confrontation. Subsequently, I've been protected from getting too involved. However, the weekend away experience brought everything to a head. It also falls on the heels of my breakup with my boyfriend. Thus, I'm particularly sensitive to dealing with alcoholics.

You feel so helpless when you're dealing with an alcoholic. You're hurt by their behavior, it's almost impossible NOT to take it personally. I'm so sick of being told that it's not personal. It sure feels personal! Everyone is telling me to go to Al-Anon, don't take it personally, move on, you're better off. Enough already!!! Can't I just be pissed in peace?

What happened with my friend this weekend really hit a raw nerve. She got drunk, really drunk, out of control, obnoxious, dangerously drunk. So half the weekend was spent taking care of her, which was no fun, and it tapped into all my issues of taking care of people at the expense of my own needs. Then there was something else...

We went up to the Santa Ynez wine country--stunningly beautiful country. It's one of my favorite places. But I should have known better to bring a drunk to a wine fest. On our last day we decided to drive along one of the vineyard trails and visit some of the wine tasting rooms. It was just a matter of time before she was drunk again.

At one of the vineyards we met a guy who was traveling back to San Jose after spending the weekend in Los Angeles. He was cute, and intriguing and took an interest in me instantly. I haven't had this kind of attention for awhile and it was nice. He asked if he could tag along with us to the next vineyard. We were both receptive. Initially, she was very encouraging and supportive of my little potential romance. So we drove down the road a bit to Fess Parker's winery where we also met up with my friend Alex who had driven up from LA. The four of us had a great time drinking wine outside in the sun, enjoying the pretty landscape of the vineyard. My friend got more and more obnoxious as she continued to drink. She would interrupt everyone to tell some unrelated story about herself. She flirted relentlessly with this guy who I liked, trying to get him to roll around on the grass with her. At one point she yelled out to him, "Get Naked!" It was embarrassing. Now where I come from, you don't do that to your friends. If your friend likes a guy, you back off. Well, she didn't. As he got more and more inebriated he became increasingly responsive to her suggestive behavior. It all culminated in the two of them making out behind a stone wall next to his truck.

Of course, her defense was, (typical of alcoholics), "It's not my fault! I can't help that he liked me more than you! How can you be so childish...over a guy!"

I was pissed. So pissed that I took her stuff out of my car and handed her off to my friend Alex who I trusted would see her safely back to LA. He did of course.

What she didn't get was, it had nothing to do with the guy. Granted, I was hurt and I had a bruised ego to boot. Which I got over as soon as I realized what an ass he was. What I didn't get over was her betrayal of our friendship. I don't blame her for his actions, but I do blame her for hers. From my limited experience with alcoholics, they don't want to take responsibility for the hurtful things they do when they drink. So they put it on you. You're the crazy one, not them. Eventually you start wondering if it's true.

That's it right there. That's the raw nerve.

I've doubted my own sanity throughout most of my relationship with my boyfriend. He made me feel that his behavior was normal and it was me who had a problem. I got wrapped up in the idea of saving him for so long until I finally saw the light. Maybe that light fuels my frustration toward my friend. I don't even want to try to save her because I'm just too damn tired. Dealing with addictive behavior is exhausting! Whether it be your own or someone else's. I'll tell ya though, I've had enough dealings with alcoholics to last me through several lifetimes.

So what does that make me? If you're all out of pity, are you a bad person? Are you going straight to hell along with Madonna and George Clooney ? (This according to Father Mike at my church back home... he's big Fox News fan.)

I do wish good things for her. If she came to me and said, I need help. I'd be there. Same goes for my boyfriend. Unfortunately neither one of them seem to be ready. What do I do? I can't engage anymore because it's depleting my life force. So where do I go from here?

One of my friends, whose mother and sister are both alcoholics, has been very supportive. She suggested I write my friend a letter telling her how I feel. I didn't want to do that because frankly, I didn't think she would "get it". I don't think she wants to get it. I think it's a lot easier for her to demonize me. So, I decided to go with the form of expressive therapy that's been my consistent savior....é voilà...this week's column.

The moral of the story is, never betray a writer. That's not really the moral of the story...never betray yourself. Always believe you're worth more than pity. Which is why I'm not going to pity either one of them. I'm simply going to hope they find their peace.

June 15, 2005

Payson Road friend and eating disorder advocate, Millie Plotkin of Voices Not Bodies, referred this wonderful article by Margaret Cho. It was too good not to post!

11/6/2003
The "Fuck It" Diet

I have lost some weight which has set off a strange wave of paranoia among people that I have either had my stomach stapled or shut off with a rubber band, or am on some freaky raw food diet or whatever.

What happened was that I was fucking sick and tired of dieting and working out. I fucking was sick and tired of buying clothes that were too small for me so I could 'thin into them.' I was fucking sick and tired of eating 5 to 7 small meals a day. I was sick and tired of no carbs. I was fucking sick and tired of thinking about food and not thinking about food. I was fucking sick and tired of my trainer and any type of exercise. I went to a nutritionist and I lost a lot - of money. I never left his office without dropping at least a grand on bullshit. Shakes, pills, supplements, food substitutes, exercise programs. I said "FUCKING FUCK THIS FUCK IT FUCK IT SERIOUSLY FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK FUCK FUCK IT!!!!"

I stopped going to Fred Segal and getting the one thing in the whole store that fit me. I started buying clothes that fucking fit me, like now. I put away all notions of what diets meant to me, what I was supposed to eat and not supposed to eat. I altogether lost the thought process that carried me through my life - my dieting and exercise regimen - and started thinking about the people I loved, hated, tolerated, laughed at, laughed with. There was a lot of time to read. I wanted to watch old movies. I ate a lot of shitty food. I gained some weight and it was scary. But it didn't really make a difference. Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it. I stopped exercising, and started writing. I played with my dogs. I looked at shit on Ebay. I started to eat what I wanted - and kept doing it. Not a food vacation - not a respite between diets. I just was going to eat eat eat eat eat eat and fucking eat some more.

Then, I kind of started to get weirdly thinner. I get it now. Because I don't care about food, it is there when I want it, I don't crave it and want it and think about it. Since I can have everything, nothing is that important. I don't need to eat a whole cake because I can eat a whole cake every day every meal if I want and I don't care. I don't prepare to eat because I might be hungry later and 'they' won't have what I have to eat. When I am hungry, I eat. You know, that is what the weird diet is.

Here is what I usually eat every day. In the morning I have a bowl of cereal with two kinds mixed, granola and LIFE. If I am in a hotel, I have granola and yogurt, croissants, one chocolate and one regular and then a big cranberry juice. I drink a lot of water, and a lot of lemonade, regular COKE - no diet anything ever. After that, I usually eat a peanut butter cup or something like that. Then I get to work, which is writing usually, recording sometimes, interviews, etc.. I get hungry later around early afternoon, and so I eat what I think is a good thing at the moment, which could be mac and cheese, or pizza. I eat as much as I want, but it is usually too rich to eat all of it and since I am not dieting and I don't need to cram the forbidden food in before the diet starts up again, I eat as much as I feel good eating and leave the rest. I leave a lot on the plate because I need not clean my plate. Why? I don't have to. And the value of not having to finish all my food, probably has been the biggest contributor to my healing around food. I used to feel like I needed to eat all of it, all and then some, but actually, it doesn't feel good to do that. It doesn't taste good. I can have more when I am hungry again. I eat dinner late, usually with friends. I like appetizers. I will order 3-4 types, so I can have a variety of edible treats, instead of an entrée. If I order entrees, it would be more than one, because I deserve to eat what I like. I never eat leftovers. I never take anything home. I never eat anything that doesn't taste heavenly. I never eat when I am not hungry. I never let myself get too hungry. I never deny myself a fucking thing because I have denied myself enough for 1000 lifetimes and there is no more denial for me in the way that I live. I deserve all the mozzarella sticks, all the fucking chocolate, all the fucking pizza, all the chicken a'la king, and I deserve to leave what I don't finish on the plate.

So there you go. Big secret diet. Love. Love and the audacity to actually waste food.

As many as 75% of all lottery winners in America wind up in debt after collecting their winnings, depending on which study you read.

Kids who grew up in the "self-esteem" culture of never being told no, never being told they failed and always being praised even for incorrect behavior or work, overwhelmingly turn into adults with no self-esteem, ambition or likelihood for success according to a San Diego State University study.

People who get married before the age of 25 have a divorce rate of nearly 70% in America. If you wait until you're 30 for your first marriage, most studies concur that you triple your odds of staying married for the rest of your life.

What do these three seemingly disparate examples all have in common, you ask? They re-enforce a too often forgotten truth about life...all things worth having are worth working for.

I was recently talking to my sister about this very topic and found myself completely frustrated with her when I was done. She tends to think that things come so easily for me, and that everything is so hard for her. We were talking about her quest for employment. She was talking about a specific job, complaining about how it takes forever (at least two years) to make money in that career. I said to her, “You can start now, and in two years be making the money that you want, or you can do nothing and in two years be having this conversation with me again.”

It reminded me of my own conversation, only with myself. That conversation was about college. I was crying over a lost relationship and lamenting over lost time. Here I was at 24, no college degree yet. My life was not at all where I thought it would be. Then a friend said to me, “Leslie, okay, yes, the idea of graduating at 22 didn't happen. But you can start now and graduate at 27 or you can do nothing.”

I did start college a couple of months later. And I'm proud to proclaim that I did graduate three months after my 27th birthday.

College for me was so much more than a simple piece of paper. For me, it was a lesson in perseverance. It proved to me that I could do something that wasn’t all or nothing. I could stick with something and see it through to the end. I could work for something worth having.

Anything achieved in life has got to have that foundation or its not worth achieving. So stop complaining, and get to work!

May 2, 2005

The Rebirth of an Attitude
by Sarah Mason

Springtime is truly a time for rebirth--in every respect. New flowers bloom, a new baseball season, new climate, new outfits, new clean house, new attitude. That's the one I'm talking about. What better time for an attitude adjustment?

I spent most of the winter moping around being annoyed at everything and subsequently complaining about everything as well. It served its purpose. But I'm tired of the state of mind.

I was searching the web for Spring photos today and came upon a beautiful picture of lilacs, my favorite flower. The image of this gorgeous flower reminded me of my house at 227 Payson Road. We had glorious lilac bushes that bloomed in the Spring. They filled the air with this wonderful aroma that I can still smell if I close my eyes.

I really miss home sometimes. Especially this time of year, this time and Fall. Both times of rebirth and new beginnings in a way.   Maybe its that whole concept that makes me sentimental. I start soul searching and examining my life. It's time to clean house--but not the way you might think.

When I first moved to LA, I was so thrilled by the sheer enormity of it. Everything, included the freedoms. But as I settled in, I quickly became an East Coast snob. I missed the quaint New England coastline and the old town squares free from mini-malls and other 21st century America trademarks. It's easy to be a snob in Los Angeles. There's not an obvious abundance of culture. It's here, but it's something that must be sought.   Back East, the concepts of "culture" and "quaint" are thrown in your face the minute you walk past the Dunkin Donut stands in Logan Airport.

So I would get my yearly fix by visiting the folks back home. Over the years something happened to me. My attitude started evolving. I prefer not to look at it as, an assimilation rather a transformation. I begin to see the forest through the trees.

Los Angeles is an amazing city. It truly is. You just gotta give it a chance.   The weather thing, well, that's obvious and probably the deciding factor for keeping most East Coast snobs in town. But there's more. There's incredible restaurants here featuring many different cultures. The museums are impressive. I've just discovered the Norton Simon in Pasadena, which in itself is a great little town with a lot to offer. The Norton Simon has several Degas in its collection. He's a favorite of mine. The LA Philharmonic is wonderful. The theater scene isn't exactly Broadway but you can find good stuff if you search. And the music scene is great. Any club you go in is guaranteed to have a top notch band. It's all about attitude.

Truth is. You can find great things everywhere. You just have to take the time to look. It applies to life. It's easy to slip into that state of mind where you see everything as dull or stagnant. We're always wishing we could have what we don't have. Things would be so much better if I lived here or there or had a different life. But what if you could see your own life through new eyes. Rebirth doesn't have to mean changing your whole life. It can simply mean, changing your outlook.

So my pledge for this Spring season is to discover the things in my life that are rich with culture and excitement. It doesn't have to be extravagant. This could simply mean finding a new part of Santa Monica to explore by foot or a new neighborhood coffee shop. Whatever it is for you, I promise you there's something new out there for you to discover right in your own backyard.

So open your eyes! There's a beautiful lilac bush right in front of you.

April 25, 2005

Basic Instincts
by Sarah Mason

When I was fourteen, I liked this boy, Danny Trodden. No, not liked, obsessed over. I used to follow him around the halls in school, showing up accidentally in front of his next class. But I was a lowly freshman and he a big shot senior and captain of the whatever team. He didn't even know I existed. So, I eventually moved on to people who did notice me.

But boy did I like him. I would follow him around with puppy dog eyes. The strange irony was, I didn't even really know him. How could I possibly have determined he was the guy for me to fall hopelessly into crush with? I picked him based on nothing more than a cute face and a sweet smile.

Perhaps my instincts were sharper when they were innocent. I knew when to give up and move on. Not so much because I was unworthy, more because I was worthy. Worthy of finding someone who noticed me back. Years of maturing into adulthood have knocked that and many of other instincts right out of me.

With the exception of my college boyfriend, Kevin, I can't even remember a relationship where there wasn't some obvious red flag thrown at me that I stupidly tossed aside. With Kevin, there was no great obstacle. He truly loved me, he showed it. Everything was right about that relationship from the very beginning. I didn't have to fight for his attention and I genuinely felt loved. Alas, he graduated and went off to become a Navy pilot. I didn't want to be a Navy wife.

What usually happens with me is I find myself attracted to someone who I feel I click with intellectually. That intellectual spark supersedes any sense of reason. I convince myself there's something worth pursuing despite any and all warning signs. This is almost always to the detriment of my well being.

For example, the case of one of my ex-boyfriends. He told me straight up, "I am not in love with you." Yet, I stayed with him and not only did I stay with him, (for four years!), I allowed him to treat me really badly. Had I had more confidence in myself I would have walked away the moment I heard him say he didn't love me.

What's hit me now, that's never really struck me as significant before, is that as a teenager I was very in tune with my instincts. If a guy said that to me in high school, I may have been upset about it but I would have most definitely moved on to other interests. Over the course of about 20+ years I've managed to successfully talk myself out of that skill.

I could cite a million reasons...lets go with the standard psych 101, my relationship with my Dad. Well, this is a big one I guess. I don't get the attention I need/want from him yet I keep hoping that will change. I never give up thinking he can be the Daddy I've always wanted, the Steve Martin Dad from Father of the Bride. So I guess in a way this relentless, pathetic need, gets transferred onto men. I pick men who will enable me to repeat this cycle over and over again. It definitely explains my foolish need for intellectual stimulation. My Dad is a professor and he very charming and intellectual, intelligent. There's also the confidence issue--not feeling worthy, or good enough about myself to deserve something better.

Who knows. I'm so tired of psycho-analyzing the whole thing. I just want to go back to those early instincts. The thing is, I think I am finally getting back to them. But not because I'm any wiser, because I have more humility. Maybe a little more confidence too.

In the old days, I could convince myself that there was something worth fighting for no matter how big the red flag was. Hell, a guy could look me straight in the face and say, I DON'T LIKE YOU, and I'd still pursue them. But now, I just want someone to pursue me for once. Is that too much to ask?

My Aunt Jane used to tell me, you can't wait around for something to happen. Men need encouragement. Well so do I dammit! And I need some daisies, a nice dinner, or at least a good slice of pizza, a few compliments, some affection and some peppermint stick ice cream! That's negotiable.

I never got together with Danny Trodden. And honestly, he's not the most significant memory I have from high school. He's more of an example of how I was less jaded. I'm trying to get back to that feeling. It wasn't even confidence per say. It was pure instinct. Like an animal spots danger.

I was more in tune with nature as a child/teenager. It's like I was simply frolicking along and suddenly smelled these beautiful roses. I ran after the smell searching high and low but was unable to reach them. My path was blocked by several large falling boulders. Every time I took a step forward one would fall narrowly missing my head. Then I spotted a garden along a different path. It was lit up by a patch of sunlight beaming down from between the clouds. So I decided to investigate. As I got closer I started to smell something incredible, lilacs, my favorite flower. The garden was blooming with beautiful purple lilacs and other gorgeous flowers, daisies, sunflowers, magnolias. Eventually, I forgot all about the roses.

Maybe it wasn't all that simple. But it sure seemed like it was. And I do love lilacs.

The Today Show has been compiling a list of things people want to do before they die. I got hooked on this idea and started thinking about my own list. If you search the internet for 10 Things I Want to Do Before I Die, you will find literally thousands of other people's top ten lists.

I had an article planned for this week called, I Don't Care What Your Therapist Says, Change Sucks. But when I got going on this top 10 list I realized, hell, if I want to do self-therapy, this is way more fun!

I'm also hoping to inspire yawl to create your own list. I can tell you in doing this, it really has been a catalyst for lifting my spirits and getting me excited about something again. Sometimes we all lose our inspiration. This will help you find it. Trust me. It doesn't have to be grandiose. Mine is pretty simple really.

Here goes....

That's it. Like I said, it's nothing outrageous. But these are the things that are important to me. I challenge YOU! Make your own list. And live for today.

Finally, Sort of - (see last week's article, Terri Schiavo and the Big Band-Aid for pre-cursor)
-Sarah Mason

I'm proud to report that my hometown paper, the Boston Globe, reported this article. I'm not crazy about the quote from the director of McLean Hospital's treatment center. Particularly the comment about kids not realizing they are playing Russian roulette. We already have to deal with the stigma of these diseases. We don't need to be scolded by the treatment professionals--especially in this context. This is the opportunity to inform the public that they don't know how serious eating disorders are. If we're gonna point fingers, lets not point them at the victims who frankly, already know they are playing Russian roulette. I mean, do people from AA say when referring to alcoholics, "These people don't know how much damage they're causing to themselves!" Duh.

GLOBE EDITORIAL

Terri Schiavo's Affliction

April 5, 2005

RIVETED BY the personal and political battles over Terri Schiavo's rights to life and death, the country is largely ignoring a chance to act on an underlying issue: eating disorders.

Schiavo was an overweight kid who reportedly wept when she bought clothes, fearful of being teased about her size. After high school she lost weight, dropping from over 200 pounds to 150. When she was 26 she weighed 110 pounds. On Feb. 25, 1990, less than three months after her 26th birthday, she collapsed. Her heart stopped, depriving her brain of oxygen and causing severe physical damage. Doctors say the cause was a chemical imbalance that had been triggered by an eating disorder.

But Congress is not rushing to pass bills to battle eating disorders. Nor is President Bush pointedly waiting to sign such legislation. And protesters who supported Terri Schiavo by taping their mouths shut did not realize the cruel irony of their symbolism.

Eating disorders have gotten attention in the celebrity-focused press with stories about stars battling anorexia. But the news is often about fan support and public appearances.

Missing are hard clinical facts such as those offered by the National Institute of Mental Health, which warns that ''people who suffer from eating disorders can experience a wide range of physical health complications, including serious heart conditions and kidney failure which may lead to death."

Philip Levendusky, the vice president of new program development at McLean Hospital in Belmont says, ''Kids don't realize how much of a game of Russian roulette they're playing." He ran through a tragic list of problems related to eating disorders, from bowel disorders to death. He points to sufferers as young as 8 years old and to estimates that 10 to 15 percent of those with anorexia die.

Despite the devastation of the problem, help can be hard to find. In 2000, Beth and Seth Klarman of Brookline, parents of a teenage daughter with an eating disorder, opted to send her to New Orleans because that was the closest site they found with a comprehensive treatment program. This experience prompted them to donate $2.5 million to McLean to fund the Klarman Eating Disorders Center, where a multidisciplinary team treats women ages 13 to 23.

But victims of eating disorders can be hard to see. They may not recognize or admit that they are ill. Ironically, Terri Schiavo got attention at the end of her life, when she may have needed intervention earlier, when she appeared fine but was struggling with food.

The legacy of Terri Schiavo's death should not merely be about living wills or intrusive laws but about greater public awareness and action to protect people against the ravages of feeling victimized by food.

March 30, 2005

Terry Schiavo and The Big Band-Aid
by Sarah Mason

How can you miss the Schiavo case? There's so much press on it. The media attention on this case has trumped even Michael Jackson. But despite all of the attention, many people still do not know the cause of Terry Schiavo's condition. Even if you've found your way onto the Payson Road website you may not be aware of the fact that Terry Schiavo was bulimic.

"Bulimia can cause a sudden dehydration of the body that causes an imbalance in electrolytes, and particularly potassium. When that happens, it can cause irregularities in the electrical signal, so it can cause the heart to stop beating. That is reportedly what happened to Terri Schiavo."

This quote from msnbc, (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7318508/ ) is one of the only articles I've read that discusses Terry Schiavo's eating disorder. If you click on a link for news stories on the Schiavo case, there's generally a sidebar with related story links. Not one of the stories on that sidebar is about eating disorders. There's a story about Monks, and a hitman who was hired by a right-to-lifer to kill Schiavo's husband, but nothing about eating disorders.   Even the msnbc story, though wel;-intended, incorrectly reports statistics on eating disorders. The article states 7% of young women in the U.S. have eating disorders, the numbers are actually up to12% (Crowther et al., 1992; Fairburn et al., 1993; Gordon, 1990; Hoek, 1995; Shisslak et al., 1995).

This, my friends, is the sad reality we live in as people with eating disorders. Even this high profile case can not elevate awareness of eating disorders. There are murmured references to her bulimia here and there. NPR of course being the first to pick up that piece of the puzzle, then CNN did a piece, MSNBC wrote a factually incorrect article about it. And I'm sure there are other sources. But what I don't understand is why aren't more people shouting about this? Not only the public at large but other eating disorder organizations? Why aren't all of us up and arms screaming at the top of our lungs for our 15 minutes?

It's a combination of reasons really. The right to life issue hits more raw nerves in this country than many other issues, and eating disorders, as I've long lamented, are truly at the bottom of the venerable causes to support list.

This case is sad for so many reasons. What tugs on my heart strings is knowing what Terry Schiavo was going through as a bulimic and the pain that led her to her current state. Because I know that pain. And it's purely luck that has me sitting here typing this article as opposed to lying in a hospice on a feeding tube.

Why can't we discuss that pain? Feeding tube in or out, there is a cause and effect here that's separate from who's decision it is to make on whether she lives or dies. Where was everyone in her life before this happened? Did her family know she was bulimic? Did her husband know? Are they discussing that? Are they trying to find out why she had a eating disorder and what they can do to help prevent other parents end up in similar circumstances?

No one's talking about this. Someone needs to. Oh please don't give me crap about being insensitive to her poor parents in their hour of need. Of course I feel for them How can you not feel for her family? I feel for everyone in this case--especially Terry. But folks, as a culture we have got to stop putting big band-aids on all our wounds without actually finding out what caused them.

If we don't get this dialogue started, the opportunity will be lost. Eating disorder will be shoved back down to the basement closet. Why wouldn't everyone close to Terry Schiavo want to understand why this happened? Maybe if there is an understanding, there can eventually be peace.

Terry Schiavo is being wrapped in the biggest band-aid we've ever seen. And there so much ointment tossed in their we can't even see the initial cut. We've got congressmen, judges, doctors, lawyers, monks! The Pope! Governors! Presidents! Hell Jesse Jackson even jumped in there. But I guess he needs a new band-aid to roll around in. Who else? Maybe Michael Jackson should get in on this. It might help him out.

I mean no disrespect to Terry Schiavo's family and friends. But I don't want to roll around on that giant gauze pad. I want to to dive right into the bloody wound and see if I can really do something to help it heal.

Please, folks, help me do this. You can make a difference by simply discussing bulimia in relation to the Schiavo case. I can bet that a majority of the people you talk to about this case aren't aware of this component. The more we can bring this issue to the forefront, the more we can help other parents and husbands, and Terry Schiavo's from enduring so much pain and suffering.

I am off work today and still in my pajamas--it feels great! I am going to get in the shower soon, and then go to the gym, but for now, I am hanging out in the PJs watching soap operas. A thought came to me while reading the posts on the online group today.

On the Payson Road Online Group, we talk about recovery. We talk about being able to change our decisions and do what is right for ourselves. We talk about moving forward. And we talk about our fears and whether or not we will ever make recovery a reality. I still struggle with this myself. But I also know from experience that the solution is very simple--again, I say simple, but not easy.

It's the action, or lack of, that prevents us from taking that next step. Action means responsibility. I think that's the catch. As a victim, you no one wants to take responsibility because that conflicts with the very definition of victim.

I admit I am no expert on the matter. I still struggle. This disease baffles me, frequently. The difference for me today is that I know that I know who I am and I know what I don't want to be. The solution is right in front of me and when I am willing to take on the responsibility of recovery, my life gets better.

Truth is, we're all our own worst enemies. I'm a procrastinator, I'll be the first to admit it. I'm constantly putting things off, searching endlessly for another, easier way out or another path to take. The path is right in front of me but I don't always want to take it. There's that lil' thing called responsibility again. If we're being honest here, the truth is, what I really want is no consequences. I want to have my cake and eat it to. Which, by the way, is very bulimic--that concept of all or nothing. I want my house to be clean but I don't want to clean it. I want my bills to be paid but with someone else's money. I want a toned body without the effort. It's the same thing with our EDs. We want recovery, but we don't want to do the work to make it happen. Don't say can't. Never say that. "Can't" is a concept we've taught ourselves, not a testament of our abilities.

I think we also fall into that trap off wanting the proverbial knight in shining armor to show up and ride us off on the white horse to never never land.

We all fight against what we know to be simple. It's human nature. It's not easy to let go of fear and step out into the real world. The world where life hurts sometimes. But if we could just spin that fear and see it differently--be our own knights in shining armor. That's power. True power.

It's not easy, but it is simple. Take action. As my dear friend always tells me, "You can't think your way into right action, but you can act your way into right thinking".

In observance of Eating Disorder Awareness Week, the Payson Road Council and members of the Payson Road online support group would like to share their personal stories of recovery.

Recovery is not a simple thing. We don't wake up one day and say, "I'm cured." There is however the illusion of that which keeps us stuck in our patterns. It's taken me oh so many years to come to that realization. But it's that recognition that has set me free.

My eating disorder began when I was fifteen. We've traveled a long journey together. The film, The Motorcycle Dairies, is the true story of young Ernesto "Che" Guevara when he was a medical student in 1951, who travels across South America on a motorcycle with his friend Alberto Granado. The duo embark on a personal odyssey which ultimately inspires Guevara to become a revolutionary whose impact has shaped many nations. Well, I'm no Che Guevara, but my journey with my lifelong companion, Ed, has been similar; traveling through treacherous terrains with little money, or sustenance, unreliable and faulty transportation means, heart break, shame, danger, finding common ground in a leper colony, self-examination, discovery, anger, tears, frustration, transformation and eventual acceptance. Thankfully, my journey didn't lead to the same sad ends Che Guevara's did. It could have.

There are some who say Che Guevara asked for death. That he put himself in a position where there was no other possible outcome. That may or may not be true. The same could be said about me. I just got lucky. I relentlessly put myself in harms way, beating my body slowly to death over many years.

I'll never forget an experience I had several years ago when I spoke before a Congressional Briefing on for eating disorder awareness. One of the other speakers, Mike Watt, lost his daughter Kristen tragically to bulimia. She died as a result of her illness after 18 months of binging and purging. Mike spoke before me at the briefing and I was so moved by his speech. It really affected me. Here I had spent over 20 years binging and purging, causing destruction on my body yet I'm alive and in relatively good health. Kristen died after only 18 months. Who makes those decisions? How have I been able to destroy my body for so many years and still be okay?

That day I decided I really need to take stock of my life. I decided, but I didn't execute.

When I first created Payson Road in June of 2000, I was in recovery. By that (at that time), I meant, I was no longer actively binging and purging. I was having a moment in the recovery sun. I wouldn't have developed Payson Road had I not been in that sun. I wouldn't have felt worthy of sharing my experiences or telling others how to recover had I not done it myself. But what I didn't know then, that I know now, is that recovery is a long, long journey. It takes on many faces. And it is something different for every one of us.

I think it's common to assume that recovery means "recovered". That's what we're taught through this culture of therapy we live in. Yet ironically other addicts outwardly admit that they will always be in recovery. Alcoholics say they are always an alcoholic. Yet, they can proclaim abstinence for a year, five years, 10 years and so on. We can ever make that claim because we have to eat to live. So where does that leave us in the recovery picture? If we're in recovery do we still have an eating disorder? Will we always be labeled bulimic if we are not actively binging and purging?

It's not only the world at large that misunderstands the plight of the bulimic, we're confused ourselves. We wear recovery like a bade of honor. Yet, holding true to the nature of eating disorders, there's a secret we're hiding.

My secret is that I have continued to binge and purge since my so-called date of recovery. It's something I've been reluctant to admit for fear of being thought of as a fraud. How could I run this organization if I couldn't stop binging and purging myself? Even now as I write this, I stop myself from justifying that declaration by explaining that I haven't binged and purged very much. Hell I have done it that much. But it doesn't matter. Once is all it takes.

This past fall I fell into a deep depression. I had just gone through my sixth, or maybe seventh, orthopaedic surgery--third on my shoulder. I'd gained weight, I wasn't doing what I wanted to do with my career, and I had fallen back into familiar coping patterns, aka my bulimia.

I started having severe stomach problems. One night it got so bad Adam, my boyfriend, had to rush me to the emergency room. They determined that it was my gall bladder and without really diving into my history or letting my history explain, they wanted to surgically remove my gall bladder.

Well, I've had enough bad experiences with the medical community to question everything they suggest. I also was convinced that this was all a result of my eating disorder. So I stopped doing it and my stomach pain went away magically. What a surprise. I think I was able to stop solely to prove a point to the doctors. One thing you learn over many years with an eating disorder, is how to read your body. It's very important to listen to your instincts because the medical community is so far behind in their knowledge of eating disorder and the effects on the body.

My health improved but my spirits did not and eventually I started throwing up again. Then one day, I can't even pin point it, but I woke up, spiritually speaking. I looked at myself in the mirror and I saw something in my eyes that scared me. The light had dimmed. That's never happened to me before. And I wanted that light back.

So I got back on board with Weight Watchers online, which has been a tremendous help because you're able to record everything you eat. What I've come to terms with is two things, one, relapse happens in recovery, and that's just part of the process. And two, I am disabled. I don't mean that I have an actual physical disability. I have to see myself like alcoholics see themselves, always a bulimic. I can't stop eating. But I can and must negotiate a new relationship with food. And, this will be a lifelong struggle, that can be managed but I have to acknowledge that food is my handicap. If I can make peace with that, I can recover.

So, to all of you out there in whatever stage of recovery you're in, don't give up if you've had a relapse. It's going to happen. It's inevitable. And it's okay. Acknowledge that your relationship with food has forever changed. You have to figure out what that means for you personally. For me, it means I have to plan out my meals every day. That's not to say I can't ever have a piece of cake or some goodie someone brings to the office. But I have to plan, and I can't put myself in dangerous situations. If I'm upset, I don't go to the supermarket. It's like sending a crack addict to to a crack house.

At one stage of my recovery I thought I could just cold turkey everything. "Hey, I'm recovered, I can go to the supermarket. I can eat a box of Krispie Cremes." Nuh uh. I can't. I know that if I'm stressed and I eat one donut, I'll eat an attire box and then I'll throw it up because that's my pattern. I will never be comfortable binging and not throwing it up. So what do I do? I don't put myself in a situation where I'm able to binge. I acknowledge the fact that I will, maybe not every time but that I have the potential to do it.

The last stage of recovery is coming to this realization. Know yourself. Know your patterns. Don't put yourself in a position where they'll be tested.

In The Motorcycle Dairies, the two men's journey ends at a leper colony. They have come there to study lepers and have found themselves becoming attached to the people. The colony is administrative by an order of Catholic nuns and some medical personnel. The main administrative facility and the colony are separated by a river. The lepers are secluded on their own island. Che and his friend stay at the main facility in the evenings and visit the colony during the day. On the last night of their stay, Che decides that he wants to spend the night, which happens to be his birthday, with the colony. The boats have left and there is no way for him to get across. It's a very far distance to swim and Che has asthma. Determined to be with his new friends he dives into the river and starts swimming across. This is much to the dismay of the nuns and medical personnel who urge him to turn around. But he persists and makes it across to the other side where he is embraced by the colony members with great joy.

It's a wonderful moment in the film. This young man has gone through an incredible spiritual journey as well as a geographical one. He's seen horrible injustices along the way, so much so that his destiny has been forever changed. This sweet, innocent action is this character's defining moment. He finally realizes who he is and what he is driven to do. His body, which arguably, should never have been able to make it across that river, aligns with his spirit and together they make waves.

Find your defining moment, and never look back. For you too can make it across that river.

-Sarah Mason, President and Founder, Payson Road

Looking back on my recovery, there were plenty of moments that come to mind as instances when something clicked...when I would see through the lies and distortions of my eating disorder. One clear memory I have was when I went to my first yoga class. I was still symptomatic, still struggling on a daily basis, but was trying to be proactive, to make positive steps towards health in the midst of it all.

Having been a dancer, I was drawn to yoga, to the opportunity to move my body. I wasn’t ready to return to dance classes, knowing the demands, both physically and emotionally, so I thought yoga would be a good substitute. I entered the class, nervous and hesitant. I sat

11/6/2003 The "Fuck It" Diet

11/6/2003
The "Fuck It" Diet