Rainbow-barf Monstrosity

I /love/ The Lorax. It was a favorite book of mine as a child (and an adult), and I’ve written about it here before in conjunction with Banned Books Week and Earth Day.

Unfortunately someone, somewhere took that book and decided it would be a good idea to turn it into a movie.

This is not a good idea.

The Lorax isn’t a good “movie” sort of book.  The ORIGINAL Grinch is a fabulous movie that stays true to Seuss’ ideas and ideals in writing the original book, but modern adaptations of it have failed spectacularly, falling into the traps of CGI and comedian actors instead of trying to tell a really good, if didactic, story.

The Lorax doesn’t have the happy ending that the Grinch has. The main character is a greedy asshole with little ability to look beyond his own want for more stuff, more money, and more fame. In fact, The Once-Ler doesn’t even show up in the book, he’s simply a faceless portrayal of power and greed. The Lorax is a sad story of destruction and downfall, with a faint glimmer of hope at the end for humanity’s ability to feel empathy for those not like itself.

The Lorax himself isn’t much of a fuzzy happy character either. His primary functions are observation and warning. He speaks for those who can’t speak, but he doesn’t get involved in the story itself.

As expected, the preview for the movie is a disgusting pile of rainbow-barf, to quote from David Roberts’ review on Grist.

If, to make a movie, you must take a book and totally change the story, the characters, and the setting, add humor by making non-humorous characters into physical comedy jokes*, and couch the entire thing in a “boy wants to get into pants of girl next door”, you might want to just not make the damn movie.

*including a joke in the trailer about how a fat woman doesn’t look womanly enough to recognize, a point rather antithetical to the point of the original story, which is to think about your actions in relationship to others. Gee wonderful. It seems to me that the Lorax, whose function is to speak for those who don’t have voices, probably wouldn’t be fond of demeaning jokes at the expense of others.


I’ve never really been a small person. I’m not massively tall, but I’ve got an athletic build and wide shoulders and hips – just structurally – plus boobs and a butt that are nicely proportionate to the rest of me.

And I was pretty OK with that. Thanks to a lot of un-brainwashing from the HAES movement, I was pretty comfortable with looking the way I looked, and happy with what I was feeding my body and how I was active.

Then, about a year ago, my brain took a long walk off a short pier, and I’ve been on various forms of psychiatric medication ever since.

In the 8 months that I was on an SSRI, I gained 20 lbs. In the 5 weeks I was on an anti-epileptic medication, I gained 5 more. Now I’m on an atypical anti-psychotic, and ravenously hungry all the time, constantly preparing myself to step on the scale and see the number break another 10’s digit record.* I’m sure the anti-inflammatories I’m on constantly don’t help much either.

On some level, I feel like this shouldn’t bother me. I mean – yeah, I’m ravenous all the time on this new medication, but I’m also a) not manic b) not suicidal and c) not having panic attacks. On the other hand, putting on 25 lbs isn’t exactly inexpensive and doesn’t exactly help a ton with my self image.  I’ve had to buy all new clothes and new bras (my ta-tas, while generous before, are always in the way now) because NOTHING fits anymore. Shirts won’t button, pants won’t budge past my knees.

Even little things are different, like realizing that I take up more space when trying to squeeze into tight corners, or doing yoga and finding my flexibility restricted by my new friend The Chub.

And the world cries out “Eat less, exercise more!” as though it were some kind of magical prescription to make everything better. Well, sometimes it doesn’t. I could go on for pages about what I eat (and don’t eat), what I do for exercise, the amount of activity I get at my job, and really it wouldn’t do any good to the Calories in, Calories out people. Maybe some bodies work just fine as a heat engine, but I’m eating healthier and exercising more than I ever have before, but I went on all these stupid medications and I’m still gaining weight.

Also, it’s really not at all fun to be painfully, ravenously, eat a whole bag of carrots hungry all the time and yet know that you’re already fatter than you used to be.

I’m already eating low-carb, thanks to being gluten free, so I’ve tried to step that up a little, but it means never leaving the house without a string cheese or some almonds or pecans or dried fruit. I refuse to give up carbs entirely (phase 1 of South Beach, essentially) because I can’t take the mental changes that requires – the last time I tried Phase 1, I was a raving, plate-throwing bitch for three weeks. I don’t need any help being crazy these days.

Which kicks off the constant wondering why I’m bothering. Every time I’ve tried to lose weight, I’ve lost it, and then while still on the same diet, still enjoying the benefits of the “lifestyle change” I’ve put the weight all back on, plus 5-10 lbs (if I lost any weight at all. I can put on weight on a calorie restriction diet in ways that just boggle my mind). Every time, even if it was just a quick “lose 10 lbs before someone’s wedding” thing.

So is trying to stay on top of this now only going to mean buying all new clothes again in another 6 months?

Or is ignoring it and just listening to what I know my body needs going to result in the same thing anyway, thanks to metabolic changes from these medications?


*Oh and by the way, the medication I’m on now can cause hyperglycemia and insulin resistance. Yay.


Apologies for a somewhat fatalistic post.

Tarballs from the Deepwater Horizon spill are now washing up in Galveston, with oil on other East Texas beaches. Granted, tar isn’t exactly unusual on the beaches here, but it still feels ominous.. They’re combing it up off the beaches as it shows up (like they comb up any other crap that washes onshore).

Police were called in to deal with an unidentifiable animal – turned out to be a dog that went swimming and got tangled up in seaweed that had tarballs in it. (I can see the headline now: “Police called in to investigate Galveston Beach Swamp Thing”). The dog is OK, thankfully. How long before it’s the turtles that nest on Galveston’s beaches?

My brother and his fiancee visited us this weekend, and we decided not to go down to the seawall – probably not the best decision, but since we’d have packed a lunch, we wouldn’t have been doing much for the tourism there anyway. Much like the areas of Louisiana that are still struggling to recover from their hurricanes, Galveston still wears heavy scarring from Ike. September 11th of this year (that’s become something of an ominous date, yeah?) will mark 2 years since we were evacuated for Ike. I wonder what will have washed up in Galveston by then?

And there’s very little I can do.

I’ve made my donations to the relief effort, written letters. Now, I suppose, all that’s left is to wait and be thankful I’m not living on the coast farther east of here, where the oil and sludge is washing onshore in a toxic slurry.