2013-05-23T14:18:26-04:00 Amy Lamé http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=amy-lame Copyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc. HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Amy Lamé Good old fashioned elbow grease. tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1592529 2012-06-13T06:34:31-04:00 2012-08-13T05:12:05-04:00

Amy Lamé http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amy-lame/
According to David Cameron, no religious organization will be forced to conduct same sex marriages. Regardless, the Anglicans have got their gilded linen knickers in a twist. With only a day left in the Government's official consultation period, boiling point has been well and fully reached.

My partner and I are both Christians. There, I said it. It's much easier to come out as a lesbian than as a Christian these days... but that's a different Huffington Post blog post altogether.

A few years ago we had a civil partnership on our 15th anniversary. We booked a small room at Westminster Registry Office. We had our closest male friends as witnesses. We wore vintage dresses and gardenia corsages. Our families were there (well, most of them). But it lacked the fundamental meaning that we both craved- a recognition of our faith.

Now, I'm under no illusion. It was exactly what a civil partnership/wedding should be - a secular ceremony to join two people together in the eyes of the law. And we did it for all the legal benefits it accords - boring but helpful nuts and bolts stuff like next of kin rights, property and inheritance tax relief.

But as Christians, our civil partnership seemed like a hollow gesture. Signing a bit of paper in a stuffy room above council offices in front of a civil servant I'd never met sucked the meaning out of the event. Sure, our mums shed tears and friends snapped pictures to remember our "special day". But for us, the ceremony was awkward and meaningless.

We wanted to get married in church. Not because it's a prettier venue, or to walk down the aisle, or to have atmospheric organ music playing in the background. But because we wanted our partnership sealed in the eyes of God and the Anglican church. I believe God brought us together and has blessed our relationship. The Church is a different story.

The current government is not helping matters. It was under the previous Labour government that each and every piece of LGBT equality legislation was passed. I can't help but feel that David Cameron is trying to get same sex marriage onto the lawbooks to atone for his party's past pro-Section 28 sins. And if he does, we'll never hear the end of it. Conservatives eager to show just how "progressive" the party is will harp on for decades about how Labour weren't able to get gay marriage on the statute books, but THEY were... thus sweeping under the carpet every legal advance for equality enabled by Tony Blair and Gordon Brown.

The Anglican Church's arguments against same sex marriage are obviously out of touch with the 21st century. With each and every bishop wheeled onto Radio 4 to argue against the impending doom of loving homos getting hitched, their obsession with semantics hides some deep seated homophobia. Marriage is a loaded word; so is gay. So is Christian.

Perhaps language just hasn't caught up with the times - kind of like the Church of England itself. My partner and I have racked up nearly 19 years together, but I refuse to be called her wife. The word is just too weighted. For a start, we aren't officially married. And even if we were (or will be), as a feminist the word 'wife' brings me out in hives. I'm all for reinvention and reclamation of outmoded and derogatory terms, but 'wife' is one I've just not got my head around yet.

Regardless of what the government decides on same sex marriage, I still won't be able to get a Gay Upgrade and marry in my parish church. If passed, the Same Sex Marriage Bill means we will be able to get married in a Quaker Meeting House. Nice idea, but I'm not a Quaker. Same for the Unitarian and Lutheran Churches. I doubt the Anglican Church will ever allow it, at least not in my lifetime, and that makes me very sad.

I am unsure of the additional benefits of marriage as opposed to civil partnership, and if my faith is ignored in the reformulation of this law, what is it worth? Absolutely nothing. I feel let down by the Anglican Church - that's nothing new, I'm used to it. I'm also being let down by a ConDem Government fudging the issue by allowing Church exemption from conducting same sex marriages. That's nothing new, I'm used to it.

So where will gay and lesbian Anglicans get married? Rowan Williams... are you listening? Nope... thought not.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.1290304 2012-02-21T07:07:18-05:00 2012-04-22T05:12:01-04:00

Amy Lamé http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amy-lame/
Condiments at the ready, people, because a Dutch scientist has created a laboratory hamburger - grown from stem cells claimed from a cow. It's the world's first synthetic burger but with a £200,000 research price tag, it won't be putting Mickey D's out of business anytime soon. But will we forsake taste for a futuristic all you can eat carnivorous buffet? The petri-dish protein will be mixed with a marble of fat and flavourings to make it palatable, as well as chemicals and antibiotics to stop it rotting. Deee-licious!

Thankfully there won't be any Dutch Frankenburgers on the menu at Burger Queen, a beauty pageant for fatties infused with the spirit of a camp 1970s gameshow. Over five weeks in March, a dozen contestants will don stretch sequins and compete in rounds of Talent, Taste and Trend. The winner will be chosen by a panel of judges with yours truly at the helm - a sort of chubby Simon Cowell - though I promise to leave my tight t-shirts at home. It's more than just an evening of flabulous fun; Burger Queen 2012 serves as a focal point for an exciting new brand of fat activism that definitely hasn't been cooked up in a laboratory test tube.

The event's creator and host Scottee wants to empower fatties and create an open and honest discussion around body politics. "It's a positive event that embraces health at every size and encourages ownership of the word fat," he explains. There are some pretty radical politics at its heart. "At Burger Queen, to identify as 'fat' is to identify as other, regardless what that might be; so you don't necessarily need to be fat in order to identify as fat. Got it? Good. Every radical political movement needs a supporting cast of multi-sized justice-fighters, after all.



Scottee, founder of Burger Queen

Until now, the issue of obesity has been very much an "us" and "them" dynamic- think Supersize vs Superskinny writ large. Burger Queen is asking everyone - regardless of body size - to step into a pair of wide width stilettos and try our chubby lives on for size.

According to Scottee, the timing has never been better. "2012 is an ideal moment to strike back as we are subjected to the Olympics, which just so happens to be sponsored by some of the worlds most calorific brands." Irony, anyone?

Our awareness of fat - fear of it, fascination with it - is heightened in this era of economic austerity. Fat has become not just an aesthetic issue, but a moral issue as well. Documentaries on obesity and competitive TV programmes disguised as light entertainment tell us fat people are broken, unhappy and a drain on the NHS. The government has been accused of browbeating fatties, actively encouraging a trickle down effect of bullying and discrimination. The murky world of dietary advice is played out on our TV screens, magazines, and radio airwaves.

Last week on Radio 4's Woman's Hour, Dr Susan Jebb, chief advisor to the UK government on obesity, lectured a woman who had failed at every dieting attempt - according to Jebb, she just needs to try harder in order to slim down. Dr Jebb is a member of Scientific Advisory Boards for Coca-Cola, Heinz, PepsiCo, Nestlé and Kellogg's. Interestingly, Heinz produce Weight Watchers foods - overpriced, undernourishing products that contribute to the organisation's paltry 6% sustained weight loss "success" rate. But they won't tell you that; they want your money, and shareholders like a restless, fat mass of people brainwashed into thinking Weight Watchers is the answer to all their chubby troubles. Not until we recognize the dichotomy of the weight loss industry - the fact it NEEDS us to be fat, unhappy and desperate to shed weight in order to make money from us - will we be truly liberated. Burger Queen is exploring this issue in a very real way.

Scottee has been on a different commercially available diet every week and has documented his experiences; a short film exploring the physical and psychological effects of the diets will be screened at each Burger Queen event. So which was the hardest to stick to? "The well known replacement shake was the worst," he claims. "I was so surprised how little I was allowed to eat and the side effects of headaches, vomiting and lack of concentration that are discussed on their official online forums." Despite losing 5lbs he has regained 2lbs in as many days and found himself thinking about hiding food - something Scottee hasn't thought about since he conquered his addiction to eating in secret years ago.

The essential issue at hand is whether fat is a problem to be solved, or just a fact of life. Scientists may be able to make uniform, perfectly balanced burgers in a petri dish, but humans are much more than a collection of cells glued together with protein, fat and vitamins. We are messy, complex, diverse; thin, fat, and everything inbetween. We educate our children that difference is a glory to be embraced, so we need to include BQ - burger queens - in our list of BME, LGBTQ, ad infinitum. And remember... for some people, EVERY Tuesday is Fat Tuesday.

Burger Queen is every Thursday in March at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, London. www.burger-queen.info]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1087836 2011-11-11T18:00:00-05:00 2012-01-11T05:12:01-05:00

Amy Lamé http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amy-lame/
Anyway, this chap had a familiar face, especially to those who may have been interested in Trotskyist diatribes in Merseyside in the 1980s (okay, he was Derek 'Degsy' Hatton). So I said, sit down, please join me.

We were both due to appear on a popular BBC 1 programme called Sunday Morning Live, a topical debate show focusing on moral, ethical and religious issues.

We were discussing the issue of fat on the show - no, not the kind that skirts a ribeye steak, or the type you rub into flour and sugar to make a crumble topping. The kind of fat we were debating just so happened to reside in my midriff, chin, upper arms, thighs, back and arse. Let's just say it was personal.

We were on opposing sides of the argument, and narrowly managed to avoid a confrontation over toast. Later, on the programme, it would become clear that Degsy found my fat repulsive, immoral and a drain on the National Health Service. But for the moment, I was busy fixating on his breakfast plate.

As I tucked in, Degsy flagged down the waitress and placed a special order. "I want four poached eggs, but no yolks - ONLY the whites. Got that?" (to be read in a Scouse accent).

He then proceeded to unwrap what could only be described as a drugs parcel - a foil-wrapped package containing at least two dozen different pills, capsules and potions that Degsy informed me he takes daily to keep him in good health.

To call my appearance on this television show a milestone in the world of fat politics would be an exaggeration, but it did make something pop in my mind.

The topic up for discussion was: "Is it irresponsible to be fat?"

I was subjected to a 15 minute personal attack on my physique by Degsy and some psychobabbly doctor (whose name I can't remember) on live television. When I attempted to make a case against their blatant, rabid body facism, I was shouted down.

Dr Whatsername kept staring at my rotund belly with wonderment and intrigue. Degsy was grabbing my chunky arm, stroking it every time he wanted to make a point. I was getting VERY mixed messages; they were trashing me on live television, yet fascinated with my flesh. My conclusion? CLOSET CHUBBY CHASERS, THE PAIR OF 'EM.

One good thing came out of this misguided TV appearance (by the way, thanks, BBC, for ensuring "fair and balanced coverage"). I received hundreds of messages of support from people all over the UK, not just saying how horribly Degsy and the doctor acted, but sharing their own stories of bullying, exclusion and difficulties of being a fat person in a thin world.

Every news source - papers, TV, magazines - seem to be reporting that we are in the grips of an obesity epidemic. No one has the definitive answer on how to tackle it. In the meantime, reality docu-soaps like Fat Families track the tears, tantrums and takeaways of the nations lardy lasses.

The degrading tone - "hey, let's poke fun at the porkies!" - is hardly groundbreaking or responsible television. But people like to laugh at those less fortunate than themselves.

Schadenfreude, anyone?

Victimisation TV is hugely popular - and it gets in the advertisers, too. Crisps, chocolate, dehydrated gravy granules, fast food joints and diet products all love to appear in the advertising slots of programmes that make fun of fat people.

Mixed messages? Hardly. The shows - and adverts - are playing subtle psychological games with us to make us feel superior, dissatisfied and guilty in quick succession. If we manage to feel depressed - or manipulated - enough to keep tuning in and purchase their products, they've won.

You may think, "oh, come on, it's only a bit of fun" or "they deserve to be laughed at; they're fat, lazy and ugly". Or perhaps you think these programmes actually do the participants some sort of good - it's the kick up the fat ass they need to help them shed their obese excess and find everlasting happiness as a thin person.

What these programmes really do is allow and advocate a carte blanche to abuse anyone not fitting into a narrowly-defined body norm.

Have you ever followed the hashtag Twitter comments during an episode of Embarrassing Fat Bodies? The abuse is phenomenal - Dr Christian has A LOT to answer for.

So what is the real impact of all this? Quite simply, it makes fat people feel angry, depressed and worthless. Which, for some, means they may eat more in order to comfort their pain. Which makes them fatter. And so the cycle continues.

Why must the onus be on fat people to break the cycle; i.e stop eating, rather than the abusers halt their hurtful words? In a society so concerned with 'anti-bullying', this fat-phobia is a despicable tragedy. One recent anti-bullying campaign - against homophobia - had the catchphrase 'It Gets Better'.

Well, quite frankly, it doesn't. For fat people, it gets worse...a lot worse. If you were bullied on the playground for being porky, and expect once you grow up for your fellow adults to treat you with respect, you're in for a shock.

TV shows are sanctioning adult bullies to revel in their hideous playground tactics. All this bullying is making the 'obesity epidemic' worse.

And just in case you thought that TV shows were the only ones to blame, you're wrong. The government is one of the worst culprits, with its threat of a "fat tax", selling off school playing fields, reducing funds available for after-school sports, abolishing the free fruit programme for school children, and being entirely beholden to the food manufacturing industry giants who have a vested interest in us eating cheap, nasty nosh, to keep their profit margins healthy, not us.

The government insists fat people are a drain on the NHS. Well, guess what: I'm fat and pay my taxes, and have every right to access the NHS as any other Joe or Jane Schmo. I don't have children, and never will. Do I decry pregnant women as a drain on the NHS? Or those that can't have children accessing NHS funded IVF treatment? No, I don't. We're all in it together.

And in case you were wondering, that is not some 'Big Society' proclamation. Cameron is a blatant liar - he's dismantling the NHS, but put up billboards across the nation during his election campaign promising he'd do nothing of the sort. In order to cover up his deceit, he's flinging his shit onto fat people. After all, they are slow moving, easy targets.

It seems morning after morning on Radio 4's Today programme, John Humphries and Evan Davis try to uncover the 'magic bullet' answer to the obesity epidemic. Eat less, exercise more, join a weight loss club, get a gastric band, try hypnosis, drink diet shakes, get liposuction, cut out carbs, cut out sweets, cut out fat, cut out anything remotely tasty. Allow doctors to prod, poke, prescribe. Or just stay at home and repent for your sins.

There are many, many reasons why people are fat; the multitude of reasons does not have one easy solution. But not bullying fat people is a very good place to start.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.1023480 2011-10-21T19:00:00-04:00 2011-12-21T05:12:01-05:00

Amy Lamé http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amy-lame/
But Morrissey is for life, not just for Christmas. I liken being a Moz fan to finding yourself in an intense relationship with someone you totally fancy and adore, but who is just a teeny bit embarrassing when you take them down the pub to meet your mates. You don't stop loving them, but every time you go out together you say a silent prayer hoping they won't do or say anything too weird.

I've been a Smiths and Morrissey devotee for nearly 25 years; long term fandom is a strange and wonderful thing. Attend any Morrissey concert and you'll see a fine collection of forty somethings with sparse quiffs and beer bellies - and that's just the women. While each concert is, by nature, a collective experience, Morrissey has the unique ability to appear to sing his lyrics of longing to each person individually. This creates a heady atmosphere of undying loyalty and obsessiveness. Dare any Moz fan challenge his comments or advise him to avoid High Court judges?

Some may label Morrissey as a racist, a radical animal rights activist; a miserablist. I see Morrissey as a soothsayer, a rabble rouser, and an uncomfortable but entirely necessary thorn in our sides. I also think he has a devastating sense of humour. Morrissey is someone who makes upsetting, sometimes vile and often insightful observations, then "forgets" he's a global superstar and that the media just might pick up on what he says. Bigmouth strikes again... and again... and again.

We like our pop stars clean, shiny and shrink wrapped; no controversy, no commotion, just pure fluffy fun. Which is fine if you are a tweeniebopper, or on an alcopop binge drinking session at a student disco. But what about the rest of us? There's little hope - we've been culturally victimised by Pop Idol and X Factor. Why should pop stars make a fuss or express an opinion that fans may disagree with when it may affect record sales? If Simon Cowell is your boss, you best keep your mouth shut unless you're singing.

We need people like Morrissey to force us into thinking what we really believe. He is on the vanguard of issues that are affecting the nation: the rise of China as a global superpower and how that will impact the UK; Immigration; Our waistline increasing "fast food" culture.

Morrissey is our collective moral barometer. You may not agree with what he has to say- or the way he says it- but he is pushing the boundaries of public discourse in a direction no one else dares. If you don't like it, then go and download the new Steps album. I've heard it's the perfect filler for an empty mind.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.997778 2011-10-06T07:43:09-04:00 2011-12-06T05:12:02-05:00

Amy Lamé http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amy-lame/
The twitterverse has been alive with tributes, prayers and praise since news of Steve's death. A simple tweet from @jwmoss got me thinking. "Steve Jobs was born out of wedlock, put up for adoption at birth, dropped out of college, then changed the world. What's your excuse?"

On paper, it looked like Steve was doomed from the start. Being born to a single mum was a big deal in the 60's when the word "bastard" wasn't used as just a mild swearword. He was adopted by a working class couple, and later painfully discovered his birth parents went on to marry and have more children.

It's been reported he had a stable upbringing, but he was a troubled child. As a young man Steve spent an extended time traveling around India, got spiritual, experimented with hallucinatory hard drugs, and went a bit loopy. He dropped out of college and was living a pretty directionless life. If he were a young person today, he'd be labeled a loser, a stoner, a weirdo, a no-hoper.

There are many things that intrigue me about Steve Jobs. You can read any one of thousands of obituaries online and in the papers for the details of his astonishing and impressive achievements, but I wonder whether any will actually address and explore his "un-success".

Some may say it's churlish and downright disrespectful to mention those words in the same breath whether he's alive or dead. But I believe his life - and death- can teach us valuable lessons about failure and success that can't be contained in a downloadable app.

Many of us may recognize a bit of ourselves in Steve's early "un-success"; unfortunately not all of us have gone on to be billionaire visionaries. OK, so maybe it's too late for those of us on the wrong side of 40.

But what are our expectations of the younger generation? Are we judging, or overly criticising anything that may be deemed "failure"? We all need space to fail; it's how we grow as human beings. We need to be more understanding of weakness and failure.

With the right guidance, a touch of empathy, a spark of creativity and drive, failure can turn into world-changing stuff. Let's face it, without that college flunking acid-dropping burnt-out hippie, where would we be? David Cameron once urged us to "Hug a Hoodie" Go on, I dare ya.

They just may be the next Steve Jobs.]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.973151 2011-09-21T04:00:11-04:00 2011-11-20T05:12:02-05:00

Amy Lamé http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amy-lame/
According to reports today, Germany is finally waking up to the sizzling sound of the Great British Fry Up (GBFU).

We're talking the full monty, people. A pair of battery farmed fried eggs, rashers of watery back bacon, greasy bulked-out pork sausages, runny baked beans, spongey mushrooms and half a grilled tomato that's always too undercooked to eat. Add a round of pappy toast smeared with cheap margarine and a mug of tea made with the sweepings of the PG Tips factory floor, and you have the breakfast of champions.

I'm no body fascist and I'm not against the GBFU for reasons of the waistline. Indeed there's no finer sight than a bunch of blokes with bellies big as basketballs tucking into a plate of deep fried protein. It makes me come over all protective, patriotic, and vaguely nostalgic. Goody two shoes health freaks who suggest fresh fruit and yogurt make a finer start to the day are deluded. A breakfast like that means you'll be reaching for a packet of HobNobs come 11am. I should know.

I'm not even railing against the GBFU for reasons of vegetarianism, either. I was a non meat eater for over 20 years, but resumed an omniverous diet after being tempted by a pair of slow-cooked ox cheeks. I went on to consume my own weight in charcuterie and ribeyes in the first year, which, I assure you, is no mean feat.

The reason I'm not inclined to the GBFU is because we'ved all been duped. It's the product of one of the biggest spin doctoring mind manipulations ever. The daddy of modern PR, Edward Bernays, was Sigmund Freud's nephew and understood the power of psychology in advertising and subliminal influencing of the masses.

He was on the bacon payroll (tomato or brown sauce?) in order to promote sales of cheap cured pork. He sent doctors a survey with leading questions, then reported their "recommendation" that people eat heavy breakfasts. Bernays then sent the results to 5,000 physicians along with publicity stating bacon and eggs was the ideal hefty meal to start the day, encouraging them to tell their patients of this new "doctor-approved" finding.

If you think Bernays pushing bacon on medical professionals unethical, then you'll be interested to know that Bernays was Jewish. Heaven knows what his Rabbi (let alone his mother) thought. Regardless, Bernays's PR stunt worked; we've been welded to the crack pipe that is the GBFU ever since.

And new we're exporting it to the Germans. Perhaps we've finally got our revenge.

]]> tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2011:/theblog//3.953426 2011-09-08T06:06:41-04:00 2011-11-08T05:12:02-05:00

Amy Lamé http://www.huffingtonpost.com/amy-lame/
There is nothing worse than having a buff bit of kit go kaput, and when you can't call Ghostbusters, a trip to your local Apple Store's Genius Bar is the closest you're gonna get to Dan Akroyd and Bill Murray sorting out your troubles.

Some may say I've been brainwashed. The college I attended in America was an Apple "seed" school; whether the pun was intended has never been established. Apple, then a relatively fledgling company and desperate to kick against the Microsoft pricks, decided to make its products super-cheap to cash strapped college students at small, liberal arts institutions. Unfortunately I was too strapped so never bought into the discounted deal, but used the bay of Apple II's in the computer lab instead. I would stare in wonder at the mesmerising green screen, writing my French essays and dreaming of the day I could afford such a piece of cutting edge technology myself. My first experience of computing was Apple; I loved it and I was hooked for life.

Lots has changed since then. I would never have dreamed back in the early 1990's that I would be able to speak to- and see- friends and relatives across the globe via my computer. One of my most memorable moments last year was Skyping with my 92 year old grandmother a few weeks before she died; to her, the concept of instant imaging coupled with audio communication was sheer magic. I had learned to take it in my stride.

I really want to like Skype. So why don't I? Basically, for all the inverse reasons I love my i-gear. It doesn't look good, it isn't easy to use, and it never works. OK, not never, but it tends to work best when you're just a few hundred metres away from the person you want to communicate with. I could just as easily use smoke signals or tin cans and a bit of string. Or my personal favourite, flashing a torch on and off when you've been sent to bed early and your parents are downstairs watching TV.

Now that Skype is owned by Microsoft, it needs a serious overhaul. The website looks like it's for one of those foreign language discount calling cards they sell down the newsagents. The video imaging is pixellated beyond recognition- on Skype, youthful and living members of my family could be mistaken for my dead grandmother. And the connection craps out more often than a Cuban Cadillac. Don't try telling me it's my broadband; I'm tetrabyted up to my tits. Skype needs do de-naff itself and actually figure out how to work. Or even better, let Apple snap up Skype. Only then will I be happy.]]>