Trash day is almost home and deeply parenthetical

Happy Friday. Tomorrow, I go back to London and then on Sunday I’ll be home. I can’t wait; I don’t do so well here, largely because of the abrupt shift to a lot less daylight, and I’m antsy for my own bed and the people I’m closest to.

That said, the trip has been far from all bad. I discovered Ritz-like gluten-free crackers from Schar, saw a new city, and really have made some progress with the guitar, although I haven’t had as much time for it as I’d like. The flat I’m staying in has appallingly thin walls, and you can barely run water after 10pm without eliciting complaints from neighbors, so often, I just sat around practicing chord changes without really playing; it’s a metaphor for something.

What I also haven’t done is as much writing as I’d like — here, professionally, or in a fannish capacity — although I’ve sorted a lot of things out in my head. And we will not even discuss my lack of getting to the opera or any real time spent in Zurich (Zurich, at least, I’ll do tomorrow morning when I go to buy chocolate filled with pear liquor for folks back home) or my various failed quests to get tickets for Bruno Mars here (that was hilarious and involved one of the weirdest Twitter interactions I’ve had in a long time) or my absurd attempts get back to London in time to see Katy Perry for no other good reason than I can (except, you know, that I determined that I can’t).

So, I asked on Twitter, but I’ll ask here. If you were a random girl-like object going dancing on her own (and I love to go dancing on my own, for the record) on a Saturday night in London, where would you go? I think I spent so much of my teen years fantasizing about the London club scene, I’m now completely intimidated by actually getting to do it. Also, what should I wear? And what time do people go out there? Super late right? I know nothing!

National Coming Out Day

October 11 is National Coming Out Day in the US (it’s the 12th in the UK), and since I’ve been out (and really, really out online) for a long time, today, what I’m thinking about is those times when I’ve not been.

Like two nights ago when I played the pronoun game at an awards banquet thingy when someone took “partner” to mean “husband” and it just seemed too awkward to correct them. It’s hard, I’ve always found, in small talk with strangers, even if you’re comfortable being out, to have to say, “Oh, by the way, you’re wrong.”

I’m lucky enough to run into situations like this rarely, but they always linger with me, long and strange.

And the world is changing so fast; I don’t always even know how to keep up.

When I met my guitar teacher, for example, she asked if I’m married, and I said, “Oh, no, I’m gay,” which actually didn’t make sense as an answer in New York State anymore (unless we’re actively talking about non-assimilation, which is a great convo, but was not the one at hand). Anyway, she’s surely forgotten about it, but I think about it from time to time; how it marks my age; and how my age has marked me.

So, on the odd chance you were one of the few people who didn’t know: I’m queer. Queer is my preferred word because it lets me get the genderqueer stuff and the attraction stuff and the fact that I feel like bisexual is too binary a word for me (but I’m really interested in gender, it’s not an afterthought, so apparently pansexual is wrong too? I don’t know, I’m not great at keeping up with the ever expanding QUILTBAG terminology) and the probability that I really can’t pass all into one neat little syllable.

I’ll also take gay, lesbian, bisexual, pansexual, whatever, because they’re all varying degrees of accurate and I know queer isn’t a comfortable word for everyone. Mostly, it’s like my pronouns — if you’re not using it as an insult, with that nasty little hitch in your voice — we’re good. As ever, in case anyone still needs to know this, don’t use queer for people who don’t self-identify as queer, and please, it’s an adjective, not a noun.

Meanwhile, coming out is a privilege and should be a choice (political figures who actively support anti-gay agendas and who later turn out to be queer, being a common, but not universal, exception to this belief).

Additionally, coming out is complicated. For a lot of us, it involves not a sentence, but paragraphs, about sexual preference, romantic attraction, personal history and gender presentation and identity; and if we pass for whatever reason(s) (which is this whole mess of a thing filled with advantages and disadvantages and all sorts of complicated stuff), it can feel even harder to speak up.

Coming out can also often involve not just speaking personal truth, but often, countering assumptions or offering reassurances (No, mom, you didn’t make me gay). This can be everything from tiring to amusing to heart-breaking to just plain weird.

Of course, coming out also carries real, serious risks — homophobic violence still exists around the world (including even in my precious New York City) and in most US states you can still be fired from your job for no other reason than being or being perceived as being LGBT.

However, in spite of that (and perhaps because of it) if coming out, if being out, is a thing you feel you can do, it’s probably a good thing, not just for yourself, but other people in your community. Secrets are, I think, a dangerous currency, easily stolen.

National Coming Out Day has a lot of purposes. It says we are not silent. It says we are not invisible. But it also says you are not alone.

And that’s true regardless of whether you’re out or not.

This blog welcomes anonymous and pseudonymous comments that are non-abusive in nature. That’s true every day, but that’s especially true today. If you want to make this random little corner of the Internet a place you can be out in today, you are welcome to do so, but if you just want to keep reading along, that’s cool too. Either way, we’re honored to have you.

Trash day is incredibly surreal

Greetings from Switzerland. I’m in my fourth city in six days, not counting taking off from New York. I’m exhausted, and I have the flu. But, at the moment, I also have a swank hotel room with a bathroom larger than my first apartment. Actually, the hotel room may be larger than our current apartment, and we have a floor-through. More ridiculously, turn-down service also included them setting out some fancy embroidered cloth for my bare feet to rest upon and slippers by the bed. It is all highly absurd. Anyway, this is a work thing, so not on my tab, because, really, I shudder to think.

It’s late here; six hours ahead of home, and 7 and 9 hours ahead of a lot of my friends. I’m tooling around on the Internet, having just failed to get tickets for the Starkid tour (although that mission continues, har har).

Mostly, though, I feel as disconnected from the world as I often do while traveling. My body clock is off; keeping up with the news is a bigger challenge; and my on-line habits are seriously disrupted. Patty and I talk when we can, but it’s all hard. I will say, however, that missing each other for two weeks is far sexier than when we have to miss each other for three or four months.

Meanwhile, there are just four days left to pre-order your copy of (re)Visions: Alice via Kickstarter. Four amazing stories (okay, I haven’t read them yet, but I know all the authors, and some details about some of the pieces) in one really cool anthology premise. I would strongly recommend checking it out.

And while I still need to deliver on some promised thinky thoughts about various TV programs, this small accounting of life lately has pretty much taken it out of me (flu + jet-lag = le suck), so it will have to wait. But hey, I totally called it on The Playboy Club, huh? Gone gone gone. Sort of sad, as I did really care about that Mattachine Society plot.

The New Yorker Festival: Chris Colfer

Last night I went to see Chris Colfer interviewed at the New Yorker Festival. It was the first time I’ve actually managed to get to said festival — I always either have trouble getting tickets or the timing is such that I’m traveling. This time, I just barely made it, as I’m leaving for Europe tonight.

At any rate the experience was both lovely and odd, but neither really in the way I expected. As others have noted, the questions were largely a rehash of topics Colfer has covered extensively before, and, despite the moderator being knowing about how everyone in the audience were largely well-informed fans and Colfer himself answering many questions with the preface of “For the two of you in the back who don’t know this,” little was done to target the discussion to either the actual audience or to Colfer’s upcoming projects (he as a movie he wrote and starred in coming out, a middle-grade book deal, and a pilot in development).

Whether this was a matter of the moderator not knowing that catering to a young audience (it was largely teens) or a fannish audience (like I said, we were in the know) doesn’t mean watering it down, I’m not really sure. Either way, it’s worth noting that neither audience actually likes easy, neat, harmless content, but really loves new ideas and process discussion to chew over. But we weren’t given that, and it was really a disservice to everyone.

That said, Colfer was delightful. He’s verbally playful and well-prepared for questions both awkward and boring (He assumed an audience question prefaced as being awkward to be the usual “what’s it like to kiss Darren Criss?” Instead, it turned out to be about Colfer’s choice of cologne, and while none of it was less inappropriate for all that, Colfer’s navigation of that mess sure was a lot funnier than it could have been for those of us cringing in our seats).

The expressiveness of his face was also fascinating to watch as he got stuck watching clips of himself at various points in the evening. I think I learned more about performance from that than anything that actually got said during the entire program.

But evenings like this, when you’re in fandom and like to write about pop-culture, are rarely just about the content on stage. They’re about the people you see and the friends you have drinks with after. So I was glad to chat with three different groups of people I knew before the thing started, catch up on a bit of gossip, and have a lengthy, meaty discussion afterwards on the construction of fame.

For those of you who missed the event, there are quotes, audio and pictures all over Tumblr and Twitter. I would say some of the paraphrasing conveys a different tonal quality on certain issues than I got from the experience, but if you’re among those who have been wound up about recent Glee spoilers in the last week — spoilers that were heavily yet coyly acknowledged by Colfer, who isn’t just playful with words, but dirty with them — I would say, oddly, to trust. I think they know how deftly they have to tread in what’s coming, and I think the effort will at least be valiant.

My upcoming time-zone shift and work schedule mean I may be a little behind on things until I return in two weeks, although I am planning a bit of meta regarding Kurt Hummel’s clothes, one of the leaked performances in 3.03 and the 3.05-related excitement. So when I get to that some time this coming week (after 3.03 has aired), please remember this is a spoiler rich zone.

Pan Am & The Playboy Club: Romancing a future that’s already happened

The other day I finally caught up with the first episodes of both The Playboy Club and Pan Am, both of which have seemed to be destined to be Mad Men but about women. Certainly, both shows are trying to cash in on the interest in that stifled and stylized world, and neither have in conception struck me as likely to do it very successfully.

On viewing, The Playboy Club seems more in the mold of Mad Men at first glance. It’s dark and no matter how central women are to the story, it’s really feels like a story about men and their clothes, haircuts and ordering of the world. Selling it as a story about women because of the bunnies and the women at the supposed center of the plot seemed besides the point, despite several central female characters I should theoretically care about. Frankly, I was bored.

That said, the show is doing some interesting things odd to the sides, even if I found the female rivalry plots overplayed and the mob drama of no emotional interest. The lesbian bunny is an interesting choice. Being a bunny wasn’t sex work, but queer women in sex work is a real thing, and certainly this is as close to that story as we’re going to get on network TV. If any straight people want to tell me how the Mattachine Society plot line read to them, I’d love to know. For me, it was the first time I really sat up and paid attention. Did I feel the hope and the fear because it was my people? Or was that when the show snapped into some better pacing?

Pan Am, on the other hand, is a much larger bucket of weird. It’s a lot less subtle, and really, as much as I’m all over it, the sweeping movie soundtrack music and the completely pornographic shots of airplanes before every commercial break are a little much. I love that stuff, but really, I can only take so many emotional climaxes about our past imagined future in 48 minutes. And there are lots of moments that feel like heightened reality (particularly in the repeated row of marching stewardesses routine) in a show that, in its domestic dramas (here again, another confrontation between two women who have slept with the same man), is also trying to be delicate. That it also seems to have two subplots involving international spying just adds to the possibly delicious ridiculousness.

Of the two shows, Pan Am managed, I thought, to be a greater love letter to the era and showcased the rivalries between women with a greater subtlety. But both shows’ emotional tones feel so off — The Playboy Club is too full of despair for a first episode and Pan Am is a little too up about a future that’s already happened. For me, they really only worked as companion pieces, bracketing the world as it was and is.

Pan Am was definitely more fun to watch, and I suspect it will last longer. But I really want to see where the Mattachine Society plot on The Playboy Club goes, although right now, I’ll be surprised if the show survives the season.

Anyone got any bets?

Foggy, foggy trash day

And it’s another rainy Friday. I feel like it’s been an incredibly long week in which I somehow also have nothing to report. That’s not actually true, of course — we’re continuing to unpack, guitar is continuing to soothe my nerves, I’m getting ready to go abroad for a couple of weeks on work, I got asked to contribute a couple more things to a couple more books, and I got a cute haircut. All in all, it’s been a good week. I’m just not sure where it went.

Food continues to be incredibly exciting as well. Aside from my addiction to the gluten-free dosas at Trader Joe’s (which are currently out of stock), Patty and I continue to love food in our neighborhood. Every restaurant we try to great, and there’s more food that meets out needs out here than I could have anticipated. My new fixation? Bare Burger, which truth be told, isn’t that close to our house, but I’m happy to go out of my way for.

I’ve also been eating delicious vegan, gluten-free goodies from a friend who sells at farmer’s markets and then sells any left-overs online (if you see this, let me know if that’s something you promote or just a you and your internet friends thing, because I’ll totally link you up — the stuff is AMAZING), and yesterday I got a taste of these amazing caramels someone I don’t know all is selling to help her family out of some tough financial times. I had the dark chocolate sea salt ones and they were amazing.

My own cooking hasn’t been too shabby either. Last weekend I made 3 lbs of Italian meatballs (well over half of which we froze), and I sort of want to find a project for this weekend, but between Patty’s food requirements and mine it can be a little tricky. If we finally make it to Jackson Heights as long-planned, I probably don’t need one, since that trip is all about food, food, food, food.

Now if only this rumour about Sprint finally getting the iPhone is true, I will gleefully put this week in the extra double win column. (Sorry, but I unlove my Blackberry).

Glee: Let’s talk about “Glitter Bombing”

Glitter bombing is not a Glee-ism. It’s actually a recent but recurring political act, with real world history, usually carried out by activists against anti-gay politicians. In fact, the only instance of glitter bombing not related to LGBTQ issues on the Wikipedia page is in its “in fiction” category — and that is Schuester’s use of the tactic in “The Purple Piano Project.”

I wanted to point this out, because most of the discussion I’ve seen of Schuester doing this revolves around either his immaturity or the wackiness of Glee, but without the non-fiction political context, I don’t think that’s a meaningful conversation.

The thing is, I can’t quite figure out what Glee was trying to do with this. Was this another case of Schuester thinking he’s doing the right thing and not? Let’s face it, Sue may say all sorts of appalling things to Kurt, but she also gave him solos, stuck up for him on the atheism thing, and doesn’t seem to hold his queerness against him any more than she holds anything against anyone.

Schuester, on the other hand, spends a huge amount of time being exasperated by Kurt’s queerness (something which previews for next week’s episode suggest will be back), trying to be supportive, and basically just doing things (when he does anything at all) that aren’t about Kurt but are about himself.

So one easy argument is that Schuester is being incredibly appropriative in an incredibly inappropriate way.

The other possibility is one about how Glee defines queerness. By using Glitter Bombing to defend the arts, Schuester suggests that the arts are inherently queer, that his glee club is inherently queer. And not just because it’s more filled with LGBTQ people than he knows.

Certainly, there are a lot of people on Glee besides Kurt, Blaine, Santana, Brittany and Karofsky, with arguably queered sexuality. Tina and Rachel are both othered at various points for liking sexual activity. Artie, through both words and deed, points out that his wheelchair doesn’t getting in the way of his sexual abilities. The women Puck desires are not an expected or necessarily accepted part of his sexuality in the WMHS environment. The intersection of Emma’s OCD and her demi-sexuality has been a near constant topic. And I certainly know more about Schuester’s sex life than I ever wanted to (remember his ex-wife?).

Glee is very insistent that everyone is not just the underdog, but really weird and possibly revolting to someone out there. Sometimes the show is awkward about it; sometimes it’s hilarious. Often it’s both. And, when we look at the ways in which it uses songs (stretch those lyrics, stretch them!), it’s easy to assume they’re just stretching the meaning of Glitter Bombing here to this larger underdog story. On some level, everything on Glee is a metaphor about LGBTQ-ness, and all the LGBTQ content on Glee is also just a subset of a larger story about a broader sense of queerness.

But, at the end of the day I don’t think that’s what is actually happening around this particular act. I do think this is one of our first hints that Schuester is going to remain ineffective, boggled and cruel through obliviousness when it comes to Kurt (and the other LGBTQ kids he’s aware of), because he, like pretty much all the characters on the show, is too wrapped up in his own drama to engage other people in a useful way. Schuester taking Glitter Bombing, screwing it up on behalf of the arts, and then finding a way to mess up the equilibrium of any number of the LGBTQ characters? It seems like a given at this point, and last night’s episode warned us that that’s coming loud and clear.

Torchwood: Miracle Day — Redefining heroism for the Whoniverse

I finished Torchwood: Miracle Day last night, and I find myself more satisfied by the idea of it, than with the series itself. Honestly, that’s largely a matter of pacing. Children of Earth had particularly stellar pacing, and Miracle Day did not.

A lot of that, especially in early episodes, was the by-product of having to introduce the show to a whole new audience. But even then, I thought most of the slowed down pacing was less committed to helping us understand Jack and Gwen and the idea of Torchwood and more to the creeping horror of the Miracle. This would have been perfectly fine, it if weren’t a relatively simple concept to grasp, one that would have been more terrifying, immediate and less distracting in its allegory, at high speed.

But a five or seven episode Miracle Day would have been a different animal, one that could never have contained Jane Espensen’s brilliant episode 7. And let us be clear, I’m not a fan of the episode for the gay romance or Barrowman’s ass (which is, I think, a criticism that gets lobbed, not entirely fairly, but not entirely unfairly either at a lot of fandom and at a lot of female viewers in particular); I’m a fan of the episode for its inherent Romanticism and its narrative about loss — two central traits of the larger Whoniverse which appeared with a poetry in Miracle Day in a way that they actually didn’t in Children of Earth, despite that being the stronger of the two series.

Without episode 7, Miracle Day would also not be a story about Jack. It’s the knitting to his arc, one which many people in fandom have been writing very eloquently about coming full circle in this series (please post links if you’ve got them). Certainly, as one of those fans with a deep commitment to the Face of Boe story, to see Jack finish this series with his immortality intact and a real sense of peace and wonder with the world again, I was relieved. I was also satisfied, when Gwen shoots him to prevent him from being a suicide.

Giving up one’s life for the cause is, essentially, how heroism is defined in the Whoniverse. Jack, when we first meet him, is mortal, screws some stuff up, and is ultimately willing to give up his life to fix it. He doesn’t. Then, later, when he’s willing to give up his life to save his friends, something intervenes and he becomes immortal, robbing this con-man who had become a better man of the ability to execute on heroism as defined by the Whoniverse. This has dogged him through each and every one of his failures across the programs; all he can do is sacrifice others, and that is, we are told, the act of a coward.

When Gwen steps up to be complicit in the death he has volunteered for, she is not just expressing love for Jack, and helping (seemingly) to return to him his heroism. She is actively altering the structure of what it means to be a hero in the Whoniverse; she is taking the gun out of Adelaide Brooks’s (“Waters of Mars”) hand and saying she doesn’t have to do the right thing alone. Gwen, in letting her father go and in being willing to kill her friend, who she loves once again, tells us that maybe Jack was not a coward when Ianto died and perhaps, unsettlingly, not a monster when he sacrificed Steven.

These are some pretty fascinating and powerful ideas, littered across an intriguing landscape filled with atheistic play with religious metaphor (something I don’t think Russel T. Davies could avoid if he tried), that culminate in Jack, whose life was in many ways made smaller by his immortality (he wound up confined this this earth full of its restrictive morals about love and sex), witnessing it possibly make someone else’s life (Rex’s) larger.

Miracle Day is, in its parting shots, a return to the wonder that was Torchwood in the largely monster-of-the-week incarnation that defined its first two seasons.

But satisfying in my brain, and satisfying in front of my eyes are two different things, sadly. And of all the series, this may be the one I am the least likely to rewatch in its entirety for anything other than scholarly purposes. Aside from finding its pacing off-puttingly awkward, its attempt to unify the original show’s queer sensibility with a perception of American masculinity and viciousness was at best inexplicable and extraneous and, at worst, arbitrarily offensive.

On the other hand, I still hope there is more. I will always want to follow Jack’s story, because Jack’s story is always. I want more detail and elegance around the Families and the idea of their plan as Writing the Story.

Finally, Jilly Kitzinger? Most fun villain, EVER.

The Emmys: Was that a flicker of feminist awesome I detected?

Did I just watch the most feminist Emmys ever?

First there was the amazing Mad Men gay marriage moment in the opening video thing (it’s around the 4:20 mark).

Then, we had a whole bunch of female winners who were over 35 and/or not size fours. “Regular” looking people can be just as talented and luminous as what you’re used to seeing on the red carpet.

Next, we had Jane Lynch’s dig at Entourage, which was pretty hilarious.

And finally, there was the long sarcastic bit about the power and diversity of roles men finally have access too.

Was this awesome and subversive? Is feminism (and lesbians) the new (old) edgy? Was it so not enough (the whole thing was still epically white, among other things) that those glimmers just don’t matter?

And most importantly, did any of it even remotely make up for the fact that we were subjected to the Emmytones?

Discuss.

National Celiac Awareness Day

So yesterday was National Celiac Awareness Day, and I barely noticed and forgot to make a post. I have celiac disease, and it probably impacts me more than any other fact about me; it affects how I look, how I think, what I eat, and what I can do. Every day I make dozens of choices that are impacted by this illness.

But the reason I want to tell you about celiac disease is that there’s a really good chance someone who reads this has the disease and doesn’t even know it yet. General estimates put the frequency of celiac disease at about 1 in 133 people in US, and if you have it, it means you can’t eat a anything containing gluten or, more generally, anything that has come into contact with wheat, rye, barley, spelt, and in some cases, oats. Many people with the disease also have trouble digesting dairy.

What happens if you have celiac disease and eat those things? Well, it depends. Basically, though, eating gluten will trigger a process whereby your body tries to digest itself. It’s pretty gross.

Celiac has lots of symptoms, both long and short term. For me it means severe intestinal distress, internal bleeding, neurological problems (including numb patches on my skin and aphasia). Mid-term consequences for me have included mental health issues (depression, problem with anger control, panic attacks). Long-term, because I was not diagnosed with the disease until I was in my 30s (and we’ll talk about that in a moment), it’s meant irreversible damage to my teeth, skin and nails.

It’s also meant I have spent a lifetime underweight being told that I was surely anorexic or bulemic. I have been bullied by peers, authority figures and even doctors to “admit” I had an eating disorder and to “confess” that I liked it. Of course, I did have a disease, but no one ever wanted to bother to find out what it was; I was just another screwed up girl, and, really, who cares about that?

You should also know that celiac disease also significantly increases the risk of many forms of cancer, epilepsy (something that impacts several celiacs I know), and infertility.

Getting diagnosed with celiac disease is a bit challenging. It mimics a lot of other illnesses, including IBS and gallbladder problems. Until relatively recently in the US it was considered a “rare childhood illness” and was viewed as temporary and unlikely. Neither of these things are true. It’s a life-long genetic condition, and in many countries in Europe blood testing for the disease markers is a routine part of preventive care before any child starts primary school.

I was only diagnosed with celiac because after my doctor said “maybe it’s cancer” and “let’s take out your gallbladder and see what happens” after months of being too ill to eat (and being told to just eat crackers — so helpful!) and losing weight I didn’t have to lose, I freaked out and started Googling. I quickly discovered a list of symptoms (I had 19 out of 20) and a list of diseases that celiac is often mistaken for (I’d been diagnosed with or considered for diagnosis with 17 out of 20).

When I eliminated gluten from my diet, 48 hours later I felt healthier than I ever had in my life. At 33. I’d been sick for 33 years and no one had figured it out, or even accepted I was ill. I was too skinny because I was a picky eater; I spent too long in the bathroom because I was trying to avoid my family; my hair and skin were like that because I was dirty; my teeth… well, that was just because I was a ugly; and I was angry because I just wasn’t a good girl.

It was very strange to be 33 and suddenly feel good when I didn’t know I hadn’t really for all those years before. It was very strange to be 33 and finally feel like I could be attractive. And it was very strange to realize I wasn’t the bad, “crazy” ex-girlfriend, but someone who had been struggling with a lot of neurological issues that removing gluten from my diet abated, giving me the room to unlearn the terrible habits I had in response to them.

Being gluten-free means I feel good and can have the life I want. But it also means my groceries cost a lot more than yours as alternatives to gluten-based products (like bread made from rice, potato or corn flour) can be very expensive.

It means shopping takes longer (I have to read labels on everything, every time in case there’s a reformulation).

It means some cuisines are harder than others (soy sauce commonly contains wheat and so Asian cuisines can be tricky, although wheat-free soy sauce is easily available in many supermarkets).

It means when I go to restaurants I have to be outspoken and friendly about my needs, and trust someone in the kitchen won’t roll their eyes at the “picky eater” and allow my food to be unsafe.

It means learning explain my medical condition in languages I don’t speak when I travel abroad and researching food safety laws whenever I go to foreign destinations.

It means having to decline food and drink at many social occasions to a degree that can be awkward (think unexpected business luncheons and conference dinners where the only thing you can safely eat is lettuce leaves without dressing; people ask about that, and whatever you tell them will probably make them uncomfortable.).

It means not being able to kiss my girlfriend after she eats something glutinous until she brushes her teeth.

It also means accepting that sometimes, even if I do all the right things, something will go wrong, and I will be abruptly and miserably sick. It means knowing that some of the things that are wrong with me (and not just not being able to eat gluten) will never get better — the damage was repeated too often, over too many years, for too long. And it means having to be extra inquisitive because of really crappy things that are more likely to go wrong with me.

If you frequently feel ill after eating, have trouble digesting fats, have weight problems (celiacs are often severely over or underweight, although underweight is ore common), experience intense food cravings, have any indication you may be malnourished despite eating a good diet, and these symptoms have either been a constant part of your life or appeared suddenly after a medical event (accident, childbirth, severe flu, etc. — these often trigger symptoms in those who are asymptomatic) and stayed, please discuss celiac disease with your doctor or try a gluten-free diet.

If left untreated celiac disease can be fatal and/or trigger more frequently fatal illnesses. Celiac disease also causes huge amounts of overuse of the medical system when undiagnosed people seek treatment for symptoms as opposed to managing their undiagnosed disease.

I talk about this a lot less than I used to (in part because I have to talk about the annoying logistical parts of this every day), but if you have any questions, you can go for it in comments