Guest contributor Carolyn Slutsky (sister of Matthew and Peter) is a writer in New York City, whose work has been seen in The New York Times, The Jewish Week, and other publications.

When I was a kid, we had a book about the travels and travails of the Stupid family. “The Stupids Step Out,” showed the family having “a fun-filled day doing ridiculous things,” one of which was more stupid than the next.

I haven’t thought about the book in 20 years or so, except for my mother’s occasional references to feeling like the family when we’ve all gone en mass to Target or somewhere else, well, stupid.

But last night I was reminded of this gang when I saw the premiere of TLC’s “One Big Happy Family,” a new show about two morbidly obese parents and their morbidly obese teenage children. In episode one they’re shown sitting down in and breaking dining room chairs, licking their lips over enough fried chicken to feed a Brownie troop (mmm, brownies…) and, most embarrassingly, going to a water park, where they find they are too fat to go on at least one of the rides.

Unlike many portrayals of obese people that focus on their quest to lose weight (Bob and Jillian from the Biggest Loser are surely rolling their eyes at this one), the Bigs (their name is apparently Cole, but really, who cares?) are Big and Proud. Mother Tameka, who works two jobs, claims, as she walks around the water park in a bathing suit that shows her Double MM cleavage, that people can stare all they want. Dad Norris, who doesn’t work, sort of flops along after his wife as if her were her third child. And the teens, Shayne and Amber, seem mostly content to walk around weighing more than 300 pounds.

On the surface, the family has a supreme amount of self-confidence. And they have a weekly “truth night” where they can confess all the stupid things they’ve done recently, with no consequences (Norris confesses that he added chicken flavor to Tameka’s lasagna, and she goes ballistic, though they kids like it). There’s a lot of love in these people, that’s clear. But what’s unclear is what TLC is doing by featuring this very big family. They seem just one more in a line of “different” families TLC exploits, putting them on parade for us to gawk at. Little People and Octofamilies are one thing, but really, with 33% of Americans obese now, is this family all that different? They’re like your heavy next door neighbors, and seem to be on TV only for us to laugh at, though really, is it even funny? The show weakly points to the benefits of weight loss, but is obviously mostly just a mockery.

My one hope is that the Coles are laughing all the way to the bank. With a stop along the way at KFC for a variety bucket.

My sister, Carolyn Slutsky’s piece in The Morning News. Enjoy!

PINK SUEDE SHOES

Sometimes it takes the right pair of shoes to kick you over the edge into adulthood. For writer CAROLYN SLUTSKY, it’s other people’s shoes that do the kicking.

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It was the perfect ad for me, and when I checked the address I found it was just around the corner from my apartment: “Free Women’s Shoes, Size 10.” I felt my pulse quicken. My aimless, 4 a.m.-trolling of the ads on Craigslist, that cesspool-cum-treasure-trove, had finally turned up something useful amidst the ridiculous (“YOU HAVE A DATE WITH DESTINY! Too bad Destiny’s such a lousy kisser”), the futile (“Free Sawdust—On the Curb”), and the unfortunately spelled (“dinning table set and ottoman—$150”).

Had someone already snapped them up? Was the ad just a front to lure me into someone’s clutches? I shot an email into the dark and fell into a deep sleep.

When it comes to footwear, I always hear my mother’s plaints about the dearth of large shoes and her admonishment to pounce on any pair of size 10’s I see, regardless of style, color, or utility. A lesson hard-won from a woman with size 11-wide feet and I have not ignored it.

In addition to large sizes, my mother always pushed comfort over style. Even into my twenties I owned only clunky, durable shoes, with flat bottoms and traction, always traction. I justified this fashion-backward policy more strongly when I became a journalist, telling myself I couldn’t run around the city in much short of sneakers. I could never imagine buying girly gold sandals to match a dress, or the frivolous heels I saw women teeter on around Manhattan. When I saw those girls with their impossibly tall shoes I felt contempt. Contempt, but always with an underlying tinge of envy, of covetousness.

My Craigslist find was not my first foray into the world of free, used footwear. Years ago in graduate school, poor and not particularly caring what my feet looked like, I’d scoured the DSW store in Union Square searching for black snow boots. I turned up one pair in the elusive size 10, but when I brought them up to the register, the cashier informed me that the store did not sell this shoe.

“Well, I got them over there,” I said, pointing to the haphazard stacks.

“It’s not in the computer,” she said, moving to throw them in the trash behind the counter. Someone, I realized, had switched their old shoes for whatever new pair was supposed to reside in that box.

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By Carolyn Slutsky

Sitting on my couch watching Sarah Palin speak last night was like watching a bad Hollywood movie, something from the ’70s (including the hairstyles) where this wildcard candidate comes out of nowhere and gums up the political machine (which frankly, and obviously, needed a total rehab before she came to the scene anyway) and steals the show and no one quite knows how or why. In her speech she was sneering and whiney and at one point sounded like the seemingly cool girl who secretly has low self-esteem and taunts the loser kids in the cafeteria, imploring commentators that she didn’t care what they thought of her. Nyah nyah.

But what is most insulting about this whole process is the idea that women are simply interchangeable, that, oh well, Hillary didn’t work out, let’s grab at some other person with a pair of breasts and call it even. Of course there are staunch feminists and former Hillary supporters who might find the Palin pick validating and, hoping for John McCain’s imminent demise, vote for her with the expectation that we could still, somehow, one day in the next four years, have a female president. If things had gone differently and Obama had been unable to continue his run, and if either party had gone out and found another black candidate to switch in for him, it would be considered overt racism. But somehow, with women, it’s just fine to assume that this kind of tokenism will fly. And, it seems, it does. Forget experience. Forget policy. Sarah and Hillary are suddenly political sisters riding the same train to the White House and everyone should just jump aboard and ask questions later.

Women have come farther than to allow themselves to be duped in this way, to be told we are all the same or let the ability to wear a skirt in public dictate public policy and political choice. Just because she’s a woman and the idea of a woman president is exciting and long overdue does not make Sarah Palin qualified to lead this country.

Because to paraphrase the immortal words of this YouTube video, just because I saw a vagina once, or have one, does that make me a gynecologist?

Carolyn Slutsky (sister of Matthew and Peter) is a writer in New York City, whose work has been seen in The New York Times, The Jewish Week, and other publications.

OK, we’re not just politics! I’d like you all to take a quick look at the article written by our sister, Carolyn B. Slutsky. She is a journalism student in NYC and had her first ever article published in the New York Times! Great job Carolyn, you are significantly smarter than either Peter or I will ever be.

By CAROLYN SLUTSKY
February 19, 2006

THEY were a staple of Communist Poland, punishingly drab restaurants in which the menu was scrawled on a handwritten board above the cash register, room-temperature yogurt drinks sat lined up on the counter, and waitresses in smocks served food on trays through a small window.

They are called milk bars, and despite their utter lack of charm, they are beloved by people who grew up in Communist Poland and remain popular there today. They are so beloved, in fact, that they also endure in the traditionally Polish neighborhood of Greenpoint, Brooklyn, even as the area is being fast transformed by an influx of non-Poles and artists and the prospect of development along the waterfront.
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