Not So Mellow Yellow

We painted our house. Rather, I helped power wash, scrape, and tape and my husband painted the house. It's Hawaiian Pineapple yellow. I'm not one for subtle color choices. I've always wanted a yellow house. Yellow houses are happy, adorable, and quaint little abodes that express charm and personality. Some of the most surprising reactions to our color choice are as follows:

1. When he finished the east side of the house, I took out the trash and admired the color in the bright sun. I promptly sneezed. I sneeze in bright light. I sneeze after being in a dark move theater. I sneeze if someone's headlights are too bright on the highway. I found it highly entertaining that our new house color made me sneeze. I repeated this reaction on subsequent attempts to enjoy the new color.

When your sneeze is powerful enough to create an uplifting experience for your buddy.

2. Our neighbor two doors down came to admire our house. She introduced herself and we chitchatted about how much she respected our work ethic and our color choice. She loves yellow. Of course, then she proceeded to proselytize for her Baptist church which has apparently been newly renovated and is just down the street. *sigh

Goat giving side eye because he can't believe you went there.

3. Another neighbor who was driving down the street stopped to talk to my husband about the color. He opened with, "Let me guess: your wife chose the color?" When my husband confirmed the assumption, the man grumpily stated, "I hate yellow," at which point my husband disengaged and went back to work. The man drove off. Wow.  Today he drove by and gave a friendly smile and wave to my husband, so I guess it wasn't personal. Maybe just expressing his deep sympathy for my husband's arduous task of dealing with such a terrible hue as yellow.

You're absolutely right, bro. It's awful. Let's go tell my wife to change it.

4. My husband posted updates on his Facebook about our progress. He showed pictures of the post wash/scrape endeavors. Then he posted each side as it got coated in yellow paint. When he posted the final picture, we got a lot of"Good jobs" and "Looks great!" However, one person he knows who used to live by him growing up expressed her sympathy for our neighbors. She took some heat from some friends of ours. Then she said that sometimes we're too close and love something so much we can't see how ugly it really is. This incurred more bulldog support from our other friends. Seriously--it was this huge FB argument over the color of our house. I made jokes about it. My husband said he wanted to put googly eyes on it, which I granted so long as he put feathers on the chimney like Big Bird. Needless to say, the opposition got irate and eventually called people names until my hubby shut her down. Over. A. Yellow. House.

Oh. You think our house is ugly? This is what I think of your opinion.

So, what have I learned about yellow houses? They force sneezes from my nose. They encourage our neighbors to save our souls, commiserate over spousal choices, as well as argue ridiculously and meanly online. It also prompted some rather amusing Sponge Bob jokes like "Does Patrick live down the street?" and "Who lives in a pineapple just down the street?" Whatever people's reactions, they are theirs and theirs alone. I will take the sneezes and the Sponge Bob jokes, but the rest shall run off my shoulders like so much rain. I've got bigger fish to fry in life than worry about the color of my neighbor' houses.

To Give a Fuck Freely

I enjoy swearing. I find it useful and I do not get offended easily by cussing such as shit, hell, damn, or fuck. I don't even mind the occasional cunt comment in conversation or media. I do mind when someone tries to judge me or shame me for my word choice because I have yet to meet someone who condemns swearing for reasons other than personal beliefs that are contradicted by actual evidence.

I'd need a much larger jar.

Earlier this week, my belly dance instructor approached me. After the last restaurant performance, she asked the two who were with her about creating a possible code of conduct so to speak. Essentially, do I think it's necessary and would I have any input? I could see it as a guideline for anyone who wants to move up to the level of dancing at the restaurant. I know it would've helped me with things like costumes and other etiquette that I had to learn along the way; however, my instructor mentioned in particular swearing and how one of my fellow dancers needs to stop the cussing.

This is the same person who argued with my husband that "retard" is an acceptable synonym for stupid.

Here is where I acknowledge her point of view: It is a business she runs. When we go to class, we are in her business space which she rents from a local museum. Museum staff and other members of the public could pop in at any point. My instructor's 13 year old daughter is also a part of classes and other people have brought their children to classes before. Consequently, I totally get needing to monitor our language. It wouldn't be a positive image for someone to come check out the belly dance scene and hear us talking like proverbial sailors. Parents of children present have a right to request that we watch our language as by law, swearing at or around children is considered abuse. The same holds for any time we are representing the dance group at community events and especially at the restaurant. We must create a professional and classy image to dispel the myth of belly dance being in any way vulgar. BTW, if you've seen vulgar belly dance, then I am truly sorry. What you saw was likely a bastardization of the dance rather than a form of artistry.

This is not belly dance. If you equate belly dance to burleseque or exotic dancing, then you need to Google Ruby Beh, Silvia Salamanca, or Tito Seif.

Anyway, my instructor believes that how we speak is a reflection on our reputation, on the troupe, and on her. I agree to a point. I raised the idea that while I believe that time and place and behavior are indeed important to our mission as a troupe, when I'm on my own time at a house party or even in the community, I can engage in some tirades of the tongue; just because that may get back to her does not mean it's her business nor does it follow that she needs to intercede or "handle" the situation. I was really interested where she was going with establishing a boundary for the proposed code. She made the comparison to the guards at Arlington Cemetary who follow a code their entire lives and if they disparage that code, then they relinquish their title and honor in the guard.

I shit you not. She compared our duty as members of the troupe to Arlington Cemetary guards.

We are not military. We are not honor bound in that way. Furthermore, I will not give up my right to freefloating cursing to her for any kind of sanitizinging, permission, or censorship outside of my role as a belly dancer. I am, as are my fellow dancers, an adult. She did mention that she has no intention of being our mommy or policing us, but at the same time, why bring up the Arlington reference?

She also mentioned in what I interpreted as a wee bit snooty and judgey tone that if I choose to cuss, it reflects on me. She continued that she believes as her grandfather taught her that people swear when they lack other vocabulary for the situation. She feels that when she has resorted to swearing it was because she was acting like a moron. I'd kind of like to see that actually, but that's a different tale to follow.

You know if we could understand them, these two are not avoiding the expletives.

"You're my bitch now, Mousie."

"Holy shit! Where's Dangermouse when you fucking need him?"

I completely disagree with her on all these points. My vocabulary reflects on me negatively only if I cannot change it to reflect the setting and purpose. I do not swear openly at class for the reasons included previously in this post. I do not swear freely at work because that would be unprofessional and a violation of the behavior expected of someone in my position. I would curtail my cursing out of respect for my instructor and her business so that the image people have of us as dancers is positive. Furthermore, read any studies on linguistics lately and you will discover that they have found swearing is part of a complete, well-balanced vocabulary. In fact, people who swear more have higher vocabulary usage and fluency according to Stephanie Hayes at The Atlantic. In her article from January/February 2016 "A Strategic Guide to Swearing," that using swear words " is not the result of a limited vocabulary or a lack of imagination." Additionally, "casual" cursing actually serves a purpose by being the right word for the right context. We don't swear because we don't have other wording; we swear because those are the words that our language has to fit that emotion or situation. If I'm really hopping mad about something, I know that swearing my ass off is a great way to vent. My cats probably could tell you stories of my dastardly creativity when it comes to configuring variations of the word fuck in particular. Moreover, swearing is also connected with increased pain tolerance,  improving morale among coworkers,  and enhancing persuasion in some settings including politics.

Let's not forget funny. Castiel trying to swear during this scene makes me laugh every time. It's iconic in the Supernatural fandom for a reason.

Scientific American also took up this issue in the article "Is Swearing a Sign of Limited Vocabulary" by PIercarlo Valdesolo. I encourage you to read the whole thing, but in short. No.

Absofuckinglutely no, sprinkling your conversation with intermittent shits or damns or bloody hells does not indicate any kind of dysfunction with your intelligence, creativity, or vocabulary. The article goes so far as to say that "a fluency with taboo words might be a sign of general verbal fluency" up to and including "exceptionally vulgar" word choice with being "exceptionally eloquent and intelligent". After three studies of verbal fluency, the data did not support the assumption that swearing is an indicator of anything other than a person's ability to choose words for certain and correct circumstances even if someone may consider the cussing less acceptable than any other verbiage. The author stated that cussing can be "creative, smart and even downright lyrical."

C'mon! Be honest. Who can deny the musciality of "Shut your fucking face, uncle fucker"?

Along with those articles, Tiffanie Wen writes for BBC Future and notes further fascinating facts in her article "The Surprising Benefits of Swearing." Not only does she point out the function of swearing as having a positive impact on pain tolerance and persuasion, but also that in some situations it might actually bond people together. The article refers to a case in New Zealand where members of the same work group swore more with each other, but less with members from other work groups. When we are comfortable and familiar with our surroundings and people, we tend to swear. The article also points out that it's not true that Japan has no swear words. A variety of terms for sex and poopoo exist as do a plethora of ways to insult one another making the way Westerners swear at one another largely unnecessary. Japanese apparently has far more options for being crude than English does. We English speakers are clearly shitty at swearing and need to stop our damnable slacking.

This goat's too tired to gratify your need for new curse words.

Cocksucker. Let me sleep.

With all this evidence, I reject anyone's assumption that my swearing or anyone else's for that matter is shameful or indicating a lack of intelligence or vocabulary. I took that FB quiz and my vocabulary is at about 30, 0000 thank you. My IQ is well above average. With all that taken together, I know when to let loose the fucks and when not to. I know when and what curse word best suits my purpose whether it's bitching or boasting. I have fun creating inventive variations of swear words like "fucksticks and lollipops!" Even though I know that words invoke literal and connotative or even deeply personal reactions, I will freely offer my fucks, my shits, my bastards, and my bloody fuckin' hells when I deem it suitable whether my instructor or anyone of her ilk chooses to look down their noses at me or not. Fuck 'em.

Hair's the Thing

Have you indulged in Netflix's Stranger Things yet? We binged it yesterday despite the Netflix snafu that forced us to watch the last two episodes via the app on my husband's smartphone. In the series, a key character named Eleven, or El for short, has a shaved head. It's not bald mind you, just very closely shorn. I must admit, in the early episodes I mistook El for a boy, which was the intent mind you. The short hair, the nondescript clothing, and the lack of distinct female physical attributes like breasts and hips would make you think male at first. She looked a lot like a young Wil Wheaton honestly.

Seriously. Half inch hair and they could be twins from separate generations.

 As  I watched, my mind wondered a bit as to explore the gender stereotype of hair. I have for the last two years worn my hair in a pixie cut. It's actually barely longer than the girl in Stranger Things when it's just visited the salon, so why did I assume boy not girl?

Baby moose: boy or girl? You can't tell can you? Probably not important anyway.

I've been mistaken for a boy before, before I had breasts anyway. As a child, my hair was sometimes to my shoulders, but then Dorothy Hammill and the wedge became popular. Since I hated having my mom curl my hair and she I am sure did not enjoy arguing the point with me, I chopped my hair in grade school, and it has only a few times since then touched my shoulders.

This goat has longer locks than I ever did.

The first time I elected to grow out my hair, I was in college. My husband still clings to a picture of me with my red, soft curls that was taken on the day I graduated from college. I grew it out because I planned on a life in classical theater, which meant my hair needed to be versatile (i.e. long). I'd play with it from time to time--back in combs, ponytails, braids, or a twist. However, it never really felt like me. I was always waiting for another part so that it could mold into the character rather than mold into me.

Wigs of course were the other option. Oh joy. Hold me back from my enthusiasm.

After college, I began trimming it shorter and shorter. Eventually it was not long enough to even  remotely call it a bob, but more of a longish pixie.

This guinea pig? Still longer hair than mine.

I tried to grow it out again a few years ago. I made it to just above shoulder length. I could feel it graze my shoulders at times, but it still wasn't long enough to really be pulled back into something that was an authentic ponytail. My favorite styling technique was to use hair glue and scrunch my hair as I dried it. That gave it curl without rollers. However, it required so much effort. I grew tired of having to give over so much time to style my hair. Consequently, I cut it off again.

Just get the clippers, 'k?

Long hair to me is boring and time-consuming. I don't really feel like myself with long hair either. I grow disinterested in styling it, so I pull it back with ponytails or headbands. I grow annoyed at having to blow it dry in the mornings or having to somehow compensate the lack of fullness on the right side vs. the volume on the left (I sleep on my right side). I live in a very windy city, so the hair in my face and the knots from being whipped around are tiresome. I don't enjoy my husband accidentally pinning my hair under his arm during sex. I didn't enjoy waking up to a cat sleeping on my hair so a get a good yank at my roots first thing in the morning. Long hair and I simply don't get along well enough for me to consider having it. Therefore, it struck me as funny that I still assumed boy because El had such short hair. Of course, the director wanted the audience to assume boy so the face of El was often in shadows or at an indirect angle; it was intentional and I didn't question her gender until the other boys realized El was a girl and revealed it to us.

In retrospect, no. Not shocking.

It's interesting though how much society wants to reinforce gender roles through hair. On the one hand, characters in novels like Outlander have long, unruly hair both as men and women. If you watch Vikings, men and women both can have long hair. However, in the 1960s and 70s, men with long hair were the subject of ridicule and faced scorn from their own family. Over hair! How strange to look through history and then pause to consider the culture war of the hippie era. Bizarre. Women's hair though? Somewhat the opposite.

Probably a wig. Have you seen some of the decorations women were supposed to wear in their hair and wigs way back when? It's a wonder there weren't more neck injuries.

In the 1920's for example, bobbing one's hair was scandalous. In "Bernice Bobs Her Hair," a young woman chops her locks after being humiliated and goaded into seeking popularity and social acceptance by her cousin. While suggesting the cut and talking about it hypothetically brings Bernice some social gains, her jealous cousin forces her into actually taking action. The haircut results in an unflattering hairdo, the character is shunned, and before leaving, she exacts revenge on her meanie cousin care of a pair of scissors; a little turnabout is fair play. A bad haircut and regretting it afterward is a fear of many. I am always wary until I truly trust my stylist, which I fortunately do. However, in Fitzgerald's story, the bob makes the women ugly unlike Lady Mary's triumphant bob in Downton Abbey.

I said a little off the back. A little!

Women would also sell their hair for money at other times in history. Should they find themselves pregnant and/or without a means of supporting themselves, they could sell the hair. Short hair then was a sign of shame or poverty or perhaps even disease. Not exactly savory ideas for a woman. It seems a rather obvious way to identify and oppress a woman. After all, what did women have other than the ability to sell their bodies whether it be in parts or as a whole?

I'm sure that only happened in fiction...right?

Last weekend, I had a few days with two of my oldest and dearest friends. One of them inquired about my short hair. It's not terribly shorter than it was when she saw me last year, but she asked about it anyway. She had hair to her waist in college--long, thick, and a lovely blend of honey and red tones. Now she has it short, and it's usually a wild color like orange or blue. Anyway, she commented on how I've always had short hair, but she didn't recall me ever having so short for so long. I told her how I just don't have the patience for long hair now. I told her how much easier short hair is. It's truly wash and go. I absolutely love it short. She commented on how she missed having her own curtain to block out people by hiding behind her hair. I remember that, too. It could fall down around you almost like a protective shield.

Well, that's one way to avoid people I guess.

Another friend this week commented on how I continue to rock the short hair. I thanked her for the compliment. She's got shoulder length hair. In the time I've known her, she's had her hair to her waist, but she's also had it so short it had to be clippered in the back.

The real terms of their relationship revealed, Han and Chewie move to another star system and open the most successful hair salon in the universe.

From these two encounters, I get the impression that one may be considering short hair again; the other was actually needing a referral for another person who wanted a stylist good with short hair. Me though? I'm not inclined to grow mine out any time soon. Aside of the boredom and maintenance, I also don't want to hide anymore. I'm done hiding behind my hair. I am working really hard to live the life I choose under the terms that I believe with my whole body and mind.  Doing what I want with my hair is part of that.

Shaved kitteh is bringing sexy back.

While I choose to have short hair, El in Stranger Things did not. Her short hair served a darker purpose, although she did seem very uncomfortable with the long, blonde wig; perhaps she'd choose short hair anyway. El definitely made me stop and ponder though. Hair is part of how we project our identity, but rigid assumptions about hair and gender are oddly skewed and deeply ingrained. Perhaps as time goes by, we'll rely less and less on having to define ourselves as gender this and gender that based on appearances or something as mutable as hair length. Maybe.

Weekend at Carnie's

Last winter Netflix and Amazon Prime wells ran dry. My husband and I found and binged "Carnivale" as we waited for some of our other regular shows to be released. While the show was slow to start, I did enjoy it. I was taken by the dedication to produce a show set in a 1930s era traveling circus. The dirt, the hard work, the cars, and the costumes. It really caught my attention. In it, the performers who were big draws got to sleep in their own wagons or tents while the carnies slept under the trucks. Not horribly glamorous traveling with the big top. Guess what? Modern carnies and vendors don't have it much better.

Thankfully, there weren't any scary Gary Busey clowns.

I had the chance to travel to a belly dance festival in Seattle, Washington earlier this month. My husband and I offered to help our troupe's costumer manage her booth at the event. She would have three tents. No one else I saw had a spot that big. Our job was simple: set up, sell, and tear down. In return, we'd get transportation, food, and some nifty additions to our own belly dance gear. Sounds great right? Well in a lot of ways it was, but it's definitely not a glamorous life.

Saying it was glamorous is like saying a honey badger is cuddly. No really Mr. Snake, the honey badger just wants a hug...

Let's consider sleeping arrangements first. The venue did not have a nearby RV lot or campground. Venders either spent the night in their tents on the lot or pumped up an air mattress and stayed in their travel vehicle/trailer, or packed up their gear and stayed off site only to return and set back up again for day two. We pumped up air mattresses and stayed inside the tent of wares on the site. It was humid. It was a public park. It didn't have security the first night. It didn't have a bathroom available between about 10pm and 8am. It had crows that didn't believe in sleeping in. I did not know these things ahead of time.

Judgy Goat thinks you should ask more questions next time. Screw you, Judgy Goat.

I'm no sttranger to sleeping outdoors in a tent. That was fine. I understand that as a vendor, you want to keep overhead low. Staying at a hotel, even a cheap one, for two nights would eat profits. It also would mean trusting your merchandise to be all right over night even though the security guard decided not to show the first night and couldn't be replaced at short notice. It also meant that early the next morning, you had to move all your personal gear out and set up the tent for sales, hopefully before being beseiged by crowds of shoppers. We got the air mattresses and luggage out, but we weren't totally set up before sales started.

You got your bra on before the crowds showed up. Well done.

Not having a security guard presented a problem to those vendors who didn't stay with their gear. It meant that passersby could peek into the tents during the night without problems. In fact, just as we were settling in our first night, I heard giggling and talking. We had just put heads on pillows for a much deserved sleep when three young adults came by. My husband gallantly threw aside the tent flap and greeted them with a loud, "How ya doin'?" They were appropriately flustered and rattled. Then we thought they had moved along. However, we heard giggling again a short time later and smelled the ever unmistakeable stench of marijuana. We figured out which tent it was coming from, and we knew that vendor was not staying on site. So we began talking loudly enough about the situation that whoever was in that tent heard us, stopped talking, and eventually moved along. About 3am there was another disturbance where someone tossed back a tent flap and discovered two of the other vendors who were sleeping with their merchandise. The discovery scared the crap out of all involved. Not exactly a restful evening. It did not help moods or tempers the next day, yet we managed to put in another hot and humid and hard ass day on about 3-4 hours of highly interrupted sleep while still managing to be nice to customers.

Of course I'm in a good mood. Just check out my winning smile. 

The lack of bathroom was a bit more troublesome, though. We were apparently supposed to have access to a key to use one of the bathrooms of the community center that was on site. Nopers. Good thing I peed before we left the restaurant after our late dinner. We had to brush teeth and spit without sinks rather like camping actually. In the morning though, I was not about to go strolling down the block or block and half to the grocery store to relieve my overfull bladder. Urgent need requires urgent solutions. Cue the shadowy shrubbery. It also meant we could not shower nor wash our faces at night or in the morning. Luckily, our vendor friend planned ahead and bought some unscented baby wipes. Those washed my face that first night and my pits the next morning. Fortunately, the next night someone had a key so we could avoid the shadowy shrubbery, but still no showers. It was hot during the day. It was also humid. We were grimey and ripe after working 12 hour days and sleeping in that tent. No deoderant or baby wipe was going to change that less than fresh feeling, but at least it held the body odor in check.

Best not stand downwind, bro.

Compounding the interruptions of sleep were Charlie and his gang. Charlie is the name given to a crow at the park who repeatedly cawed his alarms from about 530am onward. Of course, it wasn't just one crow, but rather all crows became  Charlie who we cussed out and shook fists at. Whenever we heard the crow yell, we sharply yelled back at Charlie. All crows were Charlie and Charlie was an asshole. By the end of tear down, we were so fatigued and in need of sleep. But because the park officially closed the event at 730pm, we had to drive two hours to a KOA that had open bathrooms, showers, and was next to a highway. A really loud highway. Apparently people who drive on highways in Washington in the wee hours do not believe in mufflers.

Hey, at least you had a real shower and slept in a real bed there, Missy.

Yet another night of interrupted sleep on an air matress in a tent. However, we did get a much needed shower the next morning although my toes still needed a good scrubbing when I got home. You see, it rained that morning at the KOA--a light, steady, slightly chilly rain. Consequently, we got rinsed off just in time to get dirty again.

Yup. That's right. Cleaned off one layer of dirt just in time for a new layer that stayed on us for 12 hours in a truck on the way home.

I don't share this tale to whine or complain or draw your pity. I share it because it offers a lot of perspective on the people you see selling items at festivals and carnivals. If they have merchandise in an EZ Up tent, chances are that they slept there that night. Chances are good they didn't sleep well nor did they have a chance to attend to proper hygiene ettiquette. They're likely tired and overworked, and hungry. Did I forget that part? We had some fruit and meat/cheese/crackers in a cooler at the tent, but the crowds are dizzying, which means you don't really get  a chance to eat until many hours later. A strawberry here and there was not enough to sustain us through the heat and high traffic to the booth. About 3p the first day I finally scampered off to get us gyros from the food truck. We took turns eating. Same thing happened the next day. Next time you're at a festival, I hope you think about these words when you interact with the vendors. If they're friendly and helpful, appreciate it. If they're less than friendly or even a little testy and dirty, cut them some slack. It's not an easy gig.

Working It Out

I remember growing up that we'd sometimes do tumbling in elementary school PE. I actually liked this part of PE. Way better than those stupid rope climbing bullshit activities they'd sometimes make us do. Sometimes, we'd do that airplane move where you partner up and one person balances their hips on the other person's feet while that person is on  their back with their legs extended. I also recall doing this move with a friend of mine in a play where we were all an ensemble cast who were creating interesting tableaus while two people were acting out their scene. It was cool. I enjoyed it.

This was never me. Respect, young man. Respect.

Fast forward 30 years. Earlier this week, I amused myself with a read of a HuffPo article "The Best Workout For Your Zodiac Sign." This is what it said:

Gemini

Your sign in a nutshell: You hate monotony and gravitate toward workouts with a lot of variety. Friends play a big role—you’re incredibly social and love to work out with other people. That helps counteract your sometimes inconsistent nature, because you’ll show up if you know someone is waiting for you.

The workout for you: AcroYoga. This yoga variation involves working with a partner to get into poses ranging from simple to very complex, with you sometimes supporting their weight and vice versa. Working toward new poses will satisfy your need for change and your love of learning.

Run that by me again, please because I couldn't have understood you correctly.

Variety? Yes.

Incredibly social and love to work out with other people? Hells no! I finished PE requirements in high school and have no intention to revisit them in my adult life. The idea of a spin class sounds boring and being social during the class does not make it appeal any more to me. Talking and being social when I work out is also not of interest. If I'm going to work out, I am going to work out. Leave me be. I try to work out at home before my husband wakes up even so as not to have a witness or conversation while I sweat. In years past, I've tried working out at a gym made just for women. I also tried working out at the staff gym. Nope. Not for me.

Need for change and love of learning? You bet! I get that from belly dance and other avenues though. No need for more.

AcroYoga? Fascinating. It reminds me of the airplane game. I do yoga every morning thanks to a delightful YouTube channel, Strala at Home by Tara Stiles. She's fantastic and her routines are easy to follow, although I do not do any of the headstands. That's not something someone who had cervical vertebrae fusions should do in my book. My neurosurgeon concurs. However, my yoga time is my me time in the morning. I stretch and if I flub the movements no one sees me other than my cats. I can live with that. I'm not sure how I feel about duo yoga though.

No one needs to see me do this thanks.

Consequently, I posted this article and renounced its validity. However, two of my close friends asserted that number one, I do belly dance, so working out in front of people shouldn't be an issue. Another close friend asserted that I would likely enjoy AcroYoga and that she could see me doing it.

Bird says, "Nope."

I feel I must clarify that belly dance is not a gym type workout class. It's a dance class where we work on technique and precision of an artform. It is more like a rehearsal for a play than a kettlebell class. Seriously. Worlds apart in intention and gathering purpose. Our goal is not to get sweaty, toned, or to burn calories. It's to perfect movements and then use those movements to interpret music. It's artistry. While I concede that it is social as we've all become close to one another, and it is a weight bearing form of exercise according to physiology know-it-alls, it does not fit the description from the original article of my being "incredibly social" and loving "to work out with other people." If you asked the women in that class who've known me since I started, I don't think a single one would say that I am "incredibly social." After 9 years with some of them though, I have relaxed and gained some comfortability with them so they get to see my weird side from time to time.

Really, they don't mind the weirdness.

Now for my other friend's assertion that she could see me doing AcroYoga. Honestly, it's beautiful to watch. I found a YouTube video posted by Hagar Tsabar on June 15, 2013. The first thing that struck me about this video is the smile the woman gives the man right as she's moving into their first combined pose. That smile says it all about their relationship. If my husband wanted to do this, I would do it with him...if my neurosurgeon signed off on it. However, to just walk into a class cold and have to build that kind of trust with another person....not so much.

WTH? How cool is that?

There's a definite level of intimacy to the practice that I'm not so sure I want to explore with a stranger. Maybe a few years ago when I was in my 20's? Yeah, maybe then. Now I'm 42, riddled with a variety of physical maladies, and let's face it: curmudgeonly. Honestly, being that up close and personal with another person? Yowzer! This style of yoga is incredibly demanding of both people physically and emotionally. I hate starting down a path and being disappointed as I was in community theater for instance, but that's a different story.

I feel your disappointment, Yoda.

Anyway, to recap, being social does not motivate me to go work out in public. Belly dance has very little in common with working out with people in the traditional sense. AcroYoga is cool and people who do it deserve respect. However, after considering all arguments, I can't change my original reaction:

Oh sweet prince, you know me well.

High Noon at the Pharmacy

I went to the grocery store the other day. I've always rather enjoyed the idea that I can buy a few things for dinner and also pick up my prescription at one place, which I needed to do that afternoon. My daily medication to manage my lupus was gone, so I needed to pick that up along with some produce. I mosey over to the pharmacy, park my cart out of other people's way, and step into the line behind an older gentleman, who perhaps was about 75-80 years old. As he awkwardly walked to the counter (one of his legs seemed to be shorter than the other accounting for his awkward gait), I noticed on his hip an automatic handgun. I froze and stared at it.

Yes, Doctor. Really.

My brain started running through every possible explanation for why this man felt the need to carry a handgun into the pharmacy of a grocery store--did he have a badge, was he in charge of a prisoner, was something going on around me that I was not aware of like a law enforcement exercise, or was this guy so serious about needing his meds right now that he wasn't taking no for an answer? None of that applied. He simply had a gun on his hip because under our state law, he can. Then I had to wonder how complicated would it be to transfer my prescription right then so I could remove myself from the area without being harmed--but where to? I already had all my groceries and I needed my medication. I could not help but feel like this guy was holding my prescription hostage just by the mere presence of the gun in his holster. My ears started to work again and heard him ask the woman at the counter if she could just refill the empty med containers he had. She politely explained that store policy states new labels, new containers every time. He countered with the idea that it seems more sustainable to reuse the plastic containers he had. I am not kidding; this fellow was clearly environmentally conscientious, which then made me wonder what he was going to do if she again refused to refill his bottles. Would he pull the gun and make her refill them? I simply didn't know his intention. I felt unsafe and stuck, held captive by my need  for food and medicine and this man's desire to exercise what is considered by many to be a right protected by our country's Constitution. 

No, Clint. Stop nodding your head. This isn't one of your movies.

Like many in the United States, I have grappled with the second amendment right versus mass shootings and accidental shootings and whether or not restricting gun ownership is the way to make us safer. I have tried to understand arguments from multiple points of view. I have endeavored to reconcile America's love affair with guns and my own disinterest in them. I can honestly say that while I do not enjoy shooting ranges or hunting, I don't think others should be disallowed from enjoying those pursuits. Just because I didn't fall in love with shooting a revolver at a target does not mean someone else like my cousins shouldn't be allowed to learn how to safely handle firearms. I didn't grow up hunting for meat for our freezer, but I know many who do. I enjoy pheasant and venison jerky that hunters make possible. However, I also know people are alive who seek to use guns for other purposes. Therefore, we need to figure out a way to make it possible for people like my cousins to enjoy their hobby while also making it harder for someone to obtain a gun, go to a nightclub, and shoot as many people as possible for no other reason than his own warped ideology and self-loathing. 

Yes, Lisa. We can find a way.

I won't bore you with statistics comparing America's gun violence to other countries like Sweden or Australia. Mainly, I won't do this because it's been done countless times before. I also won't do this because I read an article some months ago positing the idea that comparing ourselves to those countries is really just reinforcing all kinds of bias. Apparently the U.S. should really compare itself to other countries from South America for example because we have more in common with them than Scandinavia or Australia. It skews data to only look at developed countries apparently. If we get past our xenophobic stat jumble and compare the U.S. murder rate to Mexico and Venezuela and Argentina and Turkey, the U.S. doesn't look so bad. The author from the Mises Institute, Ryan McMaken, titles his article "The Mistake of Only Comparing US Murder Rates to 'Developed' Countries" to point out potential bias in the gun debate. I get that. As I read it, I could see his point, but I also felt like it was making excuses not to enact sensible gun restrictions. It felt like he was doing the gun lobby's job for them by assuaging our country's guilty conscience to remain inactive on the issue. I think he's wrong to dismiss gun-related deaths in favor of murder stats only. I think suicide, accidents, and mass shootings are all fair game in this debate, and they all need to be considered. When I think about how women and children are disproportionally impacted by gun violence, I think we need to start with a broad definition. If a man takes a gun, shoots his wife, children, and then himself, his act of suicide would remove this scenario from the data if we look just at murders. If a kid finds a loaded gun and shoots herself or a sibling, that's an accident, not murder and therefore not admitted to the data. While not relying on statistics is a good idea since so little data is available due to laws that prevent research into the topic, it seems reasonable to look at other arguments. However, not beginning with gun-related deaths does not cover the whole scope of the issue, and McMaken is just as guilty of statistic manipulation; he's just very upfront about it.

This kitteh vigorously opposes not including all gun-related deaths. He also uses Pantene.

Anyway, as I have mulled over the situation that confronted me at the pharmacy, I've also been sorting through Orlando, Sandy Hook, and so many accidental shootings that it gets overwhelming. I turned my attention to trying to understand the counter arguments. I teach my students that in order to formulate a sound position, you need to show you've considered the opposite view, so I dedicated some time to that. One of my favorite counter arguments that makes me knit my brow and offer some side eye is the good guy with a gun. Wow--it just speaks to America's hero worship that a bystander with a gun can go Die-Hard and save the masses. Until recently though, no good guy with a gun and been all that successful in the last 30 years of available information. Then something interesting happened. An acquaintance of mine on Facebook posted a news report from Augusta, Maine where two armed bystanders stopped a shooting in progress at a Walmart parking lot. Cue heroic fanfare. The report posted on June 27, 2016 under the heading "Augusta police: Legally armed bystanders break up Walmart shooting" by Meilin Topkins at News Center. Essentially, some individuals involved in heroin trafficking got into an argument and opened fire at each other. Two individuals who happened to be armed stepped in and somehow stopped further shooting by the suspects. My acquaintance who posted this report is faithful to his right to keep and bear arms. He asked the question when he posted as to why cops are dedicated to the notion that bystanders with guns should be "good witnesses" and not get involved since in this case, it seems good guys with guns were effective. While I was surprised that the situation resolved rather than escalated, I also couldn't find evidence that the armed bystanders actually drew weapons. Perhaps updates will reveal they did, but how exactly they stopped the situation seemed to be missing from the reports. Also, this was an argument between drug dealers, not a mass shooting or accident scenario. By interfering, the bystanders took an enormous risk that luckily paid off for them. I think about what could have gone wrong, which is likely why cops caution bystanders to be witnesses, not participants. You see, by inserting themselves, they could've drawn focus off the suspects and instead, directed the bullets at themselves; one was grazed by a bullet. They also could've opened fire toward other bystanders increasing the risk of injury and so called collateral damages. Additionally, think back to when Gabby Giffords was shot. A good guy with a gun who was there, Joe Zamudio, said that had he fired, he would've hit the wrong person. 

Pretty big oops I'd say.

According to available information on shootings from Politico writer Matt Valentine in his piece "The Myth of the Good Guy With the Gun", the average person is more likely to be hit by an ordinary citizen rather than a mass shooter.  Therefore, the likelihood that someone not involved in the Walmart incident was at higher risk from the good guys, not the criminals. Unlike our Walmart situation, in 2014 more deaths from arguments involving shootings occurred than in shootings committed during felonies, drug trafficking, or gang violence combined.  That's from America only statistics, not any comparisons to other countries developed or not. This tells me that the Maine Walmart incident is the exception and should not be used as evidence to encourage the good guy myth as it was drug trafficking. It tells me that the larger issue of deaths from guns comes from other situations where a so called good guy might not be around.  It tells me that this incident needs to be considered as gun-related violence to fully address any kind of restrictive laws on gun ownership; ignoring it because it's not a murder helps no one. I also doubt the fellow at the pharmacy would've made a lick of difference in the same situation, but I may have been caught in crossfire had he drawn. 

Knights in shining armor are the things of legend and don't belong in this discussion.

While the good guys in Maine had full knowledge of shots being fired in the parking lot, and they likely could pinpoint who the shooters were, good guys who carry are also more likely to misidentify an object someone else is holding as a gun. Think about reports where a police officer shot at a suspect because he/she thought the suspect had a gun, but it turns out to be a candy bar instead. Derek Beres in "Do 'Concealed Carry' Gun Laws Lead to More Violence" raises this point and extends the discussion by stating the FBI reported in 2014 that of 160 active shooter scenarios, 21 were stopped by unarmed bystanders. I feel I must consider what could have happened in those 21 situations had those unarmed people been armed instead. Just by carrying their weapons, they then potentially see anyone else reaching for anything as potential firearm threats. If police officers who we acknowledge as being good guys with ample training on the side of the law make mistakes, then holy crudmuffins and lollipops! All those positive unarmed outcomes in 2014 could've resulted in a far greater body count. Not only that, but authorizing and endorsing vigilantism makes for excellent Netflix binging but not for a trip to the pharmacy. Beres further asserts that digging in heels about guns is part of a manipulation not unlike believing that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. There's not a shred of evidence to the claim, but a lot of people believe this idea, which in turn benefits the makers of cereal and other breakfast foods. Same goes for guns. If you believe the myth and feel safer from tyranny and bad guys because of your gun, the gun manufacturers profit. 

That's just more money in their pocket while people die.

Which brings me to my next point about what that gun actually means to people like some of my close friends and family. David Ropeik in "The Gun Control Battle isn't About Guns As Weapons, It's About Guns as Symbols" makes the distinction between the groups of Individualists and Communitarians. From a psychological perspective, this article is compelling. Well, it offered names for the two groups I was trying to name in terms other than "ammosexual" and "liberal hypocrits". In this article those in favor of unrestricted gun rights would be Individualists who hold that personal control of choice and values is more important. For the other side, the Communitarians, shared control and sacrifice of some individual freedom for the greater, common good is important. I guess I fall more toward the latter. I do not feel safer, more secure, or in any way more courageous if I handle or see a gun. For Individualist though, they do. Personally, I think Linus' blanket would be more comforting and less deadly. Which leaves us with convenient labels, but no closer to a resolution. The article states that it becomes "...a fight over different views about the sort of society that we want to live in." I think that's true. We've willingly agreed that we will give up our second amendment right when we board airplanes. We will offer up our fourth amendment right to search and seizure safeguards when we pass through metal detectors at the courthouse. I don't want to live in a society where I have to grow desensitized to open carry guns just to go to the pharmacy. I don't think waiting to purchase a gun is unreasonable because let's be honest, if you need a gun right this minute, you're likely not going to do something law-abiding with it. If you need a maximum capacity magazine for your rifle in order to hunt, then you need some more practice because you suck. You'll also ruin some really good venison and a perfectly good hide if you blast the snot out of it. 

Yes, Daffy. It is.

In the end, I do not live in the Wild West of old, and guns do not need to be an accessory for every day wear. I believe the Constitution to be a living document that is open to amendment when cause arises just like we've done before. For me, we have sufficient evidence that action needs to be taken. I have yet to hear a single argument from the Individualists that suggests to me that doing nothing is the best solution. Let's open up research and evaluate all the data. Let's close some of the loopholes to make it harder for potential and known criminals to obtain guns. Let's say that if you've got a gun that you didn't handle safely and it wound up in the hands of toddler who shot their playmate, then you get no more guns. Accident or no, you've proven to be an irresponsible gun owner. Let's do these things not because we want to be like other "developed" countries or because we blindly trust the government and police to always do the right thing, but because we can make it harder for the next mass shooter, because we can protect more women from spousal murder-suicides, because we can prevent more toddlers from dying due to self-inflicted gunshot wounds, and because of whatever other problem gets revealed when we evaluate the data. Not taking these steps makes me feel powerless and out of control. I won't exchange those potential solutions for what I see as a false sense of security gained from a owning a gun. This isn't an either/or argument. I have to believe we can come to a reasonable solution.

I know, Doctor. I'm frustrated, too. But we finally figured out marriage equality. This too can be solved.