Privilege

I went to yoga for the first time today. The teacher dabbed some essential oil on my forehead- I spent the entire meditation time trying to figure out what my face smelled like.

After class, someone else asked- it was myrtle oil. Myrtle oil is apparently good for the immune system and balances hormones to prevent PMS. I glanced over at the lone male in the class, and thought how awkward it must be to be in an environment where the default person is not your gender- where things cater to the needs of another sex as a matter of course. I pitied this poor man.

Then I thought again and got the giggles.

So, feminist gentlemen, if you want to get a good idea of your privilege, go to yoga or Pilates classes. There will be a focus on getting a smaller waist hip ratio and a series of exercises to strengthen abdominals weakened by pregnancy or damaged by C-section. If something has a self-defense application, the teacher will first look at you and narrow her lips slightly. All the tips on how to make exercises easier assume you have a protruding butt, curvy hips, and weak wrists. It must be a little awkward, guys.

A Seasonally Disjunct Guide to Samhain Parties

There are guides out there for people who get invited to holidays that fall outside their religious experience. You learn about other cultures with many varieties of flavored grain, that babies sometimes merit a huge party for not dying, and that there are candles you should never ever blow out.

I can't find any such guides for Wiccan Sabbats.

Clearly, I need to write a quick and dirty guide for non pagans attending Samhain. It's pronounced Sow-wean (Like the female pig, not planting things.) It's celebrated around Halloween- there's a certain amount of flexibility in most people's specific date; like Easter, there's a bit of full moon/equinox madness. Somehow, this means I get invited to a couple every year on different dates. It's meant to usher in the deepest darkest bit of winter.

Why yes, I am writing this guide in March.

First things first. What you want to know, gentle reader, is if this festive event is worth attending. Since you can't equivocate during the invitation, (Will there be a ritual? Are we going to have to tell ghost stories? Will there be alcohol? Do I have to wear a costume?) you need the ask two questions: What proportion of the guests will be under the age of ten? Will we be talking about dead family members?

If more than 25% of those in attendance are children, follow your preferences regarding a children's Halloween party from the Peanuts era. People might be a little bit more earnest than usual, and the games might be a little lamer- it's a party with children about nihilism and potential starvation. Either that appeals to you or it doesn't.

When you ask about dead family members, listen very closely. If your potential host says no, you'll probably have to go through some New Agey self actualization crap about facing your shadow self and praising your inner god/goddess for the improvements you've made this year. If it were going to be a fun party with costumes, they'd call it Halloween. I'd skip it.

If the host says anything about the dead in a general sense, or things beyond the veil, there's a better than even chance there will be ghost stories with parallels to ancient* religion. People might say things while lighting candles. I'd skip this too.

*The 1910s are ancient, right?

If they say yes, we will be honoring the dead, go to that party. There will be a supremely uncomfortable half-hour where everyone talks about people who died this year and people they still miss. You will probably have to say one sentence- one sentence- about how you are sad that someone died. Then people will party. There's something about facing morality- and weeping in public- that makes for a great social event. *

*It's probably the drinking.

There will be mead. Mead is a vile liquor, meant to punish the romantic. Avoid it at all costs.

There will be fire. People will have opinions about fire structure. There's always an argument about where to put the next bit of wood. If you want to bring sage or dried flowers to throw in, that's a nice gesture. Don't do the stupid box trick unless you're far away from structures and surrounded by sand or snow.

There will be apples, probably in pie form. It's usually not very good. For some reason, pagans cannot make pastry crust properly. There will also be some sort of pumpkin dish. Someone might even bring a haggis. They will have used insufficient suet and not ground the organs finely enough. If it's a potluck, bring spareribs- very traditional- or a giant salad.

Bring your own chair.

To sum up: make sure you want to go, be very picky about what you eat and drink, and don't do the stupid box trick.

Quotes from Us at Tonight's Dinner Party.

"So it's like five humans from all different cultures, and an Argentinian?"*

*Said with innocent intent, by C.

Me, to dog: "Yes, it's pork liver pate with bacon. I am enjoying it. It's so much better than anything you've ever tasted."

Passing man: "It's not better than anything my dogs have ever tasted. I feed them exclusively on raw, organic meats and free range eggs."

Me: "Is this your dog?"

PM: "No..."

Me: "Then excuse me, we're in the middle of a conversation. So tasty... so much better than kibble... "

Advanced Letter Writing Techniques

The spousal unit and I were talking about my unreasonable hatred of moveon.org. Part of this distaste is shattered hopes. I feel that the germ of the project is truly excellent- it was a nettle in the seats of our esteemed Congresspeople during the Clinton impeachment- a reminder that a majority of the population would really prefer that they focus on something a bit more germane to our interests. After the trial, moveon had a wonderful opportunity; they could forever encourage lawmakers to stop shilly-shallying and blustering and get down to business. If constituents and their representatives are like a married couple, moveon could be that gentle kick under the table when the conversation goes astray. Regardless of political affiliation, I think that's a very good idea.

Instead it became a mailing list to rally liberal supporters. Good job taking the best name, jerks. I suppose this is an unreasonable cause for hatred- but what good is it doing? It is unequivocally left wing in every single cause it supports- why would any Republican take notice of their petitions? None of the people who sign them would ever consider voting Republican- why waste time courting them? Why would Blue Dog Democrats try to suck up to people who identify right there on the petition title as extreme left? For that matter, why consider the voting habits of someone who can't be bothered to write their own damn letter?

So, four readers, here's my primer in writing to your representatives. Figure out who they are, using a little bit of the Google and a little bit of Wikipedia. Find their e-mail address. (After you write them the first time, you'll only have to track down contact information when there's a new occupant. For me, that was 1992. Ah, democracy.) Send them a note- three sentences is fine. A human being will read it. A note will be made on a spreadsheet. You will probably be put on an infrequent mailing list which will tell you all about your Senator's efforts in job creation.

The advanced techniques are thus: Google stalk the people you'll be writing to. Figure out a little bit about who they are, where they stand, and why they vote the way that they do.

Occasionally, you'll be writing to someone who is in complete agreement with you on your chosen issue. Tell them you know their history and know they will do the right thing. Tell them you're proud to have such a person protecting your rights.

Otherwise, be a little bit crazy. Many Congresspeople read five or ten letters every day, just to keep their finger on the pulse. If your letter is anything but staid and dull, it's more likely to get bounced up to the important people. Be loopy. Be silly. Don't worry too much about composition.

If you're writing to someone you disagree with, be very polite. Narrow your letter down to a single issue. Make the appeal as a member of your local culture- or as a Proud American. Make your appeal as a way to preserve traditional values. Treat them with great respect. It doesn't have to make sense. Example: Sir, public radio allows me to drive around in mah TRUCK, loving America. Please note slight loopiness.

Keep it short. Too long: didn't read is a thing. One paragraph is plenty. (This is obviously hard for me.)

Last but not least, consider sending it via snail mail. People ascribe more importance to physical letters. I don't know why. Perhaps send them a pretty postcard of where you live.

But for goodness' sake, try to raise the level of effort to "half-assed". Five notes like this are equal to fifty names on an Astroturf petition. And even if you lose, remember it's not the worst thing. We survived a Civil War. We can survive a little partisan infighting.

Never Attribute to Malice that which Can Be Attributed to Stupidity.

I was doing a flylady approved living room blitz- although it's meant for emergencies, it's the only way I clean; probably because my living quarters are in a near constant state of emergency. I was six minutes into my alloted fifteen, moving frenetically, when I found something that stopped me dead.

C has been missing some clothing. I understand other people look for things that are missing- we nudge things with our toes and say "Eh eh." pathetically. (Or C knows exactly where it is among the piles of detritus.) Happily, I have found it. Unhappily, I am now concerned about other things.

The clothing- a quick analysis proved it to be dirty- was found piled into a sealed giant tupperware in our living room. I'm a little concerned that we didn't check the giant tupperware when saying "Eh eh."- that seems lazy even for us- but I'm more concerned that someone filled a tub with dirty laundry, arranged it into a comfortable nest, and then sealed the top. I thought I might have done it as an unconscious passive-aggressive act to purge C's wardrobe of anime and video game t-shirts, but I don't see anything I might theoretically hate.

Writing here is twelve times more fun than writing essays.

I mentioned much earlier that I tried the no shampoo challenge.* Unlike everyone else who tried it, I discovered that I, a person with long fine light colored hair, was pretty much the original market for shampoo.

*Part of the "I'm miserable and isolated, so I may as well abandon societal conventions" phase. Fun times.

This last month, one of the hippy beauty blogs I follow introduced a "no soap" challenge. I was repulsed. I read about it- out of morbid curiousity- and found that I am in year 16 of the no soap challenge. They allow soap for pits and bits, and to remove chemicals and grime, they encourage washing hands... what else do people soap? I know that every summer my skin goes to hell because of daily Technu baths and poison oak and sunburn and sunscreen-caused acne- I do terrible things to it, but I don't needlessly scrub it down with miscablizers every day. You've gotta make peace with your skin bacteria.

Why I'll be posting here again.

I have a bad habit of putting off important things. I have a worse habit of realizing how terrible postponing action on those things is in the middle of heartfelt confessions from friends. Last week I peeled off of a conversation on how hard it is marshaling applications for grad school to register for the GRE. It needed doing, alright?

So I'm doing that Friday, because once I stop putting things off, I must do them immediately. I suspect this is unwise. Still, I will be relearning math this week, and re-entering a world where it's OK to pick apart logical flaws in arguments.