The Bear Talk

I've been pretty quiet on the subject of police brutality toward black men, and there are good reasons for that.  First of all, as a middle class, white, Orange County housewife, I don't pretend that I know the struggle of the black man in America, and I haven't felt that I had anything to add to the conversation that wasn't already being said, more eloquently, by people with better credentials. 

 Second, I tend to avoid talking about race, because I...lack sensitivity.  That's not to say that I lack compassion, or kindness.  I am not a racist, but I have an unfortunate tendency to say things that sound awful, in retrospect.  Like the time that I told one of my black friends that I would love to go to the Deep South and tour some of those "beautful old plantation houses".  If you know me well, you know that I only meant that I love and admire that style of architecture, but that statement could easily be interpreted as a longing for the beauty of the slavery days of yore, a-la Paula Deen.  And the time one of my black friends was worried about getting fired and I tried to make a joke about how they can't fire her because she's black and then everyone will think her manager is racist.  That was a bad, bad joke.  Obviously I didn't mean that; I was just trying to make her feel better with my ill-conceived attempt at humor.  But white people can't make jokes like that.  I like to think that living in a racially diverse place for a few years now has cured me of my propensity to say stupid things, but in reality, who knows?  Maybe my black friends all had a meeting and collectively agreed to just ignore me when I talk, and so I just think I'm acting sanely, but in reality I'm still awful.  

See, that right there is something I probably shouldn't have said.  My black friends all had a meeting?  Like they all know each other?  Sigh.  I should be euthanized.

So anyway, I've kept my mouth shut for fear of making everyone hate me.  

But the other day, I heard something interesting.  It was an interview with black parents, discussing how they teach their children - particularly their sons - how to deal safely with the police.  And what really struck me was that, one one level, I could relate to it.  Because I've heard that same talk, just not about the police.

It was about bears.

Like most white people raised in rural areas, I've spent a significant amount of time outdoors.  And I can tell you that basically everyone who has spent a lot of time in the woods has heard the "bear talk" at some point.  Probably from your parents, but maybe from a camp counselor or park ranger.  Regardless, you've heard it.  It goes something like this:

"Bears aren't evil.  They aren't out to get you, necessarily.  In fact, they're an important part of the ecosystem, and we need to respect that.  But you have to be careful if you do come across one, and you have to know how to behave, because sometimes one of them will get a hair up its ass, and it'll attack you.  Especially if it feels like you're threatening it, or its young."

Insert "police" for bear and it's essentially the same exact speech.  And that's pretty fucked up, that for a whole segment of our population, dealing with the police feels like dealing with a large, unpredictable, wild animal.

Now extend that thinking.

The bears have military grade weapons, which they are trained to use with deadly accuracy.  Also, the Bears can call on other bears to come assist them in fucking you up.  And you might be in a place where you wouldn't expect to encounter bears, like a mall, or driving home from work, or walking down the street, but someone might think you're a poacher and will summon the bears to come get you.  And if a bear attacks you, no one will believe you unless you get it on camera, and even then, lots of people will be like, "well, he was probably a poacher, so whatevs."

Now imagine that that is the speech you got about bears.  What would that do to you psychologically, to hear that, to feel that way all the time?  What would that kind of stress do to you?

Again, I don't claim to know what it's like to be black in America.  But I do know that if I had been told that about bears when I heard the bear speech for the first time, I'd be a nervous wreck, and I'd probably not be the biggest fan of bears.

I want to just say here that I don't hate cops, and I don't think they are wild animals bent on murder.  I think the vast majority of cops are normal, hard working people who do a lot of good.  I don't think cops are like, waking up every day super excited to go kill some black people.  And obviously, I don't think cops should be murdered or assaulted, especially when they aren't even the cops who are involved in police brutality incidents.  

But the fact of the matter is, police have a lot of power in our society.  A LOT.  And so a bad, racist cop can do a lot of damage, up to and including murder, and he can get away with it.  Black people from all lines of work and economic classes are telling us the same thing; that they are being profiled and harassed.  That their sons and brothers are dying because of trigger happy cops who see them as threats, simply because of how they look.  And we can't turn a blind eye to it any longer; not when we have actual proof that it's a real and present problem.  

Look.  Because of who I am and how I look, I basically have to run naked down the freeway with a flame thrower to get bothered by the cops, and even then, they'd probably just call someone to come give me a ride home, assuming I'd had one too many mimosas at brunch.  But that doesn't mean I'm willing to dismiss the problems of black people, just because they're not problems I'm likely to have.  I stand in solidarity with the Black Lives Matter movement, even if they would maybe rather not have me.

I feel like I should do a hashtag here, but I don't tweet, so whatever.

A Blog About Phil, For His Birthday

Normally for Phil's birthday, I arrange a party, complete with cake and other people, but this June has been insane, and I haven't had the time to put anything together, and if I tried, there would be no time to schedule it, until August, at which point it wouldn't be a birthday party at all, just an ordinary party that Phil would be attending, probably.  

So this year, to honor him, I'll be writing a little blog post about him and why he's the Best Person in the World; better than pretty much anyone you can imagine.  Except for his tendency to not use turn signals, which needs improvement.

1) Phil dislikes violence.  Because of his peaceful lifestyle, he probably won't ever have terrifying flashback nightmares where I wake up and he's strangling me and crying.  He's also not likely to get into scrapes where I'm forced to bury his victims and keep my mouth shut for fear of meeting the same fate.  

2) However, Phil is not at all bothered by pretend violence in movies and on TV shows, which is very, very important if you're going to be married to me.  Which he is.

3) He keeps his mouth shut.  I don't mean he keeps secrets especially well; his secret keeping abilities are only slightly above average.  I mean he literally keeps his mouth shut, unlike some men who let their jaws drop open for no reason, making them look mentally defective.  Phil has an intelligent face, and is not at all slack jawed.  Ever.

4) He has extra bones in his feet, as confirmed by an X Ray done by a podiatrist.  I'm guessing this is because he is a more highly evolved type of human.  Nadia's children will probably be able to levitate with their feet.

5) He doesn't threaten me or issue ultimatums.  This is also extremely important if you're married to me, as threats and ultimatums make me angry and creative.  

6) He handles crowds much better than I do.

7) He's not a crybaby.  He's actually quite tough, though he would never describe himself this way.  I'm guessing he's one of those guys who would never crack under torture, if he was a secret agent; he'd just go to sleep and ignore everything, grumbling angrily and rolling away from the cattle prods.  (Notable exception: when Nadia accidentally steps on his genitals.).

8) He never makes me feel bad about it when I'm sick, even when it's an inconvenience to him and I'm being gloomy.  He has a really positive attitude about my health situations.  This is maybe the most wonderful thing about him.  Not all guys would be man enough to handle this stuff.

Are you jealous that I get to be married to him?  You should be.

The Worst Breakfast

This is the worst breakfast you could possibly eat.  I'll show you the recipe and picture first, then I'll explain myself.

Alright.  I assume you've taken that in.

First of all, I get that some people like coffee, and believe that they need it to function in the morning.  Bitter vomit flavor is appealing to lots of people.  I don't pretend to get it, but I understand it on an intellectual level.  So on its face, a coffee smoothie sounds like a pretty good breakfast idea.  You're killing two birds with one stone, getting your coffee and nutrition all at once.  But you guys, this is not the way to do it.

All this "smoothie" is is a milkshake.  Read the ingredients again.  It's coffee, ice, dairy and chocolate.  It could be argued that vanilla Greek yogurt is preferable to ice cream, but I raise my eyebrow.  It's basically the same thing.  Sugar, cream, vanilla, in that order.  

This is what will happen if you eat this for breakfast.  You will feel really happy and good while you're drinking it because of all the sugar and chocolate and dairy.  Then you will feel nauseated because you overloaded your body with this after fasting for twelve hours.  The nausea will last until around 10:00, when you will start to feel shaky and weak.  Your brow will break out in a sweat, and you'll start panting, feeling like you're having a panic attack, because your blood sugar is crashing so hard you are now not functional. 

But lunch break is still two hours away!  What are you going to do?  You need some food NOW.  You're now into the angry part of the blood sugar crash, where your heart is full of hatred for everyone around you.  Look at that guy at the copy machine.  He's a worthless piece of shit, isn't he?  Look at him, with those shoes.  Who does he think he is, the stupid motherfucker?  

Now you start rifling through your purse, hoping you've squirreled away a snack of some kind.  And you hit gold!  It's a bag of chocolate coins from that kid's birthday party you went to last weekend.  You confiscated the candy from your child, because you didn't want her to eat it all at once, and you forgot to give it back!  You realize that's a shitty move on your part, and you feel kind of bad about it, but you don't have time to sit around berating yourself for your questionable parenting skills; now is the time to get this crap into your body, with as little chewing as possible.

So you eat this entire baggy of candy.  Your body slowly starts to return to normal, which is a relief.  But then you're nauseated again, because of all the damned sugar.  You hate yourself.  Why can't you remember to pack almonds, like you always say you're going to do?  You even bought a whole bag of almonds, just for that purpose, and you meant to put them in your purse, but you forgot.  Mostly because the idea of sitting and eating plain, raw almonds makes you feel depressed, but also, partially because you honestly forgot.  

The nausea lasts until lunch time, when you're finally able to get a decent meal with protein and vegetables, but until then, you've had a shitty day full of sickness, hatred and guilt.  

So do yourself a favor.  Have some eggs and hash browns like a sane person.  

A Blog About My Daughter, for Mothers' Day

In honor of Mothers' Day, I've decided to write a post about some of the things that make Nadia the Best Little Girl in the World. Without her, Mothers' Day wouldn't be about me at all, so cheers to her for that!  Here's to you, Nadia!

1) Instead of saying, "I love you," she says "I love it."  She'll wrap her arms around me and give me a tender little hug, and say "I love it!"  At first, it freaked me out.  Like, is she channeling Buffalo Bill, pulling some "it puts the lotion in the basket whenever it's told" kinda shit?  But I've come to realize that she just doesn't get pronouns.  For instance, when she wants me to carry her, she'll say "carry you!"  She'll figure it out someday, I bet.

2) She has the worst singing voice in the world, and it's my favorite sound.  Some of her favorites are "The ABCs", "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "Open Shut Them".  Usually a mishmash of all three, with counting.  She often wakes me up in the morning with her songs.

3) She likes sleeping, and goes to bed with only a minimum of fuss. 

4) She is decently smart.  At age two, she can locate the continents, count to twenty, "sing" the alphabet song, read a little, identify all shapes and colors, and manipulate the shit out of everyone.

5) She still hasn't figured out how to open a door. 

6) She believes that everyone and everything is on this planet to serve her, and to make her happy.  I find this indescribably charming.

7) She's confident!  She states her opinions and desires loudly and boldly.  She does not second guess herself.  She knows what she wants, and she does what she has to do to get it.

8) She's not a picky eater.  This is especially important in my house, as I am unwilling to accommodate any more dietary restrictions.  If she develops an allergy, or an intense dislike for a food group, I'm giving up and ordering take-out for all meals. 

9) She enjoys cleaning up spills.  

10) When we play air hockey, or "soccer", she repeatedly tells me "thank you, Mommy" and "nice one!"and "Good try!"  

As you can see, she's the best child, and I'm so lucky I have her.  She's turned me into a mushy pile of goo, and while that makes me uncomfortable, it also makes me a better, kinder person.  

Here's some Goya to counteract the mushiness of this post.

Should You Vote?

Voting is obviously extremely important and I would never suggest or support government restriction on voting rights.  All adult citizens of the USA should have the right to vote, period.  

However.

Just because you have the right to do something, that doesn't mean you should do it.  I have the right to hiss at ugly people.  Doesn't mean I should do it.  And while I believe strongly that MOST people should vote, there are about 5-10% of people who should just stay home on Election Day, and we should all be ok with that.

Here are some criteria you should think about when deciding if you should vote or not.

1) Did you think the Duck Dynasty guy had his first amendment rights violated?  If so, you should not vote, because you don't understand how stuff works.

2) Are you only voting the way your parents/pastor/deity-of-choice told you to?  Don't vote.  If you didn't make up your own mind, your vote doesn't count.  It also doesn't count if you are only voting the way your friends or some cool celebrity is voting.  

3) Do you have a general sense of what the issues are, and where the candidates stand on them?  If you are completely ignorant, and have no idea what's going on the the world, and you would basically be selecting a candidate at random, don't vote.

Yes, I know it's our civic duty to be aware of the world around us and to take a stand and vote accordingly.  But if you haven't been keeping up with things, for whatever reason, don't compound your error by making an uneducated vote.  

Most people should definitely vote.  But I think recusing yourself because you lack the knowledge to make an informed choice is perfectly valid and reasonable.  

People Who Spread Stomach Viruses Should Be Punished

Before I had Nadia, I didn't get stomach viruses, because I am a clean person who washes her hands regularly, and doesn't eat in dirty places.  However, once I found myself spending sixteen hours a day in close contact with a toddler, that all changed.  Because Nadia does not share my commitment to hand washing, and does not understand about germs, or the mechanisms by which viruses are spread.  Also, she wants to be cuddled while she vomits.  Apparently she finds this comforting.

Anyway, this isn't news to anyone with kids; we all know that they're little germ factories.  But they are not the reason why stomach bugs continue to plague the world.  Nope.  Because a small baby or child can't spread its germs all around town without a horrible nightmare of a parent who takes that child out and about, and lets that child touch things and put things in its mouth and slide its diarrhea encrusted butt all over surfaces everywhere.  

The way stomach bugs spread is through fecal matter.  Do you know what that means?  People are literally walking around with feces on their hands and touching things.  There is absolutely no excuse for this.  And yes, I know that it only takes a tiny speck of microscopic fecal matter to spread the illness, but I don't care.  That shouldn't matter if you're thoroughly washing your hands and staying at home while contagious.  I don't want to hear any fucking excuses.  Wash your damn hands PROPERLY, and DO NOT LEAVE THE HOUSE IF YOU HAVE VOMITING OR DIARRHEA.  DO NOT TAKE YOUR CHILD OUT OF THE HOUSE IF SHE HAS VOMITING OR DIARRHEA, FOR ANY REASON EXCEPT A HOUSE FIRE, OR AN EMERGENCY ROOM VISIT, OR A PHARMACY VISIT.  THAT'S IT.

I don't even understand how people CAN leave the house when they have stomach bugs.  When I have one, I can't get out of bed, much less put on an outfit and head to a restaurant and rub poop on doorknobs, as people apparently do.  

I get so angry when I'm talking to a mother who says "Oh, yeah, yesterday Dakota had a really bad stomach bug."  Umm, ok, then what the fuck are you doing at the park today?  Get Patient Zero back home until he's been at least a full 48 hours without symptoms.  He may seem to be feeling ok, but you don't know!  He's still a big maybe in the wellness department.  He could blow at any time!  

My big pet peeve right now is people who change diapers and then don't wash their hands, claiming that they "didn't get anything on their hands."  These people don't understand science, or how particles work.  Just because you don't have literal globules of shit on your hands, that doesn't mean they're clean.  Tiny particles of feces flick and scatter when you wipe a child's ass.  That is fact.  WASH YOUR HANDS.

This blog has been disgusting and angry.  I am aware of that, and I apologize a little.  But it's nowhere near as disgusting as the filthy degenerates who go around spreading this shit and ruining my life.  

If you're sick with a stomach bug, don't assume it's food poisoning, or that you're not contagious.  Stay home, a day more than you think you should.  And wash your hands, regardless, always, frequently, and well.

Evolution and Hate

The general theory is that human emotions have good, biological, evolutionary reasons.  For instance, love has an evolutionary explanation, in that if I love someone, I will try to help and protect that person, giving that person a better chance at living and reproducing, and so on.  Therefore, people who are able to give and receive love reproduce more and pass those love genes onto their offspring.  Fear keeps us safe from harm.  Jealousy makes us protect what's ours and strive for more.  

But what about hate?

On the surface, it would seem that hate has no good evolutionary reason.  After all, hate is one of the greatest destructive forces known to man, and countless atrocities are committed because of it.  It would seem that hate, as an emotion, would have died out long ago if it were purely detrimental.  We are socialized from the time we're small children to believe that hate is a very, very bad thing, and that we should avoid hate at all costs.  It's ok to dislike something, or be annoyed at someone, but hate?  Never!  

And yet, people keep on hating.

I think there are two kinds of hate.  Destructive hate - the kind that causes us to harm others, and constructive hate.  Yeah, I said it.  Hate can be constructive.  Let me explain.

I have hated three people in my life.  Deep, true, fierce hatred the likes of which I hope never to experience again.   It was a deeply unpleasant feeling.  I'm not going to go into details or name names - the purpose of this isn't to bad mouth anyone.  But I believe, in retrospect, that this hatred did in fact serve a positive purpose in my life.  These three people showed me the absolute worst of humanity.  They showed me how really, truly awful people can be.  And my hatred of them caused me to actively avoid being like them.  

Now, obviously this is not going to be a popular opinion.  And I would like to repeat here that destructive hatred is always bad.  You should never harm others, even if you hate them.  Period.  But constructive hatred that influences you to take a morally productive, healthier and overall happier path in life shouldn't be dismissed out of hand.  

This has been a blog post by Dana Hammer, Evolutionary Psychologist, and Explainer of Mysteries.  Mike drop.

Rich People and Their Damn Houses

I like to transport myself to other places using real estate listings.  It's one of my favorite hobbies.  It fuels my imagination, and gives me a sense of wonder and pleasure.  I love architecture, and admiring the vast array of building styles, and how they change from region to region and country to country.  Of course, I have no intention to move - I love my home and I love Orange County.  But it's fun to browse.  So, so much fun!

First, I like to find the shittiest shitholes I can find.  Anything that sells for less than $10,000 is a good bet.  Urban ruins, ex-meth labs, abandoned farmhouses - all of them are fun for the gawking!  In a way it's sad, because you can see that at one time someone built this house, with hope for the future, and they tried to fill it with love - but something went very, very wrong along the way, and now look at it.  Look at it!  Then I make up stories about zombies living in the cupboards, and poltergeists.  

Then, I do what I call "backup planning".  If Phil dies, I probably won't be able to afford to live in Orange County anymore.  Even if I get a good paying job, it's very, very unlikely that I'll ever be able to earn a Phillip-level salary, and you can't make it down here on one Dana-sized income.  So I look in more affordable cities, like El Paso and Portland and Memphis and choose which houses I could afford with the life insurance payout.  These searches are not that interesting, and they're sort of macabre, but they fill me with reassurance that I won't wind up an impoverished widow, wandering house to house, begging for alms in a shawl.  

Then comes the funnest search.  Rich people houses.

The best place to look for rich people houses is Sotheby's International Real Estate Listings.  There you can find castles, private islands, houses that have jet-landing-pads, etc.  These are fantasy fodder, and I spend way, way, way too much time searching for them.

Here's what I've learned about rich people in different countries.

Greece is the place to go if you want something quirky, bohemian and special.  It is the place where I found my dream house - a seventeenth century castle, decorated with colorful floor cushions and rustic window seats, overlooking the mountains.  Someday, when the revolution comes...

Hong Kong's upscale real estate market is blindingly expensive - way more expensive than anything I've seen anywhere else.  And yet, every building is the same - bland, beige boxes with black accents and large windows with water views.  That's it.  It never changes.  And it pisses me right the fuck off.  Because if you are going to spend 25 million dollars on a house, why would you buy a boring ass box, when you could afford something truly unique and special?  You're basically throwing your money into the street, since you could get the exact same thing for 500k in the suburbs in Orange County.  Fucking beige boxes piss me off.

Dubai has extremely fancy luxury houses, with lots of bells and whistles, but they all look like they were designed by lecherous hairy men from Las Vegas who wear gold chains and leave the top three shirt buttons unbuttoned, and leave "tasteful" porn magazines out on the coffee table.

The Caribbean has lovely ocean-view homes, but for some reason, all the houses have cutesy names that make me want to vomit.  "Deliliah's Delight", "Shannon's Shack", "Shelly's Seashell Staycation Sensation".  Someday a hurricane will take them all out.

The USA actually has a number of very tasteful, elegant homes, though it also has its share of beige boxes.  The best homes tend to be on the east coast and in the south - large, sprawling mansions with columns and turrets and Victorian embellishments and private lakes.  These homes also have names, but they tend to be more sedate and classic sounding.  "Biltmore Estate" and "Vandergraff House" and "Irving Farm".  

After I do my searches, I get to planning.  What would I buy, for instance, if I won the powerball and I was a billionaire and could afford anything?  Would I just hire an architect and buy some land and go crazy with secret rooms and hidden passageways and a trampoline room?  What would I buy if Rosemary's Baby Daddy gets published and sells really well and I could afford like, a million dollar house?  What would I name my beautiful house?  Hammer House?  That's terrible.  It sounds like a construction project, or a jail.  Dana's Den?  I would rather be homeless.  The Cotswalds?  Already taken.  

I get frustrated when I can't pick a decent name for my imaginary house, because it makes me feel inferior.  Like I'm no better than all those rich people I just judged so harshly.  Like I don't deserve a fancy house any more than they do.  I don't like to think about myself that way, so I just decide that naming a house is silly and pretentious, and that my imaginary house doesn't need a name.  It just needs me.  

Then I look up shitholes until I feel good about myself again.

Crow Training

At a party, I recently learned that it's possible to train crows to bring you loose change that they find, and I was instantly enchanted.  That is a career that has Dana written all over it.  No phones.  No angry customers.  No forms and paperwork.  No fax machines.  Also, I like crows.  

I announced to my friends and husband that I planned to train me up a murder of crows to do my bidding.  No only would I train them to bring me change, I would train them to send letters as well.  I know eight Game of Thrones Geeks off the top of my head who I'm certain would pay me to send letters for them by crow.  

My friends and husband laughed, assuming that I was just drunk and full of bad ideas, like usual.  

They were wrong.

Of course, I had no idea how to begin.  Where does one go to find crows?  How do you make them stay?  How do you communicate with birds?  I realized that I had zero answers to these questions, and I became discouraged.  

However, one day when I was playing outside with Nadia, what should we see, but a murder of crows?  They were hanging out in the trees across the street.  I panicked, completely losing my shit.  I was not prepared!  I WAS NOT PREPARED!  I raced inside and got a piece of bread, vaguely recalling that birds like bread, and tore it into tiny pieces and threw them all over the sidewalk and yard.  The birds ignored me and flew away.

I was sad.  A friend assured me that they would come back in a week, which made me feel slightly better, but I wasn't sure I believed that it was true.

It was true.

One week later, the crows were back.  But this time, I was prepared.  I had a jar of peanuts, ready and waiting.  I sprinkled them all over the yard and sidewalk, while my two year old daughter snatched them up and ate them, giggling because Mommy was throwing food everywhere, which was obviously an attempt to create a wonderful new game.  Eventually I got her to stop eating the peanuts by simply taking her back inside.  But when I went out later to check, all the peanuts were gone.

The next day, again, Nadia and I went outside, and again the crows were there.  Again, I threw peanuts for them, and went back inside.   Repeat.  Repeat.

Then, one day, the number of crows increased.  As soon as Nadia and I went outside, they FLOCKED to my house.  It was one of the strangest things I have ever experienced.  Because they didn't just hang out in a tree - they SURROUNDED us.  They landed on top of the house, on the telephone wires, on every tree in the backyard, and every tree in the front yard.  

The rush of feelings was intense.  First of all, I felt powerful and effective.  I had done it!  I was the Queen of the Crows!  But on the heels of that elation, was very real fear.  Because being surrounded by dozens of watchful crows is creepy as fuck.  

I took Nadia back inside.

Later, I told Phil about my crow luring, skimming over the amount of effort and time I'd actually spent doing it, and he was less than pleased.  Turns out, he has no desire to live in a Crow Kingdom, and was pretty adamant that I cease all crow training operations immediately.  I pouted a little, but in reality, I think I was kind of relieved.  

And so, my crow training days have come to an end.  Phil made a solid point that we don't want our house and cars to be covered in crow shit, and I do agree with that.  Also, I don't want Nadia to get her eyes pecked out if she accidentally angers them.  Crow time is over.

For now.

The Fifteen Commandments

Raising a child forces you to think a lot about morality.  Because you want your child to be a good, moral person, and it's almost entirely up to you to make sure that that happens.  So, it's important to ask yourself "What is a good person, anyway?"  That's what I've been doing, while I lay in bed at night, panicking about my parenting.  And I've come up with Dana's Fifteen Commandments for Being a Good Person.  These will be the foundation of Nadia's moral education.

So, without further ado - The Fifteen Commandments.

1) Refrain from harming others, whenever possible.  Never abuse children or animals, or anyone over whom you have power.

This is probably the most important commandment.  It's better than "love thy neighbor as thyself" because lots of people are self-hating, and they treat themselves like shit.  Also, the definition of "neighbor" is open to interpretation, which I find sort of apalling.

2) Cultivate kindness - try to always act kindly, and maintain a kind attitude.

This is sort of an extension of commandment one, but I feel it's necessary to include it.  Just so there's no loopholes.

3) Do charity.  Help others whenever possible.  Do volunteer work regularly.  

I'm trying really hard to find some kind of volunteer work that I can do with Nadia, but it's hard because she's two, and can't really do much yet.  I found one opportunity, reading to small children in doctor's waiting rooms, but I hesitate to bring Nadia into germ infested sick rooms, every week.  So as of now, I'm a shitty person.  But I'm working on it.

4) Have courage.  Stand up to cruelty wherever you see it.  

5) Have a sense of humor.  I absolutely believe that failing to have a sense of humor is a moral failing, and a rather serious one at that.  Don't be a grim, humorless douchebag.

6) Be curious.  Always be learning something, and keep your curiosity whetted at all times.  You can't force yourself to be intelligent, but you can force yourself to learn, which is just as good in most cases. Don't let your mind become dull.

7) Be an interesting person.  Never let fear of ridicule or fear of failure stop you from trying things.  It's better to do something badly than never do anything at all.  The more experiences you have, and the more things you do, the more interesting you will be/become.  Boring people are usually just scared people.  Or people who have neglected to cultivate their curiosity.

8) Monitor your words.  Don't engage in harmful or potentially harmful gossip.  Be honest whenever you kindly can.  Don't spill others' secrets.  

I firmly believe that there are such things as "good lies" and "bad lies", and you should be morally mature enough to understand the difference between "Don't worry about it.  I'm sure no one noticed the broccoli in your teeth," and "Mr. Lester is a pedophile.  Let's burn his house down."  That's why I say be honest "whenever you kindly can."

9) Be loyal.  Be loyal to your spouse,  your family and your friends.  Protect them to the best of your ability.  Don't shame them in public, even if they deserve it.  Stand up for them and help them when you can.

10) Keep your germs to yourself.  Never go out in public and/or touch things and/or cough when you're sick with something contagious.  Don't spit gum anyplace but a trash can.  Do not spit on birthday cakes.  Better yet, don't spit at all, ever.  Use condoms when you should.

11) If you develop a drug or alcohol addiction, that doesn't make you a bad person.  But you must get treatment.  Don't force the people who care about you to watch your decline, and/or support you like you're a child.

12) Don't steal anything that will be missed.

13) Sex is fine, rape is not.

14) Do not kill other people except in self defense, or as an act of kindness (euthanasia).  

15) Use birth control, preferably at all times, unless you're actively trying to get pregnant.  Yes even if you're not sexually active.  Because you never know.   Also, it's good to remember that not all sex is consensual, and you don't want to be in the awful situation of having to choose between an abortion and a rape pregnancy.  

Playing Outside

My daughter loves playing outside.  LOVES it.  She's like a little feral cat, or a hippie.  If I let her, she would spend 100% of her time outside, like an animal.

I'm told that this is a good thing, mostly by people in my parents' and grandparents' generations.  If you listen to older people talk, they basically spent the entirety of their childhoods outdoors, and it turned them into wonderful super people, and it's just a shame that kids spend so much time indoors these days, and GET OFF MY LAWN!  

In addition, there are lots of psychologists and scientists who say that fresh air and sunshine are important for healthy physical and psychological development, and you need to make sure your kids spend time outside.

Ok.  Fine.  Since the whole world seems to think that being outside is the best thing ever, I do it.  Despite the lupus, and the fact that I need a tub of hypoallergenic sunscreen and a parasol, I do it.  I dutifully take my child outside to play, every single day.

But here's the thing - I'm not entirely convinced that this is really enriching her life in any serious way.  Here are the things we do when we "play outside".

1) Trying to Fly

Nadia has a set of fairy wings that she loves to wear.  She insists that I put them on her, and then we go outside, because apparently you have to be outside to "fly".  "I FLY!"  She screams.  "I FLY!"  And so we go out, even though I know exactly how this is gonna go.

The thing is, she can't fly.  She just can't.  And if I pick her up and swing her around or attempt to assist her into the air, she gets really, really angry, because that's cheating.  She doesn't want Mommy's assistance.  She's not an idiot.  She knows that's not really flying.  And yet, her own attempts to fly are pathetic and sad, and ultimately end in tears.

Is this good for her?  I guess we'll let her future therapist decide.

2)  Bothering Ants

I don't pretend to understand Nadia's fascination with ants.  It doesn't extend to any other insects.  But any time she sees an ant, she immediately drops to her stomach and watches the ants, fascinated, unblinking, for an unsettlingly long time.  If there is a stick or a leaf nearby, she will use it to poke at them, routing them in different directions, or letting them climb on her little ramps.

I suppose this is sort of educational, in a way.  You could say that she's learning about the natural world.  But I would say overall, the education she is receiving from the ants is rather limited.  She's mostly just bothering them.

On the bright side, she never intentionally hurts them, so she's probably not doing it for psycopathic reasons.  It's not a "God-complex" thing.

3) Collecting Sticks

Nadia loves sticks.  But it's the love of a rock star for an unattractive groupie.  Brief, uncommitted, and greedy.  She wants the stick badly, until she finds a new, better stick, and then she hands off the old stick to me, the "band manager" of sticks.  Occasionally she will use the sticks to bother ants, or to brush Mommy's hair (i.e. beat Mommy in the head with a stick while saying "Nice.  Pretty.  Nice." in soothing tones)

This is not enriching.  She is learning nothing from it.  It is a waste of everyone's time.

4) Tresspassing

She loves to tresspass on others' property.  She has absolutely no concept of private ownership, and she doesn't give a fuck about your walls and fences and dogs.  The thing is, there's a really cool stick in your yard, and she wants it, and that's all that matters.  She will have that fucking stick if it's the last thing she does.  Or flower.  Or ball.  

I would just like to say, however, that if you put a koi pond in your front yard, you're kind of asking for it.  I can't imagine any child walking past it would be able to resist peering into it, at least for a minute.  You are going to have toddlers on your property if you put a koi pond there.  

Anyway, I suppose that tresspassing may actually be useful for Nadia if someday she becomes a burgler.  Or a spy.  But otherwise, no, not so much.

Side note: If you have a child, and she hangs out in someone else's yard, collecting flowers and leaves, no one looks out the window and says "Hey what's that weird two year old doing in our yard?"  Nope. NO one blames the two year old.  Instead, they'll say, "What's that woman doing standing on the sidewalk, staring at our trees?  She's got a kid with her.  Or, is she following that kid?  Should we call the police?"  You're the weirdo.  They never blame the baby.

5) Throwing Balls into the Street, Because Whatever, Mommy Will Get Them

Nadia enjoys playing with balls.  But not like, actual games.  She just throws and kicks the ball to various places, and demands that I stand in one place and occasionally throw the ball back to her when it gets lodged under the car.  No big deal.  I can do that.

Except she intentionally throws and kicks the damn ball into the street, knowing full well that she's not allowed in the street, and that I will be forced to go retreive it.  It's the most tiresome game in the world.  I tell her repeatedly not to deliberately throw it in the street.  I am cheerfully ignored.  Eventually my patience runs out, and I take the ball away, and say we have to go inside because she's misbehaving.  At which point she will demand to wear her wings and "go fly".  

You might say she's learning hand eye coordination, and getting good exercise.  You're right.  But mostly I think she's just messing with me, learning how much disobedience Mommy can tolerate before she snaps.  

Is playing outside the wholesome, enriching activity everyone seems to think it is?  I don't know.  I feel like she could learn all this stuff inside just as easily.  But it makes her happy to be outdoors, and I suppose in the end, that's what matters.  

An Open Apology

Staying indoors all day with a child who doesn't speak English that well gives me lots of time to brood. These broodings have led me to some new insights into my behavior, and I have brought it to my attention that I am sometimes unintentionally rude.  In this post I will be apologizing for and explaining my actions.

Rudeness #1: Asking if it's a child friendly event.

How its perceived: I'm putting you in an awkward position by asking this question.  If you wanted Nadia to come, you would have invited her.  But if you say it's not a child friendly party, so I should leave the kid at home,  then you feel obligated to throw a party full of hookers, pornography, cocaine, and machetes, which probably wasn't what you had in mind.

My explanation: I'm honestly just trying to figure out if I need to get a sitter or not.  

My solution: I will no longer do this.  If you don't invite Nadia specifically to an event, I will assume she is not invited.

I'm sorry.

Rudeness #2: Trying to figure out your race.

How it's Perceived: Well, I hope no one knows I'm doing it.  I'm not obvious about it, I don't make any comments, and I don't ask any questions.  At most, I might talk about my heritage, hoping that you'll chime in with yours, becoming disappointed when you don't.  BECAUSE YOU NEVER DO.

But if someone were to figure out that I'm trying to learn their race, this is what I imagine they'd think.

"Why do you need to know that?  So you can place me on some hierarchy, so you can treat me accordingly?  So you know which stereotypes to apply to me?  You're such a racist, Dana.  I hate you."

My Explanation:  NO!  It has nothing to do with racism, I swear!  I'm just curious and I want to know more about you!  Being raised in a community where 99% of everyone is white has rendered me completely unable to tell what ethnicity anyone is.  I seriously have no idea what race you are, unless you are milky pale like me.  For instance, my prom date in high school was one of the only non white people I knew, and I thought he was Indian or Pakistani, and I was surprised when he told me he was, in fact, Mexican.  His last name was Maldonado.  So you see what we're dealing with here,  I'm basically disabled at knowing your race, so it's kind of become a game for me, to try to figure it out.

Also, I'm hoping you're some ethnicity that has amazing food, and we will become friends and you'll give me your great grandmother's secret special recipe for Cambodian goulash or whatever.

I'm sorry.  Please know I don't mean anything nefarious.  I have no intention of hiding my valuables based on what I learn.

Rudeness #3: One upping your stories 

How it's perceived: You tell a story.  I tell a similar story.  You hate me because I'm trying to one up you.

My Explanation: I honestly didn't know that this was a thing that bothered people until fairly recently.  In my mind that's how conversations work.  You tell a story.  I think of a similar story, and share it with you.  We laugh over our shared experiences.  It's called bonding, you judgmental prick!  I'm trying to relate to you!  But no, you have to get all sensitive, and get all butt hurt because my story was better.

You know what?  No.  I'm actually not going to apologize for this one.

Rudenss #4: Shitting on things you love/tearing things apart

How it's perceived: "Dana is so rude.  Can you believe what she said about bicyclists?  I ride a bike, and I'm proud of it!  She obviously hates me."

My explanation:  There is no excuse.  This is the worst thing about me.  I tend to state my opinions frequently, using strong language.  I do this because I find it entertaining.  The more exaggerated I make my statements, the more entertained I am.  It makes me feel good to tear apart bad arguments, destroy bad logic, and criticize things I dislike.  It makes me so, so happy.  And I forget that most people take this kind of stuff personally.  In my mind, if I'm criticizing your wrong idea, or a show you like, it has nothing to do with YOU.  I still like YOU, even if I don't like all the things you like.  But most people don't separate themselves from their ideas or interests, and they feel personally attacked by my tirades.

This is my fault.  I AM working on it.  I'm trying to be more aware of it when I'm being negative, and I'm trying to only say nice things about the stuff people like, when I'm talking to them.  I am very, truly sorry.  

Say His Name

In the wake of yet another mass shooting, many people are calling for news outlets to maintain the anonymity of the shooter.  First of all, let me just say that I respect this position, and if you choose to refrain from using the shooter's name, more power to you.  However, though I respect this position, I disagree with it.  Here's why -

The arguments against using the shooter's name, as I understand them, are these -

1) Using his name when reporting on the shooting is somehow honoring him, and giving him fame.

My Rebuttal:

No.  It's not.  Attention is not the same as adulation.  Yes, if the news anchors were like, "The talented, brilliant and handsome Eric Cartman killed ten people today, which really showed the bastards who was the superior being.  A link to Mr. Cartman's manifesto can be found here..." OK, then yes.  That would be glorifying him, but that is NOT what is being said.  All of the attention is negative attention.

2) Giving the killer attention is giving him what he wants.  After all, these guys just do it for the attention.

My Rebuttal: 

Look.  I'm familiar with attention seeking behavior.  The nine year old who shoots spitballs in class.  The woman who has every food allergy under the sun, and is afraid of pineapples.  The guy with the obscenely huge truck.  These are all examples of things people do "just for attention".  "Mass murder" is not attention seeking behavior.  Yes, the desire for recognition may be a part of their motivations, but their pathologies go much, much MUCH deeper than "Hey, everyone look at me!"

3) Using the killer's name will give new killers someone to emulate.

My Rebuttal: 

I'm not a psychologist.  But I've read so many books about psychology, serial killers, mass shooters.  So many, you guys!  And I've watched a bunch of documentaries about this stuff too.  So yeah, I'm pretty much a psychologist. 

Mass shooters don't tend to be "copycats".  It might seem like that, because they all use guns and kill innnocent people, but they don't do it to honor other shooters, or because they idolize other shooters, at least not specifically.  Yes, they might get the idea to do a shooting because of other shootings they've heard about, but it's the actions that are inspirational to them, not the murderers.  

But aside from all these rebuttals and such, I honestly wonder: what is to be gained from preserving the shooter's anonymity?   Will prospective shooters of the future say to themselves, "Well, I was going to shoot up a movie theater today, but you know, when that last shooting happened, no one said his name, so...I guess I'll just get to work on this term paper."  

Have you ever read he Harry Potter books?  In them, the bad guy is named "Voldemort".  Voldemort is so very, very evil that most people are afraid to say his name, because it causes bad feelings.  I think this may be a part of the motivation behind the movement to stop saying the killer's name.  I think people are afraid when confronted with this kind of evil.  

But here's the thing.  By keeping the shooters anonymous, we are not helping the situation.  I honestly do not believe that keeping him nameless will act as any kind of deterrent for shooters in the future.  I truly don't believe that it will help.   What I do think it will do, is turn the shooters into nameless boogymen, which will create an even greater climate of fear.  Fear breeds irrationality.  Fear and irrationallity beget more violence.  

Worst of all, if we can't name the evil, the evil becomes disembodied and amorphous.  The shooters are anyone, could be anywhere.  And then the problem of mass shootings starts to seem like a problem that we cannot solve.  And we can solve this problem.  I truly believe that.  But we have to believe that we can, and we have to approach it rationally, without fear.

*****

Interestingly, I do think there is one good reason for maintaining the shooter's anonymity; one that's never brought up - and that is protecting the family of the shooter.  Let's face it, if people know that your brother killed dozens of innocent shoppers at a mall, people are going to look at you funny.  Employers might not want to hire you; after all, what if you're just as batshit crazy as your brother?  Would a woman want to marry into your family?  Probably not.  Even if you're the nicest, sanest person in the world, the stain of what your brother did will follow you forever.  

Stop It, Workout Instructors

I go to the gym six times per week, and I take lots of classes.  I need to work out a lot to keep myself sane, and under two hundred pounds.  And while I love most of my instructors, some of the things they do drive me insane.  Here is a list of things fitness instructors need to knock the fuck off.

1) Pretending they don't know what numbers are. 

Not all instructors do this, but enough do it that it needs to be addressed.  You'll be doing pushups or whatever, and the instructor will say "Four more!".  You'll prepare yourself mentally, rationing your energy so as to complete those last four to the best of your ability.  And the smartass instructor will go "Four, three, two, two, two, two, two...aaaaaand ONE!" and then she'll laugh.

Well, I refuse to participate in her sick games.  As soon as I've completed my four, I simply stop and stare at her until she's done pretending to be an idiot who can't count.  I urge you to do as I do.  Eventually the instructors will get the hint and stop trying to fuck with our heads.

2) Insisting that students whoop and holler like trailer trash.

Every.  Single.  Instructor.  Does this.  (Except yoga instructors, obviously.)  At some point during the class, the instructor will say "Wow.  You're all so quiet today!".  Because instructors are an extroverted bunch, and they become intensely uncomfortable with the slightest bit of quiet.  They need constant validation from their students that they are, in fact, enjoying themselves, and unless the students clap and carry on like drunks, the instructors feel blank and hollow inside.  

Dear Instructors: We do enjoy your class.  If we didn't we wouldn't come.  Not everyone likes to scream and shout, especially not when we're sweaty and breathless from exertion.  Learn to love yourself, Dear Instructor.   Your self esteem will shine from within, and it will draw us toward you, like moths to a flame.  

Or, you know, at least let us maintain what's left of our dignity.

3) Insisting that we need to burn off the claories from whatever holiday has happened recently.

I kid you not - in February, I had to hear about working off the Valentine's Day chocolate until FEBRUARY 28TH.  No one eats so much chocolate on Valentines Day that they are still working it off weeks later.  Or rather, the people who eat that much chocolate are probably not hanging out at the gym much.   But it's also Christmas, Thanksgiving, Fourth of July, Labor Day, whatever.  You can bet that if there's been a holiday within a week of the class you're taking, every instructor will make the same lame ass corny joke about how we need to burn off those Black History Month calories or whatever.  Stop it, Instructors.  Stop it!

4)Instructing  us how to smile.

"OK, now extend from the elbow.  And press.  Press.  Press.  And press.  Now lift.  Lift. Lift and lift.  Now bend the knees. And hold.  Pulse.  Pulse.  And turn the corners of your mouth up."  Then shel'll smile at her little joke.  She's tricked us into smiling!  Isn't that precious?

Dear Instructor:  We aren't smiling for a reason.  You are hurting us.  We are in physical pain.  Tricking us into smiling will only make us hate you.  It is not helpful.  It burns no calories.  Just let us be.

Hate

When I was a little girl, I knew several children who were forbidden to use the word "hate".  I distinctly remember a lilttle girl singing "I dislike myself for loving you" on the schoolbus, and thinking she was ridiculous.  After all, "hate" wasn't even a swear word.  What was her deal?

Now, many years later, I still don't really understand the thinking behind this rule.  I figure it must be one of two things - 

1) By prohibiliting the word "hate" you would somehow prohibit the feeling.  You would create a psychological environment in your child where hate was simply not allowed; it wasn't even a thing.  Or at the very least, by removing the word "hate" from the vocabulary, you would dull the child's negative emotions, muting them to mere "dislike" or "annoyance".  

Or, perhaps - 

2) The parents thought it was perfectly okay to feel hate, just not to express it.  

I very much doubt that it was a successful strategy, either way.

I sort of get it.  Hate is generally a very bad thing.  Hatred is the cause of most of the evil in the world.  I totally get wanting to protect your child from it in all of its forms.  And yes, "hate" is a very strong word, and I absolutely support rules prohibiting children from saying "I hate you", or other hurtful language, when it's not justified.

But, like it or not, hate is a part of life, and most everyone will experience a feeling of hatred at some point or another.  It seems to me that trying to ban the very concept of hate, or teaching children to simply ignore hate, is silly, and perhaps even dangerous.  

Because hate does exist.  It is a thing.  I wish I could talk to some of these mothers to see what their intentions were when they made this rule.  I don't judge them harshly - I think their intentions were probably good - and so I would like to hear their side of the story.   Did they ban other words for things they didn't like - things like "sex" and "sugar" and "war" and "guns"?  I'm honestly curious.

Home Sweet Home

I recently met a woman who was born and raised in Los Angeles.  She told me that she felt like a loser, because she'd never lived anywhere else.  She'd gone to college at UCLA, and then got a job in LA, and still lives there now.  

"That in no way makes you a loser" I said, emphatically.  "LA is basically paradise, but with shitty parking.  Why would you feel the need to move?  Everything good is here!"

She explained that she didn't want to be one of those people who never left her hometown.

And I realized that lots of people have this attitude.  They buy in to this notion that if you don't move far away from home, as soon as you're done with school, you've somehow failed at life, and you suck.  

I personally think this is ridiculous.  Whether or not you're a loser is not dependent on whether or not you leave your hometown.  That really depends on where your hometown is, and why you stayed there.  For instance, if your dream is to run a farm, and  you were raised in a rural area, then it doesn't make you a loser to stay in that rural area.  If it's important to you to live in a safe place with a real sense of community, and you were born in a beautiful, friendly small town, it only makes sense to stay there.  And of course, if you were born in a big city, and you love city life, there's no reason to move!  There just isn't.

Of course, it's a good idea to see more of the world, so you don't wind up being a provincial hick - but it's entirely possible to do that and return to your hometown when you're done.  

I would argue that you're only a loser if you stay in your hometown if said hometown is a backwards shithole, and you are only staying there because you've screwed yourself out of options, or you don't have the gumption to make life decisions, and you're just succumbing to inertia.

I left my hometown, but I don't consider myself to be superior or more successful than others because I did so.  I left because there was no way for me to have a good life or be happy there.  I'm someone who needs sunshine and warmth.  I need opera houses and independent theaters and fancy restaurants and Anthropologie and Disneyland.  If I had stayed, I probably would have wound up drinking myself to death, and that's probably not an exaggeration.  Still to this day, when I see Facebook posts from people who stayed in my hometown, it's all like "That same tweaker from last week just took a shit on my front porch again" and "Dude, why do my neighbors keep coming to my house at 3:00am asking for Sudafed?" and pictures of storm damage.  Not the place for me and my family.

That being said, I think it is extremely important to have family nearby.  I would be so extraordinarily  happy if I had more family that lived close to me!  Especially now that I have a child.  It would be so nice to be able to call up a relative and say "Hey, can I drop Nadia off on Friday?  We're going to see a play" and then not have to worry about paying a sitter, child abuse, etc.  Or if I get a stomach virus and am incapacitated, it would be great to call up a relative and say "Hey, can you take Nadia out of here so she doesn't get sick or die from neglect while I spend all my time vomiting?" And Nadia would have the experience of growing up in an extended family, with picnics and birthday parties and shit.  

And those types of experiences are not just important for me - they're important for everyone.  Children were not meant to be raised in a bubble with no one but their parents to call family.  Of course, it can be done, and it can be done successfully, but it's hard, and not as rich.

So if you've made a decision to stay in your hometown, do not feel embarassed about it, or like you've failed at life.  Bottom line, if you are able to have the life you want in the place where you were born, then it's a really, really smart idea to stay there.  Why abandon your family and friends, just because?  Family is important.  Friends are important.  Moving for the sole purpose of making yourself seem more successful?  Not that important.  

Children's Programs and Parenting Skills

Lots of times when I'm watching Daniel Tiger or Sesame Street, I get the distinct impression that the shows are trying to coach me in how to be a proper parent.  (Note: being a good parent, according to kids' shows, generally means pretending that you've had an ice pick lobotomy.)

Here's the thing.  It's one thing for these shows to teach kids to count to ten, or to know their shapes or whatever.  These are reasonably simple, straightforward tasks that can easily be learned via puppet instruction.  But if you, as an adult, go to Stinky the Plant and Elmo for lessons on how to raise a child, your problems are deep and serious.  They are not the type of problems that can be solved with a song and dance routine, however cleverly crafted.

I don't find the parenting lessons insulting, exactly.  They don't make me angry.  On the contrary, I think the makers of the shows are well intentioned.  But it makes me feel depressed that there might be parents who need to be instructed in such basic matters, in such basic fashion, and that there are TV show producers who feel that they are the ones who need to provide this instruction.  

Phil Quotes

Phil is wonderful.  Here are some wonderful Phil quotes for your enjoyment.

"Bellingham is a very conservative town."

Me: "Are you telling me that more than one person here owns a private island?"

Phil: "It's not that big of a deal, Honey.  Lots of people own islands."

(To a man who wrongly accused me of letting my dog poo on his lawn)

"You need to stop harassing my wife, or I will take a shit on your lawn!"

Me: Do you think I'm wasting my brains by teaching yoga?

Phil: (laughs and laughs) I am not touching that question with a ten foot pole.

Me: What?  No, I won't get mad.  I just want to know what you think!

Phil: (goes into the kitchen and turns on the faucet) I can't hear you over the water!

Me: I just mean-

Phil: No, I still can't hear you!

(Driving past the multimillion dollar homes on the way to The Huntington)

"I bet all these people get really annoyed that cars drive past their houses all the time to get to The Huntington."

Only Phil has sympathy for the poor, poor rich people who have to deal with cars driving on the roads.

Microcon!

For those of you following my Facebook posts, here is your answer.  Yes!  We made it into Microcon!  Here's how it went- 

Nadia and I showed up at the library, where the convention was being held.  The meeting rooms and the restrooms are on the same level, so no one stopped me as I went downstairs, assuming I was taking my small child to the bathroom.  

Muh hahaha!

But when I got to the meeting room, it was locked!  LOCKED!  And not one of those pickable locks - it was one of those keypads where you have to know the password.  I did not know the password.  I was sad.  But, I suppose these foreign dignitaries need certain security measures to prevent assassinations/troll attacks, etc.  

But then, a miracle!  Out of the room stepped an extremely tall man, about my age.  I liked his intelligent eyes, and kind face.  I also was extremely impressed with his fancy purple velvet cape, and his metal breastplate.  Yep.  I knew what I had to do.

I waited for a minute, and then I followed him.

Here's the thing.  When you want something from a stranger, you can't just ask, straight away.  It scares people off.  You have to verbally fuck around for a while.  This is where it helps to play dumb.  So I approached him and asked "Excuse me - what's going on in that room down there?"

He was only too happy to tell me!  He explained about Microcon, and how it was a meeting of people who had formed their own independent countries.  He himself was the King of Arcadia.  He introduced me to his family - two adorable children and a wife.  The kids seemed quite happy in their prince and princess regalia - I wanted the princess dress for Nadia - it was truly fabulous.  The Queen was dressed in regular thirty-something-American-mom clothes, and she looked like she needed a hundred beers.  Whether that was from the convention, or from wrangling two small children, or from her queenly duties, I do not know.  

The King of Arcadia then said the magic words.  "Would you like to join us?"

YES.  YES I WOULD.

And so, I was escorted into Microcon by the King of Arcadia Himself!

When we got into the room, a presentation was in progress.  It was a suited young man from California Republic, talking about the plans for updating their embassy.  He had a very fundamentalist look about him.

All around, everyone was fascinating.  There were men in very serious looking military clothes.  There were lots of people in Ren-Faire type clothes.  Many people were dressed in ordinary outfits.  There was one guy who was wearing a crown that looked suspiciously like a Burger King crown, but I withhold my judgment.  After all, it is not for me to look askance at other cultures.  Maybe Burger King is a very important part of life in his country.  

The California Repubic fellow ended his speech, and was followed by The King of Uberstadt, a kingdom located on an island in the Pacific Northwest.  He began telling the story of how he got the idea to form a country, his inspirations, etc.  

And then, Nadia.

I should preface this by saying that it was Nadia's naptime, and I had no business taking her to a meeting of foreign dignitaries.  I fed her a large lunch, hoping that the food would make her content and a bit logey, but it didn't.  Unfortunately, she is conditioned to sleep about a half hour after lunch.  It is our routine, every single day.  Lunch, play for a little bit, nap.  It's Pavlovian.

First, Nadia was fascinated by the cameramen.  (There were cameramen.  Documentary makers, maybe?  Not sure.)  She kept pointing to the cameras, wanting me to take her to them.  I refused.  She started yelling.  "Shhh!" I shushed her.  This worked, sort of.

And then she saw it.  The Hat.

If you haven't spent much time with Nadia lately, you may not know this, but Nadia is very into hats lately.  She LOVES them.  She puts them on.  She takes them off again.  She puts them on  you.  She takes them off of you.  She loves hats.  LOVES them.  

Well this one gentleman had a very fancy, colorful hat with feathers in it.  It was very eye-catching and fun.  Nadia wanted that hat.  She kept pointing at it, over and over, saying "that"  "that"  "that", which is her catch-all phrase for "Give it to me".  I tried to distract her with a pamphlet for the Republic of Molossia, which was even less effective than it sounds, if that's possible.  But Nadia simply refused to respect the King of Uberstadt's authority, and continued to mak noise during his speech.

She began crying.  Crying like the saddest little girl in the world.  And I knew my fun was over.  I suppose I could have tried to get the hat for her, but I don't think that would have gone over very well.  Besides, the meeting was very quiet and serious, and not really a place for a child Nadia's age.  I was extremely disappointed.    

I will probably never get the opportunity to attend another Microcon again.  I am sad.

Concluding Thoughts - 

I know that to most people, these folks are crazy.  Deserving of contempt even.  They are jokes.  But I actually rather respect them, and here's why you should too!

It takes a very special and awesome kind of person to decide to form a brand new country.  There are certain personailty traits one must have to take this kind of action.

1) Confidence

You must have confidence in yourself and your own abilities in order to say "You know, I think I could run my own country!"  Some people might call it over-confidence, or even arrogance, but those are the kinds of people who lack confidence themselves, and who feel threatened by people who aren't crippled by self-doubt.

2) A Can-Do-Attitude!

To start your own country, you have to be the sort of person who is willing to roll up your sleeves and solve problems yourself.  You don't wait for politicians in Washington to solve your problems for you, or for lobbyists to help your cause - you just do it!  Yourself!

3) Imagination

People who start their own countries are not bound by the conventions of the societies into which they are born.  They have the creativity and imagination to see that the world could be different.  They have an idea in their minds of what they want the world to be, and they do their damndest to make it happen!  

4) Independence

If you form your own country, you open yourself up to ridicule and scorn.  They know this.  They have no illusions about how they are perceived by others - but adhering to their principles and ideals is more important to them than acceptance in mainstream society.  We can debate whether this is actually a posititve trait or not - after all, it is important to work and play well with others, as humans are social animals - but I think we can all agree that a certain amount of independence is desirable in most people.

Are these countries doomed?  Probably.  Are they taken seriously by "real" countries?  No.  Are they making any real difference in the world? Meh, debatable.  But I still think there is something admirable about microcountries and the people who found them.  These are people who were, for whatever reason, unhappy with the way things were in their natal countries, and so, rather than whine about how awful things are, they simply said "Fuck it.  I'm gonna start my own country.  And everything's gonna be done exactly how I want it done.  I am the captain of my soul, I am the master of my fate!"  Is it the most effective solution?  Probably not.  But dammit, they do it anyway.  And I like that about them.