She Certainly Has The Symmetry and Low Body Fat That Western Culture Deems Desirable

On a recent trip to Africa I was surprised to find myself frequently in play. I don't meet Western standards of desirability, so I'm unused to receiving any positive attention on my physical being.  As an asexual person, I'm OK with that. So I found my response to the unexpected attention surprising.  I felt flattered, and often responded in a coquettish manner, a trait never normally associated with my personality.  (On the rare occasions I've tried to flirt, it looks a lot like when Ross Geller on Friends tried to flirt with the pizza delivery girl by telling her that gas is odorless and the smell is added so you will know if there is a gas leak.)

Since coming home, I've reflected on why an asexual person would feel so pleased to receive attention as a sexually desirable being.  I think part of the reason is because it played into what had become a running joke prior to my departure.  Several travel guides and the travel clinic nurse practitioner all urged condoms as items that must be included on a list of things to bring on a trip to Africa.  When I told the nurse that for me they wouldn't be necessary, she responded by telling me that 30% of single people report having an unexpected sexual liaison while on vacation.  While I appreciated her promotion of safe sex practices, she seemed ignorant of sexual orientations that don't require condoms or the belief that a person has the will or choice to say no to sexual advances.

Another reason is that validation is a fairly basic human need. From that perspective it makes sense to be pleased with any positive attention, even from an unexpected and unsolicited source.

But as I watched the recent X-Men:  First Class movie, another reason struck me.  One of the movie's themes is the need to fit in, to be viewed as "normal."  And the struggle it is for those who don't fit in, who aren't viewed by general society as normal.  I feel that.  Sometimes it is nice, easy, safe, comfortable to fit in.  Unconsciously and sometimes consciously we all do things to fit in, to act the part that is socially accepted.  So I think I was relishing the fitting in, the being part of the group, the being viewed as normal.  Not that I'm unhappy with who am I or wish to change it.   But 'normal' is easier.  Acceptance is more comfortable.

In other respects my otherness was never more evident than in Africa.  I was asked hundreds of times about my husband and children.  When I said I had neither, I was immediately viewed with pity.  If I went further to inform that I was single and childless by choice, I was viewed as selfish.  It was evident that my life was found lacking because I was not a wife and mother.  So it seems that with my otherness making me stand out in Africa even more than it does in America, and the negative attention I was receiving as a result, I embraced the opposite phenomenon.  Movie critic Peter Keough called X-Men:  First Class "a metaphor for the outsider in all of us." And while I have more in common with the X-Men characters who learned to embrace their otherness and the unique gifts it gives them, for five weeks in Africa I appreciated how much easier it is to fit in.

We have never been closer to achieving Dr. King's dream, when we can all be judged on the content of our character, not on the color of our skin (or our gender, or our age, or our ethnicity, or our nationality, or appearance, or our religion or our sexuality.)  But we are also still so very,very far away.  So I took pleasure in being judged, and not being found lacking.  A pretty superficial thing to take pleasure in.  But also a very human one.  So in that regard I'm normal.

I'll Take The Lot And Treat Them Just The Same

I've had conflicting emotions as we've begun the countdown to the last Harry Potter movie, Deathly Hallows 2.  The seven books and eight movies have been an important part of my life for going on ten years.  The release of the last of the movies marks the end of something extraordinarily special.  And I don't want it to end.  But I'm also extraordinarily excited to see the new movie.  The trailers alone have made me forget to breath.  The email from Fandango telling me that tickets were going on sale for the July 15, 2011 release was therefore met with both a sense of giddy anticipation and deep sorrow.

One of the many great things about the Harry Potter verse is the community that has built up around it.  Seeing the films on opening night is an interactive experience.  Fans dress as their favorite characters, or adorn themselves in the colors of their favorite of the four Hogwarts houses.  There are trivia contests and costume contests and long hours standing in line pass quickly in friendly camaraderie with fellow fans. 

Hogwarts refers to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the main setting for the Harry Potter books and movies. Hogwarts was founded by four best friends; Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff.  Gryffindor valued bravery and courage.  "You might be in Gryffindor where dwell the brave at heart, their daring, nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart."  Ravenclaw valued intelligence and learning.  "Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw if you've a ready mind, where those of wit and learning will always find their kind."  Slytherin valued cunning and ambition and those from pure blood wizard families.   "Or perhaps in Slytherin you'll make your real friends, those cunning folks use any means to achieve their ends."  Each of these three founders selected students who met their ideals.  But Helga Hufflepuff valued tolerance, loyalty, fairness and hard work.  "You might belong in Hufflepuff where they are just and loyal, those patient Hufflepuffs are true and unafraid of toil."  And Helga declined to be exclusive, saying of her house, "I'll take the lot and treat them just the same."

In the books and movies and within the Harry Potter fandom, Hufflepuff house is sometimes given short shrift.  Lacking the competitiveness, courage, intellect, and cunning that distinguish the other houses, Hufflepuff often fails to distinguish itself in athletics or academics and therefore never earns enough house points to win the coveted year-end house cup. 

If I were ever fortunate enough to receive my invitation to Hogwarts, I'd be in Hufflepuff for sure.  I lack the courage for Gryffindor, the cunning for Slytherin, or the intelligence for Ravenclaw.  So I'd be sorted into Hufflepuff house by default, the house that will "take the lot."  But I'd be proud to be a Hufflepuff.  The traits valued by Helga Hufflepuff, the traits distinguishing Hufflepuff house, are traits I value and aspire to.  In his tribute to the deceased student Cedric Diggory, headmaster Albus Dumbledore said:  "Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house," Dumbledore continued.  "He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play." 

I don't know why these qualities are not held in as high esteem as those traits valued in the other houses, but they are by me.  So when I line up on the night of July 14, 2011 waiting for the 12:01 a.m. premiere on July 15, 2011, among a sea of scarlet and gold (Gryffindor) with a smattering of blue and bronze (Ravenclaw) and green and silver (Slytherin), I'll be proudly wearing my Hufflepuff house colors of  black and yellow.  For here's to loyalty, hard work, tolerance and fairness.  They may not be as sexy as intelligence and wit, bravery and courage, cunning and ambition; but I value them just the same. 

Won't You Be, Won't You Be, Please Won't You Be My Neighbor!

As I started to to scoot out of my driveway this morning, I stopped to allow two unknown persons to first cross on the sidewalk.  They stood out because of their dress.  I can only make assumptions about their nationality, ethnicity and/or national origin, but they appeared to be immigrants from a South American country and they appeared to be indiginous persons from that region.  I base my assumptions only on their appearance, knowing nothing else about them.  They seemed amused by me on my scooter and began giggling and speaking softly to each other, they smiled and waved at me.  I smiled and waved back. 

My state continues to debate tough anti-immigration legislation, despite the fact that seven out of ten hispanic immigrants living in my state are here lawfully.  And of course many hispanics living in my state are not immigrants at all, some of them tracing their family histories here for far longer than those who would profile and judge them,  My job precludes me from making my views know publically.  So I'll resort to my blog to express my appreciation for living in a culturally diverse city and neighborhood.  And to say howdy neighbors!

The Star Wars Conundrum

I was talking to my Mom on the phone and she mentioned that my Dad, a bit of a technology geek, had just got a new smart phone and was spending happy hours getting it set up exactly the way he wanted with the apps he wanted.  She said it was a Star Wars phone.  He'd previously had a Blackberry so I started running through those names trying to think of one that would evoke Star Wars.  Tour, Storm, Pearl?  None of those she said.  Then I thought aha, the Samsung the Galaxy, and asked if that was it.  (Not a phone, I know, but she might think it was).  No, she said,  maybe I am wrong.  Maybe it isn't a Star Wars phone.  Maybe it is an Indiana Jones phone.  The Torch?  No.  The Bold?  No.  Then, I hit upon it.  The DROID?  Yes, she replied.  That's it.  The Droid.  A Star Wars Phone. 

Go Gently Into That Dark Night - In Memoriam

I killed my beloved friend today.  I guess we are fortunate in this instance that animals are legally considered nothing more than property so I could humanely end his life before cancer slowly and painfully stole it from him.  Thank you Tobias for almost 12 years of unconditional love and faithful companionship. 

When I emailed friends, family and colleagues to tell them Toby had been diagnosed with cancer and would soon be leaving us, many asked
to come by and say their goodbyes.  And so many did.  I am not the only one who is mourning his passing.     

My administrative assistant at work is NOT a pet person.  She is an extremely well dressed, well groomed, well coiffed, well put together and classy lady and she does NOT understand why people like to live with creatures that shed, and have bad breath and slobber and stink, etc.  I frequently brought Toby to my office but I always kept him away from Helen, respecting her right to not have to have her workspace invaded by my dog.  But after a while I noticed that when he came in she would talk to him.  And then I would see her walk by him and dip down as she passed to pat his head or scratch his back.  I teased her saying that I kept catching her secretly liking me dog and she responded, "You know, I DO secretly like him!"  Soon it was no longer a secret.  She joined the number of people at the office who kept treats in a drawer for him and would let him eat a treat straight out of her palm.  She learned that he loved to have his butt (lower back just above the tail) scratched and would scratch him there.  She would hold his face in her hands and talk to him.  Saliva and pet hair on herself or her clothing seemed not to be of concern when Tobias was around.  I had been absent from work for several weeks following some surgery during the time I found out that Toby had cancer, and when I returned to work Helen asked me about how I was doing.  After we engaged in the normal social pleasantries she turned to walk away, but then turned back around and asked with tears in her eyes, "How's our boy doing."  Many people at work had asked after him and I managed to control my emotions and respond to their queries without tears.  But when Helen asked about "our boy," I lost the battle.  Such was the loving, funny, playful nature of my Toby that he had won her heart when no other animal ever had.    

I considered spending the extra $120 to have a private cremation so I could get his ashes back and honor him by spreading them someplace beautiful that we loved going to together.  So many places came to mind.  But Toby was a rescue dog.  And he loved other animals (except puppies, he always hated puppies).  This was a dog that would patiently wait while the cats ate from his bowl poaching his food before beginning his meal.  This was a dog that let kittens jump on his tail when he walked past them and then let them hang on for a short ride.  An animal rescue agency rescued Toby and gave us a chance to have almost twelve years together.  I decided a better way to honor him was to donate the money to an animal rescue organization, to give others the chance to have the type of loving companionship we shared. 

I know what many people think.  I know what many of them are probably saying as they witness my grief.  I am single and childless by choice but I can hear people saying that for single childless people our pets are substitutes for the "real family" they feel we lack.  Tobias was funny and fun and clever and playful and intelligent and mischievous and joyful and most of all loving.  If I had a husband and ten children he would still have been worth my love and my tears.

Family, friends, colleagues, my vet.  Everyone who cares about Toby or me or us both told me letting him go was the right thing to do  And intellectually I know it was.  But my heart feels differently  I killed my beloved friend today.

Drink Responsibly

Three cats share my house and my life. My cat is named Buddy Boy Beignet (he is a Katrina rescue, hence the Beignet). I let my dog Toby also rescue two cats, although not from Katrina (he is a rescue himself and has the biggest heart of almost anyone or anything I have ever known). One of Toby's cats is named Lizzie Beth (who is so naughty my Brother calls her Lizzie Borden). The other cat is named Mia Sarah.

Beignet is a perfect cat. He is never naughty. He is sweet and playful and always up for a cuddle, never scratches the furniture, plays sweetly with the other animals, and rarely misbehaves. His only remotely naughty behavior is that he likes to turn the simple household chores of changing the sheets and/or making the bed into a challenging game.

Lizzie Beth and Mia Sarah, on the other hand, are the cutest feline terrorists you are every likely to meet.
They scratch the furniture,

have

have ruined a blind by turning it into a kitty hammock,

lay belly up in the middle of the floor and then act indignant when you trip over them,

inexplicably get muddy paw prints halfway up the wall,

bully each other and Beignet and Toby, get on furniture where they know they don't belong. . . .

But worst of all?  They LOVE to play drinking games.

Lizzie's drinking game goes like this. She wants to have a taste of whatever is in your glass. She is not discriminating. It can be water, or a soda, or wine, or a beer, or a milkshake, or milk or . . . . However, she realizes that lapping up a puddle is easier then drinking from a glass. So if you are not paying close attention to your glass, she will simply knock your beverage over so she can lap up the ensuing mess.

Mia Sarah's drinking game is less messy but more insidious. She is a dipper. She sticks her paw in your drink and then licks the beverage off of her paw. Dip, lick, dip, lick, dip, lick.  This means that if you ever leave a drink unattended at my house, upon returning to it, you should just pour it out and start afresh. For in your absence it is highly likely that a paw has been inserted into your beverage in order to provide Mia a taste.

There has been a lot of debate in America in recent years about racial profiling and what a terrorist looks like. The two biggest acts of terrorism committed against my country in my lifetime were committed by persons of different races, different ethnicities, different religions and different nationalities.  For me the debate is ludicrous.  I know that terrorism knows no single, race, religion, gender, ethnicity, nationality or national origin. 

And there is little need for debate or profiling in me house.   We know what the face of terrorism looks like:

No, I am a postive person. YOU are like Santa Claus on Prozac, at Disneyland, Getting Laid

A few weeks ago I was walking with Toby around Liberty Park (before it was closed due to the oil spill).  He did his business and I bent over to bag it up so I could dispose of it in an appropriate receptacle.  Realizing my ample booty might block the path, I stepped off to the side to accomplish the task.  An older gentleman walked past, smiled and said in a rich, Slavic accent, "You nice lady!"  I thought he was thanking me for stepping out of his way, but as he passed by he went on to say:  "Your dog hurt to jump, you buy ramp.  You nice lady!"  I realized he must have seen me unloading my seemingly suddenly geriatric dog from my vehicle with the new ramp I'd bought to make getting in and out of the car easier for him. 

Then last evening it came to me as I was cutting strips of carpet runner to line the wooden stairs that Toby now has trouble climbing, slipping on his way up or down.  I AM a nice lady!