... to talk to an imaginary elephant on a banana?
Bert from Seseme Street claims he isn't! But Ernie convinces him to.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=51ZhEjB_KvU
Anything else that you are emotionally secure enough to do? I'm taking suggestions and making a list!
June 28, 2008
June 16, 2008
Adventures in Outdoor Education
Labels:
Life
Apparently, I’m outdoorsy now.
Any one of you who knew me in Singapore and Chicago can pick yourself up off the floor and stop laughing. Yes, I am outdoorsy now.
Do you know how I know I am outdoorsy? I went into an Adventure 16 this weekend. Sure, going to an outdoor gear store does not necessarily make me outdoorsy per se. But renting rock climbing shoes from one does.
Adventure 16 wasn’t as intimidating as I feared. No one was standing by the door checking my outdoorsy-ness quotient. No one seemed to suspect that I used to declare, “I don’t like outside.” Sales people helped me find the world’s smallest pair of climbing shoes (I have small feet) and guided me on how they should fit. One of them told me that Tick Rock, my next climbing venue, was one of her first outdoor climbs.
In fact, they were so helpful that they didn’t laugh at me when I asked them what a bear canister was. I saw them on the list of items you can rent at Adventure 16.
Much to my disappointment, bear canisters do not actually contain bears. I was secretly hoping a bear canister would be something that you could open and bears would come popping out. Afterall, if you are touting adventure, what would be more of an adventure than a can full of bears?
But alas, no.
Curious about a bear canister actually is? Click on this: Not A Can Full Of Bears
Any one of you who knew me in Singapore and Chicago can pick yourself up off the floor and stop laughing. Yes, I am outdoorsy now.
Do you know how I know I am outdoorsy? I went into an Adventure 16 this weekend. Sure, going to an outdoor gear store does not necessarily make me outdoorsy per se. But renting rock climbing shoes from one does.
Adventure 16 wasn’t as intimidating as I feared. No one was standing by the door checking my outdoorsy-ness quotient. No one seemed to suspect that I used to declare, “I don’t like outside.” Sales people helped me find the world’s smallest pair of climbing shoes (I have small feet) and guided me on how they should fit. One of them told me that Tick Rock, my next climbing venue, was one of her first outdoor climbs.
In fact, they were so helpful that they didn’t laugh at me when I asked them what a bear canister was. I saw them on the list of items you can rent at Adventure 16.
Much to my disappointment, bear canisters do not actually contain bears. I was secretly hoping a bear canister would be something that you could open and bears would come popping out. Afterall, if you are touting adventure, what would be more of an adventure than a can full of bears?
But alas, no.
Curious about a bear canister actually is? Click on this: Not A Can Full Of Bears
June 11, 2008
Men Need To Stop Telling Me They Have To Pee
Labels:
Love
This week alone, two men have told me, completely unsolicited, that they either:
A. Are about to go pee
B. Are actually peeing
C. Have finished peeing
Now, if it were just one guy, I would chalk it up to his social inadequacy. When it's TWO guys, in the span of the same week, I have to start wondering, "What is it about me that makes you think it's ok to share your bathroom activities with me?"
Maybe I'm just a comforting, relaxing presence. Maybe I bring forth images of waterfalls, fountains and running water. Maybe I'm just around guys who have really tiny bladders. Whatever it is, men, left and right are telling me they have to pee.
Men, here's a clue. If I didn't ask you and you tell me you have to pee, and I look at you funny, or make a noise that sounds like, "Ew," or God-forbid are telling you directly, "I don't want to know that" it is a sign for you to STOP TALKING IMMEDIATELY. By all means, please go pee. I just don't want to know.
Now, I know you see me as your "friend." So you're thinking, "Oh, she's just my friend, I don't need to impress her." Agreed. You do not need to impress me, but you also do not have to gross me out.
Me being your friend is all the more reason for you NOT TO TELL ME YOU HAVE TO PEE. Friends don't need to know your bathroom activities. This friend, in particular, really doesn't want to know.
It's not that I'm a prude. It's not that I find you disgusting. It's just that I really don't want to have a picture in my head of you peeing. I don't want to think of you peeing in the bathroom, in the woods or in the street. And no, telling me that you wash your hands afterwards does not make this better.
In the bathroom habits arena, let's just practice the Don't-Ask-Don't-Tell policy shall we?
A. Are about to go pee
B. Are actually peeing
C. Have finished peeing
Now, if it were just one guy, I would chalk it up to his social inadequacy. When it's TWO guys, in the span of the same week, I have to start wondering, "What is it about me that makes you think it's ok to share your bathroom activities with me?"
Maybe I'm just a comforting, relaxing presence. Maybe I bring forth images of waterfalls, fountains and running water. Maybe I'm just around guys who have really tiny bladders. Whatever it is, men, left and right are telling me they have to pee.
Men, here's a clue. If I didn't ask you and you tell me you have to pee, and I look at you funny, or make a noise that sounds like, "Ew," or God-forbid are telling you directly, "I don't want to know that" it is a sign for you to STOP TALKING IMMEDIATELY. By all means, please go pee. I just don't want to know.
Now, I know you see me as your "friend." So you're thinking, "Oh, she's just my friend, I don't need to impress her." Agreed. You do not need to impress me, but you also do not have to gross me out.
Me being your friend is all the more reason for you NOT TO TELL ME YOU HAVE TO PEE. Friends don't need to know your bathroom activities. This friend, in particular, really doesn't want to know.
It's not that I'm a prude. It's not that I find you disgusting. It's just that I really don't want to have a picture in my head of you peeing. I don't want to think of you peeing in the bathroom, in the woods or in the street. And no, telling me that you wash your hands afterwards does not make this better.
In the bathroom habits arena, let's just practice the Don't-Ask-Don't-Tell policy shall we?
June 4, 2008
Dancing At The Cicada Club
Labels:
Love
I threw caution to the wind and went swing dancing at The Cicada Club late Sunday night.
Situated in the Art Deco Oviatt building in downtown Los Angeles, The Cicada Club harkens back to the golden era of Hollywood nightclubs. The dining room has dark wood columns and gold leaf ceilings. There are sweeping staircases and a mezzanine that overlooks the dance floor. Patrons dress in evening or vintage attire for a night of dinner and dancing to music from the 20s, 30s and 40s. True to the spirit, my buddies and I put on evening attire and went out for an elegant evening of swing dancing.
Dancing is all about the push-pull between men and women. In dancing, men must lead and women must follow. The job of the man in a dance is to make a woman look good. The job of a woman is to know her part but be able to go with whatever the lead is doing. If the man can not lead or the woman can not follow, the dance breaks down and both parties looks clumsy. If done right, the dance is smooth and elegant. The man looks strong, the woman beautiful.
I love to dance because I love the elegance of that push-pull. In dancing, I learn to consider the pleasure of partnership and following. In dancing, I get to be held and touched in a healthy way – something a single person doesn’t always have a chance to experience in day-to-day life. The feminine in me wells up when I dance. Every time I get taken onto the dance floor, I feel free to be a girl, to glow and shine, to be beautiful.
That’s why I jumped at the chance to go dancing. I’ve realized that recently I haven’t felt the pleasure of being a girl. I have not glowed. I have not shined. I have not felt beautiful. I have not been touched. My feminine soul has been wilting.
Walking into The Cicada Club I felt a thrill go down my spine. The floor was filled with couples, of every age, race and form, each in a beautiful back and forth that was the dance. Everyone looked like they were having fun. Everyone looked so confident and happy. As I watched these couples on the dance floor I could feel my own joy and excitement begin to bubble up. The past weeks of sorrow, dryness, confusion and weariness faded just that little bit more. My feet started tapping, my body started swaying. I was ready to get on the dance floor.
That was when I heard a still small voice say, “These are going to be the best years of your life.”
As my dance partner twirled me onto the dance floor, my spirit lifted. I felt feminine. I felt beautiful. I felt free.
Situated in the Art Deco Oviatt building in downtown Los Angeles, The Cicada Club harkens back to the golden era of Hollywood nightclubs. The dining room has dark wood columns and gold leaf ceilings. There are sweeping staircases and a mezzanine that overlooks the dance floor. Patrons dress in evening or vintage attire for a night of dinner and dancing to music from the 20s, 30s and 40s. True to the spirit, my buddies and I put on evening attire and went out for an elegant evening of swing dancing.
Dancing is all about the push-pull between men and women. In dancing, men must lead and women must follow. The job of the man in a dance is to make a woman look good. The job of a woman is to know her part but be able to go with whatever the lead is doing. If the man can not lead or the woman can not follow, the dance breaks down and both parties looks clumsy. If done right, the dance is smooth and elegant. The man looks strong, the woman beautiful.
I love to dance because I love the elegance of that push-pull. In dancing, I learn to consider the pleasure of partnership and following. In dancing, I get to be held and touched in a healthy way – something a single person doesn’t always have a chance to experience in day-to-day life. The feminine in me wells up when I dance. Every time I get taken onto the dance floor, I feel free to be a girl, to glow and shine, to be beautiful.
That’s why I jumped at the chance to go dancing. I’ve realized that recently I haven’t felt the pleasure of being a girl. I have not glowed. I have not shined. I have not felt beautiful. I have not been touched. My feminine soul has been wilting.
Walking into The Cicada Club I felt a thrill go down my spine. The floor was filled with couples, of every age, race and form, each in a beautiful back and forth that was the dance. Everyone looked like they were having fun. Everyone looked so confident and happy. As I watched these couples on the dance floor I could feel my own joy and excitement begin to bubble up. The past weeks of sorrow, dryness, confusion and weariness faded just that little bit more. My feet started tapping, my body started swaying. I was ready to get on the dance floor.
That was when I heard a still small voice say, “These are going to be the best years of your life.”
As my dance partner twirled me onto the dance floor, my spirit lifted. I felt feminine. I felt beautiful. I felt free.
June 1, 2008
Fearless?
Labels:
Life
Today, I was declared fearless. It was meant to be a compliment and I took it as so. But it also made me think: am I really fearless? Or do I just come off that way?
Looking at me today, you might think I have no fear. I am learning how to ride a bike, stumbling and crashing. I am learning how enjoy hiking, breaking into this with a six-mile hike in the Santa Monica Mountains. This from a girl who’s last hike was about five years ago in the very flat terrain of Wisconsin. Last weekend, I went rock climbing for the first time. I managed to scale about three quarters of the way up a twenty-foot rock. As a badge of honor I have scrapes and bruises on both my knees and my elbows, mostly from sliding down the face of the rock on the way up and slamming into it a couple of times on the way down.
Yet in all of these activities, I have been filled with fear. I fear falling down, breaking bones, splitting my head open. I fear looking stupid, being unable to follow instructions, to master what comes easily to others. I fear the embarrassment of freaking out, showing how my fear can rule and overcome me.
When it comes to the emotional realm, my fears are often overwhelming. I fear that I am unlikeable. I fear that I am boring. I fear rejection. I fear abandonment. I fear loneliness. I fear being too much. I fear being too little. I fear shame. And most of all, I fear humiliation.
Often, I assume that fear is a negative thing. Fear is filled with lies, it is something grown out of falsehood. Fear is what holds me back. Fear keeps me trapped in my comfort zone. Fear is something that at worst, I have to ignore and at best I get to overcome.
In reality, fear is an innate response to danger. It is a signal that something is wrong, that something is threatening our well-being and safety. Fear is a good thing. Without fear, we would not recognize danger and would plunge headlong into situations that could harm us.
Recently, I went through journal entries from the past six months. In each entry, I kept praying to God about one specific fear. I prayed as if my fear was a sign that I didn’t trust God enough, hear God enough, spend time with God enough. When the very thing that I feared came true, I was horrified. I wondered if somehow by fearing this thing I had given it life and permission to become reality.
These days, I’m wondering if my specific fear was actually a signal that something was indeed very wrong. My fear was telling me something very important. It wasn’t something to ignore, it wasn’t something to be overcome. It was something to listen to and to address.
That’s the thing I’m learning about fear. Look it in the eye and it does one of two things – if it is indeed false, it goes away. If it is real, it will tell you something about yourself.
So no, I am not fearless. I don’t really want to be. My hope instead is that I consider all my fears carefully and look them in the eye. My guess is that nine times out of ten, my fears would have been unfounded and that the lies they grow in, with much prayer and petition, will be dispelled.
It’s that tenth time that I want to be paying careful attention to. Because sometimes, when fear comes knocking, it has something very important to say.
Looking at me today, you might think I have no fear. I am learning how to ride a bike, stumbling and crashing. I am learning how enjoy hiking, breaking into this with a six-mile hike in the Santa Monica Mountains. This from a girl who’s last hike was about five years ago in the very flat terrain of Wisconsin. Last weekend, I went rock climbing for the first time. I managed to scale about three quarters of the way up a twenty-foot rock. As a badge of honor I have scrapes and bruises on both my knees and my elbows, mostly from sliding down the face of the rock on the way up and slamming into it a couple of times on the way down.
Yet in all of these activities, I have been filled with fear. I fear falling down, breaking bones, splitting my head open. I fear looking stupid, being unable to follow instructions, to master what comes easily to others. I fear the embarrassment of freaking out, showing how my fear can rule and overcome me.
When it comes to the emotional realm, my fears are often overwhelming. I fear that I am unlikeable. I fear that I am boring. I fear rejection. I fear abandonment. I fear loneliness. I fear being too much. I fear being too little. I fear shame. And most of all, I fear humiliation.
Often, I assume that fear is a negative thing. Fear is filled with lies, it is something grown out of falsehood. Fear is what holds me back. Fear keeps me trapped in my comfort zone. Fear is something that at worst, I have to ignore and at best I get to overcome.
In reality, fear is an innate response to danger. It is a signal that something is wrong, that something is threatening our well-being and safety. Fear is a good thing. Without fear, we would not recognize danger and would plunge headlong into situations that could harm us.
Recently, I went through journal entries from the past six months. In each entry, I kept praying to God about one specific fear. I prayed as if my fear was a sign that I didn’t trust God enough, hear God enough, spend time with God enough. When the very thing that I feared came true, I was horrified. I wondered if somehow by fearing this thing I had given it life and permission to become reality.
These days, I’m wondering if my specific fear was actually a signal that something was indeed very wrong. My fear was telling me something very important. It wasn’t something to ignore, it wasn’t something to be overcome. It was something to listen to and to address.
That’s the thing I’m learning about fear. Look it in the eye and it does one of two things – if it is indeed false, it goes away. If it is real, it will tell you something about yourself.
So no, I am not fearless. I don’t really want to be. My hope instead is that I consider all my fears carefully and look them in the eye. My guess is that nine times out of ten, my fears would have been unfounded and that the lies they grow in, with much prayer and petition, will be dispelled.
It’s that tenth time that I want to be paying careful attention to. Because sometimes, when fear comes knocking, it has something very important to say.
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