today, i am disappointed in the world

I hit a point, sometimes, where I just can't muster the energy to be angry about the things that deserve that anger. Or when too many angry-making things pile up until I'm buried in them. I am not sure which point I am at, at present. Maybe both. But I am freakin' tired, people.

I am tired of so-called Christians practicing none of the compassion I see in their Jesus. He hung out with the dregs of society. He did not avoid said dregs and condemn them and treat them like shit. He did not spend his days posting (ha. Jesus on Facebook. There's a thought) about how awful those other people are, and being smug; nor did he spend all his time trumpeting his own righteousness. He said--love people. Be humble. All that really hard stuff. I don't see a lot of love. I think if these people had been Jesus, they've been all Yo! Magdelene! Get OFF MY FEET! Nasty ho. Stop that. Then come talk to me.

I see my best friend hurting because her brother won't come to her wedding or bring his family because he doesn't want to "give his kids the wrong idea"--said idea being, apparently, that two women might love each other that way. No, it's better to give those kids the idea that Jesus might hate two people for loving each other. Great plan.

So that makes me tired. And it makes me angry. But mostly tired, because I cannot do anything about it. Or them. Or the attitudes they carry, that have not changed in the 20 years that I've known them.

And I swear to all my ancestors that I am tired, tired, TIRED of the manufactured drama around Certain HBO Series(tm). Is it rape? Is it not? Come the fuck on, people. It's fantasy, it's fiction, and it's supposed to be upsetting. More upsetting: rape happens now, today, all around us, to people we know, and you're all worked up about a fucking TV show. Worry about real women who are asked what they were wearing, or were they drunk, or were they married, or did they really fight back, or the thousand other shitty things we say, as a culture, to rape victims to turn them into partially responsible agents in their own violation.

Also sick of people muttering about how the source material isn't critical enough of the violence against women. It's the middle ages. It's violence against everyone. It's worse to be a woman, sure, and worse still to be a poor woman.  But if you think GRRM isn't critical of that, well shit. I don't know what you're reading. I say this as Not A Fangirl, but someone who found the books uncomfortable and not entirely satisfying. But again, I think--if you don't like the books, don't read them! And if violence against women upsets you, DO SOMETHING. Or write something that better portrays what you want to see in the genre. Or write letters to publishers so they buy things that you want to read, and put them on the shelves, instead of discounting large swaths of the reading public and imagining we prefer romance novels or paranormal romances or sexy vampires or whatever.


But sexism, homophobia, religiously excused assholery--that shit's really for real, and happening to really-real people.  And we can't be bothered to care about that, no, let's throw a shitstorm instead about a cable series.

Tired. So. Damn. Tired.

power to the yogi, baby

I was all fired up to write this post last week, in a spasm of outrage after so-called "power yoga." Then I put it off and didn't and now it's power yoga day again, so this is like pre-emptive outrage. I would have said, before this quarter, that I had not met a yoga class I did not like. Even the mellow ones. Even the hard ones. Whatever. But this... this... I do not like. I knew power yoga would be all aerobic and shit, fine. I like pain*. I like challenges. I like feeling achy and exhausted at the end of a practice. And while this class delivers all those things, it is not made of win. I was expected ashtanga-lite. I am getting... pushups? What? When we have vinyasas, we are doing pushups? Why in the name of the many gods...? And then, for the Savasana, instead of either blessed silence or something worldess and meditate-y, she played this smarmy love-yourself, you're wonderful! song that required me to sing Amon Amarth to myself so I could focus.

So okay. It's not the yoga. It's the instructor. This woman vacillates between hippy-dippy peace and love and drill-sergeant. Which would be fine, if she inspired in me any confidence. I think she's knows yoga just fine, but her pedagogy does not work for me. I wish she did not a) make a habit of touching without permission and, b) when she does so, shoving the body in question into a more extreme version of the pose.** And c) most damning--no precision at all in the practice. I know power yoga is about speed and movement. That's great! But without proper alignment, all the moving with your breath in the world won't help. And you are likely to get hurt. And this class is full of beginners. Out of shape beginners. They need help. I should not be the one spotting a Rubenesque newbie trying to jump into a handstand in her second week of yoga class EVER. The instructor should be, and she should be explaining how one aligns one's shoulders over wrists, hips over shoulders, and offering alternates for those who are not physically able to manage. She should not be haranguing those of us who know our limits or simply don't want to try that pose. I don't respond well to insinuations that I am too timid to try something, but I am certainly strong enough, so go up and try! Whatever, lady. I have wrist problems and if I want to do upward bow later, then I need to save them, because once they're done, they're done. There is some pain I don't push through.

So why go, cinnabari? Why subject yourself to aggravation, which is antithetical to yoga? Because I paid for it. Because I'm stubborn. Because maybe I am catching her on two off-weeks in a row and I will love her teaching in another week. Okay, mostly the first two.

*I know that's not a yoga-sort of thing. I'm not always good at the mental part of yoga.

**I get why. Some students are tentative. But not all of us are, and some of us sport injuries and joint weaknesses that do not benefit from adjustments. And really, it's fucking courtesy to ask before handling a student. Even if you're a woman handling women.

there is hope!

Last quarter, I had a few students who thought that feminism was Dead(tm) and No Longer Necessary(tm). No surprise, they were all men. They met opposition from the women in the class, and from a few of the guys, as well. A teaching moment! But not a comfortable one. My class is about horror and the zombie subgenre, not feminism, for a reason. But racism and feminism come up, so... sometimes we talk about it, in the context of the films and books we cover. Usually it's tangential and respectful. Not so last quarter! By the end, I was convinced that no, really, the world is going to shit because the teenagers are socially unaware and most of them are misogynists. Had one, in particular, who was flat out Mr. Hostile Work Environment, not because he was overtly threatening, but because he made it clear that he thought women were inferior, period and full stop, by nature, but they could sometimes be like men if they, you know, had personality. Awesome. So then I have to walk that line between Not Preaching* and making the class comfortable for everyone--which it isn't, if you're a woman and dealing with some asshat who thinks you're best if you shut up and listen to what HE has to say.

This quarter, through no prompting from me--they are talking about it on their own, and debating, and being hella more thoughtful than 'no such thing!' or 'women are just THIS WAY' or whatever. Nice. Should make discussions less...combative. And maybe I will drink less, too.

*Because we don't. I know that's the popular stereotype, that we left-leaning college instructors indoctrinate our students into the Terrible Left, but no. My rule in the classroom is Don't Be A Jerk. It applies to all of us.