Microaggressions

They're the little annoyances we deal with every day. The things we mostly just shrug off because they happen so damn often that we've basically come to expect them. Over time they add up, drain us of our energy. And every now and then you get a day like today when they all happen at once and it feels like the universe (or half of it) is out to get you personally.

The man who walks directly at me on a wide-open sidewalk and snickers each time I change course to avoid crashing into him.

The man who sits next to me on the metro and spreads his legs as wide as possible so I'm crammed up against the wall.

The man who brushes up against me and "accidentally" touches my ass in the crowd to leave the metro station.

The homeless guy, calling me "pretty girl" in an effort to get my attention so he can sell me a copy of Street Sense.

The guy on the park bench who whistles when I walk past.

The man who leers at me as if I can't see him, or maybe just doesn't care that I can.

And then the asshole at the end of it all. Yelling at me to smile; life isn't that bad. Getting angry when I walk past him without acknowledgement. Offering me a dollar if I'll just smile for him. Continuing to shout at me as I do my best to ignore him. But it is my face, damn it, and I will look tired or angry if that's how I feel, and I will smile if I feel like smiling but not because some stranger wants me to.

Taken individually, each of these is a minor incident. Something I'm able to brush off as I go about my day. At least one of these things happens every day, and every one of them has happened before today. If I got angry every time I'd never be anything but angry. This is the world we live in, where men feel like their mere existence gives them some right to a piece of the women around them.

So we learn to ignore the unwanted attention, the trespasses on personal space, the judgement based on looks alone, the infantalizing comments. Because saying something would likely result in escalation, increase our risk. It's easier, safer, to just pretend it didn't happen.

But then a day like this happens, and I'm exhausted before I even get to work. It's days like this that I wish I never had to leave my house. Or that I was actually invisible. Or that I could just make all the men disappear.

It days like this that I actually have to say something. Because these so-called microaggressions are a big deal. They add up to so much more than the sum of the parts, reinforcing the idea that women exist for men to look at, comment on, toy with, touch, possess. That we should be grateful for the attention. That our feelings don't matter. That we are worth less. And that attitude needs to stop.

Yoga

Along with the rest of America, I've been hearing good things about yoga for years. And I always sort of meant to try it without ever really getting around to doing so. I did go to one class about 5 years ago, but then I sprained my ankle pretty severely and never ended up going back. (Grande jetes and stilettos do not mix no matter what your drunk brain tells you.)

I decided to actually give it a go a week or so ago. I was taking a public speaking class at work and our final presentation was twenty minutes about something we had an emotional connection to. The talks were really interesting and ranged from adopting a dog to the art of pairing beer with meat when BBQing to rock climbing. One woman chose to talk about her experience becoming a yoga instructor and the various benefits she'd experienced.

This came right at the time that I was realizing I hadn't been to the gym for over a month and was trying to figure out how to get back in the habit of working out. I decided that signing up for a yoga class would keep me more accountable than just working out on my own. Not to mention that having someone else there to motivate you really helps with each individual workout. I'd noticed that with a personal trainer present I could easily lift 30 lbs above my head, but on my own 25 lbs was a struggle. External motivation is key.

I began by looking up some yoga studios near where I live. I was hoping for an evening or weekend class that didn't cost too much. But prices looked to be about $30 per class, which can add up really quickly when you're looking at 1-2 classes a week. I was juggling numbers and trying to figure out if just canceling my gym membership would be a good idea when it dawned on me that my gym offered yoga classes.

I went to the website, hoping that my membership entitled me to some discount, at least in comparison to the other studios. It turns out that the majority of yoga classes offered at my gym are free. Even better, there are three every week that fit into my schedule. Tuesdays and Thursdays at 8 and Saturdays at noon. Suddenly my $70/month gym membership seemed like an astoundingly good deal.

I missed the Saturday class, but made it to Tuesday's Vinyasa yoga. It ended up being a good class to start with, as the focus that week was more on continuous breathing than getting all the poses exactly right. The teacher was really nice, and I only fell over once. We moved through the poses a lot faster than I expected, but I think that's a hallmark of the Vinyasa style. I'm sure the other classes will focus more on holding poses and building strength and balance.

I ended up stretching muscles I'm not sure I've ever stretched before, including all of the muscles around my shoulder blades with one pose. I also feel like I got a pretty good thigh and arm workout, and I'm sure an ab workout will come as my skill level improves.

All in all I really enjoyed the class, and I'm looking forward to more. It was really relaxing and a good way to finish what had been an incredibly stressful day.

And Then the Best Man Peed in a Bucket

This post is late, but I still wanted to write it.

My best friends got married at the beginning of August. And, as anyone who knows them would have expected, the entire weekend was incredibly fun.

Festivities started with the Rehearsal and Rehearsal Dinner. The Rehearsal went smoothly, except for three geese who really wanted to be involved and weren't nearly frightened enough of humans. Okay, they didn't ruin anything at all, they just scared me a bit.

Dinner after was delicious with the typical speeches by the fathers, gifts to the bridal party, and a whole lot of really good wine. Then all the younguns went to the On the Border across the street for margaritas and beer. It ended up being a massive college reunion, with people I've seen only occasionally or not at all since graduation. No one stayed out too late, since we all had to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the wedding the next day.

The day began with mimosas (as all days should) and board games. Then card games and sandwiches. We were probably the least exciting bridal party ever. The photographers arrived at 11 to take pictures of the getting ready process and ended up with pictures of us playing SkipBo. They also took a ton of pictures of the bride's dress and a good ten of me braiding my hair.

At 1:00 everyone threw their formal wear on and went out for the groom's first look of the bride and lots of posed pictures. Even this didn't end up lasting as long as they'd scheduled for and everyone spent the last couple of hours before the ceremony drinking wine and playing cards.

The ceremony itself was adorable. Thanks to the Pennsylvanian Quakers, the bride and groom were able to officiate it themselves and pronounced themselves man husband and wife.

The guest list seemed to be comprised entirely of family and people we'd all gone to college with. A few of the couple's friends from high school and grad school were there, but the whole evening really had the feeling of a massive college reunion.

There were lawn sports and a bouncy castle to entertain everyone. The bride tore her dress in the bouncy castle and it had to be fixed with makeshift safety pins (read: a straight pin and a cork). There was a truly absurd amount of wine. The bar actually ran out of water long before they ran out of wine.

Officially the reception ended at 10:00. But that's also when they lit the bonfire. So while a lot of people did go home at ten, many stayed and hung out by the fire. Someone decided it would be a good idea to provide everyone with their very own bottle of wine or champagne, so this resulted in even more drunkenness.

Most of my memories of that day are of great conversations with people I don't see anywhere near often enough. The wine flowed freely and lasted forever (Kevin and I were even able to take a couple of bottles home with us). And we played what may have been the largest game of Dr. Killebrew ever. The end of the night is one big blur.

The next morning was filled with rain, hangovers, and blessed breakfast sandwiches. And a bucket that had been mysteriously filled with liquid overnight. At least he missed the floor.

Kingkiller Chronicle: Names Were Important to Him

As I said in the last post, I spent the month of August doing a pretty in-depth re-read of the first two books of Patrick Rothfuss' Kingkiller Chronicle. I used color-coded post-its to keep track of a variety of things, and as you can see in the picture it got a little intense

I used blue to track the Chandrian and any stories concerning Lanre and Haliax. Red tracks Kvothe and any hints to his past or what he's been up to between the story he's telling and the present-day frame. Green tracks Denna, who remains a mystery. Yellow is for any mention of faeries and the moon. Orange tracked stories and history, and especially things connected with Tehlu and the Amyr.

So I have several blog entries planned. There's a lot in these books that I want to start. I'm going to start with something pretty straight-forward, though: Kvothe's various names.

Fairly straightforward, but I wanted to gather Kvothe's names. We get a list of them right at the beginning and then discover the stories behind them over the course of the book.

Kvothe - Kvothe's given name. He claims that it means "to know", which is certainly fitting.

Maedre - The name given to Kvothe by the Adem. It's supposed to be his true name and has a triple meaning.

• The Flame - Kvothe says that this refers to his hair, which makes sense and is pretty basic. I wonder if there will be a deeper meaning in the third book.
• The Thunder - Kvothe says that this refers to his baritone voice. It's also a nice parallel to the fact that the Chandrian are said to "strike like lightning". Thunder follows lightning, and Kvothe always seems to be a step behind the Chandrian, following Cinder around the Four Corners.
• The Broken Tree - Kvothe says that he doesn't understand this part of his Adem name, but thinks that it could be slightly prophetic. He then offers no explanation, leaving the audience to work this out once they know his story. But we do know how his story ends - with him in an Inn unable to fight or perform sympathy and unwilling (or unable?) to play music. So I think the broken tree is Kvothe himself. Something will break him (or perhaps he'll break himself) in the third book. This also fits in with what his studies in Ademre. When he meets Shehyn, she talks about his body in terms of a tree. I'll have to wait and see how this plays out in the third book.

E'lir - This is the nickname Ben gives Kvothe because he "was clever and [he] knew it". It's also the first rank of the Arcanum at the Univerisity, meaning seer.

Dulator - Kvothe says his first lover gives him this name. We know that's Felurian, but we never see her call him this in the story. I have no idea what this could mean.

Shadicar - There's no mention of this in the first two books. I guess it will come up in the third book.

Lightfinger - Another name that isn't mentioned in the book. Although I suspect it could be a reference to his lute-playing ability

Kvothe to Bloodless - It's revealed early on that Kvothe earns this nickname by getting whipped and not bleeding. He repeats this act later, solidifying the nickname. It's also a bit of an underhanded compliment. Kvothe is Edema Ruh, lowest of the low. He has no noble blood in his veins (to his knowledge anyway), and is therefore "bloodless". Ambrose was probably partially responsible for how quickly this nickname spread.

Kvothe the Arcane - This nickname is a reference to Kvothe's ability in the Arcanum. He mentions it first when he talks about his duels with Fenton and the other students in his Sympathy class. However, he later says that the first time he hears this name is when he's listening to stories about himself in Tarbean near the end of the second book.

Kvothe Kingkiller - This is the name of the entire trilogy, so it will clearly be important, though not until the last book. I expect the king will be Ambrose, as he and Kvothe have a nasty history and Ambrose keeps getting closer to the throne. By the end of the second book he's about ten people away from being king.

Kote - Kote is the name Kvothe chooses for himself, and a careful reading of the book reveals that it is Siaru for disaster. For a while I did think that it could mean expect. The first time it comes up is when Kilvin says "Chan Vaer edan Kote" which translates to "Expect disaster every seven years". We already know that Chan means seven, so kote could mean a few things. But later Kilvin curses "Kist, crayle, en kote", which definitely points to the theory that kote means disaster.

Reshi - This is Bast's nickname for Kote. We have no hints about why he chose this name or what it means. Perhaps it translates to "teacher" or "mentor" or something similar.

I believe that's a complete list of the various names Kvothe gathers over the course of the story. I'm almost positive I missed a couple of double and triple meanings, since Rothfuss is extremely fond of word-play.