I thought about this for a long time. I can say I feel discriminated against, or that I cried for most of the drive home, but it would not change anything. I can say that I feel discouraged from trying yoga at all, but who would listen? This review is solely for my own catharsis and whether it helps anyone decide one way or another is beyond my control.
I started my journey three weeks ago, needing a form of exercise to help with diabetes. I love my job, but there are not many places to go later in the evening. This is why I initially found the location desirable. It fit my schedule, and I had hoped the yoga might help me find balance and stay healthy.
The class itself was okay; I could have used more direct instruction and the instructor did not let met me ask questions. I probably should have sensed something was off, but I was committed to make things work.
Due to work, I was not able to make the next couple meetings. When I could come again the instructor told me she did not want me there anymore because of my gender. She explained how the women felt ‘vulnerable’ with a male present and could not relax properly. I was deeply offended by this as she had said nothing regarding this problem when I first called her or attended class. I imagined a class or studio that wanted to be women-only would say so somewhere on the website. Therefore, I felt humiliated and rather cheapened for something I could not help.
She did not offer me private lessons or any other method to continue. I sincerely hope she is nicer and more forthright with other males attempting to exercise in her establishment. And I hope in the future, such attitudes toward gender do not persist. If males or females wish to pursue their goals – whether it be yoga, ballet, or even the presidency – nothing should stand in their way.
I went to my first white elephant gift exchange this past week. Let’s just say there was an interesting assortment of gifts: giant, boot shaped candles, singing lobsters and a Justin Bieber poster to name a few. I had my eye on something special, however.
I saw in the distance, a light part in the heavens. Lo! The founding fathers called out to me and said, “Ben, you must have this ridiculous depiction of Obama and his many suits.”
Thus, like a cat hidden beneath an azalea bush, I waited for my moment to pounce. And believe it or not, I did not have to trade anything at all for this gem. I got to see the current President in a more revealing fashion than I thought possible or necessary.
The little voice in my head that should have told me “stop” let me keep cutting these out.
Isn’t he dapper?
I’m not entirely sure what happened here. But I didn’t see a very good template for Michelle Obama. I do think Barack wears the hell out of this dress, though.
Sometimes the Secret Service tries different disguises.
And isn’t this one just cute?
Anyway, I feel like I made out like a bandit at this gift exchange and I’m excited for next year. Hopefully, I get first crack at that Bieber poster.
Many years ago when I was growing up my grandmother read me, my brother, and my sister pages from a book with no title and no author. We never bother asking about it because we were kids and assumed, wrongly, that every child had the same book. Years passed, we lost grandma, and grandpa fell ill.
We found pages from the stories grandma read in a manila envelope. Whether she left it in the desk drawer or grandpa put it there we never got the chance to ask.
Having nothing to go on but words and titles from stories, Google offered few results. It took a few years before anything was found. I discovered the stories were from an author named Agnes Grozier Hebertson and the book was titled Sing Song Stories. There wasn’t much else and it was long since out of print.
It took another two years and the help of my librarian friend Sam Dailey to find a bookseller overseas with a copy. I am extremely grateful and hope these stories from my childhood help keep my grandparent’s memory alive and well.
I messed around with an avatar and GIF creator called Powerpuff yourself. It’s where you make yourself into one of the characters from the cartoon Powerpuff Girls on Cartoon Network. It got me thinking, though. If I intentionally made four racial stereotypes and mixed them with five randomly generated, could others tell which? I guess it’s a test to see how color and/or race blind we are. See how you do.