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The Affirmations I’m Not Reciting

January 26, 2024

Robyn Parnell are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, community, current events, extended family, family life, freethought/humanism, friends, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), movies, politics, radio & podcasts, The Write Stuff (literary life), Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Affirmations I’m Not Reciting

I’ve been doing yoga for almost forty years,  [1]  but it wasn’t until 2016 that moiself  actually went to a yoga studio and took a yoga class.

 

 

Moiself  has had a home yoga practice, which relied first on books and then on video tapes.  [2]   When I had the time (and $) to consider taking a class, I did some research before choosing a studio.  I came to love the studio, the teachers and classes, and the vibes from being around other yogis.  When the pandemic hit and the studio had to suspend classes, some of the studio’s teachers provided links of themselves leading a class (recorded at their home studios, and by studios I mean, their basements and rec rooms).  Not long after, the studio began offering the option of live-streaming classes, with teachers in the studio classroom (sans students) being filmed leading their various Vinyasa Level 1.5, Hatha, Hot Power, Gentle Restorative, etc. classes, at the same pre-pandemic days and times as the in-person classes had been held.

 

 

When the pandemic’s public gathering restrictions were lifted and a limited number of students were allowed back in class, the studio continued filming the classes for the live-streaming option for the next three years.  I took full advantage of the live-stream option, as did many students (including two I knew of who had moved out of town and would be unable to attend physically but who were delighted to still be able to practice “with” their favorite teachers).  I returned to the studio only once after that (as in, during the past three years); my schedule was such that I was out of town for at least one and often two of the three weekly classes I took, and it was more convenient to do the streaming: I wasn’t rushing last minute to do the drive – I felt more “responsible” in that I wasn’t driving (a help to The Environment, ® etc). 

Perhaps one day I’ll return to take some classes at that studio, or attend one of their workshops or special events.  I’d intended to renew my yearly membership this month, but was saddened and surprised when the studio owner informed me in late December that they were going to stop offering the streaming option  [3]   for classes.  [4]    After a few minutes of mourning, I figured there must be other options which don’t involve returning to a studio – I already knew there were, as I’ve copied links to a couple of really good one-hour classes that yoga teachers have posted online.  I do those classes whenever my studio’s streaming class is cancelled due to teacher illness or technical difficulties (their Zoom feed reliability has been…less than consistent), or whatever.

My searching led me to Yoga International. The site offers a variety of yoga classes on tape,  [5]  which you can filter according to class length, yoga style, level of experience and/or difficulty, teacher, etc.  I’ve been doing three of their classes per week since late December, trying a different class/teacher each time.   I’m sampling the wares, so to type, learning how what-I-like that jives with what they offer.  I’ve a couple of favorites already, and also several, “Hmmm, not for moiself.”

 

 

Here’s a prime takeaway, for moiself:  some of the classes are too slow (even though they are categorized as Vinyasa Level 2, which should, IMO, have a quicker pace). Also, some of YI’s teachers are way too chatty.  Of course, other yogis may like and even benefit from that, but for me, a *certain* kind of chattiness is…too much.

The certain too much comes in the form of the affirmation/motivation moments that some yoga teachers offer at the beginning of a class.  Many of the affirmations and phrases presented are – I’m not sure exactly how to say this, so I’ll name it what it feels like to moiself:  First-World cringeworthy-congratulatory.   [6]   

Teacher, I’m sure your intentions are genuine, but I am not going to praise moiself   for showing up on the mat today  and/or for taking the time to do something for myself, and thus claiming my power and reinforcing how I matter to the world and realizing that I have the right to take up space in this world.   My years studying and embracing the theorems of feminism supplied me with all of that and more, thanks.  I know that I would matter equally if, say, instead of being the fortunate American that I am, I was a poverty-stricken, indigenous Q’eqchi’ woman living in Guatemala.

This I-matter realization also carries with it a parallel insight: if I were that Q’eqchi’ woman, I’d be far less likely to have the time and money to allow me to take an hour out of my day for self-improvement, instead of having to toil in the coffee and/or banana and/or sugarcane fields, because as a Q’eqchi’ woman I am, like other indigenous Guatamalan females, “…marginalized from the economy, excluded from educational opportunities, and underrepresented in all spheres of political power.”

Ya get what I’m sayin’?  I neither need nor deserve props for showing up on the mat, when I have the *privilege* of being able to do so.

So, namaste, y’all, and on with the show.

 

Perhaps a show with a bit more structure than Irish yoga.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Useless But Fun Statistics

Late in 2017 I began keeping track of the movies I’d seen in an actual movie theater, as part of my quest to do that (go to theaters, not keep track of things) more often.  Last Sunday, as I made reservations online to see American Fiction on Monday, I saw that moiself  needed to start a new year in my computer’s Movies document, and also to note the count of previous years.  There is a definite pandemic influence.

Year / movies seen in a movie theater

* 2017 / 15 plus   [7]

* 2018 / 52

* 2019 / 54

* 2020 / 12

* 2021 / 29

* 2022 / 19

* 2023 / 16

There are fewer things I’d enjoy more than upping my total to 2081/2019 standards, but the studios need to release movies in the theaters which make me want to go to the theatres.  I’m not a fan of the horror or superhero or action-sequel-after-sequel genres…

 

With a notable exception for most all things Godzilla

 

…and my interest in and tolerance for animated films is very narrow.  So, can you guess which type of movies are the majority of offerings in the theaters?

And then there are the this-story-is-sooooo-important-we-can’t-tell-it-in-under-180-minutes  films.  I *do* want to see movies in a theater, but *I don’t* want to devote half a day to getting to and from there and then being there, which (counting the previews) is what you get if you see a 3 ½+ hour movie.  Thus, moiself  and MH waited to see Oppenheimer and Killers of the Flower Moon until we could stream them at home, with comfy chairs *and* convenient bathroom access.

 

 

BTW, my American Fiction review:

It’s really, really, really, really – and did I mention, really? – good.

 

 

Brief description/no spoilers:  T.M. Ellison is an academic and frustrated novelist who is fed up when his latest novel is rejected for not being “black enough.”   When he uses a pen name to write and submit a satirical novel filled with gangs/deadbeat dads drugs/violence ghetto/rap tropes, the fact that his tale is a very thinly-disguised *parody* seems to sail past publishers, readers and book reviewers alike, as his book becomes both a best seller and a darling of the (predominantly white) critics who praise its “authenticity.”

 

Ellison, astonished and disgusted by the turn of events in his life:  “The dumber I behave the richer I get.”

 

Much of that movie hit (a little too) close to home.  I am not the female version of Ellison – I’m not a well-educated black female professor and author whose editors eschew my literary fiction and ask for more “authentic” stories of my non-existent life as a poverty-stricken, drug-addicted, single teenaged mother.  Still, I’ve both seen and experienced the pigeonholing common to all authors – as well as the recent obsessions with authenticity vs. imagination and who has the right to tell stories of any kind.  I know how the publishing world all too often wants to define (read: confine) and stereotype authors, and I’ve experienced the fawning preciousness of literary events.  And even as I appreciated the wit, wisdom and winsomeness of American Fiction’s screenplay and dialog, the ache in my head by the end of the movie made me realize I’d been clenching my jaw while laughing at the all-too-real absurdities experienced by AF‘s protagonist.

A parallel plot line has Ellison dealing with family issues along with his sudden, batshit crazy literary fortune.  There are fractious, humorous, sweet, and everything-in-between family dynamics at play, as he is confronted by one family member’s unexpected death, another’s seeming abandonment of family responsibilities, another’s descent into dementia, and another’s unexpected joy at finding late-in-life love.  This is not just a one note movie, and I highly recommend it.

If American Fiction isn’t nominated for Best Screenplay, Best Movie and other Academy awards (including at least two acting nods), I’m going to fling…something.  At someone.  Large bones, perhaps.

 

 

Update:  No bone flinging necessary – the nominations have been released!

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [8]

“When you’re black there’s like no religion to turn to. It’s like, Christianity? I don’t think so. White people justified slavery and segregation through Christianity so a black Christian is like a black person with no f***king memory.”

( Chris Rock, outtake from the 1989 documentary short,  “Who Is Chris Rock?” )

 

 

*   *   *

May you see American Fiction  (and other movies) in a movie theater;
May you be mindful of the affirmations you are privileged to recite;
May you be making a list (and checking it twice) of fun things that you do;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Not all sequential – I took a ~4 year break when I had some elbow-soft tissue strains, which were aggravated by all those upward and downward dogs and certain other asanas.

[2] For anyone interested, I’ve kept a list of the over 100 yoga workout DVDs I’ve tried over the years, the ones that made it into my regular rotation and the “nope/are you kidding?/what qualifies you to teach yoga much less put out a DVD-you could kill yourself going into full bridge and wheel pose with no warmup”  ones that made it into my reject pile.

[3] You paid the same prices for in-class or streaming, whether you paid for individual classes or had monthly or yearly memberships.

[4] I can’t remember the reasons – wasn’t making economic sense or whatever, although they were still getting the same money per student per class – I think having someone in charge of the recording equipment and the Zoom feed was also an issue. 

[5] as well as courses in meditation, mindful living, and other similar disciplines

[6] Not very yoga of me, I suppose, to carp about this?  Guess there are still some things to learn after 35+ years.

[7] I began keeping tally midyear.

[8] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. 

No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Surname I’m Not Forsaking

January 19, 2024

Robyn Parnell are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), books & magazines, community, current events, extended family, family life, freethought/humanism, friends, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), politics, radio & podcasts, The Write Stuff (literary life), Wow, Yikes! , , , , , Comments Off on The Surname I’m Not Forsaking

Department Of Yeah What He Said

MH forwarded a link this article, to moiself  and our offspring, with the comment,  “Why weren’t *we* interviewed for this article?”

Why Parents Give Their Children a Last Name Other Than the Father’s:
Some American parents have been breaking the patrilineal tradition for generations, but the number who do so remains small.
(Upshot, The NY Times 12-27-23)

Seems like everything lately is sending moiself  into a memory spiral.  Exhibit A B C D E F G: one of the first things I thought of, after reading the above article, was my Letter to the Editor which was published in, the (now defunct)  Brain, Child magazine.  I wrote the letter in response to an article in  Brain, Child’s “debate” section.  I remember joking to another editor that, given BC’s circulation, the letter probably garnered me more readership than most of my published stories.

 

 

Behold my missive, in its entirety:  [1]

LB , the writer of “Does a Family Need to Share a Surname?” (Brain, Child’s Debate section, Winter 2009) claims she is a feminist, but that her intention to take her future husband’s surname “…is not a feminist issue for me.  It’s a family one.”

Say what?  Since when are feminism and family issues separate?

LB feels that a family should share a surname.  As for those who feel the same and do so by blending names she declares, “Think of the strife involved in that…it sounds fine, but it causes issues in school…at the doctor’s office…whether it’s right or not, our wider administrative world operates largely on an assumption that a family shares the same name.”

Ms. LB (Mrs. Soon-to-be-His-Last-Name?) needs to get out more.  The “administrative world” deals quite effectively, every day, with blended, step and foster families, whose inhabitants often have three or more differing surnames.

My husband made the bold step of keeping his name when we married (oh yeah, so did I).  Our children share a blended name, and we refer to ourselves collectively using that name, as the Wagnell family.  Who knows (or cares) what people say behind our backs, but we’ve had nothing but positive comments to our fronts:

“Oh, I get it!”
“How clever!”
“We’ll remember your family!”  (And guess what?  They do.).

It has caused us no trouble, or even inconvenience.   Even if it did, how long does it take to say, “I’m Robyn Parnell, Belle Wagnell’s mother” when you call the doctor or meet your kid’s teacher?

Any cultural anthropologist (or weekend genealogist) can tell you that naming customs have varied, all over the world for all of recorded history, and somehow, people have always been able to keep track of who belongs with whom.

Like LB, I am also a writer of short stories.  I would point out to her that, more important than any alleged administrative inconvenience is the story that your choice of a surname tells, regarding to what or whom your family is and belongs.  Few things are more personal than your name; it is part of your life story.   Sure, your surname is (most likely) your father’s.  But it’s your father’s, not someone else’s father’s name.

If you take your husband’s name, some people will judge you…just as they should, because you call yourself a feminist but cling to the most personal aspect of traditionalism.   Feminism has always involved thinking outside the box re the ways people structure relationships.  “Giving away” your name makes a statement, whether you intend that or not, which is why women in many cultures and countries are not allowed to keep their surnames.

Don’t take your rights for granted; don’t say you’re a feminist when you go for the traditional, patriarchal choice.  Proclaiming feminism only to “give away” your name tells your children and the world something very basic, even Orwellian:  all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.

If you really want to share the same name with your husband, both of you can change your names.  After all, it is a new family unit you’re creating, isn’t it?  You can look into your joint family histories, or favorite books or mythologies, until you find a name you both like and both change your surname (we have several friends who’ve done this; again, the “wider administrative world” has not imploded).  Many options are consistent with a feminist world view. Taking his name isn’t one of them.

BTW and FYI, re that pesky administrative world:   do you realize that if you take hubby’s name you’ll have to change or append your driver’s license, passport, bank account information, medical records, credit cards, your country’s version of a social security card, and…?

Robyn Parnell
Hillsboro, OR

 

 

It’s been years since I’ve read that.  Looking back, perhaps I was a bit hard on LB, but, ahem:  she’d written the article for the BC section titled, *debate.*   So, I did.

In real life/practice, separate from our wider administrative world (that phrase still cracks me up), given moiself’s  passion re this issue one might wonder, what does moiself  think about the decisions my friends and family have made re this matter?

With a few exceptions, I am in the minority (re my female friends and family who’ve maintained their given surnames    [2] ).  Now, do I think my friends who took their husbands’ surnames are cowards, or anti-feminist, or under the thumb of The Man ®, or whatever?  No; of course not.

When it comes to personal life logistics, most of us wind up going for the easiest, everyone-does-it options.  Translation: we follow tradition/the past of least resistance, even as we may (at least theoretically) understand how problematic and stifling these paths and traditions have been.  When ideals meet up with technicalities and emotional issues in a dark alley, guess what side typically wins that mugging?

 

 

Also, there are *so* many variables.  I’ve met some righteous feminist warriors who have been happy to take on a new last name, due to their less-than-pleasant attachment (e.g., cultural or familial or parental estrangement and/or abuse) to their birth surname.  Some women recognize the limits of their energy and chose to battle on different/bigger fronts, and don’t t want to waste time and emotional wattage braving the criticism that comes from doing something different….and other women just never liked their original surname – perhaps it was awkward to pronounce or spell, or strange/embarrassing in some way   [3] – but they feared that changing it “on their own” would be insulting to their parents, while changing to their husband’s name was the easy out.

My own stance was both idealistic and personal.  My parents were pleased that my name remained my name –

 

Excuse the digression, but right here we have a prime example of male privilege:
99% of guys never even have to *think* of changing this basic part of their identity.

 

 

 

My parents were pleased that my name remained my name.  [4]   There was a wee bit o’ blowback from MH’s side of the family – two incidents – early on in our marriage.  The first was a letter from his maternal grandmother to the two of us, which she addressed to Mr. and Mrs. MH….

Come to think of it, we had a bit of that –  the misnaming of moiself  in post-marital correspondence from MH’s side of friends/family (from people with whom I had previously corresponded and/or met, people to whom I had been introduced by my first and last names, and then these same people introduced me to their friends and family using both of my names, so it’s not like they didn’t know my last name).  Moiself  and MH didn’t belabor the point but we’d made it clear, both in the wedding invitations and in the wedding itself, what our names would be.

Y’all are familiar with how at the end of a wedding ceremony, the officiant introduces the couple with something like, “It is my pleasure to introduce to you, for the first time as husband and wife….”?  Our wedding officiant, as per our instructions, expressed his pleasure at introducing us “…as husband and wife, MH and Robyn Parnell.”  An hour or so later, during our wedding reception, a friend-of-MH’s family good-naturedly ribbed moiself  about it – about how MH and I having two different surnames would be soooo hard for him to remember.  I got no small amount of WTF?  mileage from that comment:

This is amazing – What powers I possess!
By merely changing my marital status, I have somehow
reduced the memory capacity of the brains of grown-ass adults,
who are no longer able to recall the TWO syllables
of the last name which has always accompanied my first name.

 

How can she expect us to remember!  The horror!

 

Once again, I digress.

To continue with Incident 1:  MH’s grandmother never had any kind of problem with my name before I was married (and had written me thank you and other notes addressed to moiself’s  first and name).  Thus, when she pulled the Mr. and Mrs. thing, MH took point, seeing as how she was *his* relative.  He gently reminded her that my name was still my name; there was no harm and no foul, and she got it right from then on.

Incident 2 came in the form of a letter, to moiself , from one of MH’s parents.  While MH was mortified by the letter   [5]   I actually welcomed it, as it allowed what was obviously a concern (for that person) to get out into the open, and also provided moiself  with the opportunity to share my opinions and reasoning.   [6]

 

 

I do not think any less of my friends or family re their surname choices; with the exception of this particular blog post, I do not think of it at all  in our interactions.

I do, however, occasionally think of the reaction of a long-time male friend re this matter.  This friend is a smart, kind, empathetic, funny, creative, across-the-board-feminist-and-human-rights-advocate and one of the Best Men I Know ® (and moiself  knows a lot of great men).  When he heard about a mutual acquaintance who was getting married and had announced that she’d be taking her husband’s last name,  [7]  the very first thing he blurted out was,

“How will women ever be taken seriously
if they don’t even keep their own names!?”

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Lightbulb Moments

Dateline: several weeks ago, out for a walk, listening to a rebroadcast of an older Freakonomics podcast, subjec: religion and tithing and does it – (tithing; i.e., giving away money to religious organizations)  make you happy. Don’t ask moiself  if the podcast reached any conclusions on the matter, as my mind wandered away from the podcast and began to jostle around an aha! epiphany:

Churches are habituaries.

 

 

Churches are habituaries. Yes, I’m making up that word, because it needs to exist.

As in, churches (chapels, cathedrals, mosques, temples, gurdwaras, tabernacles, any houses of religious worship) are habituaries– places where one becomes habituated to churchy ideas.  A habituary is where one becomes habituated to intellectual and cultural fallacies; that is, to theologies and beliefs which you’d consider absurd at face value if they were coming from a *different* habituary.  [8]  But, in your habituary, your church, you get used to them – so used to them that you forget they are even there, and also what they look like to outsiders.  You sing the songs, repeat the liturgies, without thinking about what you are saying, without considering, Is this plausible?  Is this true?  Without applying the kind of reasoning you would to any other statements purporting to explain reality.

I think this is also true for many liberal and/or nominally religious believers.  [9]   Examples include the family who lives in a neighborhood with not-so-great public schools, and joins a Catholic church so that their children may attend the church sponsored school, despite the fact that they do not support the church’s stands on political and/or social issues…    [10]  or people who attend and even join a church because they enjoy the social club aspect (churchy term: “fellowship”), of having yet another venue for meeting people, outside of work/school/neighborhood connections.

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [11]

 

 

*   *   *

May you carefully consider the absurdities of any habituaries you might frequent;
May you have fun responding to invitations to debate;
May you enjoy (or at least tolerate) the names you have kept or chosen;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

[1] The letter was marginally edited for publication.

[2] “Maiden name” is a term that belongs in the Middle Ages.  Don’t use it around me; respect yourself and don’t use it around anyone.

[3] My mother’s birth surname was Hole.  While her Norwegian father was proud of his heritage and claimed that, back in The Old Country, Hole was a surname of respected landowners, his four daughters lived in Minnesota, not Norway, and were saddled with “Ha, ha, hole in the ground; fell in a hole… [or worse] “  jibes until they married and took on their respective husbands’ surnames.

[4] Thinking (correctly, in one part) that I was honoring them.  My father went so far as to tell me, privately, how he’d wished (at least one of) my sisters had done the same.

[5] You bet I showed it to him.

[6] After I responded, kindly and firmly and “educationally” to the family member who had expressed their concerns to me, that person never brought it up again. 

[7] His surname name was rather…odd,  and her own was so great , as in, memorable – and it alliterated with her first name!

[8] Christians are very good at turning the critical eye of rationalism to the tenets of Islam (the absurdities of which include the micromanaging of all of life, such as – if you awake at night, wash your nose with water and blow it out three times because Satan stays in the upper part of everyone’s nose at night [Sahi Al-Bukhari Vol. 4, Bk. 54, No. 516] or those of, Hinduism with its karma and reincarnation and other irrationalities), but fail to recognize the absurdities within their own religion (e.g., to many outside the Christian faith the rite of communion = symbolic cannibalism), because they are *used to* them. 

[10] And so they hold their noses/try not to think about such things until their kids graduate or they move to a better public school district.

[11] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. 

No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Possible Hazards I’m Not Avoiding

January 12, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, community, current events, family life, freethought/humanism, friends, hiking, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion), making fun of lawyers and/or doctors, nature, Oregon, politics, radio & podcasts, Recreation, school, The Write Stuff (literary life), Wow, Yikes! , , , , , , , Comments Off on The Possible Hazards I’m Not Avoiding

Department Of Imagine My Surprise

It’s been a while since I received any income from my writing; thus, when I received the yearly royalty statement from the publishing company that publishes the play I’ve written, moiself  was expecting the usual statement showing me the royalty I am owed.  Brief explanation for the folks who are how-publishing-works–impaired:   [1]    depending on the contract, publishing houses/companies, particularly those specializing in plays for off-off-off-off Broadway (as in, for schools, church groups, community theaters), may keep payments in escrow and may not issue a royalty check until the royalties earned are above a certain amount (usually a very, very, small amount).

I’ve had a piddling royalty rollover with that publishing company for years, since the last time someone bought the script for my play.  On December 28 my yearly statement informed me that a check for the June – December 2023 reporting period would be issued, and I received it in early January.  So, although I have writing income to report for 2023, the amount…well, I’m sure if there were actual humans involved in reading my e-filing tax returns, the response I might receive when said reader(s) come across lines 1-9 on my 1040  form might be akin to

 

*   *   *

Department Of This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things

After not having been to the coast for several weeks,  [2]  MH and I returned to see several “No Access” signs, posted at places which seemed to us to be bafflingly random.

I checked out some local news (social media) groups to find out more about the signs.  Amidst all of the  Seriously?/you’ve got to be kidding posts, someone noted

“(the signs) might have something to do with the lawsuit in Newport…
 Municipalities/counties/state had an injury lawsuit exemption for recreational trails. Someone was hurt on a bridge, sued and won on appeal. The closures are happening in other places as well.”

 

 

Now, this first no access sign we saw was on nothing we’d previously considered to be a trail; rather, it was by a path, at the end of a street about four blocks from our house, which leads ~ 50 feet through dune grass to the beach.

That FB poster is (was?) correct, moiself  thought: there’s a state law declaring that people who hike or bike or walk their dogs along the beach or prance through the forest or otherwise engage in recreational activities (“recreate”) do so at their own risk…I think? I found the statute:

ORS 105.682

Liabilities of owner of land used by public for recreational purposes….

(1) Except as provided by subsection (2) of this section, and subject to the provisions of ORS 105.688 (Applicability of immunities from liability for owner of land), an owner of land is not liable in contract or tort for any personal injury, death or property damage that arises out of the use of the land for recreational purposes,….

when the owner of land either directly or indirectly permits any person to use the land for recreational purposes,…. The limitation on liability provided by this section applies if the principal purpose for entry upon the land is for recreational purposes…

and is not affected if the injury, death or damage occurs while the person entering land is engaging in activities other than the use of the land for recreational purposes….

(2) This section does not limit the liability of an owner of land for intentional injury or damage to a person coming onto land for recreational purposes….

( excerpts; my emphases;  Oregon public statutes )

Another local news group commentor wrote,

“The change came about after someone in Newport got hurt on a city-maintained bridge that was on the WAY to the recreational area and sued.  This has had a huge ripple effect up and down the Coast (and probably throughout the state). Tillamook County closed two access roads to Oceanside, and at next week’s City Council meeting in Rockaway Beach, one of the key agenda items is whether to close all beach access….”

We looked for more information about this lawsuit and its effects in several news outlets.  Here’s the scoop as per the city newsletter, Manzanita Today (1-8-24):

Manzanita Avoids Most Beach Access And Other Trail Closures After Court Decision

“A 2022 decision by the Oregon Court of Appeals and affirmed by the state’s Supreme Court, has forced some coastal cities to close all beach access trails….
The consequences of the court case will likely lead to a legislative fix in the upcoming short session of the Oregon Legislature, but many coastal residents
and visitors may wonder how things got this far.
Here are the facts of the case.
Nicole Fields  [3]  regularly walked her dogs on Agate Beach in Newport and used a city-maintained access trail to reach the beach. One day, as Ms. Fields returned from the beach with her dogs and a friend, she slipped on a bridge and seriously injured her leg. She sued Newport for damages. Newport tried to assert ‘recreational immunity’ under an Oregon law intended to encourage landowners to allow recreational use of their land. Ms. Fields argued that walking on the beach access trail to engage in recreational walking on the beach was not itself recreational. She was just crossing the city’s property to start or finish her recreational activity of walking on the beach. The court decided that a trial court must, in effect, determine what Ms. Fields intended while walking on the trail. Was that part of her recreational activity or did she intend merely to use the trail to get back and forth to the beach?
Thus, whether the City of Newport (and its insurer, CIS Oregon) ultimately prevailed, they would still incur the substantial expense of a jury trial. CIS provides liability insurance to many cities and counties, including Manzanita and Tillamook County. Because of that potential liability, CIS has recommended closure of all improved trails used to access any recreational area….”

 

 

WTF, if only.

“The consequences of the court case will likely lead to a legislative fix in the upcoming short session of the Oregon Legislature.”  Yes, of course.  Unfortunately, human nature being what it is…

 

“It’s your fault I tripped over my own feet!”

 

… that won’t prevent someone from suing when they fall-down-go-boom.  Moiself  understands the no-access signs from a liability point of view (one such lawsuit could wipe out funds for coastal towns and villages).  Still, signs – and apparently, existing laws – mean nothing if someone is determined to sue others for their life choices and/or the random accidents that we are all at risk, from the moment we rise out of bed until we return to said bed at the end of the day.

That dog walker could have slipped on her own rain-slicked driveway, tripped over her shoelaces or down her own front porch stairs, or gotten tangled up in her dog’s leash…..  But, whatever caused her fall, she did it on the pedestrian bridge, and then got around the law by claiming that she was not *yet* recreating, but using the bridge as a passageway to get to where she was *going* to recreate…

 

 

Artful, isn’t it?  Congratulations to her scum-sucking ambulance chasing lawyer attorney for the legal and cognitive gymnastics on that one!

The city newsletter article went on to note that Manzanita’s Public Works Director attempted to limit the number of trail closures by inspecting and rating the condition of every trail within city limits.  He made a chart of city trails, which he ranked in five numerical categories:

1. Poor (many hazards noted);
2. fair (some hazards noted);
3. average (few hazards noted);
4. good (no hazards noted);
5. excellent (no hazards noted)

MH and I were familiar with them all, and know that many of the “trails” on this list are just beach access points and undeveloped road crossings, rather than actual hiking trails.  The chart showed “…the trails that will be closed and signed to warn users to walk at their own risk because of “possible hazards.”

MH beat me to the suggestion:

“Let’s find the most ‘dangerous’ trails and walk on all of them!”

And so we did. We girded our loins and, at our own risk, did all seven trails on the #1 and #2 (Poor and Fair) lists.  Barely escaped with our lives, lemme tell ya.

Possible hazards.

It’s a world of danger out there.  Some people should just never leave their house.

 

Be sure to have your lawyer’s number on speed dial the next time you leave your abode – something like this might be hiding behind the city trash can by the bridge on the way to the trail to the beach….

 

*   *   *

Department Of Things We Probably Will Not See Changed In The New Year,
But It Would Be Nice To Try, If Only To Please Miss Manners

(  excerpts from “Miss Manners: What topic most grinds Miss Manners’ gears? Self-philanthropy.”  Oregonlive.com  1-1-24  )

DEAR MISS MANNERS: You must receive a lot of the same, or similar, questions. I’m just wondering: What are the most-asked ones?

GENTLE READER: Well, they are not, as may be supposed, about which fork to use. That is a question posed only by people wanting to declare that manners are trivial. Such people tend to be consistent in not having any….

There is also a topic that always shocks Miss Manners but has become increasing prevalent: blatant greed.

People have gotten shameless about demanding money from family, friends and strangers alike. Even the ubiquitous gift registry, with its transparent whitewash, is giving way to the outright demand for money. Any occasion will do –  birth, death and anything in between –  as an excuse for begging.

It seems to Miss Manners that there are enough serious causes that need addressing before solvent people are justified in engaging in self-philanthropy.”   [4]

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Past Regrets Which Live In The Present

Moiself, after hearing a podcast in which a gay person spoke about not being out in high school due to a fear of being teased and/or bullied, had the following memory flash.

Dateline:

That would be my senior year in high school.  I can’t remember which pep squad member asked me to participate in a short skit the cheerleaders were planning for an end-of-year, Senior class only, school assembly.  I do remember being recruited with the we-need-someone-who’s-not-afraid-to-be-ridiculous-and-that’s-YOU enticement.  I was told that, along with the cheerleaders, the cast of the skit would be three students:  moiself; the school’s best drama student (male), and another male student.  There would be no rehearsal, but we could get out of class early to prepare and thus, since the assembly itself took up one class period, we could skip two classes – sign me up, I said.

We three students were given “costume” guidelines and the skit scenario/outline.  [5]  Within the scenario we could ad lib the rest (we had no dialogue).

Brief skit summary:  The curtain rose to reveal the auditorium stage, empty but for a bench at center stage, upon which sat a Dorky Boy.  Dorky Boy (the drama student) was tall and skinny, clad in highwater pants, a short sleeved, plaid shirt and bow tie, wore thick horn-rimmed eyeglasses and clutched a lunch box to his stomach.  A provocatively sleazily dressed girl (that’s moiself’s  cue) entered from stage right.

 

My costume was a slit-up-the-side cancan skirt and fishnet stockings, tight fitting sleeveless top (comically stuffed brassiere), too much makeup…similar to this on the classy scale.

 

Sleazy girl strutted across the stage, past the DB.  She turned back and begins to flirt with DB, but he was embarrassed/appalled and tried to ignore her.  She sat down on the bench, he scooted away from her, she scooted toward him…after a few seconds when it looked as if she might end up chasing him around the bench, a Sexy Stoner Surfer Dude®  swaggers in from stage left. SSS Dude had shoulder length, sun-streaked blond-red hair, wore mirror sunglasses, a Hawaiian shirt, a puka shell necklace, low-slung cutoff shorts which reveal his toned abs, and flip-flop sandals   [6]    SSSD did his own laidback stage strut toward the occupants of the bench.  Sleazy Girl immediately turned her attentions toward the SSSD who, after giving her the once-over, exchanged looks with DB, and the two boys linked arms and pranced off stage.  Sleazy Girl was flabbergasted, and flounced off stage in an indignant huff while the cheerleaders broke into a chorus of…I can’t remember the exact words, but the cheer ended with something like,

“gimme a Q and a U and a E-E-R,
Q-U-E-E-R is what you are.”

 

 

Really.

Yep.  Of course, that was then and this is now.  Still, doesn’t that count, as even a relatively mild case, of high school homophobia, no matter how unintentional (“it’s just supposed to be funny”)?  I knew of at least four teachers at our school, and several students, who were gay (and not out, in the case of the teachers, of course), and later would know of other students I went to school with who were gay but who were not out at the time (even to themselves, in some cases).  But I never thought of how they might react: I never considered that they might think the skit in any way was about targeting or even referring to them.  Here’s how clueless about Such Things®  I was, back then:  I thought the joke was on the character *I* was playing!  As in, she considered herself to be hot stuff, but the cool surfer dude found her so repulsively skanky he’d rather run off with the nerd.

Back to the future: I would like to ask one of those students what they thought of the skit.   [7]   Were they aware of their own sexual orientation at the time, and if so, did the skit make them uncomfortable, or hurt their feelings?  Perhaps they don’t even remember it (it was three minutes out of four years of school), and if so, will it be *my* bringing it up that causes the discomfort?  I have rarely recalled that skit in the decades since high school (I’ve rarely had reasons to do so); still, every ten years or so something sparks that memory, along with my regret for participating in something “comedic” that essentially amounted to punching down.

I don’t know who was responsible for the skit – was it a sketch the cheerleaders had been taught at cheer camp, or did they hear about it from another school’s pep squad?  The head cheerleader was a girl I’d known since junior high, although not well – I knew “of” her more than I knew her (we hung with different academic and friend groups).  We became better acquainted two+ decades after high school, and I was delighted to discover that she is one of the most life-positive, human rights-affirming, feminist, pro-woman, pro-people people I know – a person who would now renounce that skit (if she’d even remember it). Yet another example of how anyone can get caught up in the moment, in a “joke” that might not be so funny….   [8]

 

 

While such an organization was unimaginable when I was in high school, I did a search on the subject and, yee haw!, there is a GSA club in the Santa Ana school district (although, this is not their logo, and the club is now the QSA ).

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [9]

“Religion tries to give us maps of sexuality that are no better than
 a 2,000-year-old map of my hometown.”

( Darrel Ray, Sex & God: How Religion Distorts Sexuality )

 

 

*   *   *

May you make it a goal to avoid self-philanthropy;
May you update both the physical and emotional maps of your hometown;
May you accept the fact that life is composed of possible hazards;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

[1] Which is most anyone with an EQ greater than their inseam.

[2] due to finishing up with The Kitchen Remo That Ate Our Brains®

[3] The person suing was not mentioned in all of the reports I read, but it is part of the public record now, and I must confess that a part of me wants her to be shamed for this.  I’m sorry she injured her leg; I’m sorry for any person who inures themselves in any way, but sorry does not equal, “someone else’s fault/someone else pays.”

[4] My vote for term of the year…the year is young, I realize.

[5] To call it a plot would be too ambitious.

[6] The student they recruited for that role basically played himself.  No wardrobe changes for him; he even had the puka shells.

[7] I’m thinking of privately messaging him, and asking for his feedback, which I will include in next week’s post, anonymously and if I have his permission.

[8] Sorry; no footnote here.

[9] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. 

No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org

The Ransom Notes I’m Not Sharing

January 5, 2024

Robyn Parnell annoyances, are we having fun yet? (Women & Men & Feminism), current events, family life, freethought/humanism, friends, Holidays, Holy Shit!, Isms (religion) Comments Off on The Ransom Notes I’m Not Sharing

Department Of The Partridge Of The Week

It’s that time of the year again. As has become a tradition much maligned anticipated in our neighborhood, moiself  is hosting a different Partridge, every week, in my front yard.   [1]

Can you identify this season’s final guest Partridge?   [2]

 

 

 

*   *   *

Moiself  likes to start off the new year by sharing the most profound sentiments ever sung.  [3] – they transcend space and time; these words go beyond words, what can I say?

Na, na, na, na na na na
Na na na na
Hey Jude

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of Preparing For The Inevitable

Dateline January 1, 7:45 AM-ish.  I go through the same ordeal very year:  Maybe, if I say nothing, he’ll forget….

But noooooo.

This year, we made it to 8:32 am before MH abruptly looked up from his crossword puzzle, put down his pen and exclaimed, “Do you know what day it is?!?!”  He scurried toward the very large cardboard box by the back door – the box that was on its way to the recycling bin; the box that, from my seat at the breakfast table, oh-so-conveniently blocked my view of our television.  “Here,” he said, “I’ll move this, so you can see….”

My head slumped to my chest.  My ordinarily kind, sensible, sane, dedicated life partner – who otherwise never watches morning television – had just realized the date, and informed me of That Which I Knew All Too Well: “It’s Time for The Rose Parade!”

I don’t know if it’s the Pasadena connection  [4]  or what, which explains MH’s interest in the parade.  As for the or what, I’m just not a parade person and MH knows this (which, of course, increases his delight in turning on TRP’s broadcast).

So: for the next however many interminable hours, The Rose Parade was on in the background as I did other NY day things and was vaguely cognizant of the TV being on in the background.  When I occasionally glanced at the screen (often at the behest of MH – “Look at that marching band’s dancing drum majors!”) moiself  had to admit that the parade afforded the rest of the country a beautiful view of a certain slice of SoCal: it was a morning of gorgeous, crystal-clear blue skies (amidst a timely in the series storms hitting and forecast to hit the region).  Still, the whole idea of watching a parade….  You sit there, whether in person or in front of the TV, and other people and massively adorned platforms built on trucks (i.e., the parade floats”) just…pass by?  Someone please explain this to me, she said rhetorically (because people have tried, and it has still never made sense).

The parade’s floats’ raisons d’etre were divided amongst local publicity, charity promotions, or other “causes” – perhaps the most publicized was Ft. Lauderdale’s attempt to lure the tourists back to their city   [5] with their not-so-subtle,  we’re-not-THAT-Florida  theme.  Meanwhile, the ever-present droning of the parade announcers’ float descriptions provided an almost surreal background (each float’s sponsors and representations apparently had to be described in 30 seconds or less). 

“…represents The Hopi tribe’s butterfly dance…
Now we have The Core Kidney Foundation’s tribute to renal health….
Next up, Fort Lauderdale reminds us Everyone Under The Sun is welcome in their fair city….
the whimsical UPS Store entry shows The Beat of Achievement…
The bees on this float remind parade fans that you can BE the solution to…”

 

“Florida sucks, but look, these folks like the gays *and* the manatees – let’s go spend our money in Ft. Lauderdale!”

 

*   *   *

Department Of Nice Timing

Moiself  appreciated the fact that one of my best memories of 2023 came from the very end of the year, on the day when MH, Belle, K and & I played a new (to us) game that Santa Robyn left under the tree for us.  In Ransom Notes, the self-described “ridiculous word magnet game,” a player reads a prompt from a card, and everyone (including the prompt card reader) has to craft answers to the prompt using their limited pool of ~ 75 words (a mélange of pronouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, prepositions) each player has drawn from a pool of word magnets.  Players read their answers aloud; a Judge for the round is randomly chosen, and Judge decides whose entry is funniest/best, and that person wins the round. Everyone replenishes their word magnets, plays another round, and whoever wins five rounds wins the game.

A sample of the prompts:

* Tell someone you’ve clogged their toilet at a party
* Write a letter informing someone why they were not accepted into college
* Summarize Greek mythology
* Write a theme song for a TV show about loneliness
* Get someone who’s been in a coma since 2014 up to speed
* Explain to a store employee why you must be accompanied by your monkey

 

 

We were doing fine, enjoying the game, MH was in the lead with four wins…and then came what was to be the last round.  The prompt read:

* Whisper something seductive to your date during a movie.

The four of us were all groaning as we crafted our responses, everyone muttering about what they were being *forced* to make with their limited word resources   (MH and I in were having the most trouble keeping upright).   [6]  K read his answer, Belle read hers, both were good for some giggles.  After three attempts I was able to choke out my own answer, prefacing it with, “This is *not* your mother talking!” as my offspring roared with shock and delight to hear their mother’s…well… (there’d no other way to describe it ) soft porn creation.

“I can’t read this.” MH buried his head in his hands, and held out his answer to me.  “What, yours is worse than mine?” I said, when I was able to catch my breath.  Turns out, yep.  After four tries I was able to wheeze out 80% of MH’s answer before I dissolved into a breathless mess, sobbing with gut-twisting laughter. Looking around the table I saw my entire family doing the same – all four of us with tears of  Did-MH-and-Robyn-really-say-that ?!?!  laughter streaming down our respective faces.

Too much fun; when was the last time that happened?  And don’t y’all wish you knew what MH and I had written?   [7]

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of An Open Plea To All The Merchants…

Whose products moiself  has purchased, intentionally or otherwise (translation:  our 30+ year old dryer broke down for the last time), over the holiday season:

Stop asking me to tell you “about my purchases.”  Do you just ship your products randomly  to people?  Of course not.  I bought it; paid for it; received it – you know all of this, and you don’t need to know anything else.  If it’s crappy, I’ll let you know.  Ditto if it’s the best damn humidifier on the planet.

 

Actually, she’ll be even happier with the name of a good divorce attorney, once she realizes the only thing that sucks more than the vacuum is her husband’s idea of a romantic Christmas gift.

 

*   *   *

Department Of Why We Can’t All Just Get Along

Dateline: last Friday (12/29/23).  A clue in NY Times daily crossword was, “Word on a common bumper sticker.”  I snorted when I filled in the answer, “Coexist.” MH, hearing my derisive reaction, commented, “I’ve seen that bumper sticker a lot.”

So has moiself; so have all of us. And I’ve never really liked it.

 

 

I’ve seen it accompanied by icons representing a variety of the world’s religions; in rainbow form, with the flags of different nations….

Moiself  imagines that it purports to be a suggestion or call to action, when it’s just a passive statement of a fact.  Whether or not you are actively seeking a world where everyone gets along, the fact is that all of us coexist with other beings, be they those of our own species or the flora/fauna around us   [8] .

C’mon, people,

 

 

Coexist.  As a suggestion, or even a call to action, it’s about as motivating to moiself  as such bland but equally important prompts as

* Hydrate
* Eat
* Floss
* Breathe

Increasingly I see the coexist bumper sticker accompanied by its differently-abled cousin:

 

 

Excusez-moiself?  (translation for the French-impaired:  WTF !?!?)

Believe in it?  Why?

Tolerance exists; believing in something doesn’t do anything to increase the amount of the something.  How about *work* for tolerance…or something better.  Moiself  don’t know about y’all, but the idea of being tolerated doesn’t exactly flip my roller coaster.  But, sometimes that is all you can get, and if acceptance is lacking, then toleration will have to do.

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of The Date Mistakes I’m Not Making

Many years ago, I noticed moiself  got into a pattern after the change to the new year: I always got “it”– the new year – correct.  Whether writing checks or dating letters or doing whatever other activities required a date entry, I would never mess up the new year…until I’d have a relapse, several months down the line (April or May), and I’d write the previous year on, say, the electric bill.  For some reason, the petty corner of my mind which keeps track of such things noted that I haven’t done that in at least three years.  The reason why?  It’s not due to some new cognitive improvement/memory technique or anything else I’m practicing; rather, it’s likely due to the somewhat pedestrian fact that moiself  does so many logistical things digitally now.  Translation: I write very, very, very, few checks; thus, the opportunity for mis-dating something has dropped precipitously.  Not exactly the most interesting factoid, but still…

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department Of The Best New Definition I’ve Heard So Far This Year

OK, so the year is young.  Still….

What are pickles?
Pickles are just cucumbers sitting in their own piss.

 

 

 

*   *   *

Department of Employee Of The Month

It’s that time, to bestow that prestigious award upon moiself.  Again. The need for which I wrote about here.   [9] 

 

*   *   *

Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week     [10]

 

 

*   *   *

May you coexist with tolerance but live with love;
May you try to get that definition of pickles out of your mind;
May you remember, when times get tough:
Na, na, na, na na na na,
Na na na, Hey Jude;
…and may the hijinks ensue.

Thanks for stopping by.  Au Vendredi!

*   *   *

 

[1] Specifically, in our pear tree.

[2] Season as I arbitrarily declare it to be:  Partridge-in-our-pear-tree season runs to after Thanksgiving through the 12 Days of Christmas.

[3] Yes, we – as in, all of humanity – voted on this years ago, don’t you remember?  Or did you forget your absentee ballot?

[4] He’s a Caltech alum and thus spent four years in Pasadena.

[5] Along with many other tourist-dependent Florida towns and attractions, Ft. L has taken a hit, what with boycotts from both organizations and individual tourists due to Gov. Santos’  aggressive attacks on LGBTQ and reproductive rights.   In 2023 18 conferences pulled bookings from Broward county (home to Ft. Lauderdale) in response the state’s conservative stances (the “Don’t Say Gay” bill, e.g.) on human rights issues.

[6] Yes, we were all sober!  And it was only 11:30 in the morning.

[7] I briefly considered taking a picture of our respective answers, then realized, NO WAY am I documenting this future blackmail material: “Ya wanna see what my mom‘s/dad’s/idea of a romantic suggestion is?”

[8] And inside of us.  Do some research on your gut microbiome, and be impressed (or cringe).

[9] Several years ago, MH received a particularly glowing performance review from his workplace. As happy as I was for him when he shared the news, it left me with a certain melancholy I couldn’t quite peg.  Until I did.

One of the many “things” about being a writer (or any occupation working freelance at/from home) is that although you avoid the petty bureaucratic policies, bungling bosses, mean girls’ and boys’ cliques, office politics and other irritations inherent in going to a workplace, you also lack the camaraderie and other social perks that come with being surrounded by your fellow homo sapiens.  No one praises me for fixing the paper jam in the copy machine, or thanks me for staying late and helping the new guy with a special project, or otherwise says, Good on you, sister. Once I realized the source of the left-out feelings, I came up with a small way to lighten them.

[10] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.”  Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org