MY STADIUM WHINE ( MAKE THAT WINE) OR WHY BASKETBALL PLAYERS ARE MORE CIVILIZED

http://www.fangraphs.com/not/index.php/some-baseball-whys/OR

As a parent, I began my appreciation of the sport of basketball for several selfish reasons.  First, it was indoors during the winter.  Even though we live in a fairly mild California climate, this area during the winter can often be wet and/or cold with gale force winds.  Many years ago, when Beginner Child played a couple of seasons of soccer, I did my stint outside on the sidelines, in the drizzle, standing because my chair was soaked.  They don’t call off soccer games unless it is really pouring, and only then because the grass field could be damaged.  No thought to the drenched players or parents.  Of course, after a particularly cold spell, our climate zone could offer up off-shore winds and above-normal temperatures for the following weekend.  If my body were made of sedimentary rock, I would have cleaved and eroded away by now.

Thankfully, neither Last Son or Teenager has much interest in playing soccer, so I have been spared that sport’s seasonal weather mood swings.  Beginner Child and Last Son are big fans of baseball.  Baseball season, even though this perennial sport is played in Spring, it can be an even colder sport to watch in our part of California.  The onshore winds off the ocean kick in around March and it can be brutal to be outside.  During baseball season I always have my parka and two quilts on standby in the car to get me through a game.  A game which goes a minimum of two hours or six innings - not including the warm-up time. Sometimes I come home after watching a baseball game and can’t get warm the rest of the day.   

Ahh, but then there is basketball season.  The sport with an indoor court.  No matter the weather, the gym is dry, though a jacket is sometimes still necessary on the bleachers.  And the games, at least through the high school level, are limited to about an hour.  Unlike after watching a baseball game, following a basketball game I have never felt the need to jump in a hot shower or bath just to get rid of the chill in my core. 


Spectator, and player, beverages, however, are limited at indoor gym sports.  While having a thermos of hot tea or coffee is du jour on the soccer field sidelines, and on the metal bleacher seats of a baseball diamond, basketball fans are limited in their choice of drink.  In the gym it’s water only and no eating.  Wood gym floors do not handle liquids well.  Which brings me to my absolutely favorite thing about “in the gym” sports....no spitting!

Why do baseball players spit continually, anywhere and everywhere.  The dugout must be slimy with spit by the end of a game.  The dugout floors are concrete, not dirt.  It’s not soaking in, its sliming away on top of the floor.  And who has to clean up this crap?  Now there is a job for Mike Rowe of Dirty Jobs!


Do baseball players all suffer from the problem of an overstimulation of salivary glands?  Back in the day, I guess the tobacco chewing players needed to spit regularly and they just used the ground like a spittoon.  But today, hardly any players chew tobacco, so I’m not sure of the reason to spit unless it is just “part of the game”. Yuk! It is disgusting to watch on TV and in person. Young baseball players are emulating their idols by spitting sunflower seeds continually throughout the game. Hmm, are sunflower seeds the “gateway substance” to a spitting habit?  Even those who chew gum are spitting.  Don’t they need that moisture in their mouths?  Do they need to drink more water?

Baseball players may be sweating due to heat, nerves, or their minimal moments of exertion, but I don’t see any of them breathing so hard standing in position that they could be building up excessive amounts of saliva that needs to be spit out. And then there are the fans. Historically, baseball fans love to eat peanuts and spit out the shells on the ground around their seats.  Apparently this is how diehard fans get into the spirit of the game.

Watch a basketball game and there is no doubt that the  players on the court are breathing hard and sweating because they are continually running, up and down court.  These guys are working up a sweat. If a basketball player lands on the court floor, the towel guys are out there quickly sopping the sweat off the floor from player contact.  Are the basketball players sitting on the bench spitting on the floor in front of them.  No.  Are they spitting into a bucket nearby instead?  I haven’t seen any indication of that happening.  And they certainly aren’t spitting before making every free throw.

I have googled the topic- spitting- and it is simply amazing the comments posted.  Apparently, the question of why baseball players spit has quite a few people wondering.  And, I didn’t find any answer that points to anything other than a gross habit ritualized by the baseball players of old who used to chew tobacco.  Okay, totally makes sense to continue the disgusting habit right?

So baseball, America’s Game, is a sport that encourages spitting, on the playing field, on the mound, and in the stands.  Spitting, an act that is gross behavior in any other setting; is unsanitary; is distracting from the game being played; and probably nothing more than an addictive, ritualistic habit.  Yep, sounds just like an activity this country would hold in highest esteem.  

And to think that when I was a kid I didn’t like basketball because of the uniforms.  At ten years old I thought it was gross to see men’s armpit hair showing every time they shot the ball.  As an adult, the armpit hair is no longer an issue, though I can be distracted by the tattoos the college and pro players are sporting.   Which brings to mind the thick magnet necklaces that many baseball players are now wearing.  Basketball players cannot wear necklaces or any other jewelry on the court.  

So, with baseball you get spitting and necklaces; with basketball you get no spitting, and get to ponder the players’ tattoos.   With baseball you can drink and eat anything you want, and then spit. Here’s a question that could change my mind... Could I endure a baseball game’s inherent spitting scene if I was sipping a glass of wine in the stands?  My answer?  What kind of wine is it?

Now this is quite clever, though a bit crude if you are still sitting on the cushion while you are filling your cup.  

From: http://mis2pesos.blogspot.com/2011/10/11-creative-ways-to-hide-your-booze.html

Whipped Cream or Saliva Suckers

My parents had this album
when I was growing up.
I remember thinking,
"What a waste of whipped cream!"

Teenager finally got her braces off yesterday! A long-anticipated, very exciting day for her. While Himself and I are glad she is coming to the end of her orthodontic experience, it also means there is a final bill looming ahead.  Well her smile is worth it. With the braces gone, she'll suffer no more injuries when she gets elbowed in the mouth during a basketball game. Sitting in the waiting room while her bands were popped, pried, and ground off, I could hear the various dental tools being used.  Ahh, that familiar “zzzzzz” drill/sander/polisher sound. Even two rooms away I shudder convulsively when I hear it. Even though this time it was used to remove the band adhesive, my body responds to that sound like a Pavlov dog. I wonder how it sounds to someone who has never had a cavity? Beginner Child was spared cavities and braces; Last Son has yet to have a cavity and truly looks forward to those two visits a year to the dentist.  This is all a bit weird for me, the kid who had to regularly go to a dentist named, of all things, Dr. Shock.  Really, that was his name.  And I spent a significant number of hours in his chair.  

Another tool of the dentist trade I find unpleasant is the “saliva sucker”. Not sure what the real name for the device is, but that is what it does. Hooks right over your lower lip, sitting inside slurping away. Ugggghhhh. Generally, the sound of this gurgle is as gross to me as swimming in a pool looking at floating hair. However, yesterday as I was waiting for the Teenager, and I heard the saliva sucker gurgle, the sound was actually quite pleasing because...the sound I heard was that same sound that whip cream dispensers make. I actually visualized delicious whipped cream being shot out on top of a cup of hot cocoa. Hmm, it was chilly outside. Do we have any whipped cream at home in the frig?  I think so, but is there enough?  Enough for hot cocoa for three, and Himself if he is at home?  Best to pick some more up at the market on the way home, just to be safe. Though being “safe” in talking about having enough whipped cream on hand could be construed as an odd comment by some.  But that is how I see the world. Being safe means, among many other things, having enough food on hand (of course my list of “being safe” things involves plenty of non-food items too!), and whipped cream is a food I like to have on hand. Yes, it is a food and it covers a gamut of uses: substitutes in my coffee if I run out of half-and-half; is essential to hot cocoa; and consumed straight up, or actually straight down from the can and into the open, awaiting mouth, makes a delightful bribe to get Last Son to finish his schoolwork. Hmm, I think whipped cream could actually be an essential.  Like flour or some cans of soup in the pantry.  And if there is an earthquake, or other disaster, wouldn’t you feel better with a mouthful of whipped cream?  Yes, the soup would sustain you longer, but the whipped cream would ease your panic.  Yes, an essential it is.

What size spoon would you use to eat this?

How can you eat that canned stuff? you may ask.  Of course, if given the option, I prefer the real, get-out-the-Kitchenaid-whip-it-yourself, whipped cream.  Problem is that I seem to always have "extra" whipped cream when I use the real stuff for a recipe, and it doesn't store very long in the frig.  Meaning: I tend to devour the "extra" quickly and don't always have whipped cream on standby in the frig when I need it ("need" being a subjective term here).  The canned stuff lasts longer (and no, I don't really want to know why!).  

These are actual band colors.
I ask you:Can you see much
difference between
Aquablue and Violet Blue? 

Back to the orthodontist’s office...while I was still contemplating the whipped cream supply at home, Teenager emerged into the waiting room, smiling broadly.  Wow, it has been a long, long time since we’ve seen all her teeth.  No more trying to figure out what color of bands she chose while commenting that they looked...cute?, fun? stylish? (I never did figure out the right thing to say) And when I mistakenly tried to identify the color of the bands, I was usually wrong - not even close.  I couldn’t tell the difference between one color of bands and the next set, and that always led to the “eye roll”. Parents of teenagers try to become immune to the “eye roll”, but we secretly try to do something right to avoid it when we can. I am so glad those days are over!  I mean figuring out her band color choice...I think the “eye roll” phase will be with us for a few more years.

In the excitement of Teenager's new fresh, slippery teeth feeling, we forgot to pick up more whipped cream. When we arrived home, the day was not really chilly anymore, so no hot cocoa.  But Last Son and I usually have some on Fridays (again, it is a great bribe for schoolwork).  I can’t help but wonder now if the sound of the whipped cream splurting out on the cocoa will sound as good to me this Friday as it has in the past. Will I now associate the delectable ssscchhhhh (sound of whipped cream coming out of can) with the sound of the “saliva sucker”. How could my mind dare taint such a wonderful thing?

SPINNING INTO THE NEW YEAR

Ahh, another thing to add to my guilt!
 

Okay, it’s been way too long and the holidays are long past, and I haven’t posted anything for a long time.

I am not much of a New Year’s resolution maker. I set goals randomly throughout the year.This year I decided to be average, typical, and boring and resolve to get my weight down and my health up. Again, thinking about exercising is not as beneficial as really doing it (but wow if it was I’d be in excellent shape). I did think about my health and fitness level for two weeks, constantly, especially every time I put jeans on after they were washed and dried. What I needed was a kickstart...and not a heart attack.

Recently, I met up with my running partner from several years ago. She called me and asked if I wanted to do a spin class with her. Hmm, this might just be the thing to fuel my motivation. I am highly motivated by guilt - guilt if I let down a friend, not myself mind you, but I don’t let down friends. If I tell a friend that I am going to do something with her, something that she will be truly depending on me to do with her, then I will always do it. So, I said, “Sure, I’ll check it out.” Now, I have never taken a spin class, but I have heard about them. And what I have heard is that they are tough, but also a great workout. I’m thinking I can sit on a bike and pedal to music...

So, off I went to my first spin class...alone.The friend who initiated my guilt couldn’t start the class for another week.I accepted her challenge of checking out the class by myself.  Himself and the kids were amused at my decision to take a spin class, but definitely supportive.  

The class is held at the local high school. I found the cycling room (by following a woman with a water bottle and towel) and my eyes met with a sea of stationary bikes. Hmm, does one pick “their” bike? Is there a good location? Near the door? What if it is “someone else’s bike” already?  I joined this class a week after it first started and was told that, apparently, spinners can get particular about which bikes they use and like to use the same one each time. Something about getting the bike adjusted just right. Since the class was held at the high school, and the bikes were used every day in PE, I wasn’t sure this could be an issue, but I was alert for the signs that I was taking someone’s coveted bike.

The class was small, but feeling a bit out of my comfort zone, I picked out a bike that was located in the back row, away from the other spinners, and none of the latecomers seemed peeved I was on “their bike”. The instructor made sure it was adjusted to my height and then, I was on my own. Apparently, there is a special language spinners know...add more road, let out road, sprint, etc. Should I have asked a few questions on terminology? Of course, but I’m an intelligent woman and “I don’t need no stinking instructions!” 

First thing I noticed...my shoelaces were clicking on the bike frame...irritating little clicks every time I pedaled. I wasn’t the only one clicking so, okay, I’ll deal with it next time. There is no downtime during the class to make these adjustments, or maybe I was too self-conscious to do anything about it.

Second thing I noticed...I have rather strong negative feelings about bike seats. They are terribly uncomfortable- no matter how they are designed. This feeling has prevented me from taking a spin class in the past. See how dedicated I am to my friends?

Well this just says it all.

Perhaps my excess thigh girth is to blame, but by the end of the class I was feeling a painful chafing on my left inner thigh and was consistently numb anywhere my butt met the seat. Not much I could do about the chafing until the class was over, and the numbness would not be permanent (or at least I am under the impression that no permanent damage could occur). I just needed to buck up and endure “the burn”, right?  No, after enduring “the burn” I have now promised myself that I will stop and make some serious adjustments if I have that feeling again. Egads, I am seriously chafed, like a rope burn. I am going to have to put a large bandaid over the area for tonight’s class.

Third thing I noticed...I am a weak wobbly mess! All that thinking about exercising did nothing for my endurance and strength. Not that I really thought it would, but I like to think that my mind is a powerful device and can command my body to obey. The truth hit me like a concrete wall when the instructor said, “put on more road”, and “stand and pedal for one minute.” My first thought was, “I should be able to do this.” The mind said yes, parts of my body said, “Okay, we’ll give it a try,” but my legs screamed, “What possible exercise in our recent past gives you the green light to think we can do this?” 

Pedaling while standing is much, much harder than I thought it would be. After realizing my legs were not strong enough and I really was in danger of falling off the bike, I sat down on that seat from hell and pedaled along, glad I was in the back row and my failure at standing was not readily seen. Sitting on my sore butt, chafing away, I couldn’t help thinking, “Well, when I’m on my real bike and going up a hill, I shift down so the pedaling is easier, so why do I have to “add road” and stand up to pedal?” Because this is an exercise class stupid!

Found this Spiderflex seat on 

bicycleseatsonline.net

Would it be weird to bring
my own seat to Spin Class?

After more than 50 minutes of sweaty pedaling, chafing and feeling the rings of fat that circle my hips slap up and down with each stroke, the instructor had us dismount for some stretches. I’ve always had a bit of trouble standing steady and walking after a real bike ride, and this was no different. Hmm, perhaps this is the real reason they call it a “spin” class.

Overall, the spin class was successful. I now feel muscles that have been dormant for almost a year (okay, maybe longer). It felt good to sweat again. Although I know it takes six weeks for results to show up after starting to run, I don't know how long effects from spinning will take. Will this class prompt me to do more exercise? My mind says, “Yes!” in a happy strong voice. My butt answers, “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll let you know once I have feeling again.”

Wrapping up for the Holiday

Is this the Runway idea
of the Christmas Sweater?

The Mother (mine) and her husband came to visit my family this past Thanksgiving holiday.  They showed up two days earlier than I expected.  I wasn't ready, though Himself will affirm that I am never "ready" for a visit from the Mother.  True, but I could have used more practice in my breathing and serenity exercises. 

Early into the visit (actually within five minutes of the Mother entering the house), I had already broken my first rule of engagement: Do not engage or comment on any subject, no matter that you have facts to back you up. My fact-based comments are not regarded well, and seem to provoke a menacing reaction in the Mother. 

I made a fast recovery from my initial transgression, and went into "I'm on camera" mode. When dealing with uncomfortable situations, I have found it helpful to pretend there is a live camera on me at all times. This way, when the other person (almost always the Mother) starts talking, I make sure I look like the sane, together one, and that the Mother is totally accountable for what comes out of her mouth. Sometimes I know my face just screams out "What the F*@# Did She Just Say?", but I have learned to actually force myself to smile instead of attempt to have a meaningful conversation or discussion about the subject she is talking about. In the past, I have made dreadful mistakes in judgment by contributing unwanted facts to dispel her "facts", and well, the Mother doesn't take it well and I am rewarded by being told that I am not nice, and "you just think you know it all don't you?" My brain yells out: "Hell yes, I do!" But then the visit ends badly and will be all my fault.  

Another great coping trick of mine is to excuse myself to use the bathroom, where I practice deep breathing and affirmations like: "I am not crazy" and "All is well, think serene thoughts". Again, the hidden camera trick works, as does the "bathroom time out", though if you use that one too much you will need to answer the question, "Are you feeling okay?"

In the end, I provided a great visit to the Mother, she got to spend time with her grandkids, and Himself dazzled her with his barbecued turkey. Though while the visit went pretty smoothly, due to my extreme intention of making it through unscathed, I did lapse into PDSS within a day after they left. Post Dramatic Stress Syndrome - or PDSS, is real. I developed-or is it contracted?- a virus affecting my respiratory system that, literally, was taking my breath away. After all that serenity breathing, and attempts at settling my heartrate and reactionary attack mode that the Mother invoked in me, I thought I was homefree.  Apparently, it was too much for my immune system.

Skip to the present...I ended up getting really sick.  Two days ago, it was my one day shopping without kids and I was so out of it I forgot what I was doing in a few stores. Well, after my sorry attempt at shopping, I made myself go see a doctor.  Now after 24 hours of beginning the Z pack, I am feeling better.  Unfortunately, when leaving to see the doctor yesterday, I almost took out a neighbor driving by when I pulled out of our driveway without looking right.  It's not the same as doing that in front of a stranger who you don't know and most likely won't see again.  Crap, now if I get into an accident, he will be able to say how I barely missed hitting him just the other day, and that he could tell it was only a matter of time before I hit someone.  I'll have to be ultra careful driving for awhile.  That really sounds bad, like I'm not normally careful.  But then I just told you that I about took out a neighbor, and the car was still half in the driveway.  Well, at least he was in a car and not walking down the street...  I promise to be more aware of my surroundings...is that better? I'll be more careful, out there in the world, but really right now with only two days to finish shopping, I'm feeling more like making hot tea, crawling into bed, and reading a book all day. Everyone will be safe, and all will be right in the world...

Worse part (or is it really the best part?) of feeling like I have for the past few weeks is that I lost my taste for sugar.  So all the baked goods here in the house were the safest they have been for years.  Even a sip of wine tasted off...

But now, I am on the mend, and looking forward to helping the kids decorate cookies, enjoying a glass of cheer, and grooving on the Christmas tree that took a day and a half to decorate.  I have this thing about stringing the lights on the tree, all because of Martha Stewart.  A few years ago, I watched her show where she wove the lights in and out of each branch.  Absolutely gorgeous, and absolutely tedious.  Nope, no more just looping the lights on, tucking them in, and saying done.  I spend hours, many, many hours, doing the lights.  Our tree is usually around 10 feet or so, so it takes about 1500 lights or more.  The first year I tried the "Martha" way I had to go out and buy more lights...many boxes of more lights.   Now, Himself, Teenager and Last Son have no interest in joining me or enabling me.  They willingly leave me alone in my madness, returning only when I say Done!

While telling ourselves it's not about the presents, Himself and I fret over the "lists" and the visualization of how Christmas morning will look to Teenager and Last Son, while silently cursing the consumerism we have bought into (literally).  

Okay, now this is a bit much,
but how cool to be able to see it in person?
(from: psychcentral.com/blog)

Well, enough of that bah humbug...Here's to a Great Holiday Season with good cheer, time for friends, decorated homes, light displays to drive by (carefully), Christmas treats and Christmas songs.  

And for a parting gift: 

Check out this site for some cool Christmas Trees! http://funniestarea.blogspot.com/2009/12/funny-and-cool-christmas-trees-photos.html

Coastal California Visit from St Nicholas

CHILD THANKS PARENTS FOR FEEDING HIM...

Cereal bowl, work of art, or
absolute waste of a costly food product? 

Yesterday, Last Son came home with a Thanksgiving  card for Himself and I.  He designed his card with tiny cross-hatched squares that he individually colored.Tremendous small motor skill work for the boy who balks at holding a pencil correctly.  

We are always so happy when he writes anything, especially when he comes up with the wording himself. And what did this card say inside? “Dear Mom/Dad, I love you so much.  I am also very thankful for you packing my lunch, feeding me dinner, breakfast and lunch.” Good grief, what did his teacher think when she read this?

Anyone with two growing kids in the house knows how fast any food in the pantry disappears.  Both kids love fruit and at least two servings are packed in their lunch. Organic fruit is expensive. Last Son also tucks a half or whole red bell pepper inside his bag. Organic vegetables are expensive. A turkey sandwich, Greek organic yogurt, and sometimes seaweed.  Yes, Last Son is a fan of the sheets of seaweed.

Anyone who eats (and who doesn’t) and anyone who has to shop for food (I’m thinking most of us do) knows how expensive food is.  And the grocery bill just gets higher every two weeks.  And since we try to buy organic or “real food”, our bill is higher than a Walmart shopper’s bill.  I hate to go to the store.  I hate to see how much money I am spending on food that won’t make it to the end of the week.  I hate coming home after spending $80 and realize there isn’t a meal, other than lunches, in the bags.  

Do you remember eating a bowl of cereal if all the frig had in it was milk?  Well, cereal is a premium and extravagant food product now.  And the healthiest cereals are boxed in smaller quantities for more money.  Cereal has become an issue in our home.  Teenager likes Smart Start which is very expensive and never on sale.  And for the past two weeks (coinciding with trips to Trader Joes), Last Son likes Puffins, a choice which would no doubt change though if they are ever on sale and I stock up. 

Actually, the issue in our house is not what kind of cereal, but whose cereal.  The kids have started putting their names on their cereal boxes, even with warnings like “Stay out Dad”.  And why you may ask?  Because Himself likes to combine cereals in his bowl.  Himself generally likes cereal that has twigs and flakes, but will add any other cereal to his bowl for variety. A bit of this cereal mixed with a bit of that cereal.  Himself’s cereal mixing has wrecked havoc.  I am convinced that cereal is packaged to fill a certain number of bowls- full servings, and if you mess with this method by only pouring a half serving, then the box ends up with less than even a half serving of cereal.  And because Himself has been conditioned (since childhood?) not to eat the last of anything, he leaves that minimal amount of cereal in the box - which is the perfect amount for a cereal mixer but not for the rest of us.  And because Himself is the only one who mixes types of cereal, and because the amount left in the box is less than even a kid-size serving, no one touches it.  And it goes stale and is eventually thrown out.  This is where I get involved since I am the person who cleans out the pantry.

Years ago throwing out a bit of stale cereal was not so much a concern. But now, the price of cereal is ridiculous.  I used to tell Beginner Child to have a bowl of cereal after school if he needed a snack.  Now, with the price of a box of worthwhile cereal hovering at around $5, this is no longer a cheap fill up.  A box of cereal only has about 3-4 bowls inside.  I mean real-life bowls, not the “suggested serving size” listed on the box.  A half-cup of cereal just doesn’t do it for growing kids, or apparently husbands.

Himself becomes quite defensive when I point out that his cereal mixing is causing our children to “hoard” their cereal.  I don’t think it is normal that children should have to put their names on their food to keep it safe.  Even growing up in my whack family, we never put names on cereal boxes.  Of course, cereal selection in the morning was much easier in my childhood home.  The adults had “serious cereals” like Raisin Bran, Shredded Wheat (the big not-bite-size kind), and Grape Nuts.  These boxes sat on the shelf alongside Cap’n Crunch and Lucky Charms.  Never a problem finding enough cereal in a box in the panty.  As a kid, in one sitting I would just keep adding more cereal to any milk left in the bowl.  And then if there was not enough milk, I would add more milk, and repeat the process.  Nope, there was never any nominal serving of cereal left over to go stale.

So, after all this rant over cereal, what is on our shelf for me?  In order to be able to reach into the pantry and still find a box with a full serving of cereal in it I choose... Raisin Bran.  No one likes it in this house, so I am assured of a bowl on any given morning.  Do I yearn for Lucky Charms?  Yes, with shame (nothing tastes better to my tainted taste buds than blue moons and green clovers!).   Do I miss the Cap’n?  Yes, but I no longer enjoy the feeling of a sliced palate (those little “crunch” pillows must have swords!).  I am an adult, or at least that’s what society tells me.  I must eat like an adult, whatever that means.  Or does that mean that now I can eat whatever I want?  Like now that I am an adult I can stay up as late as I want, even if it means I will stagger through the next day?  If so, then why don’t I have a box of Lucky Charms in the pantry if that is the cereal I really want to eat?  Because, I would have to put my name on the box, and there is something really wrong with an adult putting her name on a box of Lucky Charms!

(This is the DyeDiet Risk Chart for Lucky Charms)

LUCKY CHARMS- UNTIL I READ THIS IT TRULY WAS A "MAGICALLY DELICIOUS" CEREAL FOR ME...DAMN FACTS ALWAYS GETTING IN THE WAY
 

What The Hell Is That Noise?

Tahitian Dance involves some great costuming.

For the past few years I have been dancing hula. No, not with hula hoops, I mean real Hawaiian Hula. When I turned my most recent decade, I took on two challenges: one was being able to lap swim (see September 13, 2011) and the other was to learn to dance hula.  Fortunately, there is a hula halau in the area I live in. A halau is essentially a school where hula is taught, along with Hawaiian culture.

I went into this challenge thinking I would learn a few dances and that would be it. Little did I know that my first class would turn into years of classes, several local performances, and one on-stage performance with a Hawaiian bigwig steel guitar legend, Keola Beamer.

To show you just how naive, ignorant, clueless...you supply the adjective, I was going in to my first hula class, when the Kumu (teacher) stated we were learning the “Beamer” style of hula, I was thinking: smooth, classy, you know - like a “BMW B’mer”. What an idiot.  No, the Beamer style is named after its founder, Helen Desha Beamer.  Yes, the Beamer style is very smooth, but there is more to it than just that.

Along with taking a dance class, the first in my life, I was also thrust into learning the Hawaiian language. While some songs have English lyrics, many do not and all the ancient hulas, or Kahiko, have Hawaiian lyrics. I have found that my mouth struggles with this language. I find myself wishing for a consonant here and there to break up the sometimes three or more vowels strung together.

Although dancing hula is a continuing education in both dance and language, another type of dance often lures hula dancers. Tahitian hula. Now, what I have noticed in watching live or YouTube Tahitian dancers is that these women are thin, young, and look really fit. Check out this YouTube video for an amazing performance:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWKFR1IMIio&feature=related


Seeing this, I am thinking: Hey, if I learn Tahitian maybe I could lose some weight and keep fit too. Great idea in the head, and probably still a good idea in practice. But, as I have discovered, perhaps I should rethink learning Tahitian in a class setting.

A hula friend, who is also a great Tahitian dancer, showed me one simple basic step to get started. The ami, which is the hip circle. I’ve got the Hawaiian hula ami down pretty good, but the Tahitian ami is much, much, much faster. I have found that when the hips start really going my upper body starts to compensate. This has not been an issue for me with my slower Hawaiian amis (at least not in the past year or so). To help you be aware of what your upper body is doing, it is helpful to practice amis in front of a mirror.  

Wearing my pau skirt (these skirts are very full, not terribly flattering, but are the essential Hawaiian hula dress) I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, which is very large, and started the slow hip circle, then started speeding it up. Holding down my shoulders with my hands (picture the kid song,”head-shoulders-knees and toes”), I kept this up for about 30 seconds. This 30 seconds went okay, but how the heck was I going to keep this up during an entire dance was another question.

I took a break, watched another YouTube video of a basic Tahitian ami, demonstrated by a young thing with hardly any hips or fat on her body, and went back to my mirror.

This time proved a bit more successful. I was doing my ami faster and faster, fascinated by how much my stomach roll could follow my hips. While circling my hips, I began hearing a weird noise coming from...me. What was making that noise? Was it my skirt, my joints?  I started up again, listening closely. At low speed, no noise. As my speed got faster, the noise was more distinct.  

I took off my pau skirt, and tried again just wearing my underwear. Maybe the skirt was too full? It was while I was gyrating away, doing my best to do a fast Tahitian ami that I saw what was making the noise. My thighs were slapping together! Seriously, slapping in rhythm to the movement. Fascinating! Not cool fascinating, more like morbidly fascinating. The death of body tone. All that hula dancing and my thighs are still slapping away at each other.  

I am not through with trying to learn Tahitian hula, but I will not be attending any classes in an inside studio where my thigh slapping can be heard. I think learning this style of hula outside, on a beach, with loud crashing surf is the best scenario for me and my thighs. Hmm, actually that scenario is probably best for about everything I like to do.