Bonus Recipe: Ginger Salmon

This is not a new recipe this month, but it is a new recipe in the grand scheme of my eating history. And it’s one that’s become one of my regulars.

I’m not sure what it was growing up, but I was sure I hated salmon. In reality, I had it rarely — maybe because I didn’t like it when I did — and then always made by my grandmother. (This is not a slam on Grandma’s cooking skills in general; she was fabulous. Her salmon and I, however, did not agree.) So I had salmon cooked in a single style, didn’t like it — and concluded that it was the base food product rather than how it was prepared.

I mean, I was, like, five. This seems like age-appropriate flawed logic. And to be fair, a number of other salmon dishes — or rather, the description of a number of other salmon dishes — did not appeal in the many years since.

Until I first tried sushi. While I appreciate that sushi grade salmon is probably overall a better quality of fish than whatever my Grandma bought, I was floored by how much it tasted like an entirely different food. Even then, the evolution was slow in progressing.

I thought I liked raw salmon but only raw salmon. Not cooked. At all. But I wanted to.

I really like fish in general, and oily fish are some of my favorites. Among them, salmon tends to be one of the more widely available, both in restaurants and grocery stores, at least in my area. If I could learn to like salmon, it would give me a lot of new options for fish food.

And so I wanted to try. Not to force myself into anything, but to experiment.

It started when I ordered something called ginger salmon for lunch at a local restaurant. The picture showed it breaded, deep fried, and covered in sauce — so I figured that even if I wasn’t thrilled with the salmon specifically, the other flavors there would cover it up.

Turns out I was right and wrong. The sauce was flavorful and fabulous. It was the predominant feature of the dish rather than the fish. And the salmon itself was sort of dry and not as… salmon-y as I’d remembered. What surprised me the most, however, was that I did not mind the salmon-y flavor I did taste.

Overall, I liked the taste effect so much I started working out how I could replicate the taste at home, except maybe minus the batter and sticky sauce (which are not my favorite things for eating on a regular basis). This is what I came up with:

Ingredient Note: Fairly obviously, a recipe with “salmon” in the title is neither vegetarian nor vegan. However, it is dairy and gluten free and, to the best of my knowledge, contains no other common allergens.

Ginger Salmon:
salmon fillets — I like sockeye, but I can’t think of any reason this wouldn’t work with another variety.
garlic powder
white pepper, finely ground
ground ginger
brown sugar — apx. 1 tbsp. for every 1/3lb. portion
oil for pan frying

Directions:

1. Cut the salmon fillets into the appropriate size portions for your eating needs and preferences. Lay them out in a single layer on a plate or tray.
2. Sprinkle the non-skin side of each portion with a light dusting of garlic and an even lighter dusting of white pepper. If I had to estimate, I’m using maybe 1/4 teaspoon of garlic per portion — and less than that of the white pepper. Also, when I haven’t had any white pepper on hand, I’ve tried substituting black pepper but haven’t been completely satisfied. I remain torn on whether it’s better to substitute black pepper or to just skip the pepper entirely if I’m out of white pepper.
3. Sprinkle a little more ginger — maybe 1/2 teaspoon — on top of that. Press the spices into the skin and let stand for about 10 minutes.
4. Have another go with the same amount of ginger. Then sprinkle the brown sugar on top. There should be enough brown sugar to make a sort of thin crust on top.
5. Heat the oil in a skillet large enough for your salmon portions.
6. Cook over medium high heat to your desired degree of doneness (maybe 3-5 minutes on a side, depending on thickness), flipping the salmon over halfway through the process. Flipping is pretty important here since it will allow the brown sugar to melt — and then become all crackly and good when you remove the salmon from the pan.
7. Serve immediately.

My current preference is to serve with a dark green veggie — maybe kale or turnip greens or broccoli. I am a fan of the savoriness of the vegetables combined with the sweet and spiciness of this salmon preparation.

I keep thinking that these would work wrapped in tinfoil and thrown on the grill, too. However, we also keep using them to fill in our “we need something that can be prepared quickly” menu days. Those days are generally not compatible with “wait 45 minutes for the charcoal grill to heat up” days, so. Maybe I’ll try that one day this summer, but a gas range and a skillet works for now.

Anyone else have any good ways to eat cooked salmon? At this point, I am feeling experiementy again!

[Not my fish -- By Jorge Díaz from Madrid, Spain (salmón a la plancha) [CC-BY-SA-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons]

Another Search Terms Post

Because it’s that time of year again. Far enough into the year that all the end of year stuff needs to be done right now, not far enough that it’s already been taken care of. It’s longer work hours and no brain left for blogging. So you get search terms.

nearly naked yoga — Well, not here, no. But you go right ahead if that’s your thing.

assholes are people, too — Yes. Though it might be nice if fewer people were assholes.

pizzas diet — This sounds to me like an excellent way to ruin my enjoyment of pizza. I like pizza somewhat more than I think is average, but eating a primarily pizza-based diet strikes me as likely to cause me to get really fucking tired of pizza really fast.

gentle evening yoga sequence — This yin practice is my favorite that fits that description, though I’m certainly interested in other suggestions as well.

yoga poses to help you fart — Well, there is wind-relieving pose, which definitely is named in a farting direction. Truth be told, though, I’ve never needed much help in farting, with or without yoga.

post my boner — No. Get your own fucking blog.

I am busy.

Writing some other things, both for this and other online spaces. Also writing final project rubrics and exams.

Even though it’s not my birthday, have this cake decoration clip as a placeholder:

Found It!

From here, regarding the lengthening of the lateral rotator muscles in a pose where the front leg is laterally rotated.

I have found the answer, at least as it relates to the piriformis. Because the other deep rotator muscles have nearby locations, I would not be surprised if a similar explanation applied to them as well.

Bottom line? Flexion makes it happen.

[Dr. Joe Muscolino instructing for learnmuscles. Video via YouTube.]

Essentially, in anatomical position — think: a biology class skeleton hanging from a hook — the piriformis (and other lateral rotators) do externally rotate the thigh. In anatomical position, the origin of the piriformis on the sacrum is also basically in a straight line with its insertion point on the femur.

However, when the hip is flexed — as is the case with the front leg in pigeon — the piriformis (I do not know about the other deep rotators) ends up wrapping around the front of the hip socket. In a way that’s only clear to me when I view it, contraction of the piriformis at that point actually stimulates medial (internal) rotation. In that situation, external rotation actually stretches it.

TL;DR — It’s complicated.

Without Comment

[Rachel Rostad, "To JK Rowling, from Cho Chang." Video via YouTube.]

Found via Laura at Tutus and Tiny Hats.

April Recipe: Tilapia & Cucumber Salsa

We’d discussed selling them — free condom included! — as organic dildo kits. Facetiously, of course. Being on the pointier end, English cucumbers do not strike me as a particularly good choice for vaginal penetration (no flared base, so anal is right out) — though my opinions are entirely theoretical regarding this sort of thing.

Which is why, bottom line, we were looking for culinary uses for the two dozen cucumbers we overzealously purchased at our local “obtain large quantities of produce” thingie. (It’s neither really a farmer’s market nor a CSA, but we get lots of veggies for small monies. I do not mind.)

We did cut up a number to eat raw. They were nice.

We did try sliced cucumbers to flavor a pitcher or water. I am not a particular fan.

We will not discuss pickles on this blog.

Then, through the wonder, awe, and horror that is Reddit, a kind soul pointed me toward this recipe (note: link contains calorie counts). Since our previous zucchini salsa — also borne of the same necessity — had turned out so well, we decided to try a modified version of this one.

And pair it with tilapia. Because whitefish and a salsa fresca equals awesome.

Ingredient note: The salsa recipe on its own should be vegan and gluten free. To the best of my knowledge it is also free of other high frequency allergens. Serving it with the tilapia, while I think it is yummy, would obviously affect its overall veg*n status.

Cucumber Salsa:

2 cups diced cucumber — I de-seeded but did not peel
1/2 cup cored, diced tomato
1/2 finely chopped red onion
2 jalapenos, diced very fine
6, maybe, cloves of garlic, minced
cilantro — two good sized fistfuls* of leaves, minced
a few good squirts from the squeezy container of lime juice — I like to think about 4 tbps, but I could be significantly off

Directions:

1. Chop All the Things. Except the lime juice of course.
2. Put it in a big bowl.
3. Mix it up.
4. If desired, leave in the fridge overnight for the flavors to mingle.

I served it with a pan fried tilapia seasoned with salt, black pepper, and lemon. That said, I imagine a fair range of mildly flavored whitefish would work as well.

Overall, I think the citrus, spices, and heat from the jalapeno paired nicely with the fish. However, I might tweak it a bit for next time.

The cucumber mitigated some of the jalapenos’ heat, but it also got overwhelmed a bit by the red onion. It might not be bad to either increase the cuke or tomato — or else reduce the onion.

I’m also thinking maaaaybe about reducing the jalapeno by just a teeny bit. It’s right on the edge of how hot I’d want it to be for a substantive part of a main dish. I could see going a little milder, but I probably would not veer toward hotter for it. That said, if I knew I were serving it with something snackish rather than something mealish — or in a meal where salsa would be more of a small-amount condiment — I’d likely keep the proportions as listed.

Either way, I have plenty of cucumbers left for a second round of experimentation.

---

* I tried typing “fistsful” because in my heart, I think that’s what the word should be. Spell check does not agree.

The Dangers of Cider Vinegar

It had been a day.

Specifically, it had been a day where the salmon fillets had not thawed out completely and were thus unsuitable for dinner, and it had been a day where that was just the last straw.

I went to the grocery store to grab a heat and serve something for dinner. My preferred local grocery store is one of the “natural foods” variety — good because it has more of the foods I like to eat, bad because it has significant overlap with people who like to view food in terms of moral superiority and deficiency.

Today has been a day, so my food choices would be characterized as the latter.

I show up in the checkout lane with a bag of coffee beans (light roast), a bottle of apple cider vinegar, and a frozen meat lovers’ pizza — the kind with pepperoni, sausage, and bacon on it.

In the lane, I try to grab a chocolate bar. The chocolate bar: milk chocolate, toffee, and sea salt. A happy rectangle of taste perfection. Only, there’s not enough clearance between the the bottom of the display box and the top of the shelf. I can’t get one of the bars out of the box, off of the shelf.

Today, this does not amuse me. Today, this is a big deal.

After a moment, I lift the entire box off the shelf, remove one chocolate bar, and replace the display. The chocolate is safe. Now I can pretend like everything is okay.

I am turned to face the woman in line behind me. I take in that she is approximately my own size and shape.

“It was almost a catastrophe,” I joke.

She grins widely in return.

The woman in front of me turns around, notices me, notices my items on the belt.

“You know, that’s just going to make you fatter.”

I am stunned. Did I hear right stunned. Did this woman just say that out loud and in public stunned. I’m scrambling to explain all the reasons why what I’m eating is okay — which, now that I think back on it, her comment would have been rude even if I ate bacon pizza and chocolate every fucking day — when the woman behind me speaks up.

“Yeah, I hear apple cider vinegar will do that to you.”

In the instant between that sentence and the start up of the conveyor belt, I laughed.

Links & More Links

Does Waxing Get Rid of Crabs? by Anna at the Planned Parenthood Advocates of Arizona Blog — “First, in January, the claim surfaced that pubic lice (colloquially known as crabs) are being driven to extinction as their natural habitat is felled by razors and waxes. Then, just last month, a little-known STD called molluscum contagiosum got its 15 minutes when it was associated with the increased popularity of hairless pubic regions.”

I mean, I’ve made my pubic hair grooming choice, and I’m sticking with it. But as I’m also someone who scours the news for odd info and sexual health info, odd sexual health info is double my reading entertainment.

I am a teacher, and I am tired by An Anonymous Young Teacher at bgfay750 — ” Tired of being afraid to stand up for what I know is right for our kids and our country because I am afraid of losing my job and being unable to pay my bills.

Tired of my superiors being afraid to stand up for what they know is right for our kids and our country because they, too, are afraid of losing their livelihood.”

Pretty much. I mean, my kids make me tired too sometimes. But that is often the accomplished tired of, say, a good run — or the frustrating but stimulating tired of an asana that needs deconstructing or a lesson that needs reworking. That tired, I can do. That kind of tired renews.

It’s only when the source of my exhaustion is politicians — national, state, local, or site-specific — that it becomes draining, deadening. That tired does not get better.

Lingerie Nerd Time: What Happens When You Compare Bra Trends and Shapes Across Countries? at The Lingerie Lesbian — “I wrote this post because I wanted to explore the different shapes that I see as customary to countries with different lingerie traditions. Of course, these are not universal, as oftentimes designs travel globally, but given my lingerie immersion, I thought I would identify some trends.”

My interest in this post stems chiefly from the fact that I am planning on frittering away some tax return dollars on the scathing indulgence of boob support and so can now allow myself to think of bras again. Because my current ones, they are ragged and tired.

And a cup size or so too small. And that just isn’t helping anyone.

["Fat Girl" by Megan Falley. Video via YouTube.]

Just because it is awesome.

Feel free to add your own awesome links in the comments!

If I had a nickel for every time I had this conversation, I could comfortably retire. Yesterday.

Student: What are we supposed to be doing? I don’t get it.

Me: Did you read the directions?

(Student looks to where I am pointing — you know, at the directions, which I have also gone over orally. Student looks up at me. Back at the directions. Back at me.)

Student: There are directions?

Fat at You

Note: This post contains sarcastic responses to fat bias.

I have a confession.

Fat is a behavior after all.

You see, it’s not just that I am fat or that I have fat on my body. Nope. When I go out, I am purposefully being fat.

At you.

And it is my personal mission in life to be as egregiously fat as possible.

When I walk down the street, around my workplace, or through my neighborhood instead of remaining shut up at home, I am doing it specifically to annoy you. Many of you will be subjected to the inconvenience of looking at me. Some will have to interact with me as though I were an actual person.

When I purchase groceries or eat at a restaurant, it is with the glee of reminding you that I intend to continue my fatness by having the audacity to provide my body with food on a regular basis. Sometimes I throw beer and chocolate into my cart just to provoke extra frowny faces.

I won’t lie. Every time I hear someone gasp about how my fatness is a drain on the health care system that their tax dollars pay for, it just makes me want to visit the doctor more. This comes with the added bonus of getting to be fat at the doctor, who is then forced to explain the impending doom of being in my body and to caution me to make changes in my food and exercise habits, without first inquiring as to what my current food and exercise habits may be. Obviously, this is fun for me and entirely worth wasting all of your tax dollars — since I couldn’t possibly pay taxes of my own or receive subsidized insurance coverage, the remainder of which I pay for myself, as part of my employment compensation.

Nope. Doing it solely to piss you off.

When I wear anything more revealing than a sleeping bag, it is to provoke your disgust at the sight of my flesh. Moreover, the entire reason I live in a warm climate is so that I have as many opportunities as possible to wear clothing that makes you uncomfortable.

When I work out, it is purely to make a mockery of your own fitness levels and exercise habits. Because if my fat ass can run the same distance or enter the same yoga posture, it automatically diminishes your strength, flexibility, and cardiovascular endurance, as well as detracting from your overall physical achievements. In fact, any achievement I reach as a fat person cheapens your parallel achievement as a thin person.

And if I appear to be enjoying myself somewhere, rest assured, I do it to make you miserable. Because fun and happiness are finite resources, after all: if I have more, you will have less.

It’s been a long time coming, I suppose, this admission. But nothing I do is just because I am going about my business as a regular person. I know you can’t see it, but I am actually being fat at you right now, sending waves of adipose energy through the cosmos as I type. I am nothing if not persistent. So please, rest assured, my persistent fatness is all about you.

In conclusion:

[George Strait singing "Ocean Front Property." Lyrics here.]

Free Range Food Choices

When I stop to think about it, I make most of my food choices within a lot of constraints. During the week, breakfast is limited to what I can eat in the car or, failing that, what I can buy at school. Lunch is always what I can buy at school. While there’s significantly more flexibility with dinner, but it still involves balancing my tastes with my partner’s, as well as planning food that we have the time and resources (i.e., clean dishes) to cook on any given day. For me, there’s usually the added issue of limiting foods that are likely to trigger the hormonal and autoimmune issues that live in my guts. And as I’m sure is true for most everyone, there are the constraints of what’s available locally, what we can afford, and what we currently know how to cook.

Recently, a great many — though not all — of those constraints disappeared for me. That week, of course, was spring break. Five would-be school days of home alone.

Sure, some of the constraints — the ones about money and food available in my city, mostly — remained, but a lot of them went away temporarily. Even the one around triggery foods. I mean, no, I didn’t start looking at foods and saying, “Hey, this will give me intestinal cramps, gas, and fiery diarrhea! Neato!” On the other hand, if I did have a craving for, say, deep friend jalapeno poppers with cream cheese, the resulting bathroom adventures would be less disruptive to me now than they would either at school or on a night before school.

With reason, I could eat whatever I wanted.

And you know what? That was kind of scary.

I know I’ve had spring breaks in the past where I’ve had the same food choices, but this was the first time I examined those choices closely.

There was the spring break of eat the same culturally approved healthy food — in this case, dark green salad with no dressing and bowl of soup — every day. That was unsatisfying and unfun.

There was the break of the fast food spree — some type of fast food for lunch every day. Just because I could. That involved a whole buttload of guilt I don’t need again. Also, in all honesty? I can pretty easily cook food that I will find more sustaining and better tasting.

There was the spring break of sushi. Delicious but financially unmanageable. And again, if I’m being perfectly honest with myself, I’d rather splurge for really good sushi once in a while than to eat respectable but uninspired grocery store sushi every day for a week. Besides, they’ve since changed their sushi provider, so I can no longer vouch for the respectability.

There was the spring break where contemplating food on my own was just too overwhelming, so I consumed nothing but coffee for breakfast and lunch. Actual food only at dinner. Let’s not go there again.

When it comes to my free range food choices, I think it’s safe to say I have a history of both overdoing and underdoing. It’s easy to pick an eating theme and stick with it. It’s a lot harder to figure out what I want on a daily basis. Ironically, the big thing I discovered about myself is something I’ve known about and consciously applied to my students for some time.

The big thing is this: I have to give myself the freedom to make mistakes.

The mistake I make most frequently is that the food I eat on a “first pass” isn’t filling enough. I underestimate how hungry I am. The simple fix for that is to eat more, possibly choosing a food that’s a more substantive fat or protein source, and move on with my life. But emotionally, there’s a lot of baggage attached to that mistake. Because the fix is to eat more, and eating more is “bad,” right? It’s “wrong” to be so hungry. Because the fix is often to eat a more calorically dense food, and those foods are “bad,” right?

It shouldn’t be — but it is difficult to create a mindset that doesn’t produce guilt when what I really want is just to make myself a peanut butter sandwich already.

I Am Not Brave

It’s a conversation that happens occasionally, and it irks me. I’ll be out somewhere, usually engaged in a commercial transaction (i.e., shopping) and usually somewhere north of my house. I’ll casually mention my profession, and someone will ask where I teach.

I’ll tell them.

And I’ll tell you: I work in what might succinctly be described in a high minority, low socioeconomic status district. In an area of town with a reputation for being unsafe. In short, I work in what people in the “nicer” parts of town think of as that school.

So when I tell them, the reaction is always a sharp intake of break and an “Ooohhhhh!” that ends in a hiss. A slight recoil from the neck up.

Then they recover enough to cover themselves, slip into a smile, and say, “You must be brave.”

Stop it right there.

You want to call me brave for teaching? Sure, okay. It’s a job that sometimes involves standing in front of people and requires being put on the spot daily.

You want to call me brave for teaching high school? I guess. I grasp the concept that teenagers can be rebellious and trying, though personally, it’s the elementary teaching that would scare me.

You want to call me brave for teaching in Arizona? Absolutely. While there are some pro-education legislators in the capitol, the longstanding lawmaking momentum has come from people who believe that thinking is an act of Satan; therefore teachers are his emissaries.

But do not call me brave because I teach where I teach.

It devalues my kids, makes them out to be somehow worse than all the other teenagers in all the other high schools. They are not, and it is bigoted to imply otherwise.

This may come as a shocker, but I do not spend most of my time breaking up gang fights or intercepting drug deals. There are not massive amounts of students with juvenile records; no one is scheming to get pregnant in order to run a WIC racket. By far, the worst things I have to deal with on a regular basis are inservices and staff meetings, both of which are plagues that hit educational institutions across the spectrum.

Strange as this may sound, even in that school, I spend most of my teaching time… actually teaching. We learn new information and basic skills. We refine those skills and facilitate critical thinking. We work on planning, organization, evaluation, and reflection. We predict and discuss how these skills will be useful to them in the real world. Kids make mistakes, and I monitor, offer feedback, and adjust.

Of course, I spend some time managing classroom behavior. But with a plan of being proactive instead of reactive, treating students with respect, and communicating expectations clearly, it actually takes up relatively few minutes of any given day. And certainly, a lot of my kids have tough lives, and there’s a complicated relationship involving that toughness, socioeconomic status, race — a relationship that plays out differently for each student. Moreover, while it’s naive to suggest that my students “check their problems at the door,” when they are in my classroom, their focus is on their learning.

There may be a lot of people and political forces I face as a teacher that might merit calling me brave. But my kids? My kids are pretty great.

This Episode

Of Alfred Hitchcock Presents.

Features Jessica Tandy.

And William Shatner.

And at least one glass eye.

You’re welcome.

["The Glass Eye," Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Season 3, Episode 1. Aired October 6, 1957.]

Linky Links

My Students are Not “My Customers” by Michelle at Balancing Jane — ‘His attitude, though, and the idea that I was “on his dime” is one that is becoming increasingly popular on college campuses. Students are now seen as “customers.” The buzz word is everywhere. College staff wear IDs to provide better “customer service” and campuses need to adapt to their “customer’s needs.”‘

Fat, Trans and (Working on Being) Fine With It by Mey at Autostraddle — “So not only do I have to deal with the crippling dysphoria that comes from having a body that I often don’t even recognize as my own, I also have to deal with the cultural misogyny that tells me that a woman can’t be as big and fat as I am and still be desirable.”

Victim blaming in America has become something even deeper and uglier: the complete reversal of victim and perpetrator. by Zack Budryk at Style Weekly — “Two years ago, after CBS correspondent Lara Logan was sexually assaulted in Cairo, Egypt, and greeted by a wave of implications that she brought it on herself, I suggested in a back page essay that 2011 was shaping up to be the year of the victim blamer. Now, it seems I was wrong.”

Benevolent Sexism, Again by Fannie at Fannie’s Room — ‘But, the thing is, people who express benevolently sexist ideas are acknowledging that they view men and women as discrete, fundamentally different (or “opposite”) creatures and that they, accordingly, treat men and women very differently.’

Project Bendypants: Practicing Yoga While Fat by Tiffany at More Cabaret — “You see, I apparently committed an unspoken offense to many of the yoga teachers I encountered: I attempted to practice yoga while fat.”

Bowling for Abortion Access & Awkward Yoga Haikus

First off, I do not mean to spam you all with this. I may post once more closer to the date of the event, but no more between this and then.

As I kid, I remember my parents being financially supportive of the PBS pledge drives when they could. But I also remember growing up with a fair bit of Sesame Street swag: a Big Bird blanket, a Bert and Ernie tote bag, a whole series of Sesame Street number and letter books.

Sadly, I do not have Sesame Street swag to give away. What I do have, however, is the ability to write awkward yoga poetry. (It’s okay to be jealous.)

So for every $5 donation toward my fundraising goal or my team’s fundraising goal, I will write one awkward haiku based on the yoga asana of your choice. (Yes, if you donate $10, you get to choose two poses… and so forth, though I think I’m going to cap the haiku offer at five.)

The simplest way for folks to know which poses are spoken for would be to comment here with your choice if/when you donate. However, you’re more than welcome to email me — anytimeyoga@gmail.com — to let me know privately.

Thanks again!

I’m tired. I’ll check out my search terms instead of writing for real.

In fairness to myself, I have written a lot in this past couple of days — keeping in mind that there’s a time delay between when I write something and when it’s scheduled. It’s a good way of amusing myself to avoid burnout.

low creativity — Well, yes. That is why I am doing this at the moment.

i’m tired of being a teacher — If you truly no longer enjoy teaching students, then perhaps it is time to consider a different career. It’s not good for teacher or students to be part of resentful learning. If what you’re tired of is all the extraneous bullshit that gets pressured onto teachers and teaching — Well, I think no one will judge you if you still decide it’s time to transition careers. But I think it’s shit when so many teachers get driven out of teaching for reasons that are not the actual teaching.

quad stretch — You know, I could use some good suggestions on this myself. The ones I know are either very gentle or very intense (hi and welcome to my tight quads); I don’t know of good in-betweenies.

svaly pánevního dna — I do not even know what this means… Okay, a few seconds later, I surmise this is a pelvic floor search in an Eastern European language.

everyday yoga grilled cheese — I think this sounds like a fabulous idea. Mine favorite is either plain Swiss or else cream cheese and arugula. What’s yours?

It’s SSAM Day of Action at PPAZ, Too.

I wrote a guide about how to help if or when it happens to a friend.

Too Little to Matter

Note: This post discusses sexual assault and consent.

As I’m sure at least some regular readers are aware, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month in the United States. Specifically, April 2 is the SAAM Day of Action. The 2013 campaign “focuses on healthy sexuality and its connection to child sexual abuse prevention.”

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The dogs are barking at something. Something that can only be heard with acute dog ears, I suppose, since I hear nothing of note.

“Hush,” I tell them. “You’re too little to have an opinion.”

The barking stops, but the dogs continue to grumble.

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When I was in preschool, my mom signed me up for gymnastics lessons. I’m not sure if the idea came from me to my mom or from my mom to me, but I was enthusiastic about the lessons in general. Tumbling was awesome, and I learned how to do the awkward beginnings of cartwheels. Hanging from the rings wasn’t my thing, but I did like learning how to walk and turn on the balance beam.

I did not like forward flipping over bars. I learned this one day because I had to flip forward over a bar. We used a stool to get up high enough to put our hands and hips on the bar. There was at least one and maybe two spotters the whole way around.

I didn’t necessarily know I had a fear of heights then. I did realize, as I was leaning over the bar, looking at the ground way too far below me, that this did not feel right. So I did what I always do when things don’t feel right; I froze.

“What’s wrong?” one of the teachers asked me.

“I don’t like this. I want to come down.”

“You’re safe,” they assured me. “Don’t you want to do the trick?”

“No.”

I’m not sure how it happened, exactly. But instead of heading backward, feet first, onto the stool, I found myself going forward, headfirst, down — around the bar and into the forward flip I did not want to do.

---

Swimming lessons were no better.

Actually, on second thought, the swimming itself was okay. Jumping from the diving board, however — that was another story. It wasn’t that it was too high this time. But the board was too bouncy, too springy, too unstable — and it jutted out awfully far over the water. I got partway and looked back.

“Do I have to?”

“It’s not that scary,” the instructor tried to assure me. “Just like jumping off the side of the pool.”

It was not. The poolside was solid under my feet. This moved.

“Go on.”

“I don’t want to.”

“We’re all waiting.”

It was true. The next student in line was already on the board, standing at its base. She’d have to move, the whole line would have to move, if I wanted off the back way.

I held my nose and jumped.

---

I was fifteen, or maybe closer to sixteen, when I first went to a doctor to discuss how to deal with horrific period pain. The doctor brought up the option of hormonal birth control.

“We’ll just get her a pelvic exam, and she’ll be all set.”

Medical accuracy aside, because I didn’t know that then, she said it to my mom.

I was fifteen, or maybe closer to sixteen, and they were having this conversation without me.

---

These times, while unpleasant, were not traumatic for me. They did, however, set up a pattern: When it came to my body and someone in a position of authority (parent, teacher, doctor), what I wanted did not matter. And it was only a matter of time before trauma would come from that teaching.

---

I’ve told this story before.

Almost twenty. In the exam room of a doctor’s office, already in one of those little paper gowns. I’m in a relationship that may well turn intercourse-sexual in the near future, and I want to talk about going on birth control.

I’ve also dealt with a lot in the past several months. Rape. Judgmental hospital staff. Friends siding with my rapist. Police politely but halfheartedly investigating, then deciding there’s not enough evidence for an arrest. Gossip. Losing my friends. Gaining a PTSD diagnosis. Keeping my shit together academically, keeping my scholarship. Finding a counselor who understands that academics, books, school is what is safe for me right now; people are not. Negotiating people anyway.

“When was your last exam?”

I knew what kind of exam he meant. I told him. “In the hospital after I was raped.”

But that one hadn’t included a Pap smear, had it? When was that?

It had been a while.

“And when was the last time you were tested for STDs?”

I clung to the wrinkles of paper gown in my lap, almost tearing it in the process. “I just came here for birth control.”

An exam, he informed me, was “imperative,” now that I was sexually active.

A nurse came in. I froze. Could see and hear and think and feel. But couldn’t react, couldn’t say no.

---

I don’t know how to end this.

I was never sexually abused as a child. However, I also think that as I child, I was never really taught about bodily autonomy. As in, whatever I was taught on the front end, it was not consistently reinforced in practice. There was often the supposition that I was too little, too unimportant, for my opinion to matter.

So I’m not suggesting that any of these equate to childhood (or adult) sexual abuse or assault. But they’re all varying degrees of not good.

And I am suggesting — no, I am saying — that we have problems with how we teach and reinforce and respect bodily autonomy and consent.

Just Like This

No other reason.

Bark-tastic

Note for street harassment.

Srsly, dude? WTF?

So, um.

As I was walking down the street, I was just barked at by some guy in his car.

Now.

I know about cat-calling and wolf whistles.

Also cow-calling and hog-calling.

But barking?

Buddy, if you expect me to feel ashamed or self-conscious, you’re going to have to stick to the more standard street harassment scripts.

PS — Both my dogs can out-bark you.