Everyone Poops



(What is it with Asians and potty humor?)

Okay, so we've all seen the book. But do we all recognize and practice good public bathroom etiquette? It's acknowledged fact that the bathroom can be a veritable breeding ground for deadly bacteria; but did you know that it can also be a breeding ground for insecurity, social awkwardness, and the potentially deadly low self-esteem?

This seemingly trivial subject of proper bathroom behaviour is important; our most sensitive selves are exposed in the bathroom, and we need to know how to treat ourselves and others as kindly as Charmin treats our backsides. Who has not felt the excruciating self-consciousness of coming out of the stall to greet your esteemed boss or professor, right after smelling up the bathroom with an odor that might knock over an entire herd of dairy cows? And who has not felt the shifty-eyed reticence to shake hands with someone who you know for a fact did not wash?

Here are some helpful tips for the lavatorily-challenged. (These are mostly for the ladies; I'll leave the mysteries of the guy's bathroom untouched.)

1. If there are limited stalls, you can go anywhere that's open. However, if there are many open stalls, avoid sitting in a stall right next to someone who's already in progress. This can make them nervous and impede proper evacuation. Try to leave a buffer stall in between yourself and a stranger.

2. If you're entering the bathroom with a good friend, you can continue conversation between the stalls. However, try not to talk annoyingly loudly. Avoid continuing a conversation with a mere acquaintance. They need to focus on the business at hand without feeling scrutiny or the pressure of exchanging social niceties. And DON'T talk on your cellphone while on the toilet.

3. Don't sing, whistle, or eat. Humming softly is okay (See #6).

4. Make sure you've left the stall as clean or cleaner than you found it. If there are toilet seat protectors, consider them as friends.

5. Wash your hands with soap, and dry your hands before touching the door handle. There's nothing worse than opening the bathroom door when it has a wet handle, even if it is "just water."

6. If you're like me and can't handle facing the fact that other people can hear the gentle sounds coming from your stall, consider doing what I do: plug your ears with your fingers. If you can't hear it, you'll psyche yourself into thinking that others can't either. I even hum a little tune in my head to focus my attention elsewhere. I recommend "Hey, Jude," because it's a relaxing, encouraging song.

It's Snow Time

I want to invite 20 people over and have a big-ass snowball fight in my yard. I think it's about time. Snow has been falling from heaven, like mood-altering manna, making the cold grey lifeless world seem beautiful again, and how do I repay it? Staring at it out the window. Sliding on patches of it on the road. Brushing it off my car. Kicking it off my shoes. Basically ignoring it for a week.

Nope, it's time to meet the snow mano a mano. I want to pull on my bunchy snowsuit. My thick sweater. My down jacket. My mittens. I want to look like the kid from "A Christmas Story," so bundled up that I can hardly bend over to tie my boots. I want to make a snowman. I want to lick snowflakes off of my hand. I want to create the perfect snow angel.

And then I wanna completely destroy the smooth yard, along with anyone who happens to get in my line of fire. I wanna pack a snowball and hit someone dead center in their back, and then tackle them. "Eat snow, you little . . . " Full-scale snow warfare, like Huey, Dewey, and Louie waged on Uncle Donald--blazing snowballs, ice cannons, and a huge igloo-boat in the middle of a frozen lake.

I only have 2 questions: How can something so peaceful bring out all these violent urges? and Who's with me?

I drove around tonight, watching the tunnel of my headlights on the branches and trunks around me, listening to "Drop and Anchor" by Mates of State about fifty times--until I got lost on M-140. There's something therapeutic about driving in the dark. I ended up on Jones Road, bumping on the potholes and sliding on the dirt, leaning forward over my steering wheel to stare up at the stars.

There's also something therapeutic about Mates of State. I drove faster and faster, yelling their lyrics at the top of my lungs. They're so raw yet ethereal. The instrumentals are not very refined, their voices not polished, but that's part of the joy of it all. The music feels like it's moving somewhere quickly, and it sounds so human and expressive. On the other hand, the organ and drums together with the vocal harmonies of Kori Gardner and Jason Hammel are kind of, if I can say it without sounding too cheesy, transcendent.

And their lyrics are insane. Think of the best movie line you've ever heard, the one that you keep repeating after the movie is over. Then think of eavesdropping on a conversation between strangers, maybe in an airport or a hallway, but you only caught the end of it, so the meaning is inexplicable. Now, put them together and you've got a Mates of States song. The lyrics, on the whole, don't really make a lot of sense or tell any kind of story, but because of their strangeness and poignancy, they still feel deeply meaningful. Like Alice's response to Jabberwocky, "It seems very pretty but it's rather hard to understand." Lines like "I wonder if I could tie the ocean to your knees?" and "Get into the car and point it at the sun," get me thinking, What is this about, but then I just keep singing anyways.

Last night, Darchelle and I were discussing church, and we started talking about man's primitive nature, and how sometimes in Western society we're all head; we suppress the heart and ignore the guts, the raw primal self. I mean, we're still animals, even though we're created in the image of God. I don't even mean anything specifically sexual; just very simply, we respond like animals at times. A steady beat makes us move our bodies; something about being part of a group of people (at a concert, in a mob, at church) causes us to think and act differently than we would individually. There is satisfaction to be found in losing one's self, not to the irrational, but the arational.

I find myself defeating the whole purpose sometimes by overanalyzing things this way, completely ruining experiences that are supposed to be more expressive and cathartic. That's what I like about Mates of State, maybe. They allow me to be a-rational, expressive, emotional, and to not even care what the hell I'm singing about. I can drive around for an hour yelling their songs and feel light as a butterfly at the end of it. What caused it? I don't know--I can't break it down to a specific organ melody, drum solo, or harmony. I just know that listening to them frees something inside of me and it's good.