I do not ride a bike.

The following rant is not going to make me the most popular girl in Boulder. Which is a-ok by me. It's about cyclists. Sanctimonious, self-righteous, spandexed cyclists, specifically.

In this town, lots of people ride bikes. To commute, to run errands, to get to McYoga classes, to their salt spa appointments, reiki parole officer meetings, primal scream therapy support groups, and the grocery store. And that's great! People riding bikes is great! Bikes are awesome! Yay bikes! Know what, though? Just because you ride a bike, you are not better than people who don't. Riding a bike does not make you a morally superior person. So then what does it make you? 

It makes you a person who rides a bike.

Riding a bike (in and of itself) does not make you a raging douchebag either, though many cyclists are -- it's been scientifically proven -- extremely douchy. And in Boulder, even more so. But there's no causal effect, just some suspicious overlap as illustrated in the below artistic and complex venn diagram:

So, riding a bike clearly does not make you a jerk. Then what does it make you?

It makes you a person who rides a bike.

I do not ride a bike. That's right. You heard me. I don't ride a bike. Here's why: when I was 12, I rode a bike. Head on into a moving car. I flipped up and landed square on my chin. Broken teeth, broken jaw, heinous concussion in which I apparently said awful things to my mother. I had amnesia and still do. And every single time I try  (and believe me, I have tried a LOT) to get back on a bike, I get panic attacks.  My muscles freeze up, I can't breathe, and I feel like I am about to vomit. Guess what? It is not fun. 

After years of trying, I have realized and accepted that I do not give one shit whether I ever ride a bike again. I am not a bike rider. And for their own valid reasons, many other people are not bike riders either. Does that make us "worse" than cyclists? Does that make us bad, gas-guzzling, unhealthy, lazy jerks? No. Know what that makes us?

People who do not ride bikes. Period.

Thank you.

Nonjudgmental reportage

Where I live, in a college town at the foothills of the rocky mountains, there are some wacky goings-on. Tootsie Rolls made out of hash available down the street. $16 fried chicken (the best that will ever pass your lips, I swear.) A privately owned DVD rental store, in a brick building and everything. Olympic athletes on the elliptical at the local gym.

My most common response to hearing about new happenings is "Well, you'll have that."

And then I read about something new, something completely out of the ordinary, something I had never, ever heard of before.

http://www.saltspacolorado.com/index.html

My people: here in Boulder, Colorado, home to both the Psychic Horizons Center and the atomic clock, you can finally pay your hard-earned money to sit in a room made of salt. Your kids can even play in it! All at the low, low price of $1 per minute. Or, if you're looking for an even greater value, you can sit in a room made of salt as often as you'd like for $150/month, debited from the account of your choice.


Well, you'll have that.

Blood libel: not just a catchphrase

So by now we all know what the phrase 'blood libel' means in the context of religion. But just in case:

The blood libel is a false accusation that Jews sacrifice Christian children either to use the blood for various "medicinal" purposes or to prepare Passover matzo or for vengeance and mock crucifixions.

Sounds ridiculous. Who would believe that? What a totally 17th-century-Jewish-ghetto kind of phrase, right? Wrong.

About five years ago, I went to an Easter dinner hosted by friends of my soon-to-be in- (and then ex-) laws. These people live in a nice big house in the Denver suburbs with a lot of nice white carpet and nice crystal knick knacks in nice glass and wood display cases.  

They're certainly serious churchgoers, and so Easter was a pretty big deal. There was a lot of resurrection talk at the table, some pointed prayers about saving the unsaved (that would be me) and some pretty good ham. 

When we were saying our goodbyes, I said, "Thank you so much for including me tonight. I'd love to have you over for Passover next month." It was a sincere invitation to share in the springtime renewal ritual I'd been doing every year since I was born. Norm's response was this, verbatim:

"Oh, right, like I'm going to let you put blood on my forehead."

He was serious. I was flabbergasted. So much so that I couldn't get any more words to come out of my mouth. I mean, where do you start with something like that? I felt the not unfamiliar weight of my personal responsibility to explain the ways of my ancestors to white bread America. I figure it's payback for growing up in an all-Jewish town.

But I didn't. Nope. I did not explain how Jews don't use human blood in our mysterious and creepy rituals. I did not explain that the forehead doesn't even factor into Passover in any way, shape, or form that I know of. I didn't even explain what Passover is. I said good night and walked out.

I haven't thought about this incident in years. But here's the thing: When Palin busts out the term "blood libel," she's not just talking about being picked on by the media. She's also talking to a segment of the people in this country who still believe in things like Jews using human blood for religious rituals. And I'll come right out and say it: I think people in that segment of the population are more prone to Glock ownership than, say, most of the rest of the country.