High Decibel Dining

My husband and I and some friends were leaving the movie theater after a late afternoon matinée. The four of us are in the age group where moderate hearing loss is routine. We usually consider this when choosing a restaurant, but a very popular Afghani restaurant, The Kabul, was nearby. We were early enough to get a table without a reservation, though our table was right next to the restaurant's entry way. 

 Low decibel level room

The place is still relatively empty, we are full of good cheer, and the conversation flows easily. We begin discussing the movie we'd seen. The waiter is professional and efficient, and the ordering and eating are moving along. Our small group discussion jumps to updates on all of our grown children. The wine is lovely, the food is excellent, and the restaurant is beginning to fill.

On a scale from zero for the average least perceptible sound to about 130 for the average pain level, the decibel count in the restaurant has increased by approximately 20 decibels since we sat down. We all lean toward each other just a bit and begin talking kayaking; the the peaceful joy of being on the water and the potential for injury and death by drowning. The four of us are in the age group where problems with balance can insidiously begin to intrude on our youthful perceptions of ourselves. 

The vibrating crowd

All of the tables are taken now, the restaurant is completely full, and the noise level has increased another 10 or 15 decibels. In the rosy, dimly lighted room, everyone seems to be in constant motion; the waiters of course, but also the customers coming and going, erratically lifting forks and glasses, gesturing, bodies shifting. A loud but convivial gathering.

We lean in a little as it's incrementally more difficult to catch every word. Our friends are soft-spoken. The discourse now shifts to Israel and the upheaval in that part of the world.  I'm fully engaged, listening intently to the conversation. The decibel level continues to rise and I find I'm attempting to read lips as I strain to hear.

I'm facing the door and I notice that a small crowd of people are standing in the entry way, waiting patiently for a table. We've finished our dinner but are reluctant to leave. We all order coffee and baklava.

We're back to our discussion of the changing world order. The decibel level is now roughly equal to an intimate rock concert, but still below the average pain level.  The crowd at the door grows larger, and I begin to feel like French nobility eating leisurely in front of the starving masses. They are not looking quite as patient. 

While the orderly crowd at the door does not truly resemble a mob, these people do want a table in the popular Afghani restaurant, and are growing restive. We are abruptly done with the dining experience and escape to the relative quiet of the streets. 

Paul Haggis Regrets #OccupyScientology

Human beings fervently wish to be special. They aspire to win the trophy, claim the Green Jacket at the Masters, be the last one standing on Survivor or American Idol, be profiled in People Magazine or The New Yorker, or at least be a member of an organization that has the Truth. Preferably a Truth that is not fully understood by less special people.

Paul Haggis, an Academy Award winning Hollywood writer and director, so already special, was recently profiled in The New Yorker because he very publicly split with the Church of Scientology after being a member for thirty-five years. He wonders now how he could have failed to question not only the theology but some of the harsh rules enforced by the Church. With the exception of the particular religion you happen to belong to and believe in, all religious theology sounds rather bizarre when you come upon it cold. Scientology is just bizarre with an edgy kick. 

After obtaining Church documents submitted in a lawsuit against the Church in 1985, The Los Angeles Times printed a summary:

“A major cause of mankind’s problems began 75 million years ago,” the Times wrote, when the planet Earth, then called Teegeeack, was part of a confederation of ninety planets under the leadership of a despotic ruler named Xenu. “Then, as now, the materials state, the chief problem was overpopulation.” Xenu decided “to take radical measures.” The documents explained that surplus beings were transported to volcanoes on Earth. “The documents state that H-bombs far more powerful than any in existence today were dropped on these volcanoes, destroying the people but freeing their spirits—called thetans—which attached themselves to one another in clusters.” Those spirits were “trapped in a compound of frozen alcohol and glycol,” then “implanted” with “the seed of aberrant behavior.” The Times account concluded, “When people die, these clusters attach to other humans and keep perpetuating themselves.”

Scientologists carry a certain smugness that is personified by Tom Cruise. They have the Truth; you don't. Smugness, too, is characteristic of members of all institutions that claim exclusive knowledge of Truth. Scientology just manages to irritate outsiders more vehemently because the church intentionally cultivates celebrities and encourages them to publicly testify. A saintly, purified Tom Cruise seems even scarier than the intergalactic alien ruler named Xenu.

Celebrity Savior 

The Church of Scientology was founded in 1954 by the followers of L. Ron Hubbard, but whether a cult or a church, Scientology is just one more Only We Have the Truth organization. The common underlying assumptions of such organizations are:

• Only We Have the Truth that can save mankind; our followers are Special.
• All non-followers will suffer dire consequences.
• All ex-followers will also suffer dire consequences and we'll make sure of it.

  

Having a lock on salvation gives all such organizations the power to ex-communicate, disconnect or just in general, to cast out anyone who doubts or doesn't conform. While becoming a "lost soul" is a sort of abstract dire consequence, losing close contact with your entire circle of friends and some or all of your family members is immediate. Scientology defectors are full of tales of forcible family separations, which the church almost uniformly denies. The somewhat sanitized version written by L. Ron Hubbard is as follows:

 “Anyone who rejects Scientology also rejects, knowingly or unknowingly, the protection and benefits of Scientology and the companionship of Scientologists,” Hubbard writes. In “Introduction to Scientology Ethics,” Hubbard defined disconnection as “a self-determined decision made by an individual that he is not going to be connected to another.”

Irrespective of the religious founders' or the corresponding deities' original intent for the Only We Have the Truth organizations, the power to "disconnect" another human being, to strip them of specialness, to forever shun them, never turns out well for anyone involved. A church or cult that holds on to its members by threat invites corruption and vindictiveness. The Truth may set you free, but Truth peddling organizations are very reluctant to let you go.

Paul Haggis regrets

The Apostate;  Paul Haggis vs. the Church of Scientology.

by Lawrence Wright

Read more http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2011/02/14/110214fa_fact_wright#ixzz1DmnDpHYz

The Unacknowledged No Makeup and Stringy Hair Award

As we move into the award season for the entertainment world, I detect a hidden subtext for the Golden Globe nominations of both Annette Bening and Julianne Moore for best actress in The Kids Are All Right. Both actresses deliver a solid performance; in this movie, or in any other movie they happen to be in. But maybe what is really being honored is the fact that two actresses in their early 50's would willingly consent to be filmed wearing no makeup, or makeup that looks worse than no makeup. Just for starters. In addition, their hair is unwashed, stringy, and in Annette Bening's case, badly chopped. Not strangely cut as in an intentionally edgy haircut, but like she cut it herself with no mirror. Both wear clothes that are unrelentingly dowdy, ill-fitting and consummately unflattering. And neither of them get a clean-up, Cinderella goes to the ball outfit or makeover to help you forget. As the award for best actress in a comedy or musical was kind of a toss up between the two, Annette Bening snagged it because her hairdo was so much worse. 

Annette Bening and Julianne Moore in The Kids Are All Right

In contrast, Jennifer Lawrence was nominated but did not win best actress in a drama award even though she also suffered through an entire movie under the same no makeup, stringy hair and unglamorous clothes look. That might be because she is 20 something and looks just great anyway. I didn't see Natalie Portman's winning performance, but I did see Winter's Bone. Jennifer Lawrence deserved the best actress award regardless of the fact that she couldn't manage to look bad even under extreme conditions.

Jennifer Lawrence in Winter's Bone

The Church of Neuroscience

Some years ago the New Yorker published an excerpt from David Brooks book, The Social Animal: The Hidden Sources of Love, Character and Achievement. The article is thought provoking and inspiring; the following paragraphs are an excerpt:  

During the question-and-answer period, a woman asked the neuroscientist how his studies had changed the way he lived. 

“I guess I used to think of myself as a lone agent, who made certain choices and established certain alliances with colleagues and friends,” he said. “Now, though, I see things differently. I believe we inherit a great river of knowledge, a flow of patterns coming from many sources. The information that comes from deep in the evolutionary past we call genetics. The information passed along from hundreds of years ago we call culture. The information passed along from decades ago we call family, and the information offered months ago we call education. But it is all information that flows through us. The brain is adapted to the river of knowledge and exists only as a creature in that river. Our thoughts are profoundly molded by this long historic flow, and none of us exists, self-made, in isolation from it.

“And though history has made us self-conscious in order to enhance our survival prospects, we still have deep impulses to erase the skull lines in our head and become immersed directly in the river. I've come to think that flourishing consists of putting yourself in situations in which you lose self-consciousness and become fused with other people, experiences, or tasks. It happens sometimes when you are lost in a hard challenge, or when an artist or a craftsman becomes one with the brush or the tool. It happens sometimes while you’re playing sports, or listening to music or lost in a story, or to some people when they feel enveloped by God’s love. And it happens most when we connect with other people. I've come to think that happiness isn't really produced by conscious accomplishments. Happiness is a measure of how thickly the unconscious parts of our minds are intertwined with other people and with activities.”

It is a beautifully written description and feels bone true. I wonder if there is anyone who hasn't experienced an occasion, not counting sexual activities, in which you are inexplicably transported to a state of euphoric well-being while completely drug free. In a religious context, such ecstatic moments are more calculated and less surprising, though certainly not guaranteed. But I am remembering several serendipitous experiences from some years back that did not involve sex, drugs, rock and roll or religion.

I was traveling with a bus load of anonymous classmates, and sitting beside a woman I knew who was more than an acquaintance but not really a close friend. Julia was very bright and led an interesting life, but she was also rather staid and humorless. The trip was part of an adult education class; I think we were supposed to be studying various eco-systems along our route. Julia was quite serious about it while I was mostly fulfilling a course requirement for my teaching credential. Our group was staying overnight at a pleasant but no frills rustic retreat center, and we were joined there by at least two or three more bus loads of complete strangers. I'm an introvert by tendency and this would not normally be a duck to water situation, but as we began to pile off the bus, a sense of joyful well-being began bubbling up in my mind. Like being pleasantly tipsy without the accompanying drop in IQ and inhibitions.

Dinner was served school lunch cafeteria style with everyone sitting on benches at long tables. The conversation wasn't memorable but I was a happy extrovert, just delighting in everyone's presence. After dinner and clean up, Julia retired to her room to read. This was not a luxury resort; there were no casinos, bars, TV's, or round the clock shopping opportunities. There was a large room filled with round tables where people had gathered to play card games. I'm not particularly good at card games. My brother insisted I play card games with him during the long summer vacations of our childhood. He always won which was a major negative feedback loop for me that I never bothered to overcome. But this night was different.

The quietly euphoric state stayed with me as I joined right into a game of heart's and played cards for hours. I don't remember winning, but I experienced a deep feeling of affection for everyone and that exuberant mood continued until I went to sleep. It was gone when I woke up. 

Another similar experience comes to mind. 

I attended a protest rally and march where the police were prepared to escort thousands through the streets of Seattle, but given the imponderables of such events, only several hundred of us gathered at the designated park. Policemen on motorcycles and on bikes were conspicuously present; it seemed like they outnumbered the marchers. The mood was friendly. We had a permit and the police were not in riot gear.

We, the people, were cold and wind-chilled as we listened to the speakers and milled about taking photos of each other. Our signs and banners were like umbrellas that are threatening to turn inside out with the gusts. As a former school teacher, I know how difficult it can be to hold the attention of a crowd, be it several hundred shuffling about in preparation for a march or thirty kids waiting for recess. The speakers lacked spirit or charisma and we were getting weary of photographing each other.

Having endured the preliminaries, we were grateful when the march began. A Dixieland band had suddenly emerged, and costumed march leaders had taken to their stilts. The motorcycle policemen started their engines and turned on their flashing lights; they roar out in the lead. Bicycle policemen pumped the hills with us and kept our stragglers contained. Traffic stopped and the sidewalk crowd was obviously entertained by the spectacle; ubiquitous cellphone cameras record our proud moment.

The sun made a brief appearance, the band played When the Saints Go Marching In and I began to dance up the street, holding my banner high for the benefit of the curious audience on the sidewalks and in the halted cars. My mood had switched abruptly from just pleasantly entertained to joyful exuberance; a much heightened Mardi Gras state of mind. I can't plan for, or force this alluring state of mind to appear, but like the neuroscientist in David Brook's story, I honor this deeply human experience.

 

Sophia's Backseat Education

Sophia gets eclectic, magpie instruction from Makenna while riding about in the backseat of the car. She likes to point out to her little sister that we can sometimes see the moon in the daytime; or, when we're barely moving in soggy freeway traffic, she reminds her that the trees like to drink the rainwater. 

Sophia rarely comments but she does seem to be paying close attention to the flow of information. I tune in and out depending on driving conditions. The three of us were out for an easy drive to the store yesterday so I happened to be listening as Makenna launched into a mini-lecture on music. 

"Do you know what a cappella means, Sophia?"  

No response from Sophia so it was a good guess she didn't know the answer. 

"A cappella is when people sing but no instruments," she continued. 

Sophia is silent, taking this in. 

"Just singing with voices, Sophia," Makenna feels compelled to add. 

That's probably the end of it. At 18 months, Sophia's vocabulary is still limited so it's doubtful a cappella is going to stick.

Sophia and Makenna side by side. 

Speak of the Devil

A Facebook friend posted stern advice:

Normally, I give the devil very little thought, but upon reading her post, I immediately wondered what kind of driver the devil would be. It seems obvious he'd be a speed demon, and would only enjoy fast and flashy cars. Those who don't want the devil riding along could stick to decidedly drab, ho-hum vehicles. While he encourages other drivers to drink, do drugs and engage in non-stop cell phone use, he prides himself on being a skillful driver and is not seduced by such habits. But I don't think the devil could bring himself to dutifully obey the traffic laws. When you hear the sirens, you'll find yourself deserted, back in the driver's seat.

We speak of the devil as if he could be everywhere at once; sort of like Santa Claus on Christmas Eve except the devil never has down time. There are, of course, the infamous devil's minions who would be assigned to carry out routine villainy. But we always speak of being tempted by the devil, not by some lesser staff member, or God forbid, some intern only recently dead and gone to Hell.

I'm trying to imagine the corporate culture of a place where everyone has a serious behavior disorder. The devil needs some competent middle managers he can trust, but he can't reward them. Probably an all stick, no carrot kind of environment. Given the constant stream of incoming souls, and no departures, I would think the devil would have long ago lost interest in corrupting the living. Sure, you could still get the devil's personal attention in biblical times; but really, I think you are driving your own car now.

CEO of Hell Inc. 

Channeling George Carlin #cannotsaythat

Toby, Christine, and their 11 year old daughter, Lila, are socially inseparable; any invitation to the couple automatically extends to the child. Lila is home schooled and her parents seemingly don’t want her to miss any experience that might include a teachable moment, so Lila comes with to parties and to dinner invitations. I don’t know how Lila herself feels about this unusual arrangement. Her mother is clearly eager for Lila’s inclusion in the conversation, and gets far more anxious than her daughter if the talk strays too far from family topics. Lila participates in the conversation when she can, and though she eventually gets bored with the adult company, she is never sullen or disrupting. She is admirably a good sport about her mother’s need for togetherness.

My husband and I get together with the close knit family on a very irregular basis, maybe once every two years. We’ve known Toby and Christine a long time, have friends in common and enjoy the reminiscences and the status updates. We recently joined them for dinner at a charming but noisy Mexican restaurant. The family was drinking tea. Steve and I immediately ordered a margarita and ramped up our energy level to conduct our conversation loud enough to be heard above the lively din in the restaurant. Maybe I got a little carried away. When we’d exhausted all of our family appropriate topics and somehow entered into politics, I forgot about Lila, the 11 year old child sitting demurely at my side.

Channeling George Carlin, I inadvertently used two of the seven words no one is supposed to say. In Carlin’s routine, he used to say that you couldn’t say these seven words on television, but that’s probably passé. Christine was shocked and somewhat upset; Lila, of course, had no problem with the language at all. She said she’d heard those words no one is supposed to say in the locker room where she goes for swimming lessons. In my defense, again channeling George Carlin; they’re just words. Toby thought the incident was amusing, Christine was still a little shaken, and Lila began paying attention to the adult conversation again. Still, I'm not really comfortable in the role of corrupter of youth. I'm definitely going to clean up my act. 

Buddhist Bumper Stickers

Serious Stuff

• Things are not as they seem; nor are they otherwise.
• Right speech doesn't just mean what you say to others, but what you say to yourself.
• Thoughts are wonderful servants, but poor masters.
• Pain is inevitable; suffering is optional.
• The mind is like the open, empty, spacious sky. All phenomena arise according to causes and conditions, and pass away. Be present.
• It is not our self that experiences awareness; it is awareness that experiences a self.   
• Nothing that happens is an isolated event; it only appears to be. The totality of life has brought this event about. It is part of the web of interconnectedness that is the cosmos.
• Whatever IS could not be otherwise.

Less Serious Stuff

• Birth is the leading cause of death.
• Death starts at birth, and is accelerated at dinner parties.

For Non-Buddhists, there would appear to be three theological options:

1) You can believe, as I do, that the universe is presided over by a being that is 100 percent malevolent but only 80 percent effective (which explains pretty much everything).

2) You can agree with logical positivists, who claimed that “God exists” is cognitively meaningless and hence neither true nor false. Or;

3) You can become a Unitarian.

From: Can You Prove God Doesn't Exist?
By Jim Holt

     But Seriously

Wisdom of Monty Python Flying Circus

In the end, the least imperfect prayer, in respect of both universality and succinctness, may well be the one devised by Monty Python:

''O Lord, we beseech thee, amen.''

From: The Other National Conversation

By Jim Holt

http://query.nytimes.com/gst/fullres=9C04E1D8163CF934A35752C1A9629C8B63

page.html?http://www.slate.com/id/2075653/

Reaching Across the Airwaves to Anita Hill

Virginia Thomas

I am so enjoying what must be at least a small uncomfortable moment for Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas. Possibly even an intensely uncomfortable time, but he still keeps his job for life so what the hell. It is Clarence Thomas’s job for life to make me deeply unhappy. Even without careful research, I am fairly certain Thomas has never written nor voted for a single Supreme Court decision that I would support (BUSH v GORE and CITIZENS UNITED V FEDERAL ELECTION COMMISSION being two of the most egregious).

Thomas’s Supreme Court confirmation hearings in the Senate were almost as popular as the O.J. trial. I can’t remember now why I didn’t watch, but from the recounting below, it’s clear Thomas dodged a very large caliber bullet.

It's been 20 years since Anita Hill exposed Clarence Thomas as a sexual harasser during his Supreme Court confirmation hearings. Professor Hill described how the now Supreme Court justice subjected her to descriptions of pornography he had watched, and bragged about his own sexual prowess in graphic terms. On the very day of his swearing in, the Washington Post had amassed damning evidence that corroborated Hill's testimony, including eyewitness accounts about Thomas' porn consumption from the manager of his local video store. Jeffrey Toobin reported that the Washington Post decided to drop the story since Thomas had already been sworn in to the court.

I have to ask myself if I would still want Justice Ruth Ginsburg on the Court in the face of irrefutable evidence that she is obsessed with pornography. Yes, I’d overlook it. So I can understand why the right wing would stand by their man, family values notwithstanding, but it does bring a certain amount of satisfaction that this sordid business has been resurrected. By Virginia Thomas, his wife.

Thomas’s wife, then and still, is alleged to be a very savvy political operator, a well-known Tea Party activist. I have to marvel that she woke up one morning a week or so ago and decided to leave a voice mail message for Anita Hill, asking Ms. Hill to apologize to Clarence Thomas. 

The Associated Press relays the transcript of that message.

In a transcript of the message provided by ABC News, which said it listened to the recording, Thomas identified herself and then said, "I just wanted to reach across the airwaves and the years and ask you to consider something. I would love you to consider an apology sometime and some full explanation of why you did what you did with my husband. So give it some thought and certainly pray about this and come to understand why you did what you did. OK, have a good day," Thomas said.

If this was a brilliant political strategy move, it must be deceptively clever. Fortunately for Virginia, she was on a very fast news cycle with elections looming. Unfortunately for Virginia, Thomas’s former girlfriend decided to jump on the news cycle too.

Just days after the wife of Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas left a surprise voice mail message for Anita Hill, Mr. Thomas’s former girlfriend is speaking out. In an article in The Washington Post, Lillian McEwen says that Mr. Thomas was “obsessed with porn” and frequently commented on the looks of other women while the two dated more than two decades ago.

“He was obsessed with porn,” Ms. McEwen told Post reporter Michael Fletcher. “He would talk about what he had seen in magazines and films, if there was something worth noting.”

Sounds like something from Desperate Housewives of Washington D.C. Maybe Clarence Thomas is making Virginia Thomas deeply unhappy as well.
                                                                  

Postscript:

Virginia "Ginni" Thomas, the wife of Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, says the call she placed to Anita Hill in October "was probably a mistake on my part."

http://www.credoaction.com/campaign/apologize_to_hill/?rc=homepage

http://thecaucus.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/10/22/clarence-thomass-ex-girlfriend-speaks-out/?scp=3&sq=Clarence%20Thomas&st=cse

Somewhere in the World, There is a Duck Watching You

Human phobias are wonderfully curious.  A phobic disorder, manifesting in irrational, intense and persistent fear, can be disabling and completely not funny. But the objects of these irrational fears are so random, so numerous, and sometimes so bizarre, it’s hard to keep a straight face. Examples of actual, known phobias that qualify:

anthophobia                fear of flowers

chorophobia                fear of dancing

koumpounophobia     fear of buttons 

lachanophobia             fear of vegetables

xanthophobia               fear of the color yellow

 octophobia                   fear of the number 8

hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia     fear of long words

Honorable mention for completely batshit: 

barophobia                     fear of gravity

 

Irrational but not unreasonable:

Deipnophobia-                fear of dining with others or of dinner conversations

cyberphobia                    fear of computers      

albuminurophobia        fear of kidney disease

              

papaphobia                      fear of the Pope

So, Gary Larson's The Far Side taking creative license:

• Anatidaephobia is the fear that somewhere in the world, there is a duck watching you. 

• Luposlipaphobia - is the fear of being pursued by timber wolves around a kitchen table while wearing socks on a newly waxed floor.

One size fits all:

phobophobia                fear of phobias

Street Fighting; Politics in a Home Owners Association

I was quite genuinely surprised to find that filing a lawsuit could be such a satisfying experience. As a new board member of our neighborhood homeowners association, I was originally against such a threat to non-paying dues members. 

Our housing development is nearly thirty years old, but for the first twenty years or so, the members did not pay any dues. Then came the flood. Even though our CC&R's were entirely specific that the HOA was to maintain a large drainage area on our common land, and was to obtain liability insurance, the original twenty-six homeowners were not convinced. Shortly after my husband and I moved into the neighborhood, the poorly maintained and overgrown drainage system backed up and flooded a neighbor's house. The neighbor himself literally risk his life trying to unblock it on the dark and stormy night of the flood. Complete renovation was costly, as was appropriate insurance and professional maintenance, and annual HOA dues became a sudden reality.

One neighbor, who was a raging Democrat, instantly became a libertarian on the issue of HOA dues and for five years, refused to pay. Two other homeowners were deeply offended as well; they paid for a year or two and then stopped.  The board's treasurer was particularly unpopular with these delinquent  members. As a former manager of much larger HOA's, the treasurer persistently tried to convince the board to begin lawsuits for non-payment. As board members, we deliberated the fate of these three homeowners with great earnestness. Having given them many warnings, including a lawyer's demand letter, we reluctantly pulled the trigger. 

Upon starting a lawsuit, one's first realization is how bloody expensive it is to engage a lawyer. They seem like friends, they have your interests at heart, but they charge by the nanosecond. We began our legal education with the unrepentant libertarian. Much as I'm sure he would like to have fought on, he was also paying a lawyer and at some point discovered that he couldn't win but could loose his house. He struck a deal; game over. And now the true realization comes. Not only does the homeowner as defendant pay the dues, he pays all the legal fees it took to fight the case. Of course, we all know that from watching TV, but you don't really know it until you've accrued a frightening legal tab and experience the great satisfaction of seeing someone else pick up the bill.

Drumming for Plasticity

From Neuroscience for Kids

What is brain plasticity? Does it mean that our brains are made of plastic? Of course not. Plasticity, or neuroplasticity, is the lifelong ability of the brain to reorganize neural pathways based on new experiences.

We've all met people who do appear to have a brain made of plastic. Another explanation might be that there are some people who never have new experiences. As an aging person, I see it as my job and responsibility to have regular new experiences so that my neural pathways will keep reorganizing indefinitely. Learning a new language is supposed to be excellent for this purpose, but would require way too much reorganizing, I think. Taking drumming lessons is a lot more fun. 

I got enamored with drumming by chance. A drumming teacher brought drums to a meeting that had nothing to do with music or drumming, and gave us a lesson for free. Before learning anything more about drumming, I bought my first drum, an African djembe.

Group drumming classes vacillate between exhilarating and terrifying. When your hands have found the pattern, you can drum yourself into a happy trance. Your mind has to grasp the pattern first, but it must quickly become mindless because you must play faster than you can think. Should you get stuck in thinking, you're toast. In some classes, I do well and feel like a star, or maybe I just feel like a real musician. On a bad night, my confidence evaporates. My brain turns to plastic. 

http://faculty.washington.edu/chudler/plast.html