Year 9s with blood on their hands and that hymn where you sing whatever you want to sing.

"Youuuuu well haf blud ohn yurrrrr haaaaaands!" screamed the crazy Scottish broad to a dance studio filled with 100 8th graders.

Why on earth was a woman with mad hair, a beaded hippie bag and a Scottish accent so strong that I was concerned it might be contagious telling a bunch of 13 year olds that their actions were dangerous enough to kill somebody and put blood on their (in some cases pre-) pubescent hands? Had they been peddling drugs to one another? Had they been holding Fight Club meetings during recess? Had they been playing Frogger with the traffic on the nearby high street?

No. They'd been doing Jesus arms on the stairs.

Let's rewind a bit.

Are you playing 'Quaker Meeting'?, or the Religious Society of Friends: Least Welcoming of Farts

Probably the most disappointing thing about the Quaker meeting I went to today was that the Quaker Oats guy wasn't there. I know, I know, as a student and future teacher of religion I should be able to look past such stupid stereotypes and come to a deeper and more accurate understanding of religions and blablabla, but this blog is pretty much my only chance to share my honest understanding of the Quakers. When I think Quaker, I think of the Quaker Oats man, a joke in the Little House series (A guy enters a room full of people at a party sitting in awkward silence and he says something like, "Oh, are you guys playing Quaker Meeting?"), and a book in the Dear America series about a Quaker girl in New England who talked about candles and how Quakers can't dance. Maybe it wasn't New England exactly; I'm from the Western US so I tend to label everything east of the Mississippi as New England--not because I'm incapable of learning the difference, but because I just don't give a shit what the difference is.

But I knew the Quakers, like the Ayorthians in Ella Enchanted, have a soft spot for silence, and after getting over my initial disappointment at not seeing anyone who even remotely resembled the Quaker Oats man I settled in for the silence I was expecting.

It ended up being a lot harder than I expected. I mean, being the urban hermit that I am, I've gone for days at a time without saying anything besides "Thank you" to shopkeepers. Keeping my mouth shut for about an hour? That shouldn't be a problem. Except actually it is a problem, because whenever I realize that something is expected of me, I have the almost uncontrollable desire to do the exact opposite. On airplanes I happily sit with my seatbelt buckled..until the seatbelt sign comes on, at which point a voice in my head starts insisting that I take it off and go for a promenade down the aisles. I normally dress pretty modestly--nothing above the knee, nothing too low-cut, and usually long sleeves. I also don't really like over familiar physical contact with people I don't know very well. But whenever I walk through ultra-orthodox neighborhoods like Meah Shearim in Jerusalem, which posts dress code signs on its streets, I get an overwhelming urge to Hulk out of all of my clothing and run around naked while throwing myself upon orthodox boys, trying to hug them and cover them in sloppy kisses ...