I say "strangely" because I can't quite put my finger on where the discomfort lies. I'm not opposed to hoop performances, but for me, the joy of the hoop is the joy of SHARING the hoop. It's the joy of seeing those who think they can't hoop, figure out that they can. It's the joy of hearing people laugh and laugh as they figure out how much fun it is. It's the joy of watching people who've never hooped before get caught up in the movement and excitement and thrill of the hoop. It's the joy of reminding people how they can actively participate in their own happiness.

Whenever I take my hoop out with me, I have a rule: if you watch, you must also hoop. I'm more than happy to show off some tricks, but I'm leery of asking others to watch without asking them to play.

Participatory entertainment is terribly lacking in the contemporary American landscape. We've become so accustomed to watching other people have fun (on a stage, on a screen, on the TV) that it seems that many of us forget our own capacities for joy. One friend, the parent of a 3-year-old, witnessed her own son being caught up into this pattern: He asked her to get out his train set, and then insisted that he sit on the couch and watch her play with his trains, instead of actually playing with them himself.

Inspired by situations like the passive 3-year-old, as well as my own years of experiences at raves and tribal gatherings, I've taken it on as a personal mission to remind those around me how much more satisfying it is to grab their entertainment and enjoyment by the balls (I wrote an article about this titled "The Evolution of the Electronic Stage and the Rave Audience" in 1997). As a former musical theater performer, my pendulum swings, and now I don't want audiences in a darkened theater to watch me, I want them standing up, in the spotlight, hooping with me, learning to play with it, to laugh with it, move with it, learn from it.

Sometimes I feel like hoop performances slip back into the dominant paradigm of passive entertainment. I say "sometimes" because I'm keenly aware that, for experienced hoopers, watching a performance is a great way to get inspired, learn new tricks, and appreciate one another's work.

But for hoop novices, I wish that every performance came with an insistence that they try, so that they could see how easy it was to get started. So many hoopy newbies get intimidated when they watch experienced hoopers do their thang, and newbies so often say, "oh no, I can't do it like that, I can't do it."

It's immensely satisfying for them to see that they CAN do it, and I always make a point to tell people about folks like Vera and Philo...two hoopers who, just a few months ago, were just getting their hips wet. I was there, in April, when Vera hooped for the first time! And I remember when Philo first gave it a shot last fall. Now they're organizing meetings, hooping at clubs, and bringing in new converts of their own. I always remind people picking up the hoop for the first time about how fast you can learn, just how high the capacity for joy is — and that, as snazzy as it looks, it's not that hard.

Don't get me wrong: this isn't some vendetta against the amazing members of our community who perform. I've learned much from these women and men. Let this essay act, instead, as encouragement that all of us in this community find ways of breaking out of the "I do, you watch" passive entertainment paradigm that dominates popular culture.