Friday, January 28, 2005


(warning -- not for prudes)

It's dry and cold -- duh, it's winter -- and more than ever before my nose has become a de facto booger factory. Today I woke up and as usual ‘twas full of hard, crusty snot, with a little bit of the slippery stuff mixed in to keep it interesting. The color was a cloudy greenish yellow (don’t tell me you don’t look at yours) and like some fine marble 'twas laced with colorful red veins.... for blood, of course. Digging out the gob was complicated by the tre-fashionable nose-pin, which acts as a magnet for the stuff. The chore required digit, tissue and ear bud**, and caused pain to the membrane (poor, poor cilia!) while eliciting yet more blood ‘n’ be collected later of course.

(The way to remedy this Winter Snot Problem is to hydrate properly and humidify the bedroom and coat the nostrils with sesame oil... the last of which is an old ayurvedic trick. But it hasn’t really been working lately and I’m thinking about becoming a true orange-wearing weirdo and investing in a Neti Pot***).

Later I rode my bike**** to Sixtysomething Man #2’s house today for a private lesson and on the way I made like a farmer and cleared out my nostrils, One, Two. Very satisfying.

I locked my bike, went in, said hello, and started our lesson... during which I touched my face and noticed a supersticky dark green bubbly* hovering above my lip. It immediately affixed itself to my middle finger. I rolled it into a ball as I talked SSM2 through Surya Namaskar A and frantically tried to find a place to stash it.

Finally I decided on the cover of the little notebook in which I record what happens in each of my classes.***** “I’ll stick it in a Kleenex after class,” I thought. During Parsvakonasana my hand went back to my face and I found a couple more bubblies! Dark ones. “What must SSM2 think of me, what with a face full of boogers?”****** I wondered, as I carefully transferred the lot of them to the notebook.

During Savasana I wrote down what we did and headed to the head for a much-needed leak.....While there I remembered the boogers, and fear gripped my heart. I grabbed a scrap of TP and flew out to investigate the notebook... and found not a single bit of snot. Not on the notebook, not anywhere. Not even on me.

It’s in his house somewhere.*******

Poor man.

Bad lady, more like it.


*"Bubblies" was my mother's word for boogers, which she loathed. She wasn't afraid of much, but the bubblies really got to her. Which reminds me. Before I could speak I created an installation on the pink wall next to my bed. My medium? Nasal mucous. Each and every morning and evening and even during naptime I would harvest the stuff and affix it to the wall, until it was partially covered in my special homemade stucco. When Cam discovered it she was utterly horrified. If only she'd saved it .... Take that, Karen Finley!********

**Brit-speak for Q-Tip

***The Neti Pot looks like a cross between a bong and well-endowed gravy boat and is used by True Believers to irrigate the sinuses:

****The Saltbox (car) was hit by a truck the other day and is in the shop.... which is a whole ‘nother story.

*****The notebook is a huge help in keeping track of things like What type of class I taught last time, How many students came, Who went into headstand for the first time and How sad (or nonexistent) my own practice was that day.

******Last week the unflappable Jack calmly pointed out a fat juicy one lounging right smack in the middle of my face.....which I ashamedly removed posthaste.

*******Does anybody know what it's like when boogers dry?

********Think “Yam Slam” and NEA Four:

*********Has anyone done their dissertation yet on the many similarities betwen “boogers” and “bloggers?”

Tuesday, January 25, 2005


But it might as well be today.

First I wore tight black cords to teach yoga. Oops.

When I came out the front bumper was hanging off the car; apparently a FedEx truck had hit it.

As soon as I got home the cat launched into its backwards walking and vomiting routine.

I forgot a lunch date with Tam-Tam.

And later the chiro called to tell me I'd missed a 3:45 appointment.

On the way to class my water bottle opened and soaked the entire contents of my Saka messenger bag.

While teaching that night I could not tell left from right.

And on the way home the food I was carrying leapt from my hand and launched itself across the greasy, shiny street.

And the full moon is TOMORROW.

...or is it?

Sunday, January 23, 2005


On Blizzard Saturday we finally left the house for some midnight x-c skiing, and made our way down streets, sidewalks and alleys to Jack's friend's house, where a party dubbed Festival of Meat was still in swing. The snow had stopped and thankfully the meat was mostly put away; there were even some veggie pot stickers not to mention a big stereo TV playing some Underworld concert and a Barbarella-inspired oil lamp and nice people -- one of whom spoke Swahili, and another who was impressed when he showed me a gang sign that I recognized as being for "Folks"*. (I showed him gyana mudra and axed if that meant anything in gangdom and apparently it does not. So I told him to introduce it as soon as possible). All were thrilled by our arrival on skis (ha, the wind had died down and it was easy going) and razzed Jack about his beard, which features two prominent vertical grey streaks (only one soul noticed the handlebar attempt). Apparently he's usually clean-shaven. And a towhead (but like some reverse Lipizzan, he's gone dark). Hmmm....

Today I was loathe to move the car, it was in such a good spot. But I did, as riding the bike in the thick grey snow/salt/gravel/grease potpourri would have been even worse. As I drove past the plastic shit holding parking spaces -- apparently city-owned garbage cans are in this year -- I entertained a thought I've had for many winters: I imagined commandeering a team to rearrange all of the objects holding spaces when the car owners are at work. In the early evening we'd stake out the street, and record everyone's reactions when they couldn't find their stuff. Shooting them, so to speak. And letting god sort it out.

Now *that* would qualify as publicly-accesible performance art. Maybe I could even get a grant....

*All Chicago gangs fall into two communites: Folks (pitchforks up) and People (pitchforks down). The division dates back to a rift between Jeff Fort's El Rukns (formerly known as the Black P Stone Nation) and Larry Hoover's Black Gangster Disciples (see So the next time you see some graffiti, look for the telltale fork.

From :


m Use the slogan “All is well.”
m ALWAYS represents to the LEFT, i.e., hat worn or tilted to the left, arms folded to the left, pant leg folded on the left leg, hand inside the left pocket, earring worn in left ear, etc.
m Their symbols include 5 pointed stars and crowns as well as moons.


m Black P Stone Nation - Their colors are red and black, and their symbol are a crescent moon and a pyramid.  Many times they will wear Chicago Bulls clothing.
m Latin Kings - Their colors are yellow and black, and their symbol is a 5 pointed star or crown.  Members will wear Chicago Bulls or LA Kings apparel.
m Vice Lords - Their colors are red and black, and their symbols are a 5 pointed star or the playboy bunny.  Members wear Chicago Bulls clothing.
m Conservative Vice Lord Nation - Their colors are red and black, and their symbols include a 5 pointed star and the playboy bunny.  They also wear Chicago Bulls apparel.
m Other People factions include Bishops, Cobra Stones, Cullerton Dueces, El Rukn, Freaks, Gaylords, Insane Popes, Insane Unknowns, Jousters, Kenmore Boys, Kents, King Cobras, Latin Brothers, Latin Counts, Latin Dragons, Latin Pachucos, Latin Saints, Noble Knights, Party Gents, Party Players, Puerto Rican Stones, Spanish Lords, 12th Street Players, Villa Lobos, and Warlords.



m Use the slogan “All is One.”
m ALWAYS represent to the RIGHT, i.e., hat worn or tilted to the right, arms folded to the right, pant leg folded on the right leg, hand inside the right pocket, earring worn in the right ear, etc.
m Their symbols include 6 pointed stars and crowns as well as devils.


m Gangster Disciples - Their colors are blue and black, and their symbols include a 6 pointed star or pitchfork.  Members wear LA Raiders and Detroit Tigers apparel and anything with the script letter “D.”
m Satan Disciples - Their colors are black and canary yellow, and their symbol is the devil with a pitchfork.  Members wear Detroit Tigers clothing and anything with the script letter “D.”
m Orchestra Albany - Their colors are gold and brown, and their symbol is the letter “O” over the letter “A.”  They wear Oakland A’s and California Angels apparel.
m Latin Lovers - Their colors are red and yellow, and their symbol is a double “L” inside a heart.  Members wear Kansas City Chiefs apparel and Chicago Bulls clothing (minus the “BU” in Bulls.).
m Brothers of the Struggle: Black Gangster Disciples - Their colors are black and blue, and their symbol is the 6 pointed star and pitchfork.  They wear LA Raiders apparel.
m Maniac Latin Disciples - Their colors are blue and black, and their symbols are a 6 pointed star, pitchfork, a heart, and a playboy bunny.  They wear LA Raiders and Detroit Tigers apparel and anything with the script letter “D.”
m Other Folk Nation factions include Ambrose, Black Disciples, Black Gangsters, Black Souls, Campbell Boys, Harrison Gents, Imperial Gangster, Insane Dueces, Latin Disciples, Latin Dragons, Latin Eagles, Latin Jivers, Latin Souls, La Raza (the race), Milwaukee Kings, Morgan Boys, Party People, Simon City Royals, Spanish Cobras, Spanish Gangster Disciples, 2-6 Boys, and 2-2 Boys.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

(ie '05 blizzard dibs* conceptual piece)
By Ms. C.K.

Shovel car out. Leave space free
and see who else goes there.
Record results til spring.
Then paint space pink,
minus outline of car.

*It's snowed like a foot and it's still going like gangbusters and it's so windy the stuff is falling horizontally and the conditions are white-out. Every time there's a big snow a smattering of locals dies from shoveling too much but I don't know how many have lost it yet since the cable co doesn't carry the local news channel. In any case those within city limits, where street parking's at a premium anyway engage in "dibs" -- or "dibsh," in local parlance -- in which Chicagoans shovel out their car and more or less legally save "their" spot with any combination of rickety chairs, milk crates, broom handles, traffic cones, industrial-size buckets and dusty Soloflex machines (anyone who moves "dibs" items and parks in said space is subject to having their vehicle trashed or their tires slashed). I don't engage in this but many people do -- particularly in the neighborhoods further away from the lake. "I tell people," Mayor Daley once exclaimed, "if someone spends all that time digging their car out, do not drive in that spot. This is Chicago. Fair warning." Hence its near-legal status.

We shoveled out my car, since it's front-wheel drive, so I could go ten blocks to the shala to give a private lesson to a Serious Ashtangi from Hyde Park who was willing to drive over 100 blocks north in a de facto blizzard in order to spend an hour honing his backbends and whatnot. Jack dropped me off and as soon as I opened the door I learned that said ashtangi had cancelled; apparently Lake Shore Drive was a parking lot and the expressway no better. And I nearly jumped for joy....

We drove straight back home as it was TREACHEROUS and much to our surprise! our unsaved spot was still there. (Rock star ex-girlfriend parking? I don't think so).

So much for dibsh.

Before heading in we collected our cross-country skis and boots; the former are outside the front door and the latter are heating up on the radiator (steam heat), waiting for us to get our arses in gear.

And now we are watching the mediocre Wicker Park, which is meant to take place in Chicago's famed neighborhood, and in which every character is a liar and it snows in every scene. During breaks we are conducting Important Research on the proper method of twisting a Handlebar Moustache.

And it couldn't be cozier.

More on dibsh here (well worth the cut and paste):

Wednesday, January 19, 2005


I've been known to lapse into a Brooklyn (Downward Facing Dawwwg) or a Southern accent (put it daiwn) while teaching -- usualy when I'm overtired. But tonight for some reason I was talking Cockney . I'd say, "Troy tieu keep yur roit laig stroit," and think, Hmm, I'm using a Cockney accent today. Where did that come from? And then I'd do it again. And again.

Toyme to troi to get mo' sloiep, M'Lady.

Saturday, January 15, 2005


From my 2004 Diary:


India is about being bored out of your skull, missing everyone/thing from home, and getting over it.


Ut-oh. A man who can only squat and crawl across the sand is headed my way....

WED 21 JAN 04

(four-color drawing of an amoeba with Electrobion* center)


You walk in, the fan goes on. What must they think of us?

The hill has made me tre lightheaded. Perhaps not a good idea to see the doctor a day early to tell him I'm OK, so I can go to the movie tomorrow instead of our appointment.

So nice to sit down. Sweating bullets. Looking ill, I bet.

Many people here today.

My writing looks bizarre even to me. At least I'm in the right place if I pass out (Why am I wearing the longsleeved heavy pink top?).

Maybe I'm dehydrated.

Just felt faint.


So easy it'd be to give in to it.

At least I'm in the right place....


Stop me before I shop again.

*dehydration salts

Friday, January 14, 2005


Jack and I drove two blocks down the street for Middle Eastern food this evening (the windchill was in the single digits, OK?). Apparently the flava grew on him over there... and he ordered the lamb shank complete with sticking-out bone. Can you say "ewww!" Of all the dead animals that one was always my least favorite; how it stunk up my grandmother's apartment every Easter! No wonder the Indians call those vile victuals "mutton." Later Kirby Q-tie sniffed Jack's lamb-hand, drew back, opened his mouth wide and in general made the weirdest face I've ever seen. On a cat, anyway.

While channel surfing -- what an odious waste of time --we came across the FitTV network (FatTV would be more apt) and something called Guru 2 Go. The premise seems to be this: a pair of asexual yogis go around bringing yoga into unsuspecting people's lives, which on its own is not a bad thing. This time their marks included an uptight male party planner; before teaching him some odd chant and the classic Surya Namaskar sequence, the so-called guru donned a piratelike head wrap, for a reason I cannot recall. To help his focus, I think. Hello??? For obvious reasons my friends and I always wear bandannas on our domes while watching The Amazing Race (the participants seem to have an infinite supply of them, and it makes us feel like we're part of the show. Also it was one of the most useful things I brought on my trip to India not to mention Jack's to Iraq; really, all one needs in life apart from the Maslow stuff* is duct tape, bandannas and a Sharpie). But not while teaching. Later they accosted some people on the street during their lunch break and taught them "Goddess Pose," to which -- who knew -- I was first introduced by the august Shandor Negrete....who most definitely did not call it by that name. This is a standing pose with feet wide apart, toes turned out, in which you drop into a deep squat and move up and down and then start to mumble a so-called chant while making a gyana mudra (Shandor did *not* have us utter anything in the position; nor did he use a yoga mat but instead utilized tiny portable sticky things strapped to his hands and feet). The people on the street really seemed to like this -- especially the guy bouncing up and down like a Jack-in-the-Box. Then the pair, who are the same height and age and have the same intonation of speech and are not unlike the male Jammu and Kashmir, descended on an older ladies' stitch-n-bitch group, and proceeded to show them some odd chants and shoulder shrugs and facial contortions and made them do forced laughter for several minutes, because they too are *so* stressed out (which eludes me; one of the most therapeutic things I learned in India was how to crochet -- thank you Kashmir -- which is a great way to channel anxiety [the tighter the stitches, the greater the stress release]. I recently took it up again and it's now curing my insomnia). Later it was back to the now-much-calmer party planner, to check up on his sun salutations and show him how making tiny arm circles and finger gestures in the middle of the workday would re-energize him. They ended each session not with Namaste but with Satya-something -- as in, "The truth within me recognizes the truth within you." Cacaste would have been more apt.


Oh! I just learned they're teaching Kundalini Yoga. I'll say it so you don't have to -- Maybe I should go to that type of class before I get so JUDGMENTAL. Bad, bad, bad lady. Again failng at the ahimsa. No wonder my left knee tweaked in Kapotasana today.

Here's what the producers say about the program, which airs Friday nights at 7 and 10 (apparently the show should be called How Not to Pose.... or Asexual Guy for the Third Eye):

(Reality) 15 x 60 min series
Two Midwestern, blue-eyed yoga instructors living in West Hollywood use their Kundalini yoga techniques to diagnose and treat the physical and emotional problems of everyday people. Individual and group subjects are assessed using hidden surveillance cameras. At the end of each episode, the yogis use a hidden camera "Yogi Test" to discover if their new students have used yoga techniques to overcome their chronic challenges."

During the show we could not stop picturing the pair descending on Iraq and encouraging the troops -- and the insurgents -- to chill out ("Who's fighting, and what fo'?").... while they (sporting pirate headgear of course) try to avoid both enemy and friendly fire. Maybe they could go for the elections. Now *that* would be must-see TV.

That said, I'm nonetheless itching to see the next episode:


Thursday, January 13, 2005


January in Chicago and the temperature is in the 60's and it's been raining like crazy. It's so f---ed up that last night coming home from yoga I saw an earthworm crossing the sidewalk, trying to save itself from the saturated ground. An earthworm in January. What did it take to rouse it, when earlier that morning there were still six inches of snow on the ground? Knowing it was supposed to snow later, I decided to play Vishnu* and save the thing. I scraped it off the ground and held it in my poo-hand. It writhed like crazy as I went up the stairs and noticed that the lights on the top two floors are STILL out. It writhed some more in the pitch black as I tried to find-feel the key-holes in my door. Writhe, writhe, search search. Finally I dropped my bag and Pockets sandwich and concentrated and eventually got the door open. More writhing. Once inside I went to dump my new friend in the plant-pot (somehow this was going to save its life) and saw that while the writhing sensation remained, the worm itself had vanished. Much searching inside and out with a flashlight, but to no avail. Did it ever exist? Today it's still warm and there's no rain and the thing would have been better off outside, instead of drying up and dying on the hallway rug somewhere because someone decided they knew better than Nature. Lesson learned, Madam.

*the Preserver

Monday, January 10, 2005


-Ten classes (not that many, actually )

-Three deadlines (including my first movie review for the Backwards R -- of the must-see Shah Rukh Khan vehicle "Swades")

-Four cross-country skiing outings

-Two doctors' appointments (turns out I probably *won't* need a root canal after all!)

-One ice skating party at Millenium Park

-One interminable baby shower for the niece-to-be (who smoked not a single butt the entire time)


On this day (Jan 10) last year I left for my second trip to India.

I arrived on the 12th.

Wednesday, January 05, 2005


SCENE: Mysore class. Six students. One small room.

One student has confessed that they know ashtanga but this is their first Mysore-style self-practice class. The student, very flexible, is in Triangle pose, right hand grazing the foot.

Satya: Try to grab your big toe

Student: No.

Satya: Why?

Student: Because I've always done it this way

Satya: Well in ashtanga the full pose means grabbing the big toe. Try it.

The student doesn't budge.


The same student is in Parsvakonasana (side flank pose), hand on the inside of the foot.

Satya: Try putting your hand outside of the foot.

Student: No.

Satya: Why?

Student: I don't feel like it

Satya: But that's not the pose.

Student: Well I've been taking yoga for 20 years and this is how I do it.


The same student has just been shown the Prasaraita Padottanasa (wide leg standing forward bend) sequence and is making up new versions of it, including one with palms in prayer on the back. Then the student puts their head on the floor and goes into headstand #2.

Satya (from across the room, slightly irritated): That's a second series pose.

The student actually comes down and waits to be shown what to do next.


Satya tries to help the student in Uttitha Hasta Padangustasana (a standing balance pose in which the grip is on the big toe).

Student: You won't like this but I always do this pose holding the side of my foot.

Satya: Is there something wrong with your big toe?

Student (holding the foot): No.

Satya: Then why? (facetously) Is that some kind of Iyengar thing?

Student: I think it's some kind of dancer-thing.

An hour later the student is gone and Satya -- who's made it through the entire class without farting -- has forgotten all about it.

For a minute anyway.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

(via Dreyfus)

Tribe shoots arrows at aid flight
By Jonathan Charles
BBC News, Andaman Islands

An Indian helicopter dropping food and water over the remote Andaman and Nicobar Islands has been attacked by tribesmen using bows and arrows.

There were fears that the endangered tribal groups had been wiped out when massive waves struck their islands.

But the authorities say the attack is a sign that they have survived.

More than 6,000 people there are confirmed as either dead or missing, but thousands of others are still unaccounted for.

The Indian coastguard helicopter was flying low over Sentinel Island to drop aid when it came under attack.

A senior police officer said the crew were not hurt and the authorities are taking it as a sign that the tribes have not been wiped out by the earthquake and sea surges as many had feared.

The Andaman and Nicobar archipelago is home to several tribes, some extremely isolated.

Officials believe they survived the devastation by using age-old early warning systems.

They might have run to high ground for safety after noticing changes in the behaviour of birds and marine wildlife.

Scientists are examining the possibility to see whether it can be used to predict earth tremors in future.


Monday, January 03, 2005


...means that I farted loudly in front of a packed class at the Fancy Health Club. Even though I said "oops" and "excuse me," 25 well-heeled people stayed in their pose, acting as if nothing had happened.

The magic of yoga?

Or perhaps it wasn't an eleven on the Andy Richter scale after all....

Sunday, January 02, 2005


On NYE I taught two classes (doing an abbreivated practice in between), drove to the 'burbs for an appointment and then made my way to Kohl's, a store I'd never visited. I'd forgotten about the suburbs; next door was a Target (where I also needed to return something) and across the street was Best Buy. Con$umer heaven. Or was it hell? But Kohl's. They had the best-fitting Levi's ever (one of my less pressing quests this year has been to find the perfect pair of jeans, which have been at Kohl's the whole time but were now a whopping 30% off. Kick *ass*). And apparently I'm still a size five, thanks to the Breakup Diet. But that may change after all the hoppin john (blackeyed peas and rice with cheddar cheese, scallions and tomatoes) that I consumed for good luck on NYE. And the coconut cashews a student gave me. And the rice pudding. The Swedes put a single almond in the pudding on NYE, and whoever gets that serving has their wish come true. Of course that person was me, since it was a solo NYE until 10:45, when I walked over to DDD, where the nephew's band was playing. It was filled with very sweet 20somethings, most of whom were smoking, and who actually would apologize when they bumped me.... I could have been their mother..... The band was in the middle of their set, showing off some new tunes and sounded fabulous (nephew plays bass. Very well). After a champaign toast and some chat the nephew wished me a safe walk home, and on the way many revelers invited me to join them (I was dressed very mod/Carnaby Street) but I declined, preferring to hang my smoky clothes on the line outside and read in bed about Holland's muslims and the assasination of the filmmaker Van Gogh. Next day I rode my bike to the Fancy Health Club to teach a Yoga Basics class, which pulled a collective face when I walked in three minutes late and told them we'd have to end at 11 and not at 11:15 due to a scheduling glitch. An hour later though they were all smiles after I thanked them for accomodating the next class. The magic of yoga. Then it was back home for a two-hour practice (my backbends have suffered greatly from skipping practice during the Two-Week Cold) and more hoppin john followed by a bath and a halfhearted stab at a rough draft of the Headache Book story. Then Jack picked me up for a movie, which was sold out (duh). So we checked out a bookstore -- the NYer cartoon book was a big draw -- and a used record store that boasted a lot of "New" bootleg "Import" CD's with crappily photocopied sleeves. Then a long walk in the rain before going to Martyr's where we met the Sunday night crew for Tributasaurus, which was covering the Who (each month they cover a different band; last time it was Paul McCartney and Wings and next up it's Earth, Wind and Fire... this show featured a spot-on Steve Frisbie on vocals much of the time). Turns out both Jack and I had seen the Who on their first farewell tour in the early 80's. Still it was fun, esp. playing the Tommy pinball machine in back -- despite very sluggish bumpers at the bottom -- and hearing the band open with an unexpected choice (Eminence Front). Between songs I recall discussions about the Civil War and various Communist dictators and the theories of a feminist former concubine, among other things. 'Twas a very nice start to the new year. Even though I did break my cordless headset phone and can't stop thinking about the toll from The Tsunami, which incidentally took place on a full moon. Last year's Awful Earthquake in Bam, Iraq, also took place on Dec. 26th. But they never talk about that, do they....

Saturday, January 01, 2005


(Or if you thought turning 35 was hard, try 40!)

In January I went to India to study yoga again with my 89-year old. teacher, and while hosting more than my fair share of parasites I stood up from backbend (finally!) and drove a scooter all over town....While I was gone the landlord put in a new kitchen and I was named one of Chicago’s Savviest Singles (ha!). But then the Backwards R dumped me via e-mail, giving the calendar (and most of my income) to my sub, citing “change for the sake of change”...I promptly printed and burned the note... After India I stopped for a delightful visit with friends in Erlangen, Germany, otherwise known as the anti-India... Back home I scrambled for work, and now I’m teaching more yoga and writing a bit less.... In July some friends and I hosted an elegant and unforgettable 40 in 04 birthday party... Two days later I turned 4-0 and a week after that things with the vex ended rather publicly, resulting in my seeing two therapists and losing two pants sizes... Friends rescued me as did cowriting a sitcom pilot with Addington for a Bravo TV contest. We lost but shot some scenes with Blaine this autumn --with me in the lead! -- and so far it looks fab. I was weighing a return to India when Kirby Q-Tie started leaking pee all over the place...A trip to the evil Emergency Vet resulted in a catheter and Elizabethan collar for him (not a good look) and a $1,000 vet bill and designation of Cat Spinsta for me (equally bad).....A week later a bike crash sent me to the emergency room for humans (five stitches, one broken tooth and seven good Samaritans), and another question was answered (ie; who will take care of me if something happens)...Then my computer crashed ($350) and we learned that the stepmutha had remarried months ago, effectively canceling out all the lives that were derailed forever by her unholy union with my father....All this drama has made me focus on what I have (friends, family, yoga, blog...), vs. what I don’t (a mortgage, a stifling relationship...) and I ended the year with a (figurative) bang, publishing pieces that could actually be considered funny in January’s Chimag (a celebrity weight-loss thingy) and the Backwards R (a naked poetry thingy).... But lest I get too cocky, 2005 will kick off with a root canal for me and a urine review for Kirby (to make sure he’s licked his pecker problem)...A big thank you for helping me muck through this year. And may 2005 be a more peaceful one for the lot of us.