Tuesday, March 28, 2006


The third day of the workshop was the sweatiest by far; many buckets and toxins were shed, and I cursed my cotton top. We were in the center of the third row. David Life was in the glass room in front and Mike D. was in the back of da house. I think I saw Lino leave the 6AM class yesterday but that could have been wishful thinking....

The Speedo Man (tan, long locks, tattoos) in front of us was well-behaved (ie; no face-kicking) as was the very sweaty man behind, who fumbled through many a sun salutation trying to find the perfect location for his rug. Guruji's counting was a bit faster but not much; Supta Kurmasana was held for many days and I reached my goal of holding Utpluthi for his entire count; perhaps it was a bit short today, perhaps not.

The $3 chai was again perfect and sweet, and Sharath signed my copy of Mysore Style, the heavy $70 book of photos taken during Guruji's 90th birthday celebration last year (cash only; the proceeds benefit Guruji's charitable foundation -- the URL of which seems to have disappeared). It's kind of fun to see everyone's different idea of the proper dristi in poses such as Danurasana (nose? third eye?); much confusion is there. Also they seemed to have staged a few photos at the old, 12-person shala in Lakshmipuram. Interestingly, Sharath, who is assistant director of the Ashtanga Yoga Research Institute, only appears in the book a couple of times.

They showed the film version of the book at Anthology Film Archives the other day but I got the timings wrong so we had a cherry knish next door at Yonah Schimmels instead. As we waited we watched people order, including Gimme and Lemme. ("Gimme" says, "Give me one of these" and "Give me one of those" while "Lemme" says, "Let me have this" and "Let me have that." Both the Hex and I are "May-I's."). We had the cherry knish. "It's a bit disappointing when it's microwaved," the Hex complained, although that didn't stop us from wolfing it down. The upstairs neighbor recommends ten minutes in a 350-degree oven.

Apparently I'm going to see the 116 year old yogi in Hell's Kitchen this afternoon. I'm terrified of course. We had a couple of phone conversations, if you could call them that, that go something like this:

HIM: (indecipherable)
ME: Swami Bua?
HIM: Yes! Speaking!
ME: I'm from Yoga Chicago.
HIM: Hatha yoga!
ME: Yes! Magazine! Can I do interview?
HIM: Hatha yoga! Each day at 1PM and 6PM!
ME: I can come and interview?
HIM: Anyone can come!
ME: I can come?
HIM: Anyone can come! But must call first!
ME: Can I come? Tonight at 6?
HIM: Classes are at 1PM and 6PM! Hatha Yoga!
ME: I come?
HIM: Yes
ME: OK! Good! My name is Caca!
HIM: (indecipherable).
ME: Caca!
Him: (indecipherable)
ME: I come! At 6!
HIM: God bless you!

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