WRAPUP


We held poses again for ten breaths (sometimes, as in the case of headstand, more; sometimes, in the case of setu bandasana, less) at Manju's workshop yesterday. Although the body was sore and, initially, stiff, it was strong! And relatively lithe. And the practice felt good -- even holding the poses for that long (with the exception of Navasana and the final part of Utthitha Hasta Padangustasana). And -- get this -- today my back doesn't hurt. Knock wood now.

I practiced late today (12:30PM) and the back still felt good and although the body is sore I again felt strong. So maybe there is something to this pose-holding..... I held poses a breath longer than usual; who knows what could happen tomorrow.

But my mood is in the ditch (I somehow broke the cover off the toilet seat in the middle of the night and awakened this morning at the exact moment I should have been leading the mantra at the Monday Mysore class.....Later I learned that this month's cartoon is not acceptable in its current form [a pirate takeoff on Goofus and Gallant -- or do you say Pattabhi Jois and BKS Iyengar -- that could be misinterpreted by the crip community], which means it must be redone. And after two weeks of sitting on their hands, the Author's Guild informed me today that their lawyers will not review a contract with a foreign publisher. Meanwhile the editor is asking why I haven't signed yet). So I sat a bit and did what Dharma Mittra calls "positive breathing" in which you do rechaka-kumbaka etc through the right nostril only. It's *sort of* working. He says you need to do it for at least five minutes, preferably for 15 to 20, for it to work. Then, he says, "You can face a firing squad."



***

THE LOVE THAT CANNOT BE NAMED

Last week Jack lugged the giant air conditioner up three flights of stairs. It's one of those big,strong old energy-suckers (the AC). We installed it in front of the desk I'm working at right now, and then ate at Victory's Banner. Thank Krishna for AC. It has been 90 degrees and humid (I know, that's redundant) here for a week. A week. And it's not even summer. I want to do a puja in front of the AC. It has been my best friend over the past six days. It has changed my life, and I love it. Athough I live on the third floor and have seven windows facing south, I know this is wrong. If you don't understand why this is wrong, the writer Barbara Flanagan explains it far better than I can right here

***

ONE MORE

And how strange is it that this woman, who seems to practice with Eddie in NYC and love scooters, has a pic of me on her old blog (HINT: you may have to take the cursor on and off the photo to see it properly.... also, I'm not the bald guy on the right).

THE LIST FROM HELL

Nine FM, the local "We Play Anything" station, has supposedly been trying to launch a Celebrity Spins feature, in which someone from outside comes in and plays an hour of their favorite music. Apparently Richard Roeper and Kelly Osbourne didn't want to / were too busy to schlep to the south side, and the Munchkin from Wicked just wasn't a good fit. So it's come down to me. If they're telling the truth, my so-called spins will air next Sunday night. I have to winnow the following list down to 15 plus 5 alternates and am currently taking requests. The more all-over-the-place the songs, the better (that's the format). But no swear words. I find it hard to believe they'll let me get away with it. But you never know.....

Here they are, in no particular order (ironically, the head of Newsweb's radio stations -- which include Nine FM -- is the former head of adult alternative WXRT). Your input is welcome; the deadline is tonight (Sunday 9/12):

Cornershop -- Brimful of Asha or Good to be on the Road Back Home
Stooges--No Fun
Eddie Cochran -- Somethin’ Else
Ray Charles -- One Mint Julep
Nina Simone -- My Baby Just Cares for Me
Off Broadway -- Full Moon Turn My Head Around or Bully Bully
Specials -- Rat Race
Linda Ronstadt -- Blue Bayou
Queen Latifah -- U.N.I.T.Y.
X -- Come Back to Me
Wire -- I am the Fly
Velvet Underground -- I Can’t Stand It
Spearhead -- Rock the Nation
Beastie Boys -- No Sleep Til Brooklyn or Shadrach
Luna or Serge Gainsbourg -- Bonnie and Clyde
Last Poets -- New York, New York
Pavement -- Trigger Cut/Wounded Kite
Tom Waits -- Johnsburg, IL or Goin’ Out West
Ike and Tina Turner - It’s Gonna Work Out Fine
Stevie Wonder -- Superstition
Peggy Lee -- Fever
Tennessee Ernie Ford -- 16 Tons
Mamas and the Papas -- Monday, Monday
Tones on Tail -- Twist
Slits -- I Heard it Through the Grapevine
Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds -- Red Right Hand
Glen Campbell -- Southern Nights
Big Star - September Girls
Plastic Ono Band -- Midsummer New York
Breeders or Amps?
Moe Tucker - All Fired Up
Amy Rigby -- 20 Questions or Beer and Kisses
Scientists -- Demolition Derby
Paolo Conte -- Gelato Al Limon
Beasts of Burbon -- A Place Called Bad
Sonic Youth -- Bull in the Heather or Teen Riot
Cramps -- Human Fly
Rita Marley -- My Kind of War
Muffs -- Oh Nina
Ray Bryant Combo -- The Madison Time
Ramones -- Beat on the Brat
Screamin’ Jay Hawkins -- I Put a Spell on You
Shankar Mahadevan and Ravi Rags Khote -- Pretty Woman (Bhangra version from the Bollywood movie Kal Ho Naa Ho)
Gun Club -- Jack on Fire
Del-Monas -- Peter Gunn Locomotion
L7 -- Andre or Stuck Here Again
Cat Power -- Satisfaction... or something with Handsome Boy Modeling School
Devo -- Mongoloid or It’s a Beautiful World

YES, ONE MORE


Manju. Had. Us. Hold. Poses. So. Long. Today. That. I. Thought. I. Was. Going. To. Lose. It. Stop.

Maybe. That . Was . The. Point. Stop.

He. Counted. To. Ten. Stop.

His. Ten. Is. Equal. To. My. Twenty. Dash. Five.

Or. More. Stop.

And. I. Get. Agitated. When. Lino. Does. His. Interminable. Count . To. Five.

Which. Is. Seven. Of. My. Breaths. Stop.

Afterwards. I. Was. As. Tired. Slash. Depressed. As. I've. Ever. Been. Stop.

Something. Is. To. Be. Learned. From. This. Stop.

Like. The. Fact. That. When. I. Self. Slash. Practice. Four. Point. Five. Breaths. Are. Not. Enough. Stop.

All. I'm. Fit. To. Do. Now. Is. Sit. In. Bed. And. Try. To. Read. Suketu. Mehta's. Maximum. City. Colon. Bombay. Lost. And. Found. Stop.

He. Does. Not. Call. It. Mumbai. Stop.

I. May. Get. To. Meet. Him . Next Month. Ellipses. Through. The. Best. Hyphen. Selling. Author. Stop.

If. I. Make. It. Through. Tomorrow's. Class. Comma. That. Is.

Stop.

INDIA'S SACRED CHOW

Some highlights from Mr. Bikram Choudhury's appearance on 60 Minutes this evening:

According to Bikram mythology it was Richard Nixon who brought him to this country; Nixon was sick in the South Pacific, Bikram was summoned and "cured" him with yoga. [The disease was phlebitis, or inflamation of the vein. According to eMedicine Health, "superficial phlebitis affects veins on the skin surface. The condition is rarely serious and, with proper care, usually resolves rapidly."] Nonetheless Dick was so pleased, he gave him a free pass to come to America whenever he wanted. So far no one's unearthed a photo of Bikram and Fat Elvis flanking Tricky D.

He has a unique sense of style (read; ick... although you do kind of have to appreciate that he wears just a Speedo, Rolex and cordless headset while teaching). Not once did they show or mention his wife, Rajashree, who teaches with him and was herself a five-time winner of the All-India Yoga Championship Competition.* (She specializes in yoga for pregnancy, and runs a yoga camp for kids with cancer).

They showed Mr. Choudhury walking and being hailed in Kolkata, where he visited Ghosh's College of Physical Education. That's where he (and Rajashree) learned the ancient / patented poses. While there he corrected someone's finger placement in a pose I cannot name, and stood on a man's hips while he performed Ustrasana [his hips were way too far back if you ask me]. It reminded me of the story of Krishnamacharya standing on Pattabhi Jois while he was making a speech. Of course, later in life Krishnamacharya was all about adapting the yoga to the person's needs.

Bikram said that Americans have everything and are miserable, while in India they have nothing and are not [groan]. It's all because we measure success according to wealth, he said, and in India there are other measures [like caste?]. Also they have The Yoga. He basically said that the only way to enlightenment is through his yoga. He stopped short of saying "Do my practice and all is coming." They also mentioned the lawsuit. So far it seems like he's winning. The woman on the other side came off like a spoiled brat, which is unfortunate.

They did not show Bikram doing asana. The news-lady had to take a Bikram class but unfortuantely the camera only caught her struggling with the poses at the beginning of his series. Darn. Although she did get a nice adjustment in Natarajasana (dancing warrior).

Some zingers from the show...

While showing off his collection of classic automobiles:
NEWSIE: "That doesn't seem very yogic."
BIKRAM: "I am an American yogi!"

When asked how he felt about the comparison between his copyrighted sequence of yoga poses and McDonald's (his franchise has been referred to as "McYoga"):
BIKRAM: "What's wrong with that? I eat Big Mac...."

And that's when he showed his hand.


----

*Rajashree is a year younger than I am, meaning she really *is* 39.

COPYRIGHT KING ON TV

Call the neighbors, Tell your friends --
Mr. Bikram Choudhury, the Rolls Royce collector who *invented* Bikram Yoga (the type practiced in front of a mirror in 105-degree heat) and The Yoga College of India (TM), is set to appear on 60 Minutes tomorrow (Wed.) night. He's copyrighted his sequence of 26 poses and has threatened to sue instructors who won't pay for the priviledge of teaching them. Not sure where *that* fits into the yoga sutras, Madam

More on Mr. Bikram's legal maneuverings here and here

SUNDAY, 8AM

Why does practicing for an hour at 6:30 am followed by teaching "two in a row" and lunch with a friend and many errands, etc. make one so wretched the following day? Could it be the cloying humidity (is there any other kind)? Perhaps the chai wll get the blood moving again.

From Dharma Mittra's intro to his book Asanas: 608 Yoga Poses:

"There is always an excuse not to do yoga and I've heard them all. 'I'm not feeling well, 'It's too cold (or too hot)' or 'the city is too hectic and not a spiritual place.'"

One suspects he's also heard 'I'm too tired / have too many deadlines / must go to Tim Miller's Asana Doctor workshop later today.'

Lots of gems are in that intro, Madam.

LACK OF A LINE OF CONTROL


I am swamped with The Deadlines yet again, and have found a wonderful new OCD-friendly way to procrastinate. Instead of cleaning the house or calling people I haven't spoken to in years or meeting someone for lunch or putting in the air conditioner or brushing the cat (not a euphemism) or taking a nap I am making occasional visits to the travelblog.org website. At the moment I'm hooked on the Jammu-Kashmir blogs. It seems most of the travelers don't realize the danger they're in (J-K is the bucolic, mountainous, indescribably beautiful disputed territory in Northern India that is primarily Muslim but controlled by India. Troops on both sides are always shooting at each other, and it is not uncommon for separatists to bomb public places or kidnap foreign tourists (hence the State Department warning not to go there; hence the rule that you can't visit unless you've already secured accommodations). So the tourism industry dropped to almost nil two decades ago, wiping out the local economy. Which is why neutral Switzerland serves as a stand-in for mountainous Kashmir in Hindi movies. Which is why you see so many rug, etc. sellers from Kasmir plying their wares down south in coastal tourist areas like Kovalam. Which is why, when, after plying you with Kashmiri green tea and carefully writing down their name and address and asking you to visit, you don't. Even though you want to). Some highlights:

"We returned to our boat house on Nagin Lake in Srinagar in the evening and ate supper to the sounds of Muslim prayers echoing across the lake. This is quite a magical place and is indeed a paradise on earth, as all the travel guides continue to tell us. "

"The boat was quite palacial, and it had a framed letter from a Ghandi who had stayed there before. It was however in serious need of a newer interior. I guess since the Kasmir conflict scared off tourists from the mid eighties not much had been done to improve the decor."

"We went to the two Moghul Gardens - the first one was beautiful and had a great many young students playing on the lawns. The second one was much more neglected, but both were a shadow of what they were - many fountains trickled and stonework was overrun with moss."

"I had much better things to do in Srinagar than go online! like buying saffron and shawls from bearded merchants, gazing out over the lakes and mountains from the holiest mosque in the subcontinent, and singing Titanic for my hosts' children. But most memorable was the crazy trip both ways from Jammutavi to Srinagar - along the most reacherous mountain roads I could have imagined... always entrtained by the desperate roadsigns - "better mr. late than late mr." "this is not a race or rally- enjoy Kashmir valley" and my favourite; "be gentle on my curves"."


"I heard in Leh that Kargil was shelled a few nights after we stayed there and someone died - so this journey isn't the safest in the world. I don't think it was downtown that was shelled but the army tents, but I have no idea how close they are."


And from the US State Department:


SPECIFIC AREAS OF INSTABILITY AND TERRORISM:

-- JAMMU and KASHMIR: The Department of State recommends that U.S. citizens avoid travel to the state of Jammu and Kashmir, with the exception of visits to the Ladakh region and its capital, Leh. A number of terrorist groups operate in the state, and security forces are active throughout the region, particularly along the Line of Control (LOC) separating Indian and Pakistani-controlled Kashmir, and are visible in the primary tourist destinations in the Kashmir Valley – Srinagar, Gulmarg and Pahalgam.

Since 1989, as many as 60,000 people (terrorists, security forces, and civilians) have been killed in the Kashmir conflict, including almost 1,000 civilians in 2003 alone. Many terrorist incidents take place in the state’s summer capital of Srinagar, but the majority occurs in rural areas. Foreigners are particularly visible, vulnerable, and definitely at risk. Occasionally, even the Ladakh region of the state has been affected by terrorist violence, but incidents there are rare. The last such case was in 2000, when terrorists in Ladakh's Zanskar region killed a German tourist. The Indian government prohibits foreign tourists from visiting the Kargil area of Ladakh along the LOC. U.S. Government employees are prohibited from traveling to the state of Jammu and Kashmir without permission from the U.S. Embassy in New Delhi.

In 1999, the terrorist organization Harakat-ul Mujahideen issued a ban on U.S. citizens, including tourists, visiting Kashmir, but has not followed up on this threat. In 1995, the terrorist organization Al Faran kidnapped seven Western tourists, including two U.S. citizens, who were trekking in Kashmir valley. One of the hostages was brutally murdered, another escaped, and the other five -- including one U.S. citizen -- have never been found. Srinagar has also been the site of a great deal of violence, including car bombings, market bombings, hand grenade attacks that miss their targets and kill or injure innocent bystanders, and deaths resulting from improvised (remote controlled) explosive devices (IEDs). In recent years, several tourists, including at least one U.S. citizen, have been fatally shot or wounded in Srinagar. The 2002 state elections were marred by multiple terrorist attacks that killed some 800 people, a large percentage of whom were innocent civilians. Some terrorist violence also marred the national parliamentary polls in April/May 2004.

-- INDIA-PAKISTAN BORDER: The State Department recommends that U.S. citizens avoid travel to border areas between India and Pakistan, including within the states of Gujarat, Punjab, and Rajasthan, and the entire state of Jammu and Kashmir. A ceasefire along the Line of Control (LOC) in Kashmir began on November 26, 2003 and a dialogue between the two countries aimed at easing tensions continues. Both India and Pakistan maintain a strong military presence on both sides of the LOC. The only official India-Pakistan border crossing point is between Atari, India, and Wagah, Pakistan. A Pakistani visa is required to enter Pakistan. The border crossing is currently open. However, travelers are advised to confirm the current status of the border crossing prior to commencing travel.

Both India and Pakistan claim an area of the Karakoram mountain range that includes the Siachen glacier. The ceasefire in Kashmir that took effect in November 2003 has also been in effect on the glacier. U.S. citizens traveling to or climbing peaks in the disputed areas face significant risks. The disputed area includes the following peaks: Rimo Peak; Apsarasas I, II, and III; Tegam Kangri I, II and III; Suingri Kangri; Ghiant I and II; Indira Col.; and Sia Kangri.

IS ALL COMING?

After all that complaining of The Headache I had one of the best practices in memory yesterday (ie it did not hurt and I was not tired, and even dropped back....once). I've been doing up thru Kapo every day just as Sharath prescribed but my hands are no closer to the feet. Not that that's the goal or anything.

Afterwords we had lunch at the Ethiopian place next door and I stopped by my friend TamTam's alley; she was there with the moving truck and her gf's parents, about to leave for Cali. Very sad. So of course a nap was in order. Then waking up disgruntled and anxious and debating whether to go to The Bestselling Writer's BBQ.

I had gone to the very same BBQ the previous day. It started at 4, I arrived at 7. Cased the place; no one around. I rang the buzzer, gave myname. "Who?" she asked. Gave it again. "WHO?" Gave it again. She came down. Turns out the thing was on Monday. A day early and four hours late. Oops. So much for trying to impress her....

JASTI NOWOO*

Bad bad bad *bad* headache today and I'm meeting Henry the Punk for Mysore practice at 10:30. The question is, is it allergies or lack of water or all the salty/sweet snacks consumed at MK's fabulous BBQ last night? A huge concetration of yoga teachers at that event (plus the husband's restaurant friends). Apparently the superbendy teacher Ph. has been telling students that if they stop doing yoga they will "get sick and die." A new take on what it says on Miss Y's website: "Life takes life out of you; yoga puts it back in." And now, hopefully, this yoga will cure my dolor de cabeza increible.

FLASHBACK
I keep forgetting to mention this about Guruji's NYC workshop.... It's the first day and I'm half awake after practice, walking around in more of a stupor than usual and saying hello to people I know. But one familiar person seemed puzzled when I greeted her -- as if she didn't know me. How rude, I thought. Much, much later it dawned on me that she's one of the people they interview in the Ashtanga Yoga NY video, and that we've never actually met. Except through my TV.

And at the birthday party, in between the eating and chatting and tabla playing, I kept looking at one really familiar-looking man, and scrolling through the memory banks trying to recall the connection. Was it a workshop? Was he in Mysore? Is he a friend of a friend? It was only at the end of the party that I realized his face is on a flyer for an upcoming workshop at Chicago Yoga Center. Now *that's* scary.

OK, I'm off for yoga followed by breakfast with Michael Chiklis, Denis Leary and Daniel Dae Kim (aka the Daniel Day Lewis of Korea).















*Kannada for "lots of pain."

ASAMSAKTI [usumsh^ukti] or NON-ATTACHMENT

is explored yet again, when Blogger experieces a glitch that lasts two hours for most, eternities for others.

INNONDU = ONE MORE*

I forgot to mention I saw a note posted at Eddie Stern's studio; if I remember correctly it said they are doing primary-only on Fridays and led primary and intermediate on Sundays. Just like in Mysore itself.

They're also offering breakfast and chai every Sunday after practice, as well as a puja each Thursday afternoon....

You can view a few snaps from the workshop (including Sharath pouring chai) here. Just scroll down (go lower and learn more about donating to Guruji's new foundation).
The pix are by (and, in one case, of) the same folks who bring you Sri Ganesha Tea Stall Radio.


----------------------

*In Kannada

RECAP, RETREAD, RECYCLE

On Friday M and I did indeed make it to the Brooklyn Museum of Art for the Basquiat retrospective, and my friend Kai's name was indeed scrawled on a piece called "Tuxedo." Such colors in that exhibit! And so many field trips in da house I was compelled to cover my nose and mouth with my scarf ($10 at St. Mark's Place) and take an Airborne afterwords. M's friend PSG couldn't be bothered coming to Brooklyn to see it: "I like his life, not his art" (said in a thick Glasgow accent).

Later I visited my friend G. on the Upper West Side and saw her dog with the fused vertabrae and $3K vet bill and ate grapes and kvetched and took a stroll through Joan of Arc Island. Then I walked down to Strawberry Fields (72nd and Central Park West, in front of the Dakota) for some peace gathering that turned out to be an ethereal peacenik woman's birthday party with votives, hipsters and blankets. Of course it started an hour late; it was hard to sneak away but it was frigid in the park and we eventually skulked off to have dinner at vegetarian Madras in the East Village, which has been spruced up a bit (the restaurant, not the Village). The vegan yogi thali was *all that* and then some, although the service was a little surley. Then a walk past Swatch, Coach, Mac, and every other high end chain store that has invaded SoHo of late (well Swatch has been there for awhile) to visit to PSG and family for some conversation outside on the Thompson Street benches and then tea and bundt cake (not a euphemism) inside; the kids are becoming like their adult selves. On the way we walked past the Puck Building and looked up at the seventh floor ballroom where there were colored strobe lights bouncing off the ceiling. Bottom chakra dwellers are there, Madam.

Then to the subway for the interminable ride that makes you understand to your core the term No Sleep til Brooklyn. But as the C-train pulled up we noticed a writhing brown arm sticking out from in between two of the doors; from the elbow to the fingertips it moved like a worm when it's cut in half. We couldn't take our eyes off of it. It was attached to a large large man with an Afro, wearing a black tank top and shorts like some kind of uniform. When the doors opened he got out, rubbing the arm and muttering, and walked onto the platform. We crept into the next car and hoped he wouldn't join us. We watched him walk directly to the garbage can in the middle of the platform and open the side door like a pro (he did it so effortlessly I looked to see if he was wearing some sort of MTA badge but he was not). He pulled out the interior garbage can, and fished out the the brown plastic bag inside (half full) and spun it closed and tossed it off to the side. Then he grabbed the silver can (now empty), and hoisted it above his head, arms straight, and started yelling (prior to this he was merely muttering). He was marching up the stairs with it high over his head, still screaming, when we finally started moving.

Nothing like this ever happens on the eFfing train.

Or in Chicago, for that matter.

PUCKIN' A*

Where to begin with the description of Guruji's (first) 90th birthday party?
There were plants and tatami mats with centerpieces of floating candles and flowers and Indian bananas and paypayas and grapes all over the Puck's 7th floor ballroom where we usually practice, there was a tribute slide show of Guruji highlights from over the years, there was a bar with organic juice and natural soda (no chai) and two food lines where you could get exquisite South Indian food. It was done up. The stage was at the other end; no Anoushka but a Karnatic singer and tabla player who've performed for Guruji in Mysore itself. ALmost everyone looked better than usual (ie nice clothes, not sweaty, hair in array). After talking to Z. (in a stunning maroon sari) for some time -- she's going to Mysore June 1 and now I'm itching to join her -- we saw the family come in. Then we sat down on cushions and were eating some food (always a priority) when I saw an apparition: Lino in white. I jumped up and ran over -- he was with the Danish Baldies with the designer yoga shorts -- and I said, "Now both of my teachers are here." How good it was to see him. I miss that man. Of course I took it as a sign that yes, it was indeed a good idea to change my ticket and attend the party. Guruji sat at a front table for some time, and people went to get their picture taken with him and/or kiss the feet or, in the case of many women, to get a hug and a kiss. I did too of course. He looked resplendent. Saraswati was in a beautiful green sari, Sharath in a very cool shirt with a Swastika design and of course the rest of the family was there too (Shruti is looking extra beautiful these days, and their daughter is getting very big!). Sharath made a speech before the ensemble started to play, beginning it with "Yekum, Inhale," which got a good laugh. He said that NYC is their favorite place -- their second home. Take that, coastal towns. Anyway the music was good; they did a special new guru song for Pattabhi Jois and had us chant Om Nama Narayanaya with them (the many children near the stage did the best job) and also did a Ganesha song. Afterwords Guruji gave a brief talk, something about "Do not waste your life. Do not have bad thoughts. Do not waste your life. Yogayogayogayoga. Yesterday is gone. Do not waste your life. Tomorrow do yogayogayogayoga..." It was very inspiring and hopefully I will remember all of this on those days when I practice at home, by myself, in that yoga teacher void where you feel completely disconnected from the rest of the world.... Then Ubbaya (Abaya?) talked about the new Pattabhi Jois Foundation and presented him with a check for $23,000, collected for his birthday (instead of giving chocolate and flowers, etc. this year they asked us to contribute to the foundation which help fund Mysore charities of Guruji's choice, the idea being that the community is so good to us, we should give something back. And besides, Guruji has everything he needs). Then Guruji said a few words, thankyouverymuch. At some point a (vegan chocolate) cake with many candles came out and everyone sang happy birthday. Then we ate some cupcakes and left. It was a lovely end to an amazing week. And now I am fired up to get back to Mysore. In line yesterday Saraswati asked me when I was coming and I said "within the year." So now I must make good on my word. If only I could find a way to go this summer *and* work on that book-thing. Then I could go to the "other" 90th birthday. But how lucky I was to attend this one....








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*phrase coined by M., who also wore Indian dress (or do you say Muslimwear) to the fete.

FLAVA FLAV, REVISITED

Apparently staying up late (10:30) last night to blog was not such a good idea. Today I awakened over a half hour late, at 5:05AM. I was frantic of course. But I'm familiar enough with the MTA from my last trip here to know that a train comes around 5:15/20, and that if I made it I could still get to the Puck Building in time to get a decent spot. I threw on my contacts and clothes (set out the night before), grabbed my mat and made it to the tracks just as the train came. When I got to the shala it was a madhouse as predicted, and there were a few spaces left in back and on the side near the viewing area. Then I saw LL, fourth row center -- and she had saved a spot for me. Despite the beginnings of a pounding headache, I was grateful/relieved. Then I went in back to change clothes (one always stakes out a spot before changing clothes). When it came time to take off my jeans I realized oops! I'd forgotten to put on my yoga shorts. Although my thong matched my top, I'm not buffed and waxed in such a way that it would look anywhere near as good as it probably does on Bikini Girl. So I went back to my mat, rolled up my jeans and tested them in Garbha Pindasana (a pretezelike position in which you sit in lotus and put your arm through your legs behind the knees and hold your ears). It wasn't bad. But MK took pity on me, and very nicely went in back to ask Jammu if she had an extra pair of shorts. I was on my back warming up when a something fell unceremoniously onto my head and scared the crap out of me; I looked up to see MK beaming. Turns out Jammu didn't have any shorts shorts, but AKR did. And they fit, too. Later she said she never carries an extra pair, and didn't know why she had them. Hmmm.

Today Guruji's count seemed slower. As usual I was stiff and in some pain (although less so in backbend) and felt heavy and slow. Eventually there was a lot of sweat but that didn't seem to help (in fact some fat drops of condensation fell onto us while we were in savasana; very disconcerting). We did who knows how many sun salutations and seven -- SEVEN! -- Navasanas, ouch. We almost skipped janu C (difficult toe-crusher pose) on the left (oh, well) but everyone automatically went into it anyway when Guruji accidentally called Mari A (the pose that comes after). He was unphased of course. What a great, booming voice....Did I mention how well he looks?

Most days I can hold utpluthith (lifting yourself up while in lotus pose) until at least the first "nine" (we hold that pose for a count of ten, which often ends up being around 50 of my regular breaths; when Guruji sees people fall like dominoes from lifting their own weight for such a long time, he backs up a few numerals or keeps calling nine until more people lift up. In India and in previous years I've been able to hold it the whole time; not anymore). Today though I had to come down a few breaths after 7. It's all that holding of Caturanga (pushup pose); during vinyasa, if someone races forward to upward facing dog before they're told to, he yells, "Catuari" and we holdholdhold Caturanga until he's satisfied. It's not easy to hold up your weight when you've got more of it than usual....

Today was the last day of class, which was bittersweet of course. Can I say how much more mellow, and how much less competitive the atmosphere is this year? It seems like there's a whole lot less attitude all around. And it can't just be due to the stunningly good weather....Or maybe it's *my* attitude that's changed. Or both.

After Guruji finally called "10" in Utpluthith, everyone started spontaneously clapping, and it wasn't just because we were glad it was over. It was in appreciation for Guruji, and didn't stop for awhile. Then, after the Mangala (closing) mantra, we did it again (as is customary). We clapped for a long, long time and then everyone stood up and continued for awhile. MK says she saw Guruji wipe away a tear. He wasn't the only one....

DETAILS

I didn't realize until yesterday that Sharath is sitting there, greeting people, during the Guruji feet-kissing, and that it's possible to ask him conference-type questions. So today I settled it once and for all:
The correct dristi (gaze) in utpluthith is the nose.
The correct dristi in yoginidrasana is the third eye.


ASIDE:

Today breakfast was again at Orlin, which was lovely. Seven people today. Later LL and I met at the door to Eddie's, and went up to the puja at his "Ganesha Temple." It *really* looks like a temple, plus there was a Brahmin priest. Lots of pouring of milk, water, other liquids (coconut water?) onto the Ganesha figure; later when we were chanting for what seemed like forever, he closed the curtain and annointed him (Ganesha) with flowers, etc. Suffice to say it was beautiful and afterwords there was again that exquiste food made by the same guy who did breakfast (and who wears a sacred thread, hmmm). food! It was exquisite.

Afterwords I went to 27th and Lex to look for an Indian dress to wear to the birthday party tonight, because everything I brought with looks tarty. The dress is not very dressy but at least it won't show the dirt I'm sure to absorb from the subway on they way there. Nor will it make me look like a western hoo-ah.

NO SLEEP TIL SAVASANA

LL got a spot for us second row center today, so we could hear Guruji and see Guruji and, occasionally, watch his feet walk by. He seems to look younger and better than he did last time I saw him. He glows. Anyway there we were, warming up or whatever just minutes before 6 and a mat in the front row disappeared and everyone was going to spread out a bit and then it was decided that no, they should leave it. Seconds later a well known recording artist put his mat down, front and center. But it seemed as though he was looking for a space, any space, and *that* was the one that opened up. People were practicing in the hall again today. And Saraswati was out there adjusting them!

Seconds later a woman who was not Tatum O'Neal (Little Darlings era) pushed her way into a sweet spot in the center of the second row. She did this unapologetically, with that brazen sense of entitlement I've had such a hard time cultivating when it comes to my career. Maybe I could learn something from that woman.

I was even stiffer than usual today, and my pascimattasana (intense sitting forward bend) sucked. I felt Guruji's eyes on me, then heard the feet and sho' nuff, there he was pressing on my back. Then he went down the row to LL and M (also from Chicago). Later on he came over and gave that exquisite sarvangasana (shoulderstand) adjustment. He still does not seem to recognize me though.

Although my physical practice continues to be a struggle, my mind seemed to cal

How funny it was when Guruji came by the front and center celebrity area during some pose or other and told that area in general, "Lift your head!"

It's also interesting to hear people not getting it when he says, "Lose your feet!" in halasana (plow pose).

The stiff woman in front of us in the running shorts got the majority of the adjustmentes. She was a Moaner, and was letting rip with a bunch of loud and regular ones during a baddhakonasana adjustment. So many in fact that Guruji started giggling.

A couple of us went again for the veggie breakfast at the shala today, and it was just as good. We went back to watch the rest of intermediate, since tomorrow it'll be primary at 6 and half primary at 8. It should be a madhouse.



DETAILS

Today was one of the best savasanasa (corpse pose) I've had in ages. I was floating underwater and having visions of Amitabh Bachchan. Then I opened my eyes to see scores of people lined up at the foot of my mat, waiting to kiss feet.

David Swenson is in da house. Looking very sweet/humble, and doing primary.

In Nakrasana the feet should be together.

Apparently a certain celeb was doing intermediate earlier this week and went back to primary, too. So I'm in good company. I think.

ASIDE

It looks like I can extend my stay til Saturday, and will be able to attend the birthday party for Guruji. (Instead of people bringing him endless flowers and chocolate, they've asked people to make donations to a new Mysore charity fund in his name; it'll help the poor, retarded and wild animals, from what I can tell. Details to come).

Today the big trip was to Pier 54 to see the Ashes and Snow exibit, which is basically many exquisite sepia toned photos (and one hourlong film) depicting Southeast Asian people interacting with several types of animals. Very moving, even though occasionaly the negative thoughts would come: "This is a little precious" and "The narration is cloying" and "I have to urinate."

UH... HOW DO I KNOW YOU?

Back to primary in the second row, far left. I managed to catch the 5am eF-ing train, and got a spot in the second row, far left. Little did I know that this would put me out of the paths of all three teachers yet directly in front of Hanuman and The Bikini Girl. This is the same platinum blonde woman I saw begin practice on Sunday wearing a bikini top that set off her tan-tan torso nicely. Partway through practice the pants came off to reveal a string bikini bottom and well-waxed high-voltage areas. Each day she has worn a different bikini (Hanuman's is green). So today I am directly in front, and get to see her bounce, quickly and crazily, in downward facing dog and prasarita padatonnasana.

Guruji was less testy today, less a stickler for getting everything just-so. But my body feels stiff and fat and heavy -- and doesn't feel all that much better by the end of practice.

But today after class we went to Eddie's shala, which is also called the Sri Ganesha Temple, for breakfast. A Hari Krishna-looking man sat there on the floor, ladeling out the most delicious Indian breakfast for just $6. Many Chicagoans were present, and all seemed well-pleased. These days the shala does indeed look like a temple -- and smells like one, too (camphor). Which reminds me. A bunch of intermediate people were headed down on the elevator around 10am and it stopped partway down and the doors opened and the man looked at us and stepped back a bit and did not get on. Apparently we didn't smell so good.

I keep seeing people I met in Mysore in 2002, the last year of the old shala that fit just 12 people. These are people I spent over an hour with each day on the cold hard stairs waiting to practice, and more time afterwords sitting down -- yes, you could sit down in those days and in the shade no less -- over coconuts. Isa from Portugal, Michael from Colorada, Jennifer from Canada, etc (who has drastically changed her hair color). Anyway they are *so* nice -- even the ones I thought weren't -- and it's been lovely to catch up. Of course nearly all of them have since finished intermediate / married / had kids / all three. But it *is* really good to see them. At the same time, I've recognized no one from the 2004 trip to the giant shala. I am lucky to have gone to the olde one.


DETAILS


Chai is not ready before the 6am class, and usually runs out right near the beginning of the intermediate practice.

I heard tell that Guruji and family went shopping at Century 21 (big designer malld owntown) today.

My memory is very selective when it comes to running into people I met in Mysore. The rule seems to be this: I recognize only people that don't remember me, and I don't remember any of the people who recognize me. Standard Exchange:

S-David! How are you?
(David looks at her uncomprehendingly)
S-Satya from Chicago, Mysore 2002
D-Oh! How are you!
S-Good. You?
D-Pretty good, pretty good. Are you here for the whole week?
S-Yeah, you?
D-Yup
S-How's your practice been?
D-Good, good.
S-You going to Mysore anytime soon?
D-I can't I have a kid / got married / just went.
etc.


ASIDE
After breakfast I went back to Brooklyn, cleaned up, had a half-hour nap, warmed up some chai and headed to Union Square for my lunch meeting with the editors. The uber editor couldn't make it so it was me and the assitant down by the schoolyard. Turns out she's been there 1.5 years, and part of that as an intern. *Almost* young enough to be my daughter. Apparently I am in -- they want me to do the book. This still has not sunk in. Afterwords I waited in the sun for M and we headed up to the Met for the Diane Arbus exhibit. Can I just say -- we would have killed for a cup of coffee while waiting on the steps for our Chicago friends. Someone could pull a capaccino cart up there and make a fortune.

Afterwords we ate at Temple in the Village, one of my favorite places to eat in the city, period. A long Asain vegetarian cafeteria line of superhealty food sold by the pound, and which includes the largest selections of greens I've ever seen. I remember eating there on 9/12, and how happy I was to see that they were open. They still play Vivaldi's Four Seasons, too.

BACK A GRADE. MAKE THAT SEVERAL GRADES

Today I tried intermediate after warming up first at M’s – both with chai and with stretching. Suffice to say I awakened to pain in the lower back and shooting down the top half of my right buttock, and easily could have spent the day walking around doubled-over like the man who lives next door. But the stretches helped (and the chai, which is not so good when you try to make it away from home; somehow the cardamom got damp). I was in the subway by 7:15. The Puck ballroom was steamy/stinky when I got there; plenty of places to put the shoes and bags today, but the line to kiss the feet from the previous group was still quite long. I chose a spot in the far corner in the last row, farthest from the entrance. Hiding in back.

Everything went OK – Despite yesterday’s Italian ice and corn chips I was able to bind on both sides in Pasasana (noose pose)… though we held the second side so long my toes cramped up and stayed that way for the next few poses. I came up from Lagu, which is better than my last performance at the Puck back in the fall of 2003. And then came Kapotasana. Of course my hands did not touch my feet – Kovalam magic does not happen in NYC, and the pain reallly started shooting at that point – although I seemed do OK in B. But apparently not good enough. While I was in B, sweating bullets and breathing fast (maybe the chai wasn’t such a good idea after all) and wondering how I could come up without blowing out my knees, I saw Sharath bust the people next to me for coming up after A. He then got on someone else for having their fingers pointing the wrong way. But the only person he tapped out was me. (He touches you and says, "done" or "out" much like couples getting the tap from the judge telling them they’re no longer contenders in the big Charleston contest). Relieved, I sat there (usually you drag your mat to the back of the room, but I was already way in back) and watched the rest of the series. At one point Guruji became so annoyed by people’s in ability to "lift up" on their way to jumping back from certain poses, he stopped everything and had Sharath demonstrate. Everyone was surprised (including Sharath) and stood up to watch. Apparently after many of the poses you lift up into a bakasanalike position or half-handstand without actually putting the knees on the arms. No small feat. Later he walked around asking people if they’d done Karandavasana. Not believing them, he’d have ‘em do it again. I saw Zoe with her knees on her elbows, chin hovering above the floor, for what seemed like an eternity, waiting to get helped back up. Eventually she was.

In addition to seeing how they adjust close-up it was interesting to see how people’s practices have progressed over the years: There’s one guy I met in Mysore in 2002, who was sitting at Three Sisters one day beaming (while waiting the usual eternity for his lassi) because he’d finally officially gotten Pasanasa. Today I saw him do the entire intermediate series. And here I am going backwards by the day. But it isn’t about the poses, right? I mean, I’m lucky to be doing ANY yoga at all when you think about it. And you should never, ever compare yourself to others.

DETAILS:

Lift up on an inhale between the two sides of Parsva Danurasana

Five sloooow steps forward, five equally slow steps back in Titibasana C

Five slooooow jumps forward, five equally excruciating jumps back in Nakrasana

Hold Urvha Dandasana for an eternity

Hold Utpluthith for even longer.

Guruji did not seem to recognize me today but he did answer my question, "Oota Aita?" with a long stream of Kannada, which of course I didn’t understand. I did get that he hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. That’s amazing, to do all that on an empty stomach at 90.

I asked Sharath if I should do primary, since I’m getting stopped so soon in intermediate. He said yes (other than the part about getting up at 4:30, I'm relieved). He also said that back at home I should do primary followed by intermediate up to Kapotasana. "Stop at Kapotasana."

ASIDE

Afterwards a few of us went to breakfast and then I met Kai for an iced tea (he’s one of the instigators behind brink.com). Apparently the door at the beginning of the Basquiat exhibit, which now belongs to Johnny Depp, was once his (long story). His name is on a couple of the pieces in the exhibit.
Anyway while he was at a meeting I did some halfhearted shopping (nothing appeals to me, hmmmm); then he picked me up and we drove back to Brooklyn. Now that’s a luxury – driving in Manhattan and over that bridge.

There is now a Best Buy at the corner of Broadway/Houston.

The bathroom at the nearby Starbucks is not locked and you can use it without buying a thing.

Apparently the WC at the SoHo Mac store is even better.

Today M wrote a note to his co-op mates, comparing himself to Groundskeeper Willy, and imploring them to keep the front gate shut so the teens don’t take over the stoop.

PERSISTENT VEGETATIVE STATE

Saturday night we ate at Pepe Verde in the old neighborhood and met Dexter the Director for the play Orson’s Shadow. On the way we ran into the producer and scores of other people that DD knows. Hugs and kisses for all....those theater people. The play was good and still boasted some of the original Chicago cast (it was Tracy Letts’ second-to-last night; he has to get back home to do three Steppenwolf shows in a row). It was well done if a bit loud, and at half-time we were able to go next door for a quick ice cream. I always want sugar after garlic. Bad lady.

Today it was up at 4:30 AM for the wretched crawl out of bed and long wait for the eF-ing train and ride down to the Puck building. Seemed like 3:30.

There was a line to get in and the shoe area was wall to wall crazy (ie, full). There were far more people than I’d ever seen at the second week of practice; mat space was at a premium, even at 5:30AM. (In past years you could waltz in at 5:30 and get a spot in the second or third row, no problem). The vending area has expanded; in addition to chai there were more t-shirts, DVD’s books, etc for sale than ever before. Also apparently we're all invited to a big 90th birthday party for Guruji on Thurs at the Puck Building, featuring a performance by Anoushka Shankar (Ravi’s *other* daughter). Of course one finds out about it long after booking a ticket that has one leaving on Thursday afternoon. Of course the party is from 6 to 9. Of course the last plane to fly NYC-Chicago is at 8PM. Of course one has two private lessons and a class to teach first thing Friday morning. Of course one is constantly calculating the financial, professional and interpersonal costs of staying an extra day.

Practice was sweaty and difficult (I suspect even people with healthy spines are stiff and weak at 6am). I also had very little balance. But it was delightful to be led through the poses by Guruji, and to see Sharath and Saraswati walking by. But my mind was all over the place.

Afterwords I said hello and waited to kiss Guruji’s feet. I waited a long time; it seemed as though everyone in the world had to have their photo taken with him, from several angles, before they could say goodbye. Sharath actually remembered my name, which was nice. Guruji smiled and hugged me without seeming to recognize me and asked, "What thinking?"

Afterwords I was not happy to learn that chai is now $3. The first year there was no chai, the second year it was $1, the next time it was $2 and now it is $3. It is still the best chai in the world, though. It’s sad when it’s gone.


HIGHLIGHTS


Apparently for full primary the previous week (it was at 6, half primary was at 8) the mats were thisclose and people had to practice in the entryway.

Savasana officially lasted about 30 seconds. Then Guruji was like, "Thankyouverymuch."

Today we did 7 surya namaskar A and 3 B


ASIDES

After class a bunch of us (six Chicagoans) went to breakfast at Café Orlin. We ate outside, lovely, then split up. I came back to Brookyn, had a nap and watched the rest of HumTum. Then I accompanied M to the park with the dogs he’s looking after. There we saw some strutting men (and nurturing women) preparing to rehearse an outdoor mini-musical about the American Revolution. They were in full dress; the men had lines while the women occasionally sang backup and flitted and tittered. The dogs would have none of it.

Later on M. chased not one but two sets of rotten teenagers off the stoop. Apparently he washes it each morning, and there they were putting out their cigarettes and spilling their cokes and spitting. It’s kind of fun being old when you’re in company like that (just not when it makes your back hurt and your practice suck).

I’m so out-of-it, who knows if we’ll ever see the Diane Arbus exhibit at the Met or the Basquiat one in Brooklyn or a TKTS half-price Broadway show or the Ashes and Snow thing at Chelsea Piers or anything. It’s so much easier to just sit on the stoop….

A STOOP SITS IN BROOKLYN

Sitting on M's stoop in the sun, typing on this giant heavy new laptop, waiting to see if someone will buy M's weird-colored leather jackets hanging on the railing. One guy fondled one and M asked if he wanted to try 'em on and he was surprised: "Are these for sale?" and then fled. Getting hotter, a litle humid, lots of Brooklnites going past in a casual parade; semihipsters and oldscoolers with accents and puffy ortho-shoes and people in hatwear coming home from shul. We took a photo-movie of me modeling a jacket the color of babypoop. Nice to have a day off but of course Natalie Peckingbird sent an email wanting more more more info for yet another previously undisclosed task for which I won't be paid. . I cannot possibly have gotten it as I am officially *on vacation.* Yoga with Pattabhi Jois starts (2nd week for them, first for me) tomorrow.

3 dilemmas:

ONE
Dharma Mittra has a 3-hour workshop ths eve from 3:30 to 8:30. I was gonna go. $40 and it's Dharma. But then MDC got tix for Orson's Shadow with Tracy Letts tonight; Dexter's going too. It's the olde W. Village 'hood at Chrstopher Street and 7th Avenue or whatever, and there's Magnolia Bakery afterwords and the show starts at 8. I could leave Dharma's at 7:15. but it'd be wrong to leave early. If I didn't go, I could hang out and watch the rest of Hum Tum for which I'm doing a capsule for for the Backwards R (I saw part of it yesterday on the plane, on the scary PC which has a *really* nice screen). I could go to D's class regular class during the week; I think it's from 11 to 2 or 12 to 2. But it is wrong to study with two teachers, yes. That is bad, very bad, unthinkable. Nononono. I think perhaps I'll pass on class tonight. Or perhaps I'll call and see what the schedule is. Maybe 7:15 falls between mantra and pranayama or something.

TWO
Do I go to the 6am primary class or 8am intermediate? All of my friends are doing primary. And they plan to junp off the Brooklyn Bridge afterwards. So no, groupthink not a good reason to go, esp. in the age of cell phones. But I've barely been practicing (due to all the work, knock wood that it keeps coming) this past week, let alone BB's. The back has been out / not good for about two months... very stuck according to the chiro who keeps trying to crack it on the one side and failing. Lots of pain, esp. in twists and urdvha danurasana (upward facing bow). So not sure about that. But primaryseries requires getting up at 4:30 and catching the eF-ing train on a *Sunday*, ugh.

THREE
India.
Do I go next month? In December/Jan? Some other time? At all?

Getting very hot out here now.

JUMPIN' JACK FLASH

I am in the middle of a two-day Dharma Mittra workshop. He's the Brazilian-born 66 year old teacher on the giant poster of the 900 yoga poses. The first time I ever did yoganidrasana (reclining w/ legs behind the head) was in his class, in NYC, in 1999. He's the type of teacher who leads you through a sequence (that includes his challenging and invigorating Shiva Surya Namaskar [sun saluation] series -- lots of intense lunges and a million Vasisthasanas, among other things, and ends with a seemingly effortless dropback at the front of the mat) which is followed by a sequence of poses that has you doing things you've never even *seen* before, let alone tried to do. Some of them of course I could not do ("Try this if you are under 60," he would say, and we'd give it a shot). But it was fun to go from Sarvangasana to Navasana and use breath of fire in that pose (it doesn't seem to last as long when you're focused on the breath) and stand up from revolved Parsvakonasana with my arm wrapped around my leg. We also paused for a moment to watch him as he explained in a very serious tone our next asana. It turned out to be jumping jacks with Kapalabhati breathing. Doing it made me feel like I was five years old, and I actually laughed out loud. Laughter is a new one, when it comes to yoga.

I am feeling intense guilt now for subbing out my Sunday class so I can stick around for both sessions of today's workshop. But it *will* supposedly make me a better teacher.. especially because he goes into mantra (chanting), pranayama (breathing) and philosophy quite a bit and uses a lot of hilarious, real-life examples (like the butcher who meditated for 30 years but couldn't figure out why it wasn't working). He also editorializes about ahimsa and not eating meat, which is refreshing to hear (also it was amusing to hear some people say, afterwords, "I understand what he's saying but I can't give up fish. I mean, I've been a VEGETARIAN for ten years because of yoga BUT.") In addition to the knowledge and having actually lived the stuff, he also appears to have that true compassionate nature that only a handful yoga teachers seem to posses. None of that ego or tough-love shit.

Also after lunch yesterday Dharma Mittra discussed what happens when the mind is full of stuff and we act too quickly. He used the example of a person who buys a PC without doing the research, and not only finds it cheaper at another store but comes home with the thing and realizes that what he really wanted was a Mac. Which was *exactly* what I had been discussing with Jack a half hour earlier, several blocks away, over lunch. EXACTLY the same thing. Now *that* was weird.

DEM CRONES:
Grrrls of (and in) an Uncertain Age


Last night, I couldn't take my eyes off the red Mary Janes in the window of Alamo Shoes. Nor could I believe the cute things were made by Earth Shoes. Imagine; comfort *and* style. I fixated on them for a bit, and then I showed Jack the way to the next sushi bar (Suddenly, Andersonville has become Sushi Central; suffice to say that despite being in a former Middle Eastern restaurant , Sushi Luxe is more hipster- and vegetarian friendly with its flatscreen TV's embedded in the bathroom mirrors and sushi-chefs-who-look-and-act-like-DJ's; the tofu tempura maki was unusually satisfying, as was the tangy goma-tofu appetizer. Jack's saketini was not so memorable. Nor did I like much the adjacent table of wimmen engaging in a loud clumsy game of chopstick mumblety-peg; in fact I wanted them to take a permanent time out (so to speak).....Tanoshi, up the street, was badly-lit -- ie, bright -- and full of regulars who all seemed to know each other and the owner, Chef Mike, who presided behind the bar. Tanoshi means happiness and this place was lively and joyous. But the trendiest Asian Joint of All is Jinju, across the street from Sushi Luxe. It boasts unthreatening Korean food, superdimbop lighting, a full bar and hoardes of hipsters).

Today Editor Q. and I went for veggie Indian buffet at Arya Bhavan . When I picked her up I noticed she was wearing The Shoes. In red. She'd just gotten them and she loved them. And they looked *good*. At the restaurant we ran into another Kriya-trained yoga teacher, Z. She wasn't wearing them, but she'd just gotten a pair, too. Both had found them at Alamo, where I got a great price on my Dansko Mary Janes in '03. Now I too *must* have them....especially in the wake of my previous non-attachment failures. When it rains it snores....

But my point. Kirti, the restaurant owner, noticed that my year-and-a-half-old grey roots are finally starting to blend in with my too-red hennaed ends (this is due to my first investment ever in an expensive, shaggy haircut... expensive to me being over $30). Q. mentioned she was inspired by my attempt to go natural, and had started to grow out hers. But she was starting to lose confidence (after looking at my 40 in 04 pictures from last year, where I look like I walked under some falling plaster, I can see why). Then we looked at Q., who has a beautiful mane of silvery-grey hair. She told about her decision to grow it out (actually her regular hairdresser had gone AWOL and the woman who agreed to take over -- another yogi -- refused to dye it). C. said she cried after going grey. No wonder; instead of growing it out she went supershort, and then had it cut AGAIN, as soon as the grey was long enough to hold its own. (I did something similar in 1991, after dying my hair black for years and experiencing a color removal disaster that left me with a patchwork of fall colors a la Excene Cervenka circa '79; I cried, too, and worried I looked like a m-a-n, and wore skirts and scooped collars for the next three years). This grey hair talk over Gujarati chai led to a discussion of invisiblity of Women of a Certain Age (both women are older than I), and how when it happens you (apparently) freak out because no one is looking at you (Can I just say how revolted I was two weeks ago, when the Sunday NYT called 43-year-old Jennifer Jason Leigh "a woman of a certain age." Male writer of course). Apparently there is even an exact moment when you notice this invisibility. Q. was 50 and walking down the street with a young obese woman when she noticed her companion was getting all the looks. Anyway the upside is that you can then *get away with things*. You know, because people don't notice you. At some point you apparently stop caring, too, and start to say and do what you want. It's a refreshingly intriguing concept, and takes some of the wind out of the utterly oppressive societal notion that women past menopause have no value (no one really says this per se, but that's the message driven home constantly; no-fucky, no-worthy). Also at that point the people (men) who spend time with you do so for one reason only; they want to. Or something like that. ...

Now, I wonder if, when I go into Alamo to get the hip old lady shoes -- in red, of course -- the salesmen will still notice me (they're all men, in short-sleeve white shirts and ties, and they're *all* over A Certain Age). At this point, my hair's over 50 percent grey. But I suspect they'll have to pay attention. After all, they work on commission.

ES LA HORA

Here are the first few lines of a piece I'm working on:


"There are two types of people:

Those who have time to 'hang out.'

And those of us who hate them."



**

The Amazing Race is on tonight. They are still in India, in Jaipur. Among other things, contestants have had to locate a certain chai stall, put the chai on a cart, push the cart until they could find a specific government buliding, and serve one tea at a time (in the old fashioned clay cups) to a list of functionaries who are spread here, there, and everywhere, and whose job seems to consist of waiting for the next chai (well, whose isn't, really). It was the perfect challenge for India. Last week the "older couple" was making their way to the end of that day's race via auto-rickshaw (the man, Meredith, is usually pretty easygoing but had a *spectacular* Larry David moment at one point -- at which we all took a drink as we watched it over and over again). Anyway a couple of boys turned around and waved to them, then put their arms around each other. "Ooooo-ooo-oooo," sang Kvetchen. "I think our friends are gaaaay-ay!"


While we're on the subject of TV -- Henry scored the new Family Guy episode (a week ahead of the rest of 'Merica; it premieres next Sunday). I'm here to tell you it is as scathing and shocking and guffaw-inducing as ever, if not moreso. Fox: the folks who give you right-wing talk shows and two of the best sit-coms in TV history (the other being the Simpsons of course). Filthy whores.

We also caught an episode of What Not to Wear, in which Susanna (as usual) finds herself busily kneading a woman's knockers, or tits as they call them there (whenever they say "tits" or "nits" or feel someone up, you must take a drink). She was in the midst of a full-frontal squeeze when Trini (the "thin one") circled her and then, much like a cat (and just as quick) her right arm flew out and slapped the woman's left breast. It happened so fast we almost missed it. It was indeed the same movement my cat does when I walk by and he's annoyed and takes a swipe at me, and I'm not sure if he really did it and walk by again just to see if I was right in thinking he had. And thanks to TiVo we were able to watch Trini paw the woman a dozen times before the wine ran out / laughter died down.

**

Today some neighbour took it upon themself to move my clothes from the washer to the dryer. Normally the practice is to leave them where they are or put the clothes *on* the dryer. Which is a good thing, since most of my too-young-for-me outfits need to be drip-dried. But not these neighbours. They put my clothes *IN* the dryer. ON HIGH. And now I am the owner of two Barbie-sized vintage white long-sleeve t-shirts which I can no longer wear (Fashion Targets Breast Cancer, circa 1996, and Boss Hog's 2000 "Whiteout" tour, if you must know). And the nabes are the recipients of a snippy little note.

So much for non-attachment.

NIRVANA

The sages say that the only things we can control are our emotions / the fluctuations of the mind / our reactions to things that happen to us.

Having tried and tried and tried this and failed and failed and failed, I cannot agree.

But I have found that one thing most of us can control -- those without children, anyway -- is the amount of clutter in our house.

I've become convinced that the amount of mess in our habitat is greater than or equal to that in our mind, and that it's impossible to clear the latter when the former is disorganized.

Unfortunately mine is a minefield right now; even my virtual desktop is in very real disarray.

So much for chaos-control.

POPOPOLY: THE NEW MEDIA SATURATION GAME



Each time you hear "Pontiff" take a drink

Dive under the covers and take a shot whenever you hear "Conclave"

Sing a Beatles song (from start to finish) for every "John Paul II"

Light up whenever they talk about the white smoke.

Torch something when it's black.

Don something red for every mention of "Cardinal" (two items if it's plural). When you run out of clothes, switch to slathering yourself with red-tinged food and drink. No bathing til the smoke turns white.

Remove a piece of clothing for each "Fresco."

Read the back of a different cereal box for every mention of The Da Vinci Code.

Fall on your face every time NPR's Sylvia Poggioli files a report.

Fall on your sword if it's a rerun.

Hook up sans birth control each time Vatican II is invoked.

Stop in the middle if you hear "Wooden Balls."

Slap someone silly 16 times for each "Sistene." (If no one's around, pop in the "Sixteen Candles" DVD).

Defecate each time you hear a pundit pontificate.

Wander the streets like an Alzheimer's patient when they say "Rome."

Return home when the bells start to ring.

BAD LADY (AGAIN)

A trip to the doctor for what I thought was Pinkeye last week revealed that no, the reason I kept trying to scratch out both mine eyes had nothing to do with Pinkeye and everything to do with allergies. She then told me I've been walking around with an upper respiratory infection and prescribed amoxicillin. And some eye drops. As the pharmacist was ringing me up she asked (again) if I had insurance and reminded me that I could not return medication once it was purchased. Then she asked if I knew that the eye drops cost $95. I said no and held onto the counter. (Did I mention that I felt really, really sick and just spent 40 minutes shopping while I waited for my 'scrip, which was sposed to have been filled within 20? And that the Edgewater Jewel at noontime on a Thursday is the Land of Thousand Gimps, all of whom seem to be bent on knocking their shopping cart into yours?). As I stood there and sweated I realized I had spent more than that on the cat's last vet visit. But when I found out there *was* no generic version I said, "Take it off. I'll call the doctor." After much back-and-forth with the doctor and yet another pharmacist, i was able to -- hours later -- pick up some $15 drops (name brand!) that have worked many wonders on my eyes. Too bad the amoxicillin is giving me stomachaches. (<----man, that word looks *funny*), diarrhea, headache and exhaustion (or was that due to the 14 classes and trip to Madison last week?). I am convinced it's pseudomembranous colitis. From Medicinenet.com:

"...Antibiotics can alter the normal bacteria flora of the colon and permit overgrowth of C. difficile, a bacteria responsible for pseudomembranous colitis. Patients who develop pseudomembranous colitis as a result of antibiotic treatment can experience diarrhea, abdominal pain, fever, and sometimes even shock."

But the migraine and nausea this morning -- I was *sure* I was going to vomit during all those forward bends -- did not stop me from practicing. Nope. Not me.

FEAST OR FAME

Friday I taught three in a row and then headed over to Enelle's house, where I sprayed brown gook on my grey roots and installed the fake boobs, and we shot the missing "Tom From 'Nam" scene from the sit-com. Suffice to say it made us roll on the floor. But now of course I'm depressed that we're done shooting, and I'm no longer "talent" but some 40-year old awaiting her next role and/or Gap ad.

I saw the fillum Mughal E Azam yesterday -- amazing, you must go (even though I know you won't) -- and even talked to the theater manager about getting screening copies of fillums before they hit the big screen, so that one can review them. Apparently it's impossible, although it *is* often possible to find bootleg copies of yet-to-be-released fillums on Devon Avenue. That's where I went yesterday after getting a late e-mail asking me to do a capsule review of the 2003 Bollywood action blockbuster The Hero: Love Story of a Spy. It's screening April 13 at the University of Chicago's DOC Films as part of its Wednesday night Bollywood series (http://docfilms.uchicago.edu/calendar.shtml#wednesday). The DVD was only $10 at Mansoor Video.

In addition to getting the movie review in by 10 (seems like 9) tomorrow, I'm compiling a list of Chicago performance venues for some new travel guide (due tomorrow) and working on the May media column (the local public radio station is planning to spin off an all-music station next year; yet somehow the music will include expensive NPR talk shows such as Morning Edition). That was due Friday. I'm also cleaning up a review of Kari Tomashik's recent High Energy Yoga (an offshoot of Iyengar created by the late Roger Eischens) workshop, which I turned in Friday. And writing a sample club review for said travel guide (due tomorrow). And compiling a list for Chicago mag's upcoming Best Of Chicago issue (due ASAP so I don't get scooped). If you have any ideas, send 'em on.

At least I got the taxes to the accountant on Thursday.... which was the last day of March. That's a new land speed record for me.

And I'm finishing up Wendy (www.poundy.com) McClure's brilliant memoir "I'm Not the New Me" (for a profile) and in the middle of watching The Hero... which isn't at all painful although it features one of my favourite Bollywood action conceits: Hero flying slow-mo through the air, pistols in both fists, shooting (and hitting!) a slew of Bad Men (usually Muslim terrorists) who are trying to kill the Chaste Girl. Oh yeah, and I teach at noon (seems like 11) today and again at 8 (seems like 7) tomorrow morn.

Today is the eighth anniversary of my mother's death. I am still driving her car.* Barely.

Time to do yoga. Now.

The question is, when will I find time to feed the birds today (yearly ritual in honor of La Madre)?

And when will there be time to watch last week's episode of The Shield?






INJURY OF THE WEEK:
Broken/sprained, very painful, bright purple toe (middle left)






---



*'91 Geo Prizm that's needin' some pimpin'

TWO FOR.... THURSDAY

The 1960 classic Mughal-e-Azam, recently colourised, opens tomorrow at the Des Plaines Theatre (1/2 hour from Chicago; the Metra train station is less than a block away from the theatre). It's a rare chance to see it on the big screen; apparently it boasts the best and most moving music our friend Bindi has ever heard in an Indian fillum. So clear out three hours (plus an hour for the r/t commute) and go. Timings and directions are at www.desplainescinema.com.



It seems there was a strike, and Mysore (12-ish hours ahead of us) was shut down today. Something tells me it was business as usual at the Ashtanga Yoga Nilam. From today's Star of Mysore (www.starofmysore.com):

   TRADE BANDH HITS CONSUMERS



Mysore, Mar. 31 (BLU&BRS)- Majority of traders in the heart of the city and extensions downed shutters today to observe bandh in response to the call given by All India Federation of Traders Association demanding modifications in VAT (Value Added Tax) system. The State Government is implementing VAT from tomorrow.

Consumers dependent on the shops for their many daily needs were left to fend for themselves.

They could be seen swarming around a few shops which were kept half-open in the morning.

Residents of Agrahara, Nanjumalige, Vidyaranyapuram and surrounding areas, took the brunt of the bandh. These areas witnessed curfew-like atmosphere in many thoroughfares.

However, hotels, drug stores, liquor shops and cinema halls conducted their business as usual.

Business establishments in major commercial areas like Devaraj Urs road, Sayyaji Rao Road, Shivarampet, Old Bank Road, Ashoka Road, Irwin Road, Dhanvanthri Road and Gandhi Square remained closed.

Nearly a thousand businessmen took out a procession from K.R. Circle to DC's office at noon holding placards. A delegation of the traders submitted a memorandum to the Deputy Commissioner.

The memorandum urged the Government to raise the turnover ceiling for VAT from Rs. 10 lakh to Rs. 25 lakh.

It also urged the Government to suspend harsh measures like fine and punishment for violation of VAT during the first two years. It said it was not proper for implementing VAT in some States while sparing others.

The memorandum also opposed imposition of other Central and State taxes along with VAT.

The procession was led by Mysore Chamber of Commerce and Industry President H.N. Ramathirtha, Hon. Secretary A.S. Satish, Mysore Grain Merchants Association President C. Krishnappa, APMC Grain Merchants Association Director C. Narayan and others.

The bandh at APMC in Bandi-palya badly hit the farmers who had come along with their commodities.

The vendors of perishables such as flowers, fruits and vegetables at the locations of their daily business, however, carried on their trade without any hindrance.

The consumers heaved a sigh of relief for the small mercies shown by at least a section of traders.

Meanwhile, some shops on Devaraj Urs Road opened after the procession passed through. Some activists, supporting the bandh, were seen forcing them to down the shutters.

ODE ON AN ODIOUS MONTH



TS Eliot said that April is the cruelest month.

And most of us would agree that February is the coldest.

But March is definitely the longest -- at least here in the Midwest.

I know this because on yet another dank, sunless day, my usually chipper yoga students will complain about the cold and snow -- again -- and ask why they have no energy.

"Because it's March," I tell them. "There’s no sun."

And as the month draws to a blustery, dark close, the students who aren’t out sick will start saying some very non-yogic things -- like "I hate March" and "Will this effing month never end?"

I see their point. They made it through February and are waiting for their reward. But this is Chicago. There is no reward.

It doesn’t matter whether March comes in like a lion or a lamb or some other Biblical creature. Because it always sticks around like a leech.

In March the average temperature in Chicago is 37 degrees, and 18 of the month’s 31 days are cloudy -- second only to December’s 19. And this year March began with Mother Nature dropping a bomb of snow on the city.

Sure, the first day of spring was on the 21st. But no one noticed.

And yes, there is always a day or two when the sun comes out and the temperature hovers near 50 and fratboys don shorts and blind us with their fat white winter legs.

The next day it will snow, of course, and the shorts and spring jackets will go back into storage (the baseball caps stay out of course).

But in March the snow never sticks around long enough to look pretty. Instead it stays just long enough to mix with the salt and dirt and turn the entire city an even more depressing shade of gray.

March is like a relationship that’s on its last legs but won’t give up the ghost. Both partners are compelled to flog it to death until the bitter end, making themselves and everyone around them completely miserable.

A week later the sun will come out again -- kind of like a wayward lover promising to do better. And he does for a day. And then goes back to his irritating old tricks.

Is it any coincidence that the third month inspired the terms Mad as a March Hare and March Madness? That last term isn’t about basketball -- it’s about losing it during a winter that never ends. This year alone sets a new record for random acts of insanity. On March 12 Brian Nichols killed three people outside an Atlanta courthouse. The next day Terry Ratzmann opened fire at Living Church of God in suburban Milwaukee, killing seven. On March 21, Red Lake High School student Jeff Weise killed ten people, including himself. Two days later a man opened fire at a plumbing store in Arlington Heights, Illinois (he missed). And on the 24th, Rockford, Illinois’ Michael W. Mitchell brandished a box cutter and tried to steal a gun from a store in Florida, so he could "take some action and rescue Terri Schiavo." (At least the Midwest is well represented here).

In early Roman times March was the first month of year, named for Mars -- the god of war -- and was actually designated "the time for resumption of war" (which apparently still holds true, seeing as how the US invaded Iraq two Marches ago).

Mostly, though, March just befuddles people -- like the woman with the $300 haircut who walked past me at Jewel grocery store the other day, wearing a flowered rayon skirt, stylish pink jacket ... and salt-covered winter boots.

Like me, she was sick and tired of wearing the same old down jacket and corduroy jeans.

So maybe I’ll defy the weather, too, and break out the miniskirt and combat boots.

After all, the cruelest month is just around the corner.

FUTZ-TUTZING

This morning's Mysore class was marred by the existence of two Futzers (people who dawdle), two Researchers (people who prep and prep and prep -- often with second series poses -- before going into a primary series pose) and two Free-Formers (there have been some minor skirmishes here between straight-up Mysore folks, who go by the book -- the book being Yoga Mala -- and those who see fit to add and subtract from and otherwise "improve" upon the practice of ashtanga yoga in their so-called Mysore classes... which means you get many different interpretations of the practice in Chi-town). In any case the Free-Formers were across from me, which meant there was no Dristi or inward focus but much marveling at their unique versions of the primary series... which in one case meant no vinyasa whatsoever, loud, earth-shaking jumping and backbend after inversions -- and which included Garudasana (Eagle pose) and various power yoga moves rarely performed outside of NYC's Om and Jivamukti studios.

At least there weren't any Locomotives (those distracting practitioners -- usually male -- who have no apparent inhale and force out their loud, short, violent exhale like Thomas the Tank Engine negotiating a steep, steep hill).

That said, it was good to practice at all, what with the sore back, tight hamstrings, hint of a cold and a demoralizing week dealing with Editors Who Can't Stand Me. (Did anyone else notice that yesterday was a full moon, Good Friday, Purim *and* the Hindu holiday of Holi? And earlier in the week it was the Persian and Bah'ai New Year!). So I could barely go into backbend today -- At least I was there. And, in the neverending month that is March (more on that soon), sometimes that's enough....

YOU’RE EITHER WITH US OR AGAINST US*....
(or, why worry about foreign terrorists, when the homegrown version is so effective?)

Am I mistaken, or have more people been going postal of late:



February 24
David Hernandez Arroyo, Sr., using an an AK-47, kills two (inlcuding his ex-wife) in a Tyler, Texas courthouse rampage before being gunned down by police


Februay 28
Bart Ross kills Chicago Judge Joan Humphrey Lefkow's mother and husband (this occurred about two miles northeast of Satya's house).

March 12
Brian Nichols kills at least three people at an Atlanta courthouse.

March 13
Milwaukee-area loner Terry Ratzmann opens fire at the Living Church of God, killing seven (including himself)

March 21
16-year-old high school student Jeff Weise goes Columbine, killing ten (including himself) in Red Lake Minnesota




It's interesting that the Midwest is so well-represented....One can't help but wonder if it's all the unfortunate result of a too-long and too-dark winter (March Madness coming home to roost) or too much TiVo or not enough yoga / other hobbies or a reflection of what the gov's doing overseas or what.....






*From Bush's Sept. 21, 2001 speech, -- the last time the rest of the world really, really liked U.S.

UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA

Today while attempting pinca mayurasana (a forearm balance with the legs in the air), my legs went all the way over and I flipped onto my back, emitting a very loud "Oh!" in the process.

It was more surprising than painful, though.

One wonders if jumping back from the pose into caturanga dandasana could be so anticlimactic.

Doubt it.

ODDS 'N (BLOODY) SODS


A Review of Bride & Prejudice from The Times of India (and I thought all those local papers lacked bite):


"The film employs the worst pre-packaged cliches about 'natives' letting their hair down at assorted weddings, as a classy, uptight American gulps in embarrassment while discreetly eying the pale and lifeless daughter of a middle-class family in Amritsar. Of course, there are shots of the Golden Temple to thrill the cockles of Britain's nostalgic Sikh community. What? No snakes and snake charmers? Relax, there's a hilarious Cobra dance. "


***


My favourite new web site is Badmash.org (thanks, Bindi) -- featuring really sharp desi cartoons. To start, click on issue #71: "for that yoga flame").


***


Oh yeah. I ran into the Vexx yesterday morn.

No, wait, he was standing by my bike after I taught two classes in a row and came out of the Habitrail club in a haze.

He had to call out to me twice before I saw him.

Stalking? It was snowing.

Apparently he's now driving a Volvo wagon. Apparently That Woman has sold half her apt. to him. Apparently...

Funny, the cat just threw up. While I was writing that last "Apparently"

Apparently he sold the recording studio and works out of her living room.....I mean "their" living room.

Apparently there was some need to tell me all this.

Apparently that couldda been me.

Most definitely I am better off (although three of the five missing lbs have come back home to roost).

I got off some real zingers, too.


***

That episode aired (erred?), er, occurred just five days after Jack and I went out to dinner with his ex-galpal and her husband and his (comedy) partner and intern. They were smart and accomplished but not to the point where you feel like a dullard. We were eating Death by Nachos and discussing various theater susperstitions and David Foster Wallace, etc. when some Liquid Sky-looking chick walked in. All the male heads turned at once. Turns out they were looking at Jack's most recent vexing ex.

ME: "So THAT'S why you wanted me to dye my hair blonde and get it cut short!"

ME AGAIN: "My god, Jack -- Half the women in this place have b*nged you!"

AND (hey, I had The PMS): "She looks a little pinched."

He agreed to the last. And a good time was had by all.

NEW BEGINNINGS (?)

Did the war in Iraq start on March 16 2003? I thought it had. But after a Google search, I'm not so sure. Some news sources say it began March 14 or 15, others claim March 20. I think it's actually March 19. I supect that the people of Iraq and certain war vets remember the date quite well.....but for my sake let's say 'twas March 16:

-Two years ago the US invaded Iraq (the current death toll is some 16,000 dead civilians and over 1500 US troops, etc)

-One year ago (a few days before I left India) I got that e-message telling me my most regular, lucrative and long-running (8 years) writing assigment was being handed to my sub.* Some highlights:

" I think it's time to make a transition to a new....writer, and this leave of absence is as good a time as any..... Bla bla bla......various reasons....Bla.... not least the benefits that arise from making change for its own sake...Bla.... don't in any way interpret this as punishment or retaliation for your having taken time off."

Mmmmhmmm.

-This year I'm telling you that I'm teaching some 13 classes a week and my writing career is neither here nor there. I can barely go into backbend, let alone stand up from it.

That said, any yoga practice I can do is a godsend, the Shield is back on TV, the disheveled brothers are still in The Amazing Race and the Iraqi war vet has still not had a single flashback.

Except to old girlfriends.

Which is a whole 'nother story.....



------



*Who now apparenty works at CB2

A SERIES OF ANNOYING BUT NOT-SO-UNFORTUNATE EVENTS

Apparently my latest radio essay aired while I was teaching open yoga to 14 people (one pregnant, one of whom hightailed it out of there before giving her last name)..... which just about covers the $30 parking ticket I received from a one-legged man the minute the meter expired, just after class ended (I also slipped on some snow-covered ice just before class, and tumbled down a half-flight of stairs, injuring my right hip, wrist and shoulder....Even worse, Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" is now lodged in my brain... and, hopefully, yours too):


"Satya
 
We were a bit short this morning, so your essay will be on around 10:30 this morning!
 
Sorry for the short notice…its unfortunately the nature of the business.  I do have a copy of Online Dating for you and will also get one for this essay as well.
 
Best,
 
Manju C.
Producer"






The essay in question........



CONSPIRACY
By Satya Cacananda


I was driving on the tollway towards Chicago when my brother called to tell me -- again -- that I had to leave the city and move somewhere decent.  He still lives in our hometown of McHenry out in the northwest suburbs , and calls me on my prepaid cell phone every time there's a scandal in the city.   Which is often. 


This time he was hopping mad about Jeffrey Boyle, the Chicago fire lieutenant suspected of setting fires. But he was also incensed with another Boyle brother -- John "Quarters" Boyle, who was charged last year with taking payoffs in the Trucks for Hire scandal.

Our conversation turned to Quarters' nickname, which he got  after being  convicted  of stealing $4 million in change from the Illinois Tollway Authority.

I told my brother I’d opened two rolls of pennies for this trip on the tollway, and was preparing to drop all 100 of them into the toll basket. 

I've been tossing pennies into the toll baskets for years out of principle -- the tollways were paid off long ago, and payments from motorists were supposed to be  temporary.   Pitching pennies is my one-woman protest, designed to make it as difficult and as expensive as possible for the state to take -- and transport -- my money. 

But I didn't get serious and start buying rolls of pennies until after the first of the year, when tolls doubled for drivers who paid in cash instead of using I-Pass. 

I brought home one of those  I-Pass devices.  But I don't like being coerced into having my movements tracked, even if it means paying double.  And when I opened up the box and saw how much information they wanted from me,  I decided to put off the transition as long as possible. 

I don't like anyone knowing what I'm up to -- that's one of the reasons I live in a big apartment building on a busy street.  But it doesn't stop there.  I   never use  an ATM card, and pay in cash whenever I can.  I buy magazines at the newsstand rather than subscribe.  The US Patriot Act makes it much easier for the government to track the library books and videos I borrow.   So I get what I can from friends.   "They"  can also track the TV shows we watch and the web sites we visit -- so of course I don't have TiVo or a cable modem. And when it was time to fill out the application for a Jewel Preferred Card,  I used the first two street names that came to mind and created  a whole new identity -- Lawrence J. Wacker.  After all, I don't want The Man to find out I don't eat meat.

My brother warned me that I'd better not put my name on this essay.   He said if I did, Homeland Security would be onto me in no time.

So this is Larry Wacker.  Reporting from corrupt, beautiful, laissez-faire Chicago. 

While she still can.

SRA. LACONICA

The back is mending little by little what with help from the magical exercises in Pain Free (by Peter Egoscue, a big man with a moustache) and a visit to the chiro who's covering for my regular chiro. Turns out the new chiro's family's from Mumbai and his uncle is *a major producer of Bollywood fillums*. Although he's from Toronto and has never visited India, he's met every single star I named (all three of 'em) plus many I didn't. Can't wait to go back this afternoon....

That will be *after* a trip to Devon Avenue (street of Indian shops and restaurants).

Which reminds me. The competition to the Backwards R -- TimeOut Chicago -- has finally launched. It's coherent and easy-to-follow (unlike the re-designed, slightly dumbed-down Backwards R) and even has listings for kids' stuff... Not only that but you don't have to bend over (and throw out your back) to pick it up off the floor -- it comes right to your mailbox! ... yes, I'm kicking myself for not hitting 'em up for work after returning from India last year sans lucrative weekly Backwards R column. At the same time their movie listings are incomplete and the Backwards R covers things TOC would never even admit exist.......

BEAT ON THE BACK, BEAT ON THE BRAT, BEAT ON THE BACK WITH A BASEBALL BAT
(oh yeah)


Prior to Monday, I believed that people who "threw their back out" were full of sh*t; that the inevitable incapacitation and whining that came with it was a either a desperate cry for attention or a convenient excuse for breaking plans with me -- or both. Worse, I thought that if they were indeed in actual pain, it was their own fault for being stupid.

I take all of that back. Except for the last part. It IS probably quite foolish to repeatedly help tall, stiff yogi men drop back from standing into Backbend (and back up again, several times) when the entire time you're thinking, "This guy weighs too much! He's not ready for this. I'm not ready for this! Why did anyone ever start him on dropbacks? He should learn to walk down the wall instead, and open his own *&^%$#@ back......Why am I doing this? Mon dieu I hope my foot doesn't slip, and I fall on my tailbone! Please don't let my foot slip!" (There's less concern about Stiffy falling onto his head; having experienced this with Guruji in Mysore, I know it can be overcome. On the other hand, I'm still suffering the effects of a hard fall from Utthita Hasta Padangustasana onto my coccyx during a 1998 Mysore workshop, the trauma of which created an imbalance that has contributed to two hamstring pulls, wrist and knee pain, chronic S-I joint problems and thousands of dollars of therapy).

So yesterday while helping yet another Stiff Man back onto his head -- my least favorite part of the whole ordeal -- I felt something lock up somewhere around L3, and pain started shooting in every direction. Next thing I knew I was walking like Chaka from Land of the Lost. Every adjustment after that was a nightmare.

Ice, napping, exercises from Pain Free (a book that solved my chronic knee problem), liberal application of Traumeel (arnica) and the standing poses did little to help. While demonstrating the seated poses last night I was racked with pain -- particularly during the asanas with one leg straight, one bent. Tylenol PM and ice helped with sleep but as soon as it wore off it all came rushing back. *Now* I know what it feels like to be 40.

Of course the chiropractor is out of town.

And now my sad yoga practice is going to slip backwards even further...and when it finally resumes my hands will now be feet from my feet (rather than inches) in Kapotasana. Standing up from backbend? Not in this commercial! (In fact, doing it with splayed feet for 12 months probably contributed to this mess). Not that it's about *getting poses* or anything.

The good news is that I now have an excuse to get out of all and sundry obligations and spend some quality time sleeping in and bringing to the next level of intimacy my blossoming personal relationship with BBC America. And I'll hopefully command some much-needed attention in the process.....

Or so I think.

LIKE A VIRGIN......


From Howard Hughes wannabe Steve Fossett's web site:

"Three days before this particular attempt, he will go on a low residue diet of protein orientated foods like eggs to ensure that nothing upsets his digestive system and to dispense with the worry and inconvenience of mid-air of bowel movements. He will also be equipped with a pee bottle and a supply of diet milkshakes - which are low residue yet nutricious."

LIMBO

No word yet on when the latest radio piece will air but today they did put on something by Aaron Freeman, one of the city's most ubiquitous and ________ writers (the "Council Wars" author's new stage show is running at the Apollo Theatre, next door to "Menopause the Musical"), so hopefully they've already run it or it's somewhere in the queue. As soon as I know I'll tell you. If not, I'll post the text here when I'm out of ideas.

In the past week:

-People in my class at the Fancy Seventies (lots of dark brown wood) Health Club on Sunday actually *listened* to what I said -- I doubt they've really gotten over their nasty habits of crossing their thumbs in V1, V2, Utkat and Parsvattonasana and sitting on their well-appointed arses and watching while I do vinyasas, *but* -- and afterwords a couple of 'em explained why; apparently *I* explain why we do certain things in yoga, "rather than just telling us to follow along." I usually explain things ad nauseum when I'm exasperated at their seeming deafness. I guess if it makes sense, they're more likely to do it (kind of like children, hmmmmm). And that from an ESL speaker no less (who also mentioned that he translated the entire class to his equally musclebound non-English speaking friend. Good man, that). Although it could be that they listened because my pink-pink top matched my way-too-visible-in-the-mirror thong. You never know.....

-After taking the Clubman moustache wax I gave him for a final spin and twirling up some really festive handlebars, Jack made good on his word and shaved off his beard, moustache and sideburns. This happened Sunday night, while I sat on the toilet and watched. Lid down. 'Twas a long and laborious process once the handlebars came off. Lots of snipping snipping snipping with scissors as red, brown and grey tufts flew everywhere. Followed by lots of foaming and shaving, interspersed with brushing and rinsing off the oft-clogged blade. He saved the intact part of the moustache for last; it made him look like an on-the-take cop. (Oops. Redudant). That was scary enough. Then he emerged tre clean-cut -- as someone much younger and far less serious looking than the Jack I know (two grey streaks in a beard can make a guy look positively professorial). I hardly recognized him. Recognize him. He also kisses differently (too much information, I know) and in some ways yes, it's like I'm cheating on him with him.

-On Friday me, Munkin and Jack went ice skating at one of the city's outdoor rinks, all of which closed for the season on the 27th. There was free parking, free skating, good weather, plentiful fresh air and lots of ice-space on which to suck at skating while tiny children whizzed by doing triple Axels (one pink-clad 'tween even tried to check me into the wall. But I showed *her*). Unfortunately the music they played is still reverberating in my head: the Bee Gees' "How Deep is Your Love?" , that annoying "Who Let the Dogs Out?" ditty and Lenny Kravitz's "Mr. Cab Driver," which they played complete with unbleeped "Fuck you!" Fun for the whole family. Can't wait to hear what they come up with next year.

-If you like The Amazing Race, which starts up again tonight, you'll love this very Satya Caca-esque take on Season 7: Media Fiends

-More caca here: The Brink