PUH-THETIC...


...are the legions who endlessly extoll the mildly entertaining antics of their children/cats/rice cookers, talk excitedly about Amy from Hooking Up as if she's a close friend, and/or post amateurish E-photos of sunsets, for cryin out loud, on their largely unread blogs. Kind of like how they let anyone who can, have kids.

Pathetic.





Not that you can actually see the sun or anything. But this is a rare site indeed, snapped from the dismal grey back porch of a noisy* courtyard building located on a gritty four-lane speedway where they get really, really mad and sometimes even rear-end you if you dare slow down to park.








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


*Have I not mentioned Neck Tattoo? Suffice to say I now have a neighbor with a neck tattoo that may or may not have something to do with Folks / People**. He lives below Jenny Whatever, whom I've not seen since that cool June morn when I went onto the dismal grey back porch to snatch some yoga bottoms off the clothesline, wearing just a t-shirt and (matching) thong, and ran into J-Whatever, who was just trying to have a nice quiet smoke here thankyouverymuch, and shrieked, and ran inside, and slammed the door. Hard.

**A Latin King tried to pick me up at a party I attended with AWOL Jack last winter. He was impressed by my knowledge that the down-pitchfork*** he sported meant "people." He even showed me their hand-signal.


***Apparently Grant Wood's famous American Gothic, on display at the Art Institute of Chicago since 1930, continues to inspire the locals.

BOSTON REDUX


In which The Author chronicles her triumphant return to Chowdaville






The "T" (the sign for which makes me think of a big ol' blowdryer). "S" (for Slow) would be more apt. But you have to love a city that names a major train station "Alewife."



The Holocaust Memorial (someone has been very busy scraping the words off the stone and glass)



Looking up @ Holocaust Memorial, which is engraved with all the numbers of the dead.




Geriatric tug conference at Boston Harbor



Boston Habba II (crooked version)as seen from our tour boat



Some intrepid frigate. Sposed to be good for ya.



An unworthy depiction of Beantown's stunning new bridge (part of the frightful ongoing nightmare called The Big Dig, it's built to resemble Bunker Hill -- which is out of frame, to the right)



A view from the Charles River bike path (which we rode all the way down to the Science Museum, after stopping in Cambridge for the Vegan Pizza)






What Indian sweets look like after 1.5 hours on an aeroplane. Imagine how they must look when they're on drugs.




My gracious hosts + our new friend Sangria



Wickey catching casuals from Paul Revere's mysterious mount

THE VIGOROUS HUG OF NEPTUNE
CRANE BEACH, MA
...in which The Author really does sink down into warm, soft sand during Savasana.

TIRED AND FIT 2B TIED*

Last year on my birthday it was cool and rainy, and after a bike ride and over pizza my then -companion asked me to tell him the difference between fiction and nonfiction, ouch. Red flags, anyone? I have several to spare. He's getting married, you know. For the third time.

This year the day dawned hot and humid and my naive self still entertained some hopes of canoeing on the Chicago River that afternoon. I greeted the morning by watching the cat disappear while I drilled a hole in a chilled tender Thai coconut picked up for just $.99 at the Golden Pacific Market.** After slurping the juice through a straw I somehow managed to hack the thing apart (this takes some skill, esp. when every knife you own is dull) and slurp down the tender insides. I'm still not composting, and it felt very wrong to put the whole thing in the garbage when in India they let them dry and use the fiber (coir) to make rugs and other items. But, I thought, It's my birthday, and I'll act like a fat spoiled 'Merican even if'n I don't want to.***

Then I took the bike up to YogaNow - where they sang happy birthday! I had a difficult and painful practice -- someone has replaced my body with that of some 41-year-old -- with Henry the Punk. Afterwards we enjoyed a lovely breakfast at m. henry (hey! a theme!). Lovely despite the fact that in spite of my glowing recommendation in this month's Fancy Magazine we were seated not in the bright and cheerful front area but in the back, near the kitchen. Nonetheless the food was excellent and plentiful as usual (FAT BLOG ALERT! Today the health club scale showed that I somehow gained FIVE POUNDS over the past week. When I just bought SIZE THREE capris. Could it have been the millions of salty corn chips consumed with Gridlife on Saturday? The two pieces of chocolate cake at the workshop on Sunday? The pina colada-in-a-martini-glass followed by a carrot cake chaser on Tuesday? Or are the scales and sizing all wrong? You make the call).

Then I rode the bike through the humidity and back to my hot home (seven of my windows face south, and I'm on the top floor) and dealt with work and laundry and phone calls and a bath, and took a long summer's nap in front of the AC. I awakened crabby and disoriented and was consuming some chilled chai and half of a Take 5 bar (a possible contributing factor to my new phatness?) in an attempt to elevate my mood when an editor called... and offered me a lucrative writing gig! The mood lifted somewhat. Then the doorbell rang. It was a man with flowers from the Hex (yes, that's them above), which were both unexpected and very welcome. And fragrant. Still very fragrant in fact. Then my long-lost friend Wickey called; she recently returned to New Hampshire after a long stint in Dublin -- and I get to see her this weekend! The last time I was in her company was in 2004, at Queen Victoria's house in Germany, where I stopped on the way home from India, when we visited some Hitler museum (we *really* know how to have a good time). Then Queen E. called; she's in Beantown and very keen to discuss The Bollywood Fillums, and will pick me up at the airport Friday!

While I was chatting on the phone the wind started blowing like crazy from the north and it was cool and such a delight after Sunday's 102-degree (felt like 120) nightmare. So I opened every window in the apartment (nine total) and let the cross-breeze flow and forgot entirely about the laundry on the line. And then it started to rain! Finally, the monsoon came (we're in the midst of a terrible drought) and it seemed like things might turn out OK after all. And then it was time to stop wringing my hands and wring out my clothes and head up north to charming Andersonville to meet the posse for dinner; much laughter and a much mellower birthday than last year's ill-fated 40 in 04 fete. Less is most definitely more, now that we're in OUR EFFING FORTIES.


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

*sounds like the title for a Huey Lewis comeback single


**Golden Pacific also has the great prices on regular and tasty fried tofu (made across the street! very fresh!), jaggery, bean sprouts, canned bubble tea and a plethora of other items.


***Now there's a song

AMONG THE LITERATI

Bombay-born, Park Slope (Brooklyn)-based writer Suketu Mehta -- author of the book to your right -- Maximum City: Bombay Lost and Found -- was one of the literary figures at this weekend's Master's Tea writer's workshop, which took place at the cozy-yet-air conditioned Chopin Theatre. Actually it was more like a publishing workshop, since we weren't there to critique work or do writing exercises but to learn from writers who know the publishing world.

In any case Suketu (who cowrote the screenplay for the Hindi movie "Mission:Kashmir" and the controversial, still unmade Kali film The Goddess that was slated to star Tina Turner [many Indians and NRI's* were upset that one of their gods was going to be played by an American sexpot / pseudoBuddhist]; the latter project has been put indefinitely on hold since producer Ismail Merchant expired last May) read from my copy of his book (woo-hoo! he signed it too!) and told the story-behind-the story of how he wove his own narrative into the massive amount of investigative work he did, which goes into the Muslim and Hindu mafia and their relationship to Bollywood, the police, the riots, and many other things that have confounded me about India. Yet it's also quite funny. If you haven't read it and don't have a lot of cash, it's definitely a must-read; go to the library or buy it when it comes out in paperback in September. It was up for a Pulitzer but lost to some Al Qaida book. The terrorists win yet again.

The heaviest hitter was agent Sterling Lord, who despite his name and Panama hat grew up in the Midwest (Iowa to be exact) and was Jack Kerouac's agent. He told stories about trying to sell On the Road -- amazing -- and is working on his own memoir. Sterling (which is my favorite name in the whole world right now -- I mean, you have him, the Velvet Underground's Sterling Morrison *and* Chicago poet and lottery winner Sterling Plumpp, to name just a few) recently unearthed a long-forgotten 1957 play written by Kerouac, called The Beat Generation, which was rejected by Lillian Hellmann and others way-back-when. It will be produced off-Broadway next March. In the meantime we got to see an excerpt performed by actual actors. Mr. Lord is not unlike Merce Cunningham and certain highly-evolved yoga teachers who actually do what they say; when you're with him you know you're in the presence of a master, and you feel calm and happy and like you can accomplish anything (it's not unlike getting a hug from Amma, only all he used was his voice and presence). He recommended a book for me to read and sent me away with the advice that good books take a long time to write.

The firecracker of the bunch was Obie-award winning playwright Robert Auletta (Broadway Play Publishing), who was a stitch to talk to and has written some amazing plays that among other things have dealt with Vietnam vets and vets of Gulf War (he told how his play The Persians didn't go over so well in the early 90's, but now people are digging it big-time).** We also heard from award-winning author Rachel Shteir (Striptease: The Untold History of the Girlie Show) and bestselling investigative author and event instigator Wendy Goldman Rohm, who wrote that book about Bill Gates' evil dealings and four others.

Oh yeah, I was there because I'm, you know, trying to write a book or something. I actually learned quite a bit -- including how to find cheap archival photos! -- from the panelists and other participants, all of whom are also writing books. The conversations were amazing (as was the food). Sterling and Suketu and a 26-year old woman who just started a publishing company had some spot-on advice. But no conversation compared to the one that set the tone; it took place between me and another woman of my (un) certain age, who's a scientist, shortly after check-in:


HER: (pointing) Is that a magnetic bracelet?
MOI: (gesturing towards wrist) This? Yeah.
HER: My five year old has one of those.
MOI: (coiling and uncoiling the bracelet) It's great for fidgeting
HER: Yeah he does that too. And then he throws it against the fridge.
HER: (continuing) It sticks, you know.
MOI: Huh. I never thought of that.


HER: Are you attracted to men?
MOI: Uh. Yeah.
HER: Are they freaked out by you?
MOI: (thinking) Yes
HER: That's funny. They're freaked out by me, too.



HER: Do you have kids?
MOI: (looks up and counts) Nope
HER: How nice!


Another highlight:
After reading from Striptease, author Rachel Shteir (who was wearing something quite low-cut) took questions from the workshoppers. Without irony the man who's writing a book about the time he lived with some African tribe and/or missionaries (it's not clear) asked if he could ask a personal question.

MAN: "Did you ever, you know, when you were in your office by yourself -- Did you ever, um.... Did you ever try it?

Stunned silence.

RS: You mean -- stripping?? My office is so small ---.

MAN: "I mean, I was writing about ear-piercing, so I went ahead and pierced my own ear..."

RS: Uh, no ---.....

WOMAN IN AUDIENCE: Well, would you do it for us now?

Laughter all around.

MAN: OK. I retract that question.


During one of the breaks I learned from a psychologist who's writing a book about keeping children of divorce from going mad that yes, there IS such a thing as reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder (summer depression). Ha!

Even more important, I found out (from a woman writing a book about how her great-aunt passed for German during the Holocaust) that Joan Cusack does indeed live in my neighborhood, in the exact house I've been pointing out for years to anyone who'll listen -- and she gives out candy on Halloween!

And yes, I managed to practice yoga before both sessions of the workshop.

**

As if that weren't enough (and believe you me, it was) I followed it up on Monday night by checking out a Chicago Authors Roundtable on blogging and the future of literature, which featured bloggers-cum-authors Wendy McClure and Erin J. Shea (both of whom keep fat blogs and wrote weight-related books; I wrote a profile of Wendy and she's awesome BTW) and Claire Zulkey (another 26-year-old!?) and two Kevins, Guilfoile (author) and Smokler (critic/editor). It was officiated by Gapers Block editor Andrew Huff. The panelists spoke a lot about the importance of having a blog to 1). attract a publisher/agent and 2). to help promote the book and subsequent tour. There was also some talk of the difference between blogs and "online journals" or some such shite, plus complaints about how they were some of the first bloggers and the rest of us are johnny-come-latelies, topped off by commiserating over how effing hard it is to blog when you're on a book tour. I feel your pain. For the record, there was zero overlap between the audience at that event (young, white, flabby and bespectacled) and the one on the weekend (older, thinner, wiser -- my favorite being the too-handsome Amish Mexican guy writing the book about the evil pharmaceutical industry). Unfortunately the panelists at the Monday workshop failed to explain how one goes about getting a book deal thrown into their lap... which may mean I must keep going to these things.

Interestingly, I was far more exhausted after the writing workshop than I usually am after an intense ashtanga yoga intensive. Hmmm....

And now I'm off to toss my bracelet at the fridge (so to speak) -- and see if it will stick.










_______________________________________________________

*NRI = Nonresident Indian or Desi
**He did not have any advice re; Jack

YOU CAN'T HAVE ANY PUDDING IF YOU DON'T EAT YOUR MEAT

I am kicking myself for putting My First Book* and My Bad Back** before The Yoga Practice*** and not going to India for Pattabhi Jois's 90th birthday celebration yesterday.

At least we can live vicariously through Joey (apparently his Indian name is "Joy"), an obssesive blogger who took a few photos at the partIES (scroll down to see Guruji and family, plus Richard Freeman in Muslimwear, our friend Zoe wearing that beautiful maroon sari and two of the Three Sisters {where, pray tell, has Harini gone?}; everyone looks a little shiny if you ask me so maybe it's good that I'm not there but here in the energy-sucking USA, where I have not one but *two* air conditioners at my disposal). There's also some exquisite text-only reportage (pictures are coming Madam) from my other favorite blogger, Vanessa, which I've excerpted here:

"Disconcerting moment of the day: Instead of gifts, Guruji and his family requested that we (if we wished, of course) gave money to a charitable trust that they have set up (with the help of lovely Stacey from New York and I'm sure some other people whose names evade me now). Part of this money has been used to help a local charity that provides disabled people with prosthetic limbs.

Part of the celebration consisted on bringing ten of those disabled people onto the stage, where one by one they hopped to Guruji, who presented them with their fitted fake leg or arm, and fitted it to their stumps.

This is the kind of thing that many Westerners, me included, found slightly uncomfortable. Even when we act out of generosity and donate money to these charities, we don't want to see the diseased. We want them to get help, but far away from us if possible. Their presence reminds us that disease and death are just round the corner from everyone, us and our loved ones included, and that disturbs us.

What happened yesterday was a more pragmatic approach: disease exists, those of us who can and choose to, help. And by fitting the prosthetic to the person, Guruji gave that person a name, a face, a presence, and acknowledged their humanity. I can't say I enjoyed it or I felt comfortable, but I bow to Guruji for doing it."


***


Not that anyone noticed or cares, but I *did * wear my talking Pattabhi Jois tank top all day yesterday. Which was indeed a full moon day if the students' actions are any indication. In my second class a woman came in 15 minutes late (it's a health club after all) and made a racket putting down her mat, accessories, WATER BOTTLE, etc. A half hour later we're all doing revolved triangle pose (all of my classes were compelled to do at least 3A, 3B and the fundamental standing poses in honor of Guruji's 90th) and she's doing.... ardha chandrasana (half moon pose, which is NOT EVEN IN THE SERIES). I cocked my head (now that sounds dirty) and watched her do it on the right side. When she proceeded to do it on the left side I said, "Why are you doing this?" And she said, "This is my last pose before I leave." Then she rolled up her mat and left! The rest of us were there for another 45 minutes....

Anarchy also reigned in my evening class. One lady sat out nearly every vinyasa while another student proceeded did sitting wide-leg stretching exercises as the rest struggled through Janu Sirsasana C (the seated "toe crusher" pose in which the bottom of your foot is wrapped around your inner thigh, perpendicular to the floor).

I did get a good laugh out of that same class. After Savasana (final resting pose) I told them I was wearing said shirt because of Guruji's 90th birthday; that he was born on the 26th of July (as was I) but he celebrates on the full moon, whereas I would be observing mine next Tuesday (C-U Next Tuesday, indeed).

"What did you say? How old is he?" one of them asked.

"NINETY," said I.

"Ninety?! Wow, he looks great," she said, and everyone nodded. "It must be the yoga."

And then I looked at them deadpan and replied, "Believe it or not, I turn EIGHTY-NINE next week."

I guess you had to be there.....

Speaking of which....Mercury goes retrograde today; fun for the whole planet (until it goes direct on August 15). From a really out-there website called Writer in the Window:

"While people speak of Mercury Retrograde periods that screw up computers and television sets, today's astrologers believe the mishaps happen in more personal realms (Uranus is the planet that rules television and computers). Mercury rules communication, but more informal communications, like writing, speaking, short shopping sprees and other erranding endeavors. So, while Mercury is Retrograde, don't give that party, be extra aware of what you say and what you interpret when chatting with or writing to friends, cut back on errands, expect that the check will be in the mail longer than usual. Since the car is usually used for shopping and errands, don't be surprised if the battery wire loosens or the fan belt snaps just when you have rush out for that one ingredient you forgot to buy.

The good things to do when Mercury is Retrograde: meditate, contemplate, edit the book/poem/song/essay you've been writing, clean house, talk to your pet, listen to music, paint, catch up on sleep!"

We can all get behind that last bit, can't we?

Especially now that we're armed with the knowledge that the world's computers and television sets are ruled by Uranus and not the evil triumvirate of Turner, Murdoch and Gates.


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


*It looks like the book is still on. Knock wood (me and my peeps [ie; British lawyers] have a few issues with the contract -- and it's still not signed. Yet.).

**For those of you not keeping score.... I threw my back out in March while helping a tall stiff man drop back from standing into upward facing bow, and sealed the deal a few days later by slipping on some ice and falling down a half-flight of stairs. I'm still "in recovery." But approaching twists and backbends the way Tim Miller showed me at an Asana Doctor workshop several weeks ago is making all the difference in the world.

***I'm still stopping after Kapotasana as per Sharath's instructions in May.... Although this week -- without any assistance -- I managed to clasp my wrist in Supta Kurmasana (feet behind head, chin on floor, hands on back) and in Pasasana-on-the-left (suffice to say the pose is hard to explain and even harder to do). Methinks it won't happen again any time soon.

IT'S SRI KRISHNA PATTABHI JOIS'S 90TH BIRTHDAY TODAY
AND THERE'S A FULL MOON



So all I want to do of course is sleep. In front of the air conditioner. With earplugs.

Instead I taught a couple of led open classes from 6-9 AM. Could it be I don't like to talk much because I spend up to five hours a day yakking for my supper? POSSIBLY.

I drove out to Des Plaines to see the Hindi movie Paheli on Tuesday; Shah Rukh Khan in a dual role and with a moustache no less. Which somehow made him even hotter. It took place in Rajasthan of olde, with deserts and turbans and very cool clothes and lots of jewelry (even for the men) and the stunning Rani Mukherjee -- and a cameo by the venerable, deep-voiced, still-handsome Amitabh Bachchan (as a shepherd!). The film worked Bollywood's usual magic and put me in a good mood. But somehow Rescue Me didn't tape while I was away; something about not resetting the clock properly after Monday's power outage (Travesty! The VCR ended up taping Married with Children. Is there any show I loathe more?)

My profile of Sri Lankan-American writer Mary Anne Mohanraj hits the floors today. She served fresh mango slices and finger sandwiches during our interview... and I was already a fan, because of the book (Bodies in Motion).

I must get back to my story about the Chicago White Sox and their lack of fans in the seats -- despite having the best record in baseball SINCE APRIL. Ironically, their highest attendance so far this year was June 24 -- when they played the ever-popular Cubs of course (Sox creamed 'em, 12 to 2). If only Richard Roeper would call me back I could finish the piece......Hard-hitting journalist, indeed.


(photo by Bindifry, @2004)

REPORT ON AMMA IN NYC: GUEST BLOG SPOT BY MDC (AKA "THE HEX")








Amma plays the Hammerstein.
By Catesey

34th st between 8th and 9th ,on the island of Manhattan is,on a good day,worth avoiding.it’s fairly uninspiring,, what with the quiznos, the loews 34th complex and assorted non descript office buildings. Fine,if you’re lined up outside the manhattan center/hammerstein ballroom, as thousands of us were, you do get to gaze at the storied new yorker hotel and the top part of the empire state(the best part). Amma is playing a gig here.she’s on at 7(no opener).it’s 4.30., the line is already down the block.it feels like 102 and the negative thoughts are up and running. And this is meant to be about love, of self and others.

The building itself is the perfect venue for her. Turning 100 years old next year(i.e.the building),oscar hammerstein 1 built it to rival the metropolitan opera,by offering cheaper seats for the ordinary new yorker.it was later sold and became more of a vaudeville house.the hammerstein is now a major cultural venue and boasts (supposedly) superior acoustics and full on remote production facilities to carry live events.

There’s more than a little shtick going on as we wait. And it is all very ordered. Devotees run around making sure there are 2 separate lines, each line then divided in to a another 2 lines. There are placards held aloft…”first timers”/”special needs”/”everyone else”…if you’ve never been hugged before(I heard someone ask…”do you mean ever,by anyone?”) you get a green dot and moved into the priority line. I was liking that, but the dot wouldn’t stick to my shirt or my chest so I stuck it on the middle of my watch face.not the most practical solution, but now when I am late for stuff I will always think of amma.

….some of the people wranglers, all of whom were wearing special coloured sashes,were, how to say it,annoying, esp the guy who continually walked up and down the various lines gently swatting people with his (holy) water bottle asking for “a real aisle,please” . ok so we are in,the shoes are off,and there is good AC.i am feeling the love a little here and it only gets better…from nowhere all these people start coming round offering all kinds of snacks and drinks.chai guy!! Samosas!!

Nothing to do now but wait to line up(again) and get a real token for your place in the hug line. There is a complicated procedure to get everyone out of their seats and onto the main floor(the hammerstein is as big as your average broadway house.3 balconies, boxes,etc. tho the main floor is carpeted.note to self. Next time you feel like a hug, bring socks). Astonishingly, I am seated a couple of rows from the stage,right on front of the action. Pretty much a house seat, and I swear I don’t know anyone in the cast.

We sit for some time and with little fanfare amma comes out and takes her seat. Silence……much lighting of incense and candles. Passing around of individual containers of holy water.(only later was it announced that it is best to not drink the water immediately but keep it for future times as it is holy and full of special power.oops). She then speaks for over an hour, stopping for translation. Much of it is very amusing.and thevoice!deep, gutteral, melodic, powerful.impressive. Chanting.meditation.lots of discomfort and cramping leg muscles.i felt bad for those closest to me, as I was adopting all kinds of strange poses to lessen the diccomfort.…..more announcements about how to actually line up.

it is said that this will go on all night, literally.she will hug everyone.(I heard it estimated that she was going till 10.am.). what to do now but wait….and shop. There are tons of stalls selling everything you would expect. I feel I am back in India,tho I don’t remember nagchampa being the equivalent of 130 rupees.(more like 12 ) The full on dinner downstairs is apparently fantastic(it is.$6).and so you wait.and watch. So many people to look at. Lots of kids with parents. Some familiar faces.The live music is beautiful, and yes, those acoustics are indeed superior.

I was in the 700-800 range of tokens and soon enough(the whole thing was easier than expected) I’m sitting feet from the stage.on deck ,so to speak. Amma sits in a beautiful square roofed tent- like space, beneath a gorgeous golden umbrella.flowers and silks everywhere.she has, as announced, changed into a brilliant sari.she is wearing a george clinton like multi tiered silver crown,and has so many people around her, not just us folks waiting our turn. Tons of handlers, all of whom seem to have carpal tunnel syndrome, as they are all wearing that protective wrist thing you can get at target.

Before I know it I am being asked my native language, I am kneeling before her, and I am told(pushed) to lean in to her chest. put your hands on either side of her. It is very warm and she smells very nice. . I breathe easily and she mutters something three times . it seems very loud and powerful.soothing.my skull kind of reverberates with her voice. I am pulled back,and there is some sparkling eye contact.someone shoves a piece of wrapped chocolate in my hand and what appears to be a withering petal.(is the chocolate sacred.when can you eat it. I almost have a larry david moment trying to clear up the timing of the eating of the chocolate). I am ushered off the stage.next!

I hang out for a bit, feeling rather happy and peaceful. This woman is truly amazing. They had shown a long video during the build up,and there is considerably more to it than just the hugging….housing projects, health care, childrens’ services, disaster relief. All kinds of humanitarian stuff.It goes on and on, as does she……

I consider staying for the entire session, but soon give up. Before I know it, I am waiting for the A/C train with a bloody change to the F to brklyn. It’s past midnight. The trains are not co-operating. It’s hotter down here than on the street,8 hours prior. People look miserable. New York fuking city, indeed. I drink some holy water. Hungry now. I eat the chocolate.


--------MDC. NYC 7/19/05

INSANE 'N' MUNDANE

Running the AC in both the bedroom and dining room during a nap today made the fuse blow, and cut my slumber short. While flipping the circuit-breaker downstairs (make that down FOUR FLIGHTS of stairs) I noticed that the landlord has installed a cute little black-and-white bathroom in the corner of the basement. No idea why. Back upstairs, everything is still flashing "12" of course. Nothing little or cute up here.

My practice with Henry the Punk this morning was the only thing that saved me from myself. Backbends + Henry's wit = Sanity. For awhile anyway.*

Later Gridlife and 'Enelle propped me back up again. Props to them.

Last week's zombie movie helped, too. I attended in character of course.

I cannot get enough of Julie's blog and Vanessa's blog. Apparently they're having a rough time of it too (Julie for two very real reasons).

Ever since I heard a story about it on the radio yesterday, I've been thinking a lot about sangria. Maybe *that* is the cure for SSAD (Summer Seasonal Affective Disorder).**


At this very moment the Hex is NYC, waiting in line to see Amma, wearing Indian dress and the green dot that says he's a first-timer (and guarantees him darshan, or a hug, with her). He said the queue just to get in to the building was many blocks long.

And I had mango bubble tea this evening at a place called Tank in Little Vietnam (Argyle/Broadway). We were the only Caucasians in the joint. The entire staff there wears NATO woodlands camouflage, and our cute waitress had a graphic of a tank or armored vehicle imprinted on her cammo apron.

Apparently I was the only one who found this fascinating/ironic/scary. My comment that in 30 years people would be eating kufta at an Iraqi restaurant run by guys in desert cammo fell on near-deaf ears.

As it was, they got our order wrong, wrong, wrong (as far as I know, fish is *still*not a vegetable) and held us hostage for an eternity as we waited for our check.

Someone once gleefully pointed out to me that "Tank" is also a derogatory term for Whitey. Hmmm....


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

*H the P will kill me for revealing this, but his best line was....
"Ashtanga: Sanskrit for 'Get a life.'"



**Lest you think Summer Seasonal Affective Disorder is a figment of my imagination, I found this on familydoctor.com: "A less common type of SAD, known as summer depression, usually begins in the late spring or early summer. It goes away by winter."



And from The National Alliance for the Mentally Ill (which hits it right on the head, if you ax me):

"In about 1/10th of cases, annual relapse occurs in the summer rather than winter, possibly in response to high heat and humidity. During that period, the depression is more likely to be characterized by insomnia, decreased appetite, weight loss, and agitation or anxiety. Patients with such "reverse SAD" often find relief with summer trips to cooler climates in the north. Generally, normal air conditioning is not sufficient to relieve this depression, and an antidepressant may be needed."

From McMan's Depression and Bipolar Web:

"Kathryn (March 31, 2002): And do not forget Reverse SAD, a seasonally based depression that begins in the Spring and goes on until August or so. That's what I have been experiencing for about twenty years. I HATE Spring, it fills me with foreboding; Summer renders me stupid, indecisive and ravenous for carbohydrates. The theory is that my brain is over stimulated by light (the opposite of classic SAD). So I do try to avoid it, wear dark glasses, have heavy drapes in my bedroom. I am diagnosed as cyclothymic and have been on Lithium for 18 months now. This year (yay!) my pdoc is adding Lamictal, an antidepressant, to my Lithium. After keeping a detailed mood chart for the 18 months I was able to let the facts speak for themselves in persuading him I need the help. For the first time in memory, I am looking forward to spring and summer and wondering if there really is hope....fingers crossed..."


"Marsha (Feb 23, 2004): Thanks so much to Kathryn & Robert for talking about reverse SAD. I live in Texas & am practically suicidal from mid-May to October. I am overjoyed in the fall & winter, on overcast days, & especially when it's raining & cold! I was diagnosed bi-polar recently & am taking Trileptal. I had never thought to mention my horror of sun & hot-weather to my doctor, but after reading your comments I shall. Perhaps my medication will help me through this nightmarish time. I thought I was going to have to move to Seattle, but with treatment, maybe I will be able to face warm weather with a smile (I hope!)."

Here's a List of Symptoms of SAD from The National Organization for Seasonal Affective Disorder:

* a desire to oversleep and difficulty staying awake, but in some cases, disturbed sleep and early morning wakening;
* feeling fatigue and an inability to carry out normal routine;
* a craving for carbohydrates and sweet foods, usually resulting in weight gain;
* feelings of misery, guilt and loss of self-esteem, sometimes hopelessness and despair, sometimes apathy and loss of feelings;
* an irritability and desire to avoid social contact;
* a tension and inability to tolerate stress;
* a decreased interest in sex and physical contact

POOL. GENE POOL.

Last night we finally got around to watching the first episode of "Hooking Up," in which the reality-TV cameras follow 11 NYC women who use the Internet to troll for boys. It was riveting / hilarious / heartbreaking, and the next episode airs Thursday on ABC.

My theory is that people who meet online and get in a relationship always have in the back of their mind that if things don't go their way, they always have the profiles of the people they were interested in but didn't yet meet. You know, as a backup plan ready to be put into place at the slightest provocation. There is something mildly sleazy about the whole thing....

That said, this evening I learned that an acquaintance asked a guy out (face-to-face) and learned on their first date that he's a twice-convicted felon. 20 years ago, but still..... It was a lovely date but he didn't call, so after some weeks passed she called him. They went out, and she learned that he'd been out of touch because he was worried about her reaction to his felon-admission (it came out when she asked him flat out if he had a record, which is a pretty darn hard-hitting question if you ask me). It was another good date. But then she learned that he regularly drops acid. And that was that.

So maybe it's not that much better meeting people in person. Or through friends, which as we know can *really* blow up in one's face.....

AMMA TWISTA

I've been told I'll be privately flogged if I don't update this thing so here I am making a halfhearted stab at it.

Amma was amazing (she's in NYC this weekend).

The moment I got there I did the equivalent of locking my keys in the car, only worse because the locks don't work, and started flipping out. Prior to accidentally locking the doors, I'd driven to Indian Lakes via many expressways (four) in a car with no AC and had gone past the place once or twice before searching forever for a parking space amid much cursing, so I was more than a little perturbed. Well on my way to a meltdown, actually.

But the first person I saw inside the door was Miss Y, and when I told her my predicament she said "We should call Triple A." And we did, and they came (eventually) after we had enjoyed a lovely repast (South Indian food!). The man they sent took *a really long time* getting my car door open (the insides are rusty or something). But he eventually opened it, thank Amma. We went back in, and my mind was at ease and my body quite pleased with the AC.

Our friends had a hotel room where we cooled off between programs and watched the wee boys spar; later we were standing for the evening program when some men came up out of nowhere and placed chairs under our arses! Amma told stories that were translated by a handsome man with an untraceable accent (she speaks Malayalam, the language of Kerala, which is really gutteral). Then the darshan (hugging) began.

I went up to one of the white-clad Seva (selfless service, which a Miss Y points out is different from shellfish service) people and asked if I could get a real token, since the token I'd gotten earlier was a token for a token, only good if there was room for me. Apparently there was, and I got a number. After some waiting and more food and the obligatory shop-asana (one amazing CD and one clunker, it turns out) I got a hug! It was very moving and hard to describe; I felt like some long-chilled part of my heart had finally melted and suddenly there was a feeling of ease and the knowledge that everything would indeed be OK (of course everything's since frozen back up. But that's another story). During it she muttered in my ear and I remembered how much I miss my real mother, and she pressed a Hershey's kiss and flower petal into my hand. It felt very unrushed.

It was so intense (ie my burden felt so much lighter after that), I returned for more after teaching the next day, and stayed til 2AM. The second hug was more like the first one I'd ever gotten (three years ago in Lisle, when her handlers were rough and kind of mean), meaning I didn't feel much. I was trying to express thanks, which is probably wrong. Also I was probably too tired to feel much. But the evening program was incredibly beautiful, with the chanting and stories (some of which were very funny) and meditating and whatnot. Also some lovely yoga people were there and we enjoyed a long, leisurely, Mysore-ish meal together. Did I mention how amazing the music was? Apparently it was performed by Satsang Chicago, which is a local organization devoted to Amma. They're incredible; they played forever, facing her onstage. Later I spent some time eating uppama while sitting outside, where you could see the actual stars and smell the night air, before my number was finally called. I'd go back in a minute if she were still here.....

------


*In the meantime, if you are feeling miserable / invisible / nonexistent and Amma is out of town, you can get some validation and adoration by donning full Indian dress and going to Dunkin' Donuts. I recommend going inside rather than driving through. While there try the Mango Coolata or Decaf Iced Coffee with Coconut. It's the best defense against summer.

The other thing you can do is read this

C IS FOR CHOCOLATE

I saw the sneak preview of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory tonight with Munkin and her four year old. We all thought it was amazing; it even included a Bollywood sequence. The fancy chocolate consumed during said movie also added to the experience.

I didn't get home from Amma til 3 last night and then got up to teach at 8, practice, and call flaks for a magazine piece, so I have a lot of catching up blogging to do re; the hugging experience. Tomorrow. Suffice to say it was *all that* and then some (ie; enough to make me go back for seconds).

"A" IS FOR AMMA
and American Automobile Assocation


long weekend; more later....

TUNE IN, TURN ON, AND NOD OFF


My little essay correlating the current drought situation with an excess of sun salutations is set to air (so they say) tomorrow morning -- Friday, July 8 -- between 9:45 and 10AM on WBEZ-FM (91.5). Listen and reap.....


LATER:
You can hear it online here
Just scroll down to "Dealing with Drought."

MIXED MESSAGES 101
(PUBLISHERS ARE FROM MARS)


WHAT THE PUBLISHER DOES:
Does not respond to e-mails, does not call

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS:
We're just not that into you

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS (AFTER MUCH PRODDING)
We're moving the publication date

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS:
I want to see other people

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS
We're launching the NYC book first

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS
That's who I'm seeing -- and he's not *difficult*, like you are

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS
So there's no rush to meet the deadine.... Although we'd love it if you could still meet it.

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS
You're my backup plan if this other thing doesn't work out

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS
It's not because of your performance; it's just business (it's not you, it's us)

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS
You don't measure up; I could do better

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS
Publication dates get moved all the time

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS
I love you; I'm just not IN love with you

WHAT THE PUBLISHER SAYS
We'll get back to you at the end of the month

WHAT THE PUBLISHER MEANS
I'm breaking up with you and you'll never hear from me again.

FACT OF THE DAY

Hailed as one of the nation's top singles strips in the 1967 bestseller, Coffee, Tea or Me? The Uninhibited Memoirs of Two Airline Stewardesses, Chicago's Rush Street was named for Dr. Benjamin Rush, one of four physicians to sign the Declaration of Indepencence. Ben Franklin was Rush's benefactor when he was a medical student in the UK and he served as a surgeon in the Revolutionary War Army. Rush Presbyterian St. Luke's hospital in Chicago is named after the impatient doctor (he once pissed off George Washington), who is credited wtih curing the yellow fever epidemic in Philadelphia. A proponent of bloodletting, he was also one of the first to push the then-revolutionary idea that mental illness is a disease rather than proof of possession by demons, and is considered to be the father of psychiatry. He headed the US Mint from 1797 to 1813 and his poor wife bore him 13 children. Ouch.

I'M BACK BACK BACK BACK

I'm nationwide.
(click upper righthand article).

DUSH BOWL '05


Every day they predict rain, and every day it does not come.

We're in the middle of a huge huge drought that they've only just now started talking about. The parks are brown and the leaves on the trees are cringing from the sun and the level of Lake Michigan is down, down, down. Forget the 700-odd old people who died in the Heat Wave of 1995; this thing is going to kill all the trees (although I'm sure god will be able to sort those out, too).

And there I go, leading people through sun salutations every chance I get, when what we really should be doing is a rain dance....but that's the forte of the *other* Indians, isn't it. Perhaps there's a Sanskrit monsoon chant somewhere?

Today I left the house at 5:45 am to teach the 6am class and lo and behold there was lightening which is not unusual (it torments us). And then something marvelous happened. Big fat drops of water hit the windshield, plop, plop, plop. Many of them. So many in fact that I had to use the windshield wipers, which I'd almost forgotten about. The rain made me feel like one of the characters in that Ray Bradbury story where night never comes and the sun is always there and it never rains and they are all slowly going crazy. Until it finally starts to pour.

I parked and pulled out the umbrella and used it for a few steps and then dumped it in favor of feeling the rare cold drops fall upon me. It was delightful after all of this cloying heat, and I felt like a character in one of those Bollywood movies where they belt out the song in the middle of the street in the middle of the monsoon. Only I don't really sing, there were no wardrobe changes or backup dancers (just some gung-ho triathletes on their way to the health club) and it only lasted a few minutes before the clouds slammed shut and the rain shut off. The downpour lasted just long enough to really mess up the poor plants and trees even more. And there's no rain forecast on the horizon, and the city is asking citizens to help water the trees so they don't all die like the old poeple did....

Maybe their plea will work this time.

TODAY'S LESSON (LISTEN UP, KIDS)....
....is that you cannot assume a cotton yoga mat is some kind of futon, set it up in the living room and sleep on same. Even if you place it on top of a Purple Travel Mat, sleep with just a sheet and use an extra fan to aim the conditioned air to your side of the apartment. No no no no no. The only thing that will help you sleep is watching The English Patient (is anyone else freaked out that Ralph Fiennes is only 43? He's either lying or spending a lot of time doing the opposite of yoga) while reading that Tuesdays with Morrie -- which instead of instilling an appreciation for all things mundane and beautiful and living in the moment and loving your fellow human makes you resent the manipulations of the Detroit-based sportswriter who wrote the thing. In any case *that* little cocktail is what finally put me down. At that point I knew that I wasn't going to be missing out on anything if I lost consciousness. Which reminds me; Is gouty Al Franken the new mascot of the Sundance Channel? Ewe. So of course I slept late and skipped yoga (will go tomorrow, which is usually the day off) and got to work on the book....


THREE THINGS YOU DIDN'T KNOW CAME FROM CHICAGO:

16-INCH SOFTBALL
(invented in 1887 at Chicago’s Farragut Boat Club "when a Yale man tossed a bound-up boxing glove at a Harvard man and the Harvard man whacked it with a broomstick," from the Metro Chicago Almanac).

THE HARLEM GLOBETROTTERS
(originally called The Savory Big 5 -- now there, kids, is a band name -- they were founded in 1927 by one Al Saperstein; the original quintet came from Phillips High School and went on to beat the 1936 Olympic team, which at the time was whites-only).

AMERICAN YOGA
(Swami Vivekananda introduced yoga to America when he crashed the 1893 World Parliament of Relgions on 9/11 and stole the show with a rousing speech at the Memorial Art Palace (now known as the Art Institute). He claimed the Windy City as his second home, and went on to tour the US (as did Anagarika Dharmapala of the Buddhist tradition); the outcome was the creation of an American Vedanta Society and a Buddhist society).

BEDOUIN IN THE BEDROOM*

So I have been banish-ed from my house due to The Painting. Not such a good thing to be out of one's discomfort zone when it's 100 degrees and the air quality is dangerous at best and one is behind on work and the cat is missing. But a very good thing indeed when the cat is finally found cowering behind the dressers (which are in the living room) and the laptop's wireless works and one imagines the sparking peach walls and white ceiling that will await once everything is finished, dusted, put back in place, reconnected and re-hung ((your joke here)). The airconditionless and aimless trip to the E-town Home Depot (oops, forgot there's one in Lincoln Park and overshot the one up north) for more paint was a sweltering nightmare *but* at least the new mobile earphone thingy works (starting July 6 it will be illegal for Chicagoans to press cell phone to ear while driving driving driving driving....). But after a bath I stayed last night at a friend's house that had the perfect amount of AC. Yoga practice today was OK; tried Kapotasana for the first time since the knee went *ping* in the pose and Miss Y even brought me up from backbend -- something I thought I'd kissed goodbye forever. After practice some brief commiseration with Henry the Punk and Buzzy Littlehead about the heat and how it magnifies anxiety levels by factors of 10 (over the superhot weekend a dozen Chicagoans were shot dead in a 24 - hour period) made all seem well again. For a few minutes anyway.

Drinking:
Fruit Coolata from Munkin Donuts
Iced Decaf with coconut from same
Passionfruit Lemonade from The Evil Coffee Empire

Eating:
Very little

Listening:
Retro 80s
Brigitte Fontaine

Watching:
Wonderfalls
Rescue Me
30 Days
Territorial Cocksuckers

Reading:
Tuesdays with Morrie (really)

Writing:
A book

Remembering:
The good ol' days






















*The new album by White Oprah

CIRCLING THE WAGONS

Today I got up at 6 to move everything (and I mean everything) out of the bedroom before teaching at 8, so the LL's handsome painters could do their thing. Tore nails out of the walls. Swept. Hid stuff. Covered things. Warned the cat. Peach walls are coming, madam. And much dust.

Then caffeineless I taught the 8AM Mysore. The Riverboat Captain Who Plays Sitar made an appearance and had many questions (some of which I could answer) plus there were some regulars. Afterwords I did my own practice. I keep forgetting to mention that I have not stood up from backbend since throwing out the thing (back) in March. Well, perhaps once or twice. But not much since. I've been doing the pose differently since Tim Miller showed me a better way at an Asana Doctor workshop a few weeks ago. It seems to be working (ie the back is being rehabilitated). I am also doing Mari C and D differently (with a straighter back, both cheeks on the floor) which also seems to help.

Afterwords I gave blood (the secret to passing the iron/anemia test is to *not* have anything with caffeine in it before donating; the two people after me both flunked). I do wish they'd take down that 9/11-era newspaper clipping of Robin Williams giving blood....It makes me not want to go back.

The weekend was punctuated by back-to-back widescreen screenings of Deadwood in central AC comfort, some Target Therapy and hanging out with the family under some gigantic oaks in my nephew's hugehuge lawn out near the hometown. He is 30. THIRTY. The family is doing well but I should've taken Young Mulletted Joey up on his offer to open my trunk (the boot hasn't opened since even before the FedEx truck hit the car in January). The great-niece is teething; very cute and quiet is that baby. Saturday night I went to see the play Leaving Iowa flanked by Larry David Midwest and The Media Junkie (who hit it off); afterwords one of the stars joined us for dinner, which was full of clever high-jinks and references to Combat! and Bedouins.

And last night I finally saw the final cut of our video project, Valerie Loves Me. It doesn't suck! It's quite good in fact. Not just the production values but also the writing and, well, even my so-called acting is halfway passable. Blaine is a genius.

I hope I still feel that way the next time we screen it.....

BUT IT'S A DRY HEAT


The thermo says 102 and the car has no AC save for a spray bottle of very warm water and a hand-held fan that doesn't really work. So what a delight it was to arrive on Devon Ave. (Little India) after a trip to the 'burbs and find that there was *no line* to get a tender Thai coconut for just $2. Not only was it chilled and perfect, but the Thai ones have that rich, nutty flava (unlike the very bland Indian ones). Maybe summer won't suck after all....

THE NEW JULIES

Does anyone else find it strange that I have three bosses with the same first name? British Francine is a health club group fitness coordinator at a super well-designed place downtown (where I haven't taught since March, although the parking fee is just $3). Fran is a distance bicyclist who does the same at an unpretentous health club on the north side (the one that pays my rent and has a small, tiled pool). And Frannie is a very young and outgoing editrix at a book publishing house in NYC (the US arm of a Scottish firm). Put them together, and I'm sure they could solve all the world's problems....Or at least fill in its potholes.

BUT SHE WAS ASKING FOR IT...

Lest you think the following type of "solution" is confined to the Subcontinent; I recently read a similar first person story by a female police officer in one of those "true stories" American women's magazines. Her solution to the rape of a young virgin was to keep it hushed up and (you guessed it) have her marry the rapist. After all, he'd robbed* her of her honor -- so what use would she be to anyone else? I'm sure he lived happily ever after.




Indian forced to 'marry' her father-in-law rapist
Reuters
New Delhi, June 16, 2005
Hindustan Times

An Indian rape victim is being forced by village elders to "marry" her rapist -- her father-in-law, a newspaper reported on Wednesday.

Community leaders in Charthawal village, backed by local Muslim clerics, believe that by being raped, 28-year-old Imrana's 10-year marriage has been nullified under Islamic law, The Asian Age newspaper said.

Holding a special council on Sunday, village leaders ordered the mother of five to leave her husband, Noor Mohammed, and live with her parental family for seven months and 10 days and make herself "pure" again, The Age said. It did not say how she becomes pure.

After that, she must "marry" her father-in-law and live with him, along with his legal wife.

"She... will then be like a mother to Noor Mohammed," the paper quoted local cleric Shamim Ahmad saying.

Her four brothers have agreed to the edict. She has not but in India, victims of crime often have nowhere to turn and with even her own family supporting the edict she may have little choice.

Police are now investigating and say they plan to arrest the father-in-law. They refuse to comment on the village elders' ruling, saying it is a sensitive religious issue.

The village is in Uttar Pradesh**, one of India's poorest and most backward states and its most populous, with more than 165 million people, more than Russia's 145 million.





----------



*One Spanish word for rape is "robar"
En espanol "rape," (ra-PAY) on the other hand, means "a quick shave" or "a scolding."

**The state of Uttar Pradesh ("Upper Country") is where Phoolan Devi became the Bandit Queen in the late 70's and early 80's (The headstrong and outspoken Devi was a Dacoit -- or the caste formerly known as untouchable. She was married off early in an attempt to silence her, and after refusing his advances she was raped by her husband at age 11. Later village Thakurs or land-owners also tried it ; she fought them off, ran away, and was later arrested for her trouble. While in jail the police officers and guards beat (and you guessed it) her. Devi was apparently sold to a lecherous local bandit who was assasinated by a lieutenant, Vikram. They fell in love and started a new gang but he was killed and she was again violated by a Thakur gang before forming her own posse and meting out justice to the deserving many (including the pedophile husband, his second wife, and 22 upper caste Thakurs). She eventually surrendered to authorities and did time in prision -- and even ran for office and became an MP before being assassinated in 2001. There was also some talk about her winning a Nobel Peace Prize. The film about her has been dismissed by Arundhati Roy and others as a sensationalist bit of fiction).

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....








----------

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