NETI AND THE BUBBLIES*

(warning -- not for prudes)



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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s in his house somewhere.*******

Poor man.


Bad lady, more like it.




----




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

**Brit-speak for Q-Tip

***The Neti Pot looks like a cross between a bong and well-endowed gravy boat and is used by True Believers to irrigate the sinuses:
http://www.healthandyoga.com/html/clean/nasal.html

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

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

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

*******Does anybody know what it's like when boogers dry? www.lyricsfreak.com/p/prince/111221.html

********Think “Yam Slam” and NEA Four: http://www.yale.edu/opa/v28.n17/story18.html

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

FULL MOON MANANA

But it might as well be today.

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

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

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

I forgot a lunch date with Tam-Tam.

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

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

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

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

And the full moon is TOMORROW.

...or is it?

MUSICAL CHAIRS

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


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

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





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



From http://www.19thcircuitcourt.state.il.us/juveniles/gangs.htm :

PEOPLE


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


FACTIONS OF THE PEOPLE NATION


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




GANG  AFFILIATIONS  AND  IDENTIFIERS

FOLKS


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


FACTIONS OF THE FOLK NATION


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

YOKO ONO CAR ART
(ie '05 blizzard dibs* conceptual piece)
By Ms. C.K.


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





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

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

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

So much for dibsh.

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

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

And it couldn't be cozier.


More on dibsh here (well worth the cut and paste):
http://www.ericzorn.com/extra/dibs/

YOU SAY POTATO, I SAY PO-TAH-TO...

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

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

NRI = NONRESIDENT INDIAN


From my 2004 Diary:



5:20PM, 14 JANUARY 2004. ROOM 106. HOTEL SKY PALACE. KOVALAM, KERALA, INDIA.

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





FRI 16 JAN. LIGHTHOUSE BEACH, 7:30AM

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




WED 21 JAN 04

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




THURS 22 JAN 04. KOVALAM HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM

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

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

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

Many people here today.

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

Maybe I'm dehydrated.

Just felt faint.

Ut-oh.

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

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





FRI 23 JAN 04 ROOM 106. KOVALAM (AFTER SEEING KHAAKI)

Stop me before I shop again.







*dehydration salts

STAB IT WITH YOUR STEELY KNIFE....

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

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



LATER....

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

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



"GURU 2 GO
(Reality) 15 x 60 min series
Two Midwestern, blue-eyed yoga instructors living in West Hollywood use their Kundalini yoga techniques to diagnose and treat the physical and emotional problems of everyday people. Individual and group subjects are assessed using hidden surveillance cameras. At the end of each episode, the yogis use a hidden camera "Yogi Test" to discover if their new students have used yoga techniques to overcome their chronic challenges."



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


That said, I'm nonetheless itching to see the next episode:
http://fittv.discovery.com/fansites/guru2go/guru2go.html





*http://web.utk.edu/~gwynne/maslow.HTM

YOU ARE *NOT* GOD

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



*the Preserver

BAD LADY! WHY NOT WRITING?



-Ten classes (not that many, actually )

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

-Four cross-country skiing outings

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

-One ice skating party at Millenium Park

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








BONUS TIT BIT:


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

I arrived on the 12th.

COALITION OF THE WILLFULLY DISOBEDIENT


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

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


Satya: Try to grab your big toe

Student: No.

Satya: Why?

Student: Because I've always done it this way

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

The student doesn't budge.


LATER.....

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

Satya: Try putting your hand outside of the foot.

Student: No.

Satya: Why?

Student: I don't feel like it

Satya: But that's not the pose.

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


LATER....

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

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

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


LATER....

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

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

Satya: Is there something wrong with your big toe?

Student (holding the foot): No.

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

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





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

For a minute anyway.

OLDE SCHOOL
(via Dreyfus)


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DUH

TOO MUCH HOPPIN' JOHN...

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

The magic of yoga?

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

NEWNEWNEW
MEMEME


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

SATYA C'S URINE REVIEW '04

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

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

DOLOR DE CABEZA INCREIBLE

I've been reading a book by a woman who's had a chronic daily headache for 15 years and now almost each and every day I wake up with one of my own -- particularly on the two days when I interviewed her. Apparently this is akin to some type of Medical School Syndrome*, in which students display the symptoms of each and every malady they study. I cannot wait to read the book by the woman who's never experienced fear, rejection, depression or bad hair.

The hipster Iraqui war vet (apparently this is not an oxymoron... and he's most definitely not a moron, having used the verb "squire" correctly in a sentence; one suspects he may also know the difference between vertical and horizontal) and I enjoyed a lazy WB lunch earlier this week (two desserts!), during which he inquired about the glyphs written in ink on my hand -- they're reminders, not unlike Uncle Billy's strings only more specific -- one of which was a bicycle to prompt me to pick up the Cinelli from the shop. The final (I hope) tragedy of the bike crash is that I bent out of shape forever my rare, collectible, odd-size Campangolo front fork from the 1970's. Since I've no time/money for eBay they replaced it with a servicable silver generic thing. I also had a rack put on the back (an obscenity on a road bike, I know), so I am no longer tempted to ride around with paintings that get stuck in the front wheel. In any case the vet *offered to take me to get it* thus winning many points..... After a slow initial trip I've been riding the thing nonstop... such a treat....until it started to rain last night. Not a bad way to end the year. Knock wood NOW.

---

*Medical school syndrome: A form of acute hypochondriasis that affects most people in training to be a physician. For example, when studying Hodgkin disease, a medical student feels behind their ears or neck, feels little lymph nodes (that are entirely normal), and thinks they have Hodgkin disease. (from medicine.net)

AMMACHI AND THE TSUNAMI

From Linda Johnsen (via e-mail):

"As many of you have probably heard by now, the tsunami hit Ammachi's ashram in southern Kerala. The waves were only five feet high by then, but hit with such force they annihilated the villages along the coast, even knocking down concrete buildings. Incredibly, an hour before the wave hit, Amma sent out a message over the ashram PA system ordering the thousands of devotees gathered there for the holiday to evacuate at once to high-rise buildings further in-land, and had her brahmacharins run along the beach to chase villagers away from the water.


"While the devastation on the Kerala coast was incalculable, not one person in Amritapuri (there were over 10,000 people there at the time) was lost or even injured. It's unbelievable.

"Amma is now spearheading relief efforts in India. The government has managed to deliver rice to coastal communities in southwestern India, but the villagers have no pots to cook with, so the ashram is feeding the entire population in the area, even though their own grounds were badly damaged. The brahmacharins are also extremely busy performing funeral rites--offering some small comfort to bereaved families along the sea. Groups of Amma's followers throughout the Western world are banding together to help finance the rebuilding of villages.

"Several weeks ago my friend Janine, who'd been alarmed by rumors that Amma had been predicting a major disaster, asked the brahmacharini who stays with Amma in her room at night, if there was any truth in the gossip. The brahmacharini told her, 'Amma says that when she goes to sleep at night she sees a dark wave over the sun.' At the time Janine thought the brahmacharini must have mistranslated and really meant to say 'dark cloud over the sun,' but now she understands what Amma meant by a 'dark wave.' What a world, so full of both sorrow and grace!

"Wishing you all a tranquil holiday and a better New Year." -Linda Johnsen



See www.amritapuri.org

SENTIMENTAL HOGWASH

Some scenes from Xmas ‘04...



From the 8-mos pregnant girl on Xmas Eve, when asked if she was going to breast feed:

“I don’t think so.”

Why?

”I don’t feel like it.”

Then she set down her O’Doul’s, put on her jacket, and went outside for a smoke.


***


That same night, after I told my brother and the rest of ‘em that I’d gone to Millennium Park on a blind date with an Iraqi war vet.

Dreyfus: “What?? An Iraqi war veteran? He’s probably crazy!”

Satya C: “Well duh -- what do you think makes him so attractive?”


***


From Tommy’s kids, shortly after we started watching “It’s a Wonderful Life” on Xmas night:

Mattie: “EEEEEEW! It’s black-and-white!”

Griffin (who earlier, with great authority, and as if revealing a closely-guarded secret, gravely explained what high-tops are): “Can we play video games when this Twilight Zone is over?”


***

Did anyone else hear the radio bit with Steve AND GARRY on Xmas Eve? That *was* Garry I heard egging Steve on... or was it one of those aural hallucinations I’ve been waiting so long to try? Whatever it was, ‘twas akin to running across an 8mm film of your long-divorced (and, for that matter, dead) parents, in happier times....

TSUNAMI UPDATE

Apparently Kanyukumari (southernmost tip of India) and Kerala (on the left coast, where Lino Miele's workshop is being held) were hit as was Chennai on the right coast, which appears to have been hit harder.. But the Andaman Islands (a former British penal colony for Indian revolutionaries-cum-fancy resort in the middle of the Indian Ocean) took the brunt of it for India. Justin from the Kovalam crew reports they're all OK. My friend Devdutt, who's in Mumbai, says he's lost relatives. The Red Cross is taking donations (www.redcross.org)


News stories:

www.alertnet.org/thenews/newsdesk/DEL11871.htm
http://www.expressindia.com/fullstory.php?newsid=40066
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/4128135.stm

WHY WE NEVER MADE IT TO THE NATURE PRESERVES WHILE IN MYSORE


From Today's NYT Mag, by Suketu Mehta, author of Maximum City: Bombay [NOT Mumbai] Lost and Found..... a book I will purchase with a gift cert. received Xmas eve:




Koose Muniswamy Veerappan, c. 1949: Outback Outlaw

December 26, 2004
By SUKETU MEHTA


Koose Muniswamy Veerappan was a bandit in the forests of
South India with the world's most dangerous facial hair.
His popularity as a poacher and sandalwood smuggler rested
on the myth that he stole from the forest and gave to the
forest dwellers. Their support helped him evade an
extensive police manhunt for the better part of two
decades, and 20,000 people showed up for his funeral.

The local papers referred to him, in inimitable Indian
journalese, as the ''forest brigand'' Veerappan. His age,
when he was shot dead, was anywhere between 50 and 60. He
wore green army fatigues and his eyes were as bloodshot as
his life. He could reproduce a range of sounds of the
beasts and birds of the jungle -- 2,300 square miles of
wilderness between the states of Karnataka, Tamil Nadu and
Kerala; a hilly wonderland of evergreen and deciduous
trees, medicinal plants and clear rivers, filled with
elephants, tigers and the occasional leopard. But during
his four-decade criminal career, he killed at least 120
forest officials, policemen and villagers who informed on
him; 200 elephants; and hundreds of thousands of sandalwood
trees.

Veerappan's whiskers, a sign of virility in India, struck
fear into the hearts of the hairless. His mustache lavishly
covered his mouth and jaws; it looked like a small furry
animal had died there. In 2000, he kidnapped a 71-year-old
film actor, Rajkumar, a demigod in South India. The hostage
and the kidnapper held lengthy discussions on religious
scripture. It had a therapeutic effect on the thespian.
''My time was all my own,'' Rajkumar later said. ''I prayed
to God, conversed with my inner self and marveled at
natural phenomena like day and night.'' The brigand would
twirl and flourish his whiskers and ask his captive his
opinion. ''He used to smear all sorts of oils and herbs on
it,'' the actor recalled. ''He used to comb it every day
and keep it very clean. He also used to take great pains to
dye it black.''

After 108 days -- a mythic number in Hinduism,
corresponding to the names of God -- Veerappan let the
actor go, supposedly after payment of a large ransom.
Rajkumar, unable to shave during his captivity, grew a
mustache and beard; during the same period, his three sons,
along with much of the Kannada film industry, vowed not to
shave until his release. Veerappan's whiskers spread on
vast numbers of cheeks. When photographs of his dead body
were published, many newspapers were initially suspicious
that it was the real brigand, because his face was adorned
with only a small mustache, barely a quarter of a foot
long.

Veerappan was born into a poor Tamil family in the forest.
He began his career as an ivory poacher, shooting his first
elephant at 14. Then he turned to sandalwood, of whose
harvest the government had awarded itself a monopoly.
Veerappan outraged environmentalists but initially garnered
sympathy from tribes and villagers in the forests. At one
point, he led a group of landless laborers to take over
several hundred acres of government-reserved forest, clear
them of trees and use the land for cultivating crops.

He was adept at manipulating political struggles to his
advantage. The South Indian states Karnataka and Tamil Nadu
were engaged in a bitter dispute over sharing the Cauvery
River, and when he was wanted in one state, he would hide
out in the other. He demanded that the Cauvery water
dispute be referred to the International Court of Justice.
Among the demands he made for Rajkumar's release was the
paying of a fair minimum wage to tea-estate workers. ''I am
fighting for the 60 million people of Tamil Nadu,'' he
claimed, and he formed links with Tamil secessionist
groups.

But for all his ideological bombast, his crimes could be
downright macabre: he would order his victims' limbs to be
severed and chop their bodies into small bits. He once
called a forest official to his hideout for a one-on-one
meeting, offering to surrender, and later returned him --
without his head. He disposed of two other forest officials
by boiling them alive in a vessel used to brew moonshine.

The Rajkumar kidnapping only increased the feeling that the
brigand was becoming a source of national embarrassment.
The hotel industry in the beautiful Nilgiri Hills had been
affected; people stopped visiting after he kidnapped a
group of tourists from a wildlife sanctuary there. As the
South Indian states strove to be seen as forward-thinking
hotbeds of technology and development -- Bangalore, India's
equivalent of Silicon Valley, is the capital of Karnataka
-- it seemed ridiculous that they couldn't catch a bandit
in their own backyard. He regularly offered to surrender,
but his terms went beyond an amnesty. One was that his life
should be made into a major motion picture.

Tamil Nadu and Karnataka formed special police task forces
to hunt him down, and the outcome, though delayed, was
preordained. His homicidal paranoia had progressively
alienated the villagers who sheltered him. An informer
betrayed him to the police, who shot him, along with three
of his gang members, on Oct. 18. He met his end while being
transported in what he thought was an ambulance for a
cataract operation. The exact circumstances of his death
were unclear; human rights groups claimed the police shot
him dead in an extrajudicial execution.

During the latter years of the brigand's reign, the animals
and trees in Veerappan's terrain were, perversely, safer
than ever before. With 1,500 armed policemen as well as
Veerappan's gang roaming through the jungle, all other
poachers and tree fellers stayed out. A policeman in charge
of one of the task forces estimated that the percentage of
wildlife in the area had gone up 10 to 15 percent in the
previous decade. In the week after Veerappan's death,
scores of other poachers re-entered the jungles, and the
forest department hired men with drums to go around the
villages announcing a ban on outsiders coming into the
area.

In death, Veerappan was successful in at least one of his
goals. Immediately after his demise, two filmmakers in
Bollywood rushed to finish films on the forest brigand. The
name of one was changed from ''Let's Get Veerappan'' to
''Let's Kill Veerappan.''




Suketu Mehta is the author of ''Maximum City: Bombay Lost
and Found.''

http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/26/magazine/26VEERAPPAN.html?ex=1105078560&ei=1&en=dc106eb8dac3995f

COULD IT HAVE BEEN THE SUBZERO TUESDAY TRIP TO MILLENNIUM PARK...


that caused this dreadful cold?

Methinks so.

Or perhaps it was the $25 parking.

Or the mad dash for Frangos at Fields.

But at least I saw the Bean. Finally.

And Jack really did serve in Iraq.

Apparently you have to shake your boots out because of scorpions and spiders.

Their camels have two humps. The one-hump ones are in Asia, where it's colder.

Many colorful, noisy birds.

But no giant cockroaches. Or elephants.

Oops. Forgot to ask about the gropers.....

And the snipers.

Next time.

Indoors.