SOMEONE ELSE LOATHES PARTNER YOGA, TOO!

AND understands that yoga is a spiritual practice.

An excerpt:

Dharmanidhi referred to partner yoga as "a joke," rather than "bullshit," but the sentiment seemed the same.) Dharmanidhi, who is a recognized guru and Hindu priest, told me he thinks teachers who use partnering exercises to help their students gain more sensation and awareness "might have their hearts in the right place," but what they're doing isn't yoga. As Dharmanidhi explained it to me, the goal of yoga is to "achieve union with your essence" through a combination of physical and metaphysical means, including postures (asanas), breathing exercises and meditation. (Unlike the impression given by most American yoga classes, physical postures make up a very small part of this package.)

Traditionally, yoga is taught one-on-one, takes years to master and has nothing to do with improving the definition of your shoulder muscles. It also emphasizes emotional detachment, which is difficult to achieve if your head is in someone's junk. But Dharmanidhi's biggest point was this: Yoga is an integral part of Hinduism, and Americanized yoga -- whether it's called Ashtanga, Iyengar, Bikram, Vinyasa or anything in between -- is a bastardization of a spiritual practice.

The full article is here.

BLUE MONDAY

Everyone's making a big deal this year about January 21st.

Supposedly it's the most depressing day of the year.

This is according to U.K. psychologist Cliff Arnall, who specializes in seasonal disorders at the University of Cardiff, Wales. Apparently it has to do with money, weather, and failed New Year's resolutions. Arnall calculated it using seven variables: (W) weather, (D) debt, (d) monthly salary, (T) time since Christmas, (Q) time since failed quit attempt, (M) low motivational levels and (NA) the need to take action.

Sounds like fuzzy math to me - especially when you consider that he calculated this day for a British travel firm. Apparently Brits book trips to sunny destinations when they're low, and this company wanted to figure out when to make its biggest marketing push.

If this theory were indeed based on fact - and I think it's bullocks - then it makes more sense to see the glass half full.

If today really is the most depressing day of the year - and we're just three weeks into it - then the rest of the year will be a breeze.




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

For my account of the hell that was January 24, 2005 - that year's worst day of the year - click here.

SIBS

Yesterday SportMarty and I finally went to see The Savages. It was a nearly perfect film. It explored the death of an abusive parent and one of the most complex and long-lasting relationships there is - between siblings.

It got every detail right, down to the adminstrator pushing the legal documents towards Philip Seymour Hoffman rather than Laura Linney, to the sad, slow waltz you make to the bathroom with an ailing parent, to the reckless sampling the deceased's medication, to the type of car driven by the married lover (a vintage silver Volvo wagon). It was written and directed by a woman, Tamra Jenkins.

Plus they shot it in Buffalo. In the winter. When it was snowing. That takes some nakas.


It tugged at the emotions, yet somehow wasn't manipulative. In fact it was more funny than sad. Not once did it become sentimental; witness Linney wrenching her prized red pillow from the arms of a wrinkled woman in wheelchair, who screamed in anguish. There was never a scene where the siblings tried to placate or patronize their father.

Nor were the points Jenkins was trying to make driven into the ground; either you got it or you didn't (these included sutble slaps at institutionalized racism, mainstream attitudes towards the immigrant underclass, and self-indulgent bourgeoisie art; its details - such as how the airline gets a wheelchair-bound passenger from the gate to his seat - provided a sly commentary on just how dehumanizing life is today).

This was the second film in a row where I actually saw someone like myself on the big screen, which is a rare thing indeed. Linney played an unproduced NYC playwright who'd been raised by wolves and was coming to terms with her father's dementia and a bad relationship (thankfully they did not give this role to Jennifer Jason Leigh); in Starting out in the Evening Lili Taylor was an NYC yoga instructor dealing with her father's decline and trying to get herself heard in a recently-rekindled relationship.

Both women were single. And my age. And struggling with real issues. And not portrayed as pariahs.

Maybe this isn't such a bad year for movies after all.





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


After seeing the film, I had to call my brother (Dreyfus). It made me realize just how lucky I am to have him - a point my mother made again and again when he and I used to fight, and which was never driven home until after she passed.

MOVE OVER, SUKETU*

While listening to Eight Forty-Eight today I was reminded of my very first crush on a courageous Desi creative nonfiction genius -- sociologist and former Chicagoan Sudhir Alladi Venkatesh, author of the new book Gang Leader for a Day.

It reminded me that sociology was my first love (I once quit a PhD program in sociology).

He also used to be a filmmaker - my other obsession (I once quit a Master's program in film).

And he's a writer to boot (I also once quit Medill's Master's program in journalism)!

He's like the me I'd always wanted to be - only with balls.

Sudhir did a lot of work at the old Robert Taylor Homes - aka the worst projects in Chicago, back when there were projects - and I remember writing something (brief) about him way-back-when for the Backwards R. He spent some 15 years documenting the lives of the people who live(d) there.

Actually, he describes himself as a "rogue sociologist" - which makes him all the more intriguing.

From an article in yesterday's International Herald-Tribune:

Dissatisfied with opinion surveys and statistical analysis as ways to describe the life of the poor, he reverted to the methods of his predecessors at the University of Chicago, who took an ethnographic approach to the study of hobos, hustlers and politicians. Much like a journalist, he observed, asked questions and drew conclusions as he accumulated raw data.

Apparently no one knew what to make of him because he wasn't white (like the police) or black (like the residents). This made it easier to trust him, and he was taken under the wing of a gang leader named J.T.

One glorious day J. T. lets Venkatesh get a taste of power and the problems that come with it. He allows him to make the daily rounds of the platoons under his command — six-man crews that deal in crack cocaine — and try to sort out the petty squabbles and mistakes endemic in a criminal enterprise comprising 250 underpaid, uneducated and violent soldiers.

All this is much better than toting a clipboard. "It was pretty thrilling to have a gang boss calling me up to go hang out with him," writes Venkatesh, who ridicules his own naïveté but just as often fails to rise above it.


Without question, Venkatesh is dazzled by J. T. and seduced by the gang life. He maintains enough distance, however, to appraise the information he is given and to build up, through careful observation, a detailed picture of life at the project. He writes what might be called tabloid sociology, but it rests on a solid foundation of data, like records of the gang's finances turned over to him by T-Bone, its treasurer.

Like everyone worth their mettle, Sudhir has ditched Chicago. He's now Professor of Sociology & African-American Studies at Columbia University.

One can't help but wonder if he too lives in Park Slope.

The radio piece I heard today is here. The interviewer, by the way, often attends my Thursday night ashtanga class.









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


*I still adore Suketu Mehta and will continue to stalk him whenever I'm in Park Slope.

Both he and Sudhir:

1. Did years and years of research before taking even more time to write their utterly amazing books

2. Were in verrrrry dangerous situations but stuck it out (among other things, Sudhir's affiliation with Gang A, made him a target for Gang B; Suketu had a gun put to his head by one of Bombay's top mobstas)

3. "Crossed the line" with their subjects (among other things, Sudhir adminstered a kick in the stomach to a wife-beater who had a choke-hold on one of his gangsta friends; Suketu accepted one of his subjects' invitation to co-write the film Mission Kashmir.

4. Ditched Chicago for NYC

SANTOSH*

On Friday night 20/20 did a theme show about happiness, exploring who has it (denizens of Demark, Singapore and Asheville, NC) and how to get it (stop shopping / quit complaining / get on a bicycle).

I prefer the word "contentment," since it's less loaded / manic.

But it's their show.

The found that having children does not make people happier. Ha!

Being married does. Wah!

So does having connections with other people, doing meaningful work and thinking positive thoughts.

They're also happy in Denmark because they don't spend all of their time shopping and they're not afraid of the future. If something happens, they know they'll be taken care of (the government pays for health care and spends more per capita on children and the elderly than any other country). Also, even the worst jobs seem to bring in a good salary, and 92 percent of Danes belong to some sort of hobbyist club. Plus they trust their government and ride bicycles.

I think we're unhappy in the US because we're isolated from each other and our culture is based on fear and accumulating useless dreck. We'd rather watch people abuse each other on our flat-screen TV than see our friends. (Also, the people here seem to think that the right to "the pursuit of happiness" means they are should be happy all the time - and if they're not, they're missing out on something everyone else has. This thinking breeds a very dangerous sense of entitlement.).

The most amazing thing about the show was this:

They said that 50 percent of a person's "happiness" is based on genes (this was bad news for me, considering the forebears' attempts at hari kari). Ten percent is based on current circumstances, and a whopping 40 percent is in our control.

Forty percent! In our control!

And then they dropped the biggest bomb of all: If you spend a half hour every day sitting quietly and thinking about kindness and compassion for two weeks, your perspective will change and you will start to become happy. It's actually been scientifically proven:

"The happiness activities are not going to surprise anyone," Lyubomirsky said. "I mean, they're things like gratitude, forgiveness, relationships, savoring the present moment, meditation. I try to sort of determine to what extent those things are supported by research."

Davidson would agree. He has studied the brains of Buddhist monks, men who spend their lives deliberately forcing positive emotions, and their happiness is off the charts. His new data claims that if a person sits quietly for a half-hour a day just thinking about kindness and compassion, their brain will show noticeable changes in just two weeks.

"In many ways, this is the most important idea in neuroscience in the last decade," he said. "Our brains are just waiting to be transformed, and they're always being transformed. But we can take responsibility and change the brain in more positive ways."

"Research is showing pretty convincingly now that happiness is really within us, it's not outside of us," said Lyubomirsky. "It's in what we do. It's sort of how we act, how we think every day of our lives."



One can only magine what would happen if people watched 30 minutes less TV each day, and used that time to sit.....

GlaxoSmithKline and Eli Lilly would go out of business.







Part I of the 20 / 20 piece is here.

Part II (with the monks) is here.

(Funny - I don't remember them talking to any nonwhite Americans for the show).

More on Denmark here.

I can't help but wonder about their immigration policy, being a quarter Dansk and all....





*Santosh = Hindi for contentment or happiness

FINALLY - NEW COINS!



My favorite of course is the five-gallon coin.

Yours?



Thanks to Dreyfus for the link.

GUEST POST:
CATESEY'S REPORT ON THE 1/11 ANTI-GITMO MARCH IN DC



(which may bring to mind Truman Capote's famous one-liner about Jack Kerouac's On the Road: "That's not writing at all. It's ty-ping.")

the procession form the washington mall to the
supreme court was quite stunning and effective a long long line, 2
by 2 i think we were as many as is currently in gtmo to date. all
clad in orange suits and black hoods hands behind our backs heads
down utterly silent in fact dc seemed so quiet not sure
if any regular people live there anyway we get to the court and
then those risking arrest went and kneeled on the steps of the
court no one is allowed on the steps at any time meanwhile a
group had gotten inside the building and were hoping to unfurl a
massive "close guantanamo " banner unsure if that happened as
there were conflicting reports cops everywhere just waiting to get
stuck in which they did sometime after the kneeling on the steps
all were taken away they may get out tomorrow maybe monday
whilst they were being taken away the permitted demo area was
chanting "arrest bush" "arrest cheney" "stop torture" there
was also a little stage and some speakers pete seeger's grandson
was playing freedom songs on the guitar the family business
apparently. the day had started with an amnesty international
rally at the mall, in the rain some speakers and general calls
for action the rain stopped the minute the procession started the
night before i fell asleep under the large wooden suspended jebus
in the church only to be woken all night by mass snoring of all
varieties thank god for the walkman we performed a piece and
people liked it i got a couple of "oh you're the guy who did the
great piece last year" lets hope we dont have to do it again next
year

postscript:
My other lawyer-cum-rock star ex and I ran into none other than Thurgood Marshall on those very same steps back in 1987.

WEAR ORANGE ON FRIDAY

"I'll be wearing orange because I believe in human rights." — Susan Sarandon

The first prisoners arrived at the U.S. prison at Guantánamo Bay on January 11, 2002. Guantánamo quickly became an international embarrassment. It has made a mockery of our laws and values for six long years. We won’t allow seven; this is the year we are going to end the national disgrace

Nationwide, the ACLU has set January 11th as a day of protest, declaring that it’s long past time that we put an end to illegality and close down Guantánamo. The ACLU and organizations across the country are asking people of conscience to wear orange to protest Guantánamo. I hope you will consider standing in solidarity by wearing orange on Friday as well.

More info here.

SPAY OR DIE



This awesome video was created by the Alliance for Humane Action, a new humane (not human) resource network for Northern Illinois. "Whether you're looking for a low cost spay and neuter clinic, a feral cat program, or help for an injured turtle you found on the side of the road, our Resource Network, once complete, will be the place to find the best resource."

My dear friend Deb is one of the group's cofounders. (It's though her that I found my naughty cat Kirby).

Click here to read her blog.


I know that some of you are thinking, "That video is cute, but I want my cats to be 'free' and 'natural' and don't want to 'fix' them.

Well, consider these sad statistics from PAWS:

- One female cat and her offspring can produce over 420,000 cats in seven years!
- Euthanasia is the #1 killer of cats.
- 80% of impounded cats are killed in shelters every year!
- Only 2% of impounded cats are reunited with their owners.
- In 2004, 24,092 cats and dogs were killed in Chicago's
shelters because there were not enough homes for
unwanted animals.
- Spaying and neutering stops the cycle of breeding.

For info on free or low-cost neuter and spay in Chicago, go here.

"BUT THE CLASS AT THE GYM IS FREE"

Apparently some people are getting hurt in yoga class.

From a piece Sunday's "Iowa City Press-Citizen":

Many people such as Miller suffer injuries from yoga, but instead of quitting they alter their practice. There are a variety of ways to explain the pain, such as matching the wrong technique to your body’s needs, as in Miller’s case. Others suggest the problem is rooted in inexperienced and overzealous teachers and participants jumping on the yoga bandwagon.

Recently, the Consumer Product Safety Commission reported that 14 million people practice yoga or tai chi in the U.S., which is up 136 percent since 2000. With that surge, there have been an eye-popping number of injuries. The commission reported that 13,000 Americans were treated in a doctor’s office or emergency room for yoga-related injuries over the past three years.....

.....The recent “yoga craze,” as Footner describes it, has cast a spotlight on this ancient practice and exposed yoga as a way to care for people’s bodies, which is a good thing, she said. But it also has opened the door for injuries due to ambitious but insufficiently trained instructors and participants.

“There are a lot of untrained people teaching yoga,” Footner said. “When they don’t know what they are doing, people can get hurt.”



But wait, there's more:


Tips for finding a good yoga instructor

 How many years have they studied yoga, before becoming a teacher? Where did they train to become a teacher?
 Do they practice daily outside of their class?
 Ask them about their continuing education.
 Ask them about their certification: How long did it take?
 Watch if they are paying attention to what you are doing. Are they moving around the room in order to observe and assist, or staying in one place?
 Did the teacher ask you about any injuries or physical conditions, such as recent surgeries, high blood pressure or pregnancy?
 Is the teacher demonstrating how to do a posture or expecting you to just follow along?

The question they neglected to include is Why did they decide to become a yoga teacher?

The best answer is, "My teacher asked me to."

Depending, of course, on who the teacher is.


The full piece is here.

CASTE IN 'MERICA


A suburban man recently allegedly set a fire, in which his daughter and her husband and son died.

The father has said it was because the husband was of an inferior caste (the son-in-law's surname seems to place him somewhere in the merchant or "third" caste.

So yesterday Eight Forty Eight did a piece on how caste plays out in America.

The intro:

India’s caste system has been in the headlines ever since Subhash Chander was charged with murdering his pregnant daughter and her family last weekend in the south suburban community of Oak Forest.

Prosecutors say Chander deliberately set his daughter’s apartment on fire-- killing her, her unborn baby, her son and her husband. Chander is reported to have been angry that his daughter married a man from a lower caste.

The story shocked many Chicagoans used to different attitudes toward class and social background in the US. It made us curious to find out just how closely Indian immigrants adhere to the caste system once they settle in the U.S.


Hear it here.

THE NYT DISCOVERS THE NETI POT




From yesterday's article, spotted by Catesey:

Originally part of a millennia-old Indian yogic tradition, the practice of nasal irrigation — jala neti — is performed with a small pot that looks like a cross between Aladdin’s lamp and your grandmother’s gravy boat. The neti pot made its way into this country in the early 1970s as a yoga meditation device, but even as yoga became mainstream, the neti pot remained on the fringes of alternative culture.

That is, until now. Due to a confluence of influences, the neti pot is having what can only be termed a moment, sold in drugstores, health food stores, even at Wal-Mart and Walgreens.

"The practice gained wide exposure last spring when it was introduced on Oprah Winfrey’s show by a frequent guest, Dr. Mehmet Oz, a cardiothoracic surgeon and an author of health books. Dr. Oz explained that bathing the sinus cavities in a warm saline solution can reduce symptoms of allergies, cold, flu and other nasal problems....


I've been using the thing since they demystified its use at last February's teacher training with Dharma Mittra.

The results have indeed been amazing.

Just make sure that you use 1/4 tsp fine, non-iodized salt and lukewarm water - mixed well. Also be sure to stack one ear on top of the other when pouring (so it doesn't go out the mouth - which isn't as bad as it sounds). Most important: Lower the head and snort hard at the end, so you get everything out.

Expletives are optional.

HOW TO SNAP OUT OF IT

Receive a call from India just before Midnight NYE

Zzzzzzzz

Wake up. Eat fruit. Pay estimated taxes. Clear off desk. Go back to sleep.

Make calls to friends.

Water plants.

Chai up.

Write.

Practice, ending with Chandra Om's half-hour guided Yoga Nidra (savasana)

Sit.

Pet the cat.

Make Hoppin' John and greens.

Write.

Watch the snow fall.

Make calls.

Eat.

Talk on phone.

Receive invitations to visit friends. Notice near-blizzard conditions outside. Decline.

Take down Xmas tree.

Finish watching Taming of the Shrew

Start sorting through / purging videos. Call Gridlife. Learn that some are worth $24.99 and up.

Make more calls.

Clean out bathroom cabinet.

Start watching Shakespeare Wallah

Write short-term goals in brand-new journal.

Read a chapter from The Mastery of Love.

Zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Wake up at 5:15AM. Chai up. Clean up.

Trudge half-mile in -3 windchill to snow-encrusted car.

Car starts!

ARE THE HOLIDAYS OVER YET?

During rough times in the olden (pre-yoga) days, I'd be susceptible to infomericals selling dreck and telemarketers wanting me to switch phone companies. I was so vulnerable I'd buy anything. That's how I ended up owning a prissy mint green sweater from the Home Shopping Network and "The Fabulous 50's" CD box set from Time/Life Books.

Nowadays I turn to self-help books. This bit of wisdom from The Four Agreements really hit home today:

"In your whole life nobody has ever absued you more than you have abused yourself. And the limit of your self-abuse is exactly the limit that you will tolerate from someone else. If someone abuses you a little more than you abuse yourself, you will probably walk away from that person. But if someone abuses you a little less than you abuse yourself, you will probably stay in the relationship and tolerate it endlessly."

Now that we've said "Rumpelstiltskin," does it mean that the monster will finally disappear?

A THOUSAND WORDS

Sunday, December 23, 2007; 3047 N. Lincoln Ave.

THINGS I SAW TODAY WHILE RUNNING ERRANDS:

1. A coyote pacing back and forth behind the fence of the Jewish Graceland cemetery. (When I stopped my bike to look and make sure I wasn't seeing things, it too stopped and then moved back a few feet, raised its nose in my direction, and sniffed the air. I'm not sure whether he went out for a sandwich later on or not).

2. A man crossing Ashland Avenue at Foster on a unicycle. Right in front of my car. (He was wearing a helmet).







THINGS CATESEY AND HIS COHORTS HEARD TODAY WHILE WEARING ORANGE JUMPSUITS AND HANDING OUT ANTI-GUANTANAMO FLYERS AT ROCKEFELLER PLAZA:


"I support the camp. Fill it up."
"You're all sick!"
"I hope you get beheaded!"
"Commies!"
"Liberals!"
"Get a life!"
"Shame shame."
"They deserve to be there - they attacked us!"
"Couldn't you choose a better time to do this? Thanks for ruining our holiday!"



(The people saying these things were tourists)

NO. MORE. DIBS. - ???

From today's "Chicago Tribune":

City snow shovelers told to kick chairs to the curb
Tribune staff report
December 21, 2007

CHICAGO - The Chicago Department of Streets and Sanitation is telling city residents to move their furniture off the streets.

Every winter, some residents use tables, chairs and other items to reserve shoveled-out parking spaces during snowstorms, but city officials say people haven't been removing their markers after the snow clears.

"While we don't condone this practice, we are generally tolerant of it in the hours following a big snow," Streets and Sanitation Commissioner Michael Picardi said in a statement. "It stopped snowing on Sunday."

Streets and Sanitation workers have been instructed to immediately begin clearing away furniture left in the street.


Methinks the denizens of The City of Big Chip on Shoulders are not yet ready to practice this sort of self-restraint and non-attachment - particularly since more snow is predicted for Sunday.

AUGURY

I found this in my personal, handwritten "secret" Mysore Diary, in an entry from March, 2002:

....I woke up from a nap and dream in which Sharath turned into a health club owner demanding money from me....

THE SNOW DONCE



SportMarty and I had plans to see Asimino Chremos's new piece Red Swan Red Swan last night at Links Hall. She's been dancing in Chicago forever and I teach on Friday mornings at her place, Silverspace. But for some reason I'd never seen her perform.

I suspected that the show was going to be good, because I'd been looking at the red tutus she was going to wear for weeks. In fact Asimina and one of the regular Friday students recently put them on and did poses in them - which was hilarious. (I actually took some pix, and will ask for permission to put them up). You really haven't enjoyed yoga until you've done Caturanga Dandasana in a bright red tutu.

But I digress.

Long before they predicted yesterday's blizzard - which "punched the nation in its midsection" last night - we decided to walk to the show. It had more to do with parking than the poor polar bears, but that was the plan.

Meantime it continued to snow. And snow. And snow.

SportMarty called when he was halfway to my house, and told me to wear an extra layer because the wind was kicking up.

We trudged to the performance, complaining loudly about the inflatable holiday lawn decorations that are causing the polar ice caps to melt. The wind whipped the snow into our eyes, and we wondered why we hadn't worn ski goggles.

We also discussed whether or not we'd see any drunken Saturday night barhoppers wearing cleavage-showing shoes and tank tops - something we see each and every time we hang out, regardless of temperature. I bet that we would.

There was a good turnout for Asimina's show, despite the weather.

When they let us in the performance was already in progress. Dancers were writhing and rolling around on top of one other, flinging each other around, doing somersaults, etc. I think it's called contact-improv. It was mind-blowing to see bodies move like that, when you're used to the discipline and same movements of yoga. Also amazing was that no one messed up and put the other person at risk. Maybe they're like the BDSM folks, and have a secret password or something.

The space is next to the El tracks, and a few trains went by.

At one point, a ladder appeared in one of the windows. A short time later, a man's head appeared. He knocked on the window, and they let him in. For a moment I thought it might be Bobeisennow (with whom I went to India in 2002). But when he took off his many layers of clothes, it was clear he was not.

He finished the dance with Asimina, who then changed into *another* bright red outfit - while we watched.

Then she began to move to live music. It was riveting.

The show was a tribute "to the memory of Anna Paskevska and all of [Asimina's] ballet teachers."

Then she tore down some of the set, and put on a tutu and pointe shoes. She got up on them and began to move towards the middle of the room taking miniscule steps and making tap-tapping sounds. It was like she was on stilts. Then one of the musicians mic'ed her feet, and the sound reverberated even more. The image was startling.

The final act had her in black, and was sad.

I don't know what it all means, but it was awesome. She can move like no one else.

And the whole thing lasted about 45 minutes.

Brilliant



* * *


On the way home we stopped for mediocre Chinese food at Chen's (NOTE TO CHEF: NO ONE, AND I MEAN NO ONE, CAN CONSUME THAT MUCH SLIMY BORING TOFU IN ONE SITTING - ESPECIALLY WHEN THE DISH IS CALLED "STIR-FRIED GREENS") and watched the storm get worse. There was more snow, and it was horizontal.

After paying, we put on our many layers of clothes and headed towards my house. On the way we saw some fratdrunks in plaid golf shorts dart across the street to another bar. But still no tank top ladies.

During our walk, we realized we were trudging faster than the cars on the street.

We decided to stop at Julius Meinl for some molten chocolate cake.

The Viennese coffee shop is owned by an Austrian company that's been around forever, and is quite authentic (it's their only outlet in the US). They serve tea and coffee on a silver tray with an actual teaspoon, a side of water, a tube of sugar and a little cookie. Their desserts are amazing.

To our surprise, a classical duo began playing some exquisite music. Turns out it was the Sharon Chung Duo; apparently she is or was with the Civic Orchestra -- which is the farm team for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.

After gorging ourselves on tea and cake, we layered up and headed outside for the final leg of the trip home.

The storm was even worse.

Yet there were still a few people out trudging.

And that's when we saw them, right in front of Toons.

Two drunken girls, clinging to drunken guys.

One woman was in middle the street, standing in the slush, trying to get a good grip on her man - who was trying to hail a taxi. But there were no taxis.

The other woman was near the door, standing in a snow drift, getting shelter in her boyfriend's arms.

Both women were wearing spike heels and tank tops.

Tank tops.

In a blizzard.

High heels.

In snow.

We thought we'd seen it all (And began speculating about why the men didn't act like men and leave the ladies inside and get the cab while they waited. Apparently chivalry really is dead).

But we hadn't seen it all. Yet.

Because then we heard a bellow from the woman in the street.

"WHY AREN'T YOU HOLDING ME THE WAY HE'S HOLDING HER??"

Ah, maya.....

TREACLE

On Wednesday we went to opening night of Joffrey Ballet of Chicago's Nutcracker. It was the 20th anniversary show. (The Joffrey, by the way, is the dance organization featured in the Robert Altman documentary, The Company. They moved to Chicago in 1995).

My expectations were low - I've seen The Christmas Carol at the Goodman Theatre (overrated) and the Ruth Page version of the Nutcracker with my mother and grandmother at the Arie Crown Theatre way-back-when. I remember not a single thing about the performance - except that we managed to find the place, which was 1.5 hours from our town, and that we weren't late.

But I was excited because the Joffrey version is being performed at the exquisite, acoustically perfect, Louis Sullvian-designed Auditorium Theatre. Previously I'd seen Frank Zappa and Sonu Nigam perform there (not at the same time, thankfully). I also saw a Philip Glass opera. But never a ballet (I don't understand ballet).

When we arrived in the lobby, we heard the dulcet tones of a really terrific children's choir, singing an ethereal version of "Winter Wonderland" - my favorite holiday carol.

There was electricity in the air (and not just the static kind). Everyone was dressed in their best clothes, and we spent many happy moments listening to the choir and watching everyone make their entrance.

It was like a parade of too-cute Princesses and Fauntleroys. We saw so many matching sets of kids - little girls wearing velvet dresses, red tights, patent leather Mary Janes and oversize bows in their (perfect) hair, boys in velvet suits, bow ties and yamulkes - that we lost count.

Finally, we went to our seats - which were amazing. We were just seven rows behind the orchestra pit, where the wonderful Chicago Sinfonietta was raring to go. In fact we were so close that during the performance we could hear the beads clicking on the costume of Mr. Coffee from Arabia.

We read the synopsis beforehand, so we'd know what we were seeing. (Actually, TJ read it aloud because the print was small, the light was dim, and my scary old lady half-glasses wouldn't fit into my fancy purse).

The ballet was jaw-dropping, as was the music. There was so much going on at any given time that the many children in our section didn't get bored - and neither did I.

In fact there were so many exquisite moments that tears came to my eyes several times. I couldn't believe how lucky I was to sit there and watch something so beautiful, made possible by so many people, while wars waged and people outside begged for change. I also marveled over how startling it is to see something up close that is peformed by real people in real time and is not being viewed on a screen. And all done without words - which made it the experience even better.

Interestingly, most of the kids left at half-time. Perhaps they knew that after the first few numbers, the second part was more "adult" (ie; boring). But still rather breathtaking.

Afterwards, we walked up State Street to look at the holiday windows at Marshall Fields, er, Macy's. The theme - surprise! - was the Nutcracker.

MERRY F-ING XMAS: BAD TIMES AT THE BACKWARDS R

Catesey told me this morning that the Chicago Reader just dumped four of its senior staff writers - John Conroy, Steve Bogira, Tori Marlan and Harold Henderson.

I was dumbfounded. I knew the new owners were cutting heads.

But this is a travesty - especially when you consider the writers who remain. (This excludes the brilliant Ben Joravsky, who remains the sole muckraker at the paper. Week after week he goes after the city, and finds dirt that eludes the big papers, with their resources. Yet one can't help but fear that his days too are numbered).

John Conroy singlehandedly broke the story of Chicago PD police torture back in 1990, and has kept it in the public eye ever since. His story archives are here - for the time being at least.

The torture case has finally had its day in court - one of the lead attorneys is an avid ashtangi - and the city must now pay $20 million to the plaintiffs (actually we're paying. But that's another story).

Tori Marlan is a careful investigative reporter who wrote about such things as Guantanamo (interestingly, her ex - who writes about food - has not been canned. Yet.).

Bogira's stories about the Cook County Courts became a book that inspired an upcoming HBO series.

Henderson was hard to categorize - my favorite kind of writer.

Apparently the Reader story was important enough to get a mention on today's Democracy Now! and a big story in the New York Times, in which David Carr writes:

It is as if Creative Loafing executives bought a shiny new doll and then once they got their hands on it, felt compelled to tear its head off.


Some background - The Reader is a free weekly that goes back to the 1970's and has (had) a reputation for excellent writing (sorry NYers - it was far superior to the Village Voice). Its focus was super-local, and the style was along the lines of the New Yorker's "Talk of the Town." Things started to go downhill in 2002, after beloved editor Pat Arden was fired. The paper got a raunchy resdesign that elimited a lot of editorial content in September 2004, when TimeOut Chicago came to town. In July the Reader was sold to Atlanta-based Creative Loafing, which owns other free weeklies. Many employees were soon let go, and the paper turned into a tabloid. Some sections shrank. More editorial was lost. They started paying writers (me) less for their movie capsules. More staffers were purged.

As former Chicago magazine media writer Steve Rhodes says in (on?) today's Beachwood Reporter:

...this is an age when the bean counters, marketers and greedy corporate suits have completed their victory in an age-old battle against the very journalists upon whose work they profit. This is a battle that has always existed in the industry, but newsrooms have lost by getting arrogant and lazy while remaining uneducated about the business side of their business. Instead of scrutinizing the false claims of their corporate masters the way journalists might be expected to, journalists of this era instead have absorbed the marketing values and selfishness of their paymasters while chasing off the kind of creativity and imagination that could very well have saved their organizations from the kind of doom - oh boo-hoo, our criminally huge profit margins aren't as fantastically fat as they once were - that has become the norm as actual, real reporting disappears when it is needed most.


The Reader's actual Dear Journalist memo was excerpted in The Chicagoist:

Unfortunately the financial pressures of our industry continue unabated, and I'm very sorry to announce that as a cost-cutting measure we eliminated several positions in editorial this week.

The people we cut — John Conroy, Harold Henderson, and Tori Marlan, as well as Steve Bogira, who's been on a leave of absence — are all staff writers, and as you might guess, this move represents a shift in the financial structure of our relationship with contributors.


I'm by no means a great writer or reporter, and no one has really noticed my absence from the Reader. But the letter does remind me a bit of the Dear Caca E-mail I received back in 2004 - just ten days before I was scheduled to return from a trip to India and resume writing the Days of the Week calendar (a job I'd held for eight years, and which made up 3/4 of my income):

I'm looking forward to having you back in the paper, but I think it's time to make a transition to a new DOW writer, and this leave of absence is as good a time as any to make the change. There are various reasons this seems like a good idea, not least the benefits that arise from making change for its own sake.

Please don't in any way interpret this as punishment or retaliation for your having taken time off.

One can't help but thank one's lucky stars that one didn't bite when a staff writer position was proffered back in 2003. That silly intuition - it's never wrong.

But it is interesting to read what Reader media writer Mike Miner has to say about it - and to see him try to report the story without pissing off the new overlords (the full text is here):

They're gone because the Reader couldn't afford to go on paying them their salaries -- "As you might guess, this move represents a shift in the financial structure of our relationship with contributors," True wrote. They're gone because a few years ago Craigslist moved in on our classifieds section -- and classifieds represented a huge portion of our income. They're gone because the old Section One -- the editorial section -- was for decades the tail that wagged the dog here, and when revenues fell it became impossible to continue to allocate the same funds to it.

I called the boss, Ben Eason, in Tampa and reminded him that the last time we'd talked he was saying John Conroy deserved a Pulitzer Prize. (That's a popular idea around here. He's been writing about police torture since 1990, but there's no Pulitzer for persistence, no matter how important the subject.) The first time Eason and I talked, just after Eason had bought the paper this summer, I said that Conroy was, in effect, the canary in the coal mine -- as long as he was OK readers would know the Reader was OK.

"I know, I know," said Eason, who was informed of True's intentions before she made her move. "All I've done is, I've said this is what the budget number is. This is what we’ve got to have. And it’s the same number that’s been out there since August."

Eason and Creative Loafing have some interesting, and let's hope brilliant, ideas about the future of the Reader and the CL chain of six newspapers. "It's ultimately to me a navigation problem," Eason told me. "How do you keep putting out a newspaper at a quality people expect and how do you migrate this stuff to the Web, which is ultimately the future? We’re in a fight over who can tell you more about the street corner in Chicago....."

Whatever. What I do know is that it's nearly impossible to make a living as a writer anywhere these days - let alone find an entity that will publish your work in a place where people will actually see it.

I wish them the best.

CACA'S FIRST CONFERENCE WITH GURUJI
Tuesday, 1.29.02
Old Shala.


Today was my first day of practice…

The carpet on the studio floor is bordered with (counter-clockwise) swastikas.

Satsang (ie conference with Guruji) takes place in the shala’s little lobby. A few people are already sitting on the floor when I arrive a few minutes early. Two chairs are empty. It’s clear that the ornate one is for Guruji. So I sit on the one next to it.

“That’s Sharath’s seat,” says a bald man wearing all white.

Oops.



More people arrive, and finally Guruji slips in wearing a crisp white dhoti(sarong), Yoga Moves tank top and three fresh white Shiva stripes across his forehead. And Ray Charles sunglasses (he's just had cataract surgery).

Everyone sits on the floor looking -- at each other, at the kids outside on the street playing on their bicycles, at the clock, at the photos on the shelves, at each other, and at Guruji as he silently read the newspaper in Kannada, the local language.


Sharath pulls up on a black motorcycle wearing wraparound sunglasse and Levi’s, straight out of GQ. He disappears for a few minutes and comes back wearing bike shorts and a tank top (he’ll be teaching Indian students here later).

He sits on the chair next to Guruji – my chair – and begins to read the other newspaper.

Then they start to go through their mail. More students show up wearing Punjabi dresses and baggy fisherman’s pants, granny shirts, and regular New York attire. All of them are white. Some arrive on scooters and motorcycles.

Each time one enters, they greet Guruji and touch his feet, and he looks up from the newspaper and says, “Yes, yes, hello.”

Guruji disappears for awhile to register some students in his office upstairs, and then comes back. Two senior students from New York – C. and W. – sit near his feet. “So many new students,” says C.

A thin, dark Indian man with a moustache delivers a package. On the way out he lightly kicks someone. He immediately brushes his hand over his eyes.

“This is Indian tradition when they kick someone,” Sharath explains.

Then he leaves to teach in the tiny adjacent shala, where we do our practice every morning.

Some students sneak away when no one’s looking. Now there are about 25 of us sitting and sweating on the floor.

The package is from a London book publisher. C. starts reading the letter that accompanies it.

“Please forgive my presumption for writing to you…-”

“Good! Good!” Guruji says, interrupting him.

The place erupts with laughter.

Later, someone asks Guruji what the opening chant is about. He looks at C. and starts chanting the mantra.

Then he ends the conference with his most famous quote.

“Yoga is 99 percent practice, one percent theory.”

Dismissed!



Later we go to Allen Little’s massive apartment, just around the corner from the shala.

LANCE LINK, SECRET CHIMP



Today's ashtanga.com newsletter has a link to some public Q&A's with Pattabhi Jois from 1991, translated (?) from French to English by Guy Donahaye.

In it, Guruji addresses such burning issues as:

What happens if you do the sequences out of order (illness will come).

What to do when there is no sound on the inhale ("He is not controling completely abdominal and anus. Anus you control, stiff (strong) breathing is coming, with sound breathing....If long breathing, inhalation is not correct or if only the exhalation is coming long, that is heart trouble is starting. That is very bad").

Why we shouldn't practice outside ("Energy you doing practice practice outside, your heat is not coming out. Heat increasing and poison is not coming out. Poison means sweat… Your strength is gone. Your temperature is gone.").

What floor to practice on ("Third, fourth floor he is doing yoga - very bad. Underground he is doing yoga, very bad. First floor, that is all.")

What to do when you're feeling lazy and don't want to practice (eat proper - sattvic - food)

When to do full vinyasa (when you don't have to work and can spend five hours on your your practice)

Whether it's OK to heat the room / keep the windows open during practice (too much heat is bad, because the heat should come from within - HOPEFULLY THOSE OF YOU WHO TURN THE THERMOSTAT UP TO 90 WILL HEED THIS - and one open window, high up, is good).

Some excerpts:

Question: Why should we not practice on full and new moon days?

Answer: That day is very difficult day. Two stars one place (conjunction) is going. New moon also, full moon also. That day very dangerous day. You (take) practice (on that day), anyone can have a small pain starting. That pain is not going very quickly. Long time he is taking. Some broken possible. That is why that day don’t do.


Question: While doing tolasana at the end of practice, which is the correct drishti?

Answer: Both sides: Pull up. Pull upping time you take Nasagra dristi. One also here also, both dristi, no problem. Nasagrai dristi and broomadhya dristi.


On why to do vinyasa:

"Without vinyasa you don’t do asana. Why? One part (of body) you bending - you can understand? For example, paschimottanasana, Ardha baddha padma paschimottanasana, you doing one leg, bend one leg, and take back your foot. How long? Long time. After little (restricted) blood circulation, every joint stopping. After again take up, jump back again, next posture, next leg you put it. After your jumping time, tight your whole body, don’t loose, tight it (for vinyasa, the body should be engaged, not relaxed). After blood circulation automatically is going (moving). That pain quickly is going.

"You without vinyasa, you do every pose (without vinyasa), all the joints so blood circulation so blood circulation not correctly. Circulation is not coming, stopping there (in the joint). After sitting posture you do completely, all body sick, gradually sick(nes is) starting. "Oh! Yoga is given (making me) sick - not liking" (i dont like it). People is not liking. That some asana - "Oh! It is very bad. Very pain is coming. Oh! left it (I dont want to do it). That asana don’t do!" Some people is telling. Why that? This is method you don’t understanding (why? because they dont understand the correct method). That is why you this method you follow - no trouble! Body also is very perfect. You can understand? That is the method."


The full text is here.

And tomorrow I will post an account of my first conference with Guruji, which took place over a decade later - in 2002.

LA PROFESORA PERISOSA

At a recent yoga-related luncheon, someone asked me how many classes I teach per week.

"Fifteen," said I. "Soon to be 18."

Gasps were heard.

Eyebrows shot up.

Hands covered mouths.

"Why do you teach so many classes?" someone asked.

"To earn a living," I answered.

They were still perplexed, and talked about how they were teaching less.

What I didn't say is that when you're single and don't have a spouse / partner with whom you share expenses, and need to plan for retirement and trips to India, etc., you take on more classes. Also, it's rather enjoyable.

Then they asked a question that made my jaw drop.

"Do you still practice on your own? Or do you work out with your classes?"

OF COURSE NOT, I said. It's not a workOUT, for one.

And I demonstrate only when necessary in class.

Yes, I still do my own practice.

Without it I'd be a fraud.

KRISHNA AND THE (ANTI)CHRIST*

From the Huffington Post:

"Wednesday's '700 Club' featured a question about the Christian view of yoga. A concerned viewer asked, 'Does it really have its origins in evil?' Pat Robertson gave the verdict: Yes! According to Pat, stretching is fine, but by repeating common yoga mantras, you are actually praying to Hindu gods Vishnu and Krishna and you're not even aware of it!" The clip is here.

Actually many Hindus believe that it's all one g-d, and that Jesus is an avatar of Krishna who was sent down to set things right. Many even have depictions of this in their shops.

Apparently I'm not the first to notice the similarity between "Aum" and "Amen."

In his new postmorten compilation The Yoga of Jesus: Understanding the Hidden Teachings of the Gospels, Paramahansa Yogananda says Jeebus was actually a yogi and mystic.


Yogananda also claims that JC spent his missing years in India - and has the footnotes to back it up.

When I first heard this notion, from TJ, I dismissed it.

But now it makes perfect sense.

Where else would He have gotten the long hair and Beatles-during-their-Maharishi-period beard?







*Thanks to Bob K for the Pat Robertson tip

TIP OF THE SEASON
(PER DREYFUS)

For shavers only:

To make your razor blade last forever (ie, to keep it sharp), simply pat it dry after each use and store it away from water. I was advised to put mine on the windowsill.

Apparently it's not the ladies who dull the blades.

It's the water.

NOT FOOLING ANYONE


After today's long overdue massage with The Amazing Bridgett, I headed over to The Devil's Triangle (Clark/Broadway/Diversey) to pick up some free panties and stock up on Epsom salt.

I also purchased some overpriced-but-effective Shea Body Butter at The Cruelty-Free Fair Trade Scam Shop, where the clerk made a point of giving me a free sample of day cream.

When I got home I put on my reading glasses and looked at the label.

It wasn't just day cream that she gave me.

Nope.

It was Wise Woman regenerating day cream for mature skin.

This is almost more sobering than the first time a gentleman who was not a cowboy called me "ma'am."

Almost.

WWJB?





Happy Buy Nothing Day.

THANKS-TAKING


That's how my (formerly) negative punk-rock self used to think of this holiday: "Thank you for letting us take everything and leave you with the crumbs."

Now I think of it as a way for people to thank g-d or grace or the greenback or whom/whatever it is they believe in for their relatively easy life.

It's more effective if it's backed up with something concrete; letting someone cut in in traffic, feeding the birds, making a puja, giving an energy bar (or pint!) to the homeless vet holding the cardboard sign, calling or visiting someone who may be lonely, making a donation to some worthy cause, not calling your cat an a--hole when it attacks and draws blood, etc.

As for the donation part.... I've been thinking quite a bit about Darfur (thanks, Frontline) and two "natural" disasters - the floods-we-never-hear-about in Tabasco, Mexico and the cyclone in Bangladesh - both of which are not unrelated to oil drilling, deforestation, global warming, etc. And there are also, of course, the unnatural disasters our tax dollars have caused in Afghanistan, Iraq and other parts of the world.

In other words, our easy life has a price.

One way the average person can help alleviate suffering caused by the latter three is to donate to the Red Crescent, the Islamic equivalent of the Red Cross. You can do it without leaving your easy chair by clicking here. They'll even let you choose where you want the money to go. Just be aware that you may wind up on some FBI list.

There's also Oxfam, which is one of the groups that goes on the scene as soon as something bad happens in the world. They also let you choose your favorite disaster. Click here for more.



But wait -- there's more!

If you're poor, and/or you despise the commerical nature of Christmas (where much of what you purchase will end up in a landfill anyway), there's Buy Nothing Day. It takes place this Friday, Nov. 23 - on the biggest shopping day of the year.



All you have to do is refrain from spending money. Period.

Click here to find out how it's celebrated around the world.

And do at least one thing to show your gratitude....

MAKING THE HEART GROW FONDER - ONE MISSING BLOG POST AT A TIME

Now that I finally have a moment to write a post, Blogger won't let me upload photos.

So for time being you'll have to imagine the Warhol's Factory fundraiser for Facets that I attended at the MCA Warehouse on Friday. I wore a vintage mod dress that belonged to my mother, a white Chanel-esque cape with black piping, and black Ringo cap a la Edie Sedgwick. The highlight of the night was Gridlife's speech and the band, which played Velvet Underground covers and featured a Nico lookalike (but not a female drummer), and the screen printer who made souvenir t-shirts while you watched. And waited. And waited. And waited.

Saturday was my Dharma Mittra workshop. No one walked out in the middle except the person who warned me beforehand - so I think it went OK.

Sunday was Annkut, an end-of-Diwali puja, - to which I wore a black Punjabi dress with many, many sparkles and matching bindi, shoes, purse, bangles (48 of 'em), earrings, necklace, nose-pin, nails, everything. At this event the women danced in a circle -- all of the Gujarati ladies and, yes, even me -- and there was kirtan and the singing of bhajans to Krishna / an avatar of Krishna and, afterwards, mountains of excellent homemade food including countless sweets. It was so nice of them to have welcomed me so warmly....

Then I traveled to the other end of Devon Avenue for a wake for my girlfriends' father, who was kind and gentle and had many, many friends - and from whom I picked up the unshakable phrase "What the hell - ....!" Which I seem to pull out at the most inopportune moments. Like in the middle of class, when a student does something curious.

The exquisite funeral (the priest grew up across the street from him) was on Monday morning; it was fairly traditional until the very end. That's when, to everyone's surprise, Outkast's "Hey Ya" started blasting through St. Margaret Mary's speakers as the casket, pallbearers, family, friends and wellwishers made their final exit - as per Marty's request. It was not easy to refrain from dancing.

Right after the luncheon I was given a big (and very welcome) writing assigment - and have been busy with that ever since.

Photos are coming.

Soon.

COVER STORY

My teacher Suddha is on the cover of Chicago Athlete magazine. He appears in an article about choosing The Right Yoga for Your Workout

It's good that they have discovered this thing called yoga.....

and that they knew enough feature one of the city's old-school teachers (who is generally credited with bringing Ashtanga to Chicago but is now heavily influenced by Yin Yoga).

When one of Suddha's long-time students saw the magazine in the shala, she snorted and said, "He looks exactly the same as he did in 1984."

Ah, yoga.

NOT DEAD YET

Chicago Public Radio finally aired my reunion essay today on "Eight Forty-Eight." It'll air again tonight at about 8:15PM.

It mentions, among other things, how I can put my leg behind my head.

You can also hear it online by clicking here.

And my capsule review of Om Shanti Om just came out, too.

YOGA Q&A

Student - What does "State of the Asana" mean?

Teacher - It's where all the ashtanga criminals are sent when the ashtanga police catch up with them.

Student - It must be a very big place.

Teacher - Very big indeed.

SHAKTI, LAKSHMI AND (OM) SHANTI (OM)


I'm almost afraid to write this, but I've had the most fun couple of days since............ well --

since I was in India.

In fact my mouth hurts from smiling too much.

Now that's a first....


After teaching my 10AM class on Friday I drove towards Little India on Devon Avenue. I wanted to see what was going on for Diwali and pick up some sweets.

I thought I'd eat at Uru-Swati. But somehow I ended up the vegetarian place up the street, where I know the owner quite well.

She was wearing a stunning, sparkly salwaar kameez that put my everyday blue cotton salwaar kameez and matching bindi to shame. And she had the jewerly to go with it.

(It's good to buy new clothes for Diwali, and then to wear them. Apparently this weekend was the time to take them out for a spin. So earlier in the day I wore a new yoga top and jacket, purchased on Wednesday for that very reason).

She sat me down and said we'd go jewerly shopping as soon as she was free (we'd talked about this earlier in the week; during Diwali - and especially last Friday - it is auspicious to purchase jewelry and/or coins. Gold is best, but a silver Lakshmi coin will also do. It is meant to bring wealth in the new year).

We had chai. Then customers came. She waited on them. I read the paper and waited on her.

Then her friend came in.

Her salwaar kameez was even more fabulous. Lots of sparkles. She looked like a model.

We chatted a bit. She too wanted to get a Lakshmi coin.

The owner brought us some thalis (meals) and soon they were gone.

And, finally, so were the customers.

We headed down the street to one of the bigger jewerly stores.

On the way, people looked at us and we looked at them. Most were dressed up.

The women who worked at the jewelry store were wearing their best dresses and saris; it was like an amazing fashion show.

The atmosphere was festive; everyone was complimenting each other on their outfits and matching jewelry and shoes; they were even nice to me (especially when I pulled out the few Hindi words I know).

This store's one-ounce silver Lakshmi coins were $25, but they said they'd give them to us for $23. (Lakshmi is the goddess of wealth. Over half of the NRI's or non-resident Indians in Chicago come from the western state of Gujarat, where they worship Lakshmi on Diwali). Gold was just under $800 per ounce.

Before we left, they offered us sweets.

Then we went to the store across the street, where the women were also wearing sparkly new dresses and saris.

We started complimenting each other again, and talking about different styles (such as the butterfly sari, and how styles in India come and go, but here in the US it doesn't matter if you wear something a few years out of date).

There were no men around - or if there were any we didn't notice them - and we marveled over the dresses and jewerly and ate sweets and talked girl-talk and it was heavenly, and something this tomboy has rarely experienced, if ever.

Shakti. Female energy.

Plus, they had the same Lakshmi coins for $20, and said they'd give us each a dollar off.

Of course we said yes.

When the woman in the beautiful sari handed us our change, she said,

"Already Lakshmi is bringing you wealth."

Later I went to Uru-Swati to pick up sweets, and the owner would not let me pay for them.

I gave most of them away on Saturday.




***



Also on Saturday, after teaching a workshop where Lakshmi smiled on me, I met Bindi and the Colonel at Piper's Alley, to see Om Shanti Om.

I found a parking space right in front of the theater - unheard of in this congested area.

I sat around watching people coming in. One man wore a long top, but I was the only woman in a salwaar-kameez (I wore a bright red-and-purple number with mirrors, and matching over-the-top earrings).

Upstairs, Bindi and The Colonel got snacks while I got in line.

The line was loooooooooooooooooooong, and looped around the corner.

I was dumbfounded; usually, when Bindi and I see a Hindi movie in the city there are exactly four people in the audience; Bindi, two Indian guys and me.

Despite the long queue, we found decent seats and waited for the fun to begin.

The film began with the song and brilliant video from "Om Shanti Om" from Karz (see previous post), only this time Shah Rukh Khan's character - Om - was in the audience. He dreamed he was singing the song. Somehow, they made it look like he was singing and dancing on the spinning record, wearing a silver jacket that siad "Monty" on the back.
It was amazing.

As was the rest of the film. I've never seen a Bollywood movie make fun of Bollywood before, and it was hilarious.

They took good-natured swipes at many famous Hindi movies, and few Hollywood ones as well.

They got NRI's, too.

But the humor was never mean-spirited.

I laughed. I cried. I tapped my foot. I nodded my head.

I laughed more, though.

And I was smiling nearly the entire time.

The songs were great, and the plot moved quickly.

As if that weren't enough, a who's who of Bollywood icons past and present (and, in at least one case, incarcerated), made appearances.


From the film: Salman Khan, Sanjay Dutt, Saif Ali Khan and Shah Rukh Khan(yes, many Bollywood stars share the last name Khan. And Dutt. And Kapoor. Some are related (and ride on their parents' coattails) and others are not).


Following is the full list of stars who appeared in the film; the two that really poked fun of themselves were fortunate son Abishek Bachchan and Akshay Kumar- the latter of whom reminds me of Cary Grant and who, according to TJ, shaves his chest (because the hair there is turning gray).

The list:

Sanjay Dutt (who is currently in prision)
Salman Khan
Saif Ali Khan
Suniel Shetty
Govinda
Abhishek Bachchan
Hrithik Roshan
Bobby Deol
Rani Mukerji
Preity Zinta
Zayed Khan
Arbaaz Khan
Dino Morea
Ritesh Deshmukh
Aftab Shivdasani
Rekha
Shabana Azmi
Juhi Chawla
Kajol
Tabu
Karisma Kapoor
Urmila Matondkar
Priyanka Chopra
Shilpa Shetty
Lara Dutta
Vidya Balan
Amrita Arora
Tusshar Kapoor
Vishal Dadlani
Rishi Kapoor
Subhash Ghai
Karan Johar
Mithun Chakraborty
Dharmendra
Jeetendra
Amitabh Bachchan

(In other words, everyone but Aishwarya Rai and Aamir Khan).

And if you stick around til the very end, you also get to see everyone who worked on the film.

If you see one Bollywood movie this year, this is the one.

Five stars.

HAPPY DEEPAVALI (OR DO YOU SAY DIWALI?)





Today is Diwali, the Indian Festival of Light.

Many cultures in India celebrate this five-day festival - Hindus (many legends are there), Sikhs (their Sixth Guru was released from prison that day, and it's the day their holy book, the Guru Sahib, arrived at the Golden Temple), and Jains (it's the day of nirvana of Lord Mahavira).


But this explanation, from Wikipedia, is the most relevant to yogis:

While Deepavali is popularly known as the "festival of lights", the most significant esoteric meaning is "the awareness of the inner light".

Central to Hindu philosophy, is the assertion that there is something beyond the physical body and mind which is pure, infinite, and eternal, called the Atman. Just as we celebrate the birth of our physical being, Deepavali is the celebration of this Inner Light, in particular the knowing of which outshines all darkness (removes all obstacles and dispels all ignorance), awakening the individual to one's true nature, not as the body, but as the unchanging, infinite, imminent and transcendent reality. With the realization of the Atman, comes universal compassion, love, and the awareness of the oneness of all things (higher knowledge). This brings Ananda (Inner Joy or Peace).

....While the story behind Deepavali varies from region to region, the essence is the same - to rejoice in the Inner Light (Atman) or the underlying reality of all things (Brahman).


On a more worldy level, you get to buy new clothes and jewelry and exchange sweets and flowers and visit the temple and light lamps and go to parties (if you're actually invited to any) and concerts (Dandiya queen Falguni Pathak performed here last week) and bhangra and gidda dance competitions.



In your new clothes, of course.


Plus all the big-budget Bollywood blockbuster movies featuring various Kapoors and Khans open today - at mainstream downtown cinemas no less. The utterly amazing Om Shanti Om (below) is playing at Piper's Alley, and Saawariya is at 600 N. Michigan.





So it's also the festival of flickering light - at 24 frames per second.

It works for me....







***





Farah Khan, the female director of Om Shanti Om says it's not a remake of the 1980 blockbuster Karz (which in turn was based on 1975's The Reincarnation of Peter Proud). Whatever. It's definitely an inspiration. Om Shanti Om kicks off with a rollicking update of this classic video, from Karz. It's awesome x10.

IT'S ABOUT THE POLAR BEARS


When I was in Berkeley, we unwound at night by watching the Discovery Channel's excellent Planet Earth series. (They're doing an encore presentation on Sunday nights at 7PM Central Time. Or you can rent it).

First we watched the one on caves.

Then the desert.

And, finally, ice.

The ice one followed a polar bear family; the female and cubs stay behind while the male hunts for food.

He has to go a long, long way - on an empty stomach no less - and usually trudges across the ice to get to the seals or other prey.

But the ice is gone, and the polar bear has to swim.

And swim.

And swim.

He swims forever.

Days, weeks.

He is exhausted.

Still he swims.

Finally, he gets to land and locates a bunch of walruses.

The adults form a circle, their backs to him, in order to protect their young.

The polar bear chooses a target, and tries to try to pry the walrus off of the cub.

He tries hard.

But he's too weak to finish the job.

He slinks off and regroups.

Finally, he tries again.

But he is too weak from all of that swimming.

He does not pull the walrus off and get to eat his first meal in months.

Nope.

This time, the walrus attacks him.

The polar bear slinks off again.

This time, he walks in a tight circle, like a dog before it lies down.

The narrator points out the patches of blood on his fur; apparently the walrus gored him a few times.

The polar bear finally lies down.

And then he dies.


***


After each show, there's a short making-of segment.

During this one, they showed a polar bear approaching the arctic shack where the film crew lived while shooting their footage. The narrator explained how unusual it is for a polar bear to do this.

The humans threw some flares and whatnot at him, and he didn't come any closer.

But apparently he returned later.

They showed him pressing his wet nose against one of their windows; the humans had food, and he was literally starving.

And Little Miss Ahimsa wanted him to break in and eat the film crew and all of their victuals.

It seemed like poetic justice, considering that it's humans who are causing all of the problems in his habitat.

So now, when I'm about to make a bad decision - like drive the car instead of ride the bike, or leave the water running while I brush my teeth, or not turn off the computer, or dream about buying that yellow Humvee, etc. - I think about that polar bear.

And, more often or not, I do the right thing.


***


I know some of you are saying, "Global warming is natural! It's not our fault!"

But even you oil company dupes have to admit there's a something very wrong when yogis start screaming for blood, and the hunters start acting like pussies.

The photo at the top of this page shows a hunter comforting a polar bear (which he has NOT shot). It's from this article, which says:

Jeremiah Johnson, a local hunter who tracks and kills polar bears "because they are there" has seen three of the behemoths collapse before him in just the last month. "It just isn't sporting to shoot one of these creatures when they are suffering like this", Johnson said as he recounted his attempts to revive a bear he was ready to shoot.


Think about that the next time you buy some unnecessary crap that will wind up in a landfill, or decide to hop on a plane to India.

I know I certainly will.

YOGA STUDENTS SAVE INDIA





According to a piece that aired on NPR's "Morning Edition" last week, yoga students are making Mysore a center of tourism. Apparently yoga attracts some 1,000 foreign yoga student-tourists each year.

They discussed the economic boom that these students have brought to the local folks, who cater to their every whim.

They also said that the tide turned in 2001, when Pattabhi Jois started doing international tours... (Um, he did his first big recent tour in 1999. And things really began to change when he moved to the posh suburb of Gokulam and opened the new shala - which fits 80 people rather than 12 - in 2002-3).

They quoted a British student, who claimed that there are entire suburbs in Mysore devoted to western yoga students.

Really?

And here I thought Gokulam existed so that the local bourgeoise and wild boar population could put some distance between them and the noise, dirt and teeming hordes of the city center.

Hear for yourself by clicking here.

PARANOIA, THE DESTROYER


The following may or may not end up as part of the project I'm currently procrastinating on. It's a diary entry from 2001.

Some background: I was in NYC on 9/11 and was stuck in Lower Manhattan until 9/15. Back home in Chicago (after people put out their flags) it seemed to be business as usual, which was very strange. But on TV there was one scare after another...







CATALOG OF BAD DREAMS
10.20.01

-An airplane with a beak grabs the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier and crashes into the building behind me. I must go through water to get to safety; there are many people, and much panic. The pay phones don’t work, and I cannot get ahold of my brother.

-A man releases radioactivity in subway platform. I get a dose and cannot escape.

-I’m riding my bike down Clark Street towards downtown. To my right, the Sears Tower is on fire. The John Hancock Building, in the foreground, gets hit and falls towards me, straight up Clark Street. I lose my bicycle and cannot go north fast enough. The bike shop gives me an “adult tricycle” and says I can pay later, and I take off. But I cannot find my friend.

-I’m in a London high rise, looking out over other skyscrapers in the distance. One by one they explode, starting with the furthest one and coming closer each time. We watch and wait.

-I must attend the high school across the street from Ground Zero, which is a giant devastated area covered in wet black ash. It is oozing water, which drains and forms a stream near my feet. My classmates take this in stride.

STEAL THIS FILLUM



Sportmarty had a lousy week; his car was totalled and he spent the past few days getting a new car, dealing with insurance, license plates and all the rest.

I'm just tired.

We went to see a movie tonight anyway. Our expectations were decidedly low.

Ira and Abby made us laugh out loud.

It was written by a woman -- Jennifer Westfeldt -- who also played the lead (and did the same in Killing Jessica Stein).

It was another one of those movies where the schlub gets the pretty girl.

Nonetheless it was hilarious and smart, with clever writing and spot-on acting. More than once, I poked SM in the ribs and said, "This is awesome."

Especially good was the scene where the newlyweds are walking down an NYC street and Ira starts to sabotage the relationship by badgering Abby about her lack of "goals."

Brilliant.

Not only that, but its overall message essentially anti-marriage.

It made one feel, well, validated.

Four stars.

ME AND MY FRIEND THE CAT


Yesterday, I clipped Mr. Needleclaws' nails.

This morning, at 4:30AM, I awakened to the sound of cat paws trying to turn the ancient brass knob attached to my bedroom door.

A short while later, I nearly stepped on cat womit in the middle of the kitchen floor.

But when I came home from teaching three-in-a-row, Mr. Needleclaws seemed glad to see me.

He rubbed against my legs, but didn't get tangled in them.

He even pretended to play with the gift I'd bought him in Cali.

Later, I let him take a nap with me in the sun.

No tail-in-the-face, no scratching the chin and making the whole bed shake, no jumping across my body over and over again. No biting of the hand.

I wonder what happened when I was out teaching....