A STOOP SITS IN BROOKLYN
Sitting on M's stoop in the sun, typing on this giant heavy new laptop, waiting to see if someone will buy M's weird-colored leather jackets hanging on the railing. One guy fondled one and M asked if he wanted to try 'em on and he was surprised: "Are these for sale?" and then fled. Getting hotter, a litle humid, lots of Brooklnites going past in a casual parade; semihipsters and oldscoolers with accents and puffy ortho-shoes and people in hatwear coming home from shul. We took a photo-movie of me modeling a jacket the color of babypoop. Nice to have a day off but of course Natalie Peckingbird sent an email wanting more more more info for yet another previously undisclosed task for which I won't be paid. . I cannot possibly have gotten it as I am officially *on vacation.* Yoga with Pattabhi Jois starts (2nd week for them, first for me) tomorrow.
3 dilemmas:
ONE
Dharma Mittra has a 3-hour workshop ths eve from 3:30 to 8:30. I was gonna go. $40 and it's Dharma. But then MDC got tix for Orson's Shadow with Tracy Letts tonight; Dexter's going too. It's the olde W. Village 'hood at Chrstopher Street and 7th Avenue or whatever, and there's Magnolia Bakery afterwords and the show starts at 8. I could leave Dharma's at 7:15. but it'd be wrong to leave early. If I didn't go, I could hang out and watch the rest of Hum Tum for which I'm doing a capsule for for the Backwards R (I saw part of it yesterday on the plane, on the scary PC which has a *really* nice screen). I could go to D's class regular class during the week; I think it's from 11 to 2 or 12 to 2. But it is wrong to study with two teachers, yes. That is bad, very bad, unthinkable. Nononono. I think perhaps I'll pass on class tonight. Or perhaps I'll call and see what the schedule is. Maybe 7:15 falls between mantra and pranayama or something.
TWO
Do I go to the 6am primary class or 8am intermediate? All of my friends are doing primary. And they plan to junp off the Brooklyn Bridge afterwards. So no, groupthink not a good reason to go, esp. in the age of cell phones. But I've barely been practicing (due to all the work, knock wood that it keeps coming) this past week, let alone BB's. The back has been out / not good for about two months... very stuck according to the chiro who keeps trying to crack it on the one side and failing. Lots of pain, esp. in twists and urdvha danurasana (upward facing bow). So not sure about that. But primaryseries requires getting up at 4:30 and catching the eF-ing train on a *Sunday*, ugh.
THREE
India.
Do I go next month? In December/Jan? Some other time? At all?
Getting very hot out here now.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Sunday, May 08, 2005
JUMPIN' JACK FLASH
I am in the middle of a two-day Dharma Mittra workshop. He's the Brazilian-born 66 year old teacher on the giant poster of the 900 yoga poses. The first time I ever did yoganidrasana (reclining w/ legs behind the head) was in his class, in NYC, in 1999. He's the type of teacher who leads you through a sequence (that includes his challenging and invigorating Shiva Surya Namaskar [sun saluation] series -- lots of intense lunges and a million Vasisthasanas, among other things, and ends with a seemingly effortless dropback at the front of the mat) which is followed by a sequence of poses that has you doing things you've never even *seen* before, let alone tried to do. Some of them of course I could not do ("Try this if you are under 60," he would say, and we'd give it a shot). But it was fun to go from Sarvangasana to Navasana and use breath of fire in that pose (it doesn't seem to last as long when you're focused on the breath) and stand up from revolved Parsvakonasana with my arm wrapped around my leg. We also paused for a moment to watch him as he explained in a very serious tone our next asana. It turned out to be jumping jacks with Kapalabhati breathing. Doing it made me feel like I was five years old, and I actually laughed out loud. Laughter is a new one, when it comes to yoga.
I am feeling intense guilt now for subbing out my Sunday class so I can stick around for both sessions of today's workshop. But it *will* supposedly make me a better teacher.. especially because he goes into mantra (chanting), pranayama (breathing) and philosophy quite a bit and uses a lot of hilarious, real-life examples (like the butcher who meditated for 30 years but couldn't figure out why it wasn't working). He also editorializes about ahimsa and not eating meat, which is refreshing to hear (also it was amusing to hear some people say, afterwords, "I understand what he's saying but I can't give up fish. I mean, I've been a VEGETARIAN for ten years because of yoga BUT.") In addition to the knowledge and having actually lived the stuff, he also appears to have that true compassionate nature that only a handful yoga teachers seem to posses. None of that ego or tough-love shit.
Also after lunch yesterday Dharma Mittra discussed what happens when the mind is full of stuff and we act too quickly. He used the example of a person who buys a PC without doing the research, and not only finds it cheaper at another store but comes home with the thing and realizes that what he really wanted was a Mac. Which was *exactly* what I had been discussing with Jack a half hour earlier, several blocks away, over lunch. EXACTLY the same thing. Now *that* was weird.
I am in the middle of a two-day Dharma Mittra workshop. He's the Brazilian-born 66 year old teacher on the giant poster of the 900 yoga poses. The first time I ever did yoganidrasana (reclining w/ legs behind the head) was in his class, in NYC, in 1999. He's the type of teacher who leads you through a sequence (that includes his challenging and invigorating Shiva Surya Namaskar [sun saluation] series -- lots of intense lunges and a million Vasisthasanas, among other things, and ends with a seemingly effortless dropback at the front of the mat) which is followed by a sequence of poses that has you doing things you've never even *seen* before, let alone tried to do. Some of them of course I could not do ("Try this if you are under 60," he would say, and we'd give it a shot). But it was fun to go from Sarvangasana to Navasana and use breath of fire in that pose (it doesn't seem to last as long when you're focused on the breath) and stand up from revolved Parsvakonasana with my arm wrapped around my leg. We also paused for a moment to watch him as he explained in a very serious tone our next asana. It turned out to be jumping jacks with Kapalabhati breathing. Doing it made me feel like I was five years old, and I actually laughed out loud. Laughter is a new one, when it comes to yoga.
I am feeling intense guilt now for subbing out my Sunday class so I can stick around for both sessions of today's workshop. But it *will* supposedly make me a better teacher.. especially because he goes into mantra (chanting), pranayama (breathing) and philosophy quite a bit and uses a lot of hilarious, real-life examples (like the butcher who meditated for 30 years but couldn't figure out why it wasn't working). He also editorializes about ahimsa and not eating meat, which is refreshing to hear (also it was amusing to hear some people say, afterwords, "I understand what he's saying but I can't give up fish. I mean, I've been a VEGETARIAN for ten years because of yoga BUT.") In addition to the knowledge and having actually lived the stuff, he also appears to have that true compassionate nature that only a handful yoga teachers seem to posses. None of that ego or tough-love shit.
Also after lunch yesterday Dharma Mittra discussed what happens when the mind is full of stuff and we act too quickly. He used the example of a person who buys a PC without doing the research, and not only finds it cheaper at another store but comes home with the thing and realizes that what he really wanted was a Mac. Which was *exactly* what I had been discussing with Jack a half hour earlier, several blocks away, over lunch. EXACTLY the same thing. Now *that* was weird.
Friday, April 29, 2005
DEM CRONES:
Grrrls of (and in) an Uncertain Age
Last night, I couldn't take my eyes off the red Mary Janes in the window of Alamo Shoes. Nor could I believe the cute things were made by Earth Shoes. Imagine; comfort *and* style. I fixated on them for a bit, and then I showed Jack the way to the next sushi bar (Suddenly, Andersonville has become Sushi Central; suffice to say that despite being in a former Middle Eastern restaurant , Sushi Luxe is more hipster- and vegetarian friendly with its flatscreen TV's embedded in the bathroom mirrors and sushi-chefs-who-look-and-act-like-DJ's; the tofu tempura maki was unusually satisfying, as was the tangy goma-tofu appetizer. Jack's saketini was not so memorable. Nor did I like much the adjacent table of wimmen engaging in a loud clumsy game of chopstick mumblety-peg; in fact I wanted them to take a permanent time out (so to speak).....Tanoshi, up the street, was badly-lit -- ie, bright -- and full of regulars who all seemed to know each other and the owner, Chef Mike, who presided behind the bar. Tanoshi means happiness and this place was lively and joyous. But the trendiest Asian Joint of All is Jinju, across the street from Sushi Luxe. It boasts unthreatening Korean food, superdimbop lighting, a full bar and hoardes of hipsters).
Today Editor Q. and I went for veggie Indian buffet at Arya Bhavan . When I picked her up I noticed she was wearing The Shoes. In red. She'd just gotten them and she loved them. And they looked *good*. At the restaurant we ran into another Kriya-trained yoga teacher, Z. She wasn't wearing them, but she'd just gotten a pair, too. Both had found them at Alamo, where I got a great price on my Dansko Mary Janes in '03. Now I too *must* have them....especially in the wake of my previous non-attachment failures. When it rains it snores....
But my point. Kirti, the restaurant owner, noticed that my year-and-a-half-old grey roots are finally starting to blend in with my too-red hennaed ends (this is due to my first investment ever in an expensive, shaggy haircut... expensive to me being over $30). Q. mentioned she was inspired by my attempt to go natural, and had started to grow out hers. But she was starting to lose confidence (after looking at my 40 in 04 pictures from last year, where I look like I walked under some falling plaster, I can see why). Then we looked at Q., who has a beautiful mane of silvery-grey hair. She told about her decision to grow it out (actually her regular hairdresser had gone AWOL and the woman who agreed to take over -- another yogi -- refused to dye it). C. said she cried after going grey. No wonder; instead of growing it out she went supershort, and then had it cut AGAIN, as soon as the grey was long enough to hold its own. (I did something similar in 1991, after dying my hair black for years and experiencing a color removal disaster that left me with a patchwork of fall colors a la Excene Cervenka circa '79; I cried, too, and worried I looked like a m-a-n, and wore skirts and scooped collars for the next three years). This grey hair talk over Gujarati chai led to a discussion of invisiblity of Women of a Certain Age (both women are older than I), and how when it happens you (apparently) freak out because no one is looking at you (Can I just say how revolted I was two weeks ago, when the Sunday NYT called 43-year-old Jennifer Jason Leigh "a woman of a certain age." Male writer of course). Apparently there is even an exact moment when you notice this invisibility. Q. was 50 and walking down the street with a young obese woman when she noticed her companion was getting all the looks. Anyway the upside is that you can then *get away with things*. You know, because people don't notice you. At some point you apparently stop caring, too, and start to say and do what you want. It's a refreshingly intriguing concept, and takes some of the wind out of the utterly oppressive societal notion that women past menopause have no value (no one really says this per se, but that's the message driven home constantly; no-fucky, no-worthy). Also at that point the people (men) who spend time with you do so for one reason only; they want to. Or something like that. ...
Now, I wonder if, when I go into Alamo to get the hip old lady shoes -- in red, of course -- the salesmen will still notice me (they're all men, in short-sleeve white shirts and ties, and they're *all* over A Certain Age). At this point, my hair's over 50 percent grey. But I suspect they'll have to pay attention. After all, they work on commission.
Grrrls of (and in) an Uncertain Age
Last night, I couldn't take my eyes off the red Mary Janes in the window of Alamo Shoes. Nor could I believe the cute things were made by Earth Shoes. Imagine; comfort *and* style. I fixated on them for a bit, and then I showed Jack the way to the next sushi bar (Suddenly, Andersonville has become Sushi Central; suffice to say that despite being in a former Middle Eastern restaurant , Sushi Luxe is more hipster- and vegetarian friendly with its flatscreen TV's embedded in the bathroom mirrors and sushi-chefs-who-look-and-act-like-DJ's; the tofu tempura maki was unusually satisfying, as was the tangy goma-tofu appetizer. Jack's saketini was not so memorable. Nor did I like much the adjacent table of wimmen engaging in a loud clumsy game of chopstick mumblety-peg; in fact I wanted them to take a permanent time out (so to speak).....Tanoshi, up the street, was badly-lit -- ie, bright -- and full of regulars who all seemed to know each other and the owner, Chef Mike, who presided behind the bar. Tanoshi means happiness and this place was lively and joyous. But the trendiest Asian Joint of All is Jinju, across the street from Sushi Luxe. It boasts unthreatening Korean food, superdimbop lighting, a full bar and hoardes of hipsters).
Today Editor Q. and I went for veggie Indian buffet at Arya Bhavan . When I picked her up I noticed she was wearing The Shoes. In red. She'd just gotten them and she loved them. And they looked *good*. At the restaurant we ran into another Kriya-trained yoga teacher, Z. She wasn't wearing them, but she'd just gotten a pair, too. Both had found them at Alamo, where I got a great price on my Dansko Mary Janes in '03. Now I too *must* have them....especially in the wake of my previous non-attachment failures. When it rains it snores....
But my point. Kirti, the restaurant owner, noticed that my year-and-a-half-old grey roots are finally starting to blend in with my too-red hennaed ends (this is due to my first investment ever in an expensive, shaggy haircut... expensive to me being over $30). Q. mentioned she was inspired by my attempt to go natural, and had started to grow out hers. But she was starting to lose confidence (after looking at my 40 in 04 pictures from last year, where I look like I walked under some falling plaster, I can see why). Then we looked at Q., who has a beautiful mane of silvery-grey hair. She told about her decision to grow it out (actually her regular hairdresser had gone AWOL and the woman who agreed to take over -- another yogi -- refused to dye it). C. said she cried after going grey. No wonder; instead of growing it out she went supershort, and then had it cut AGAIN, as soon as the grey was long enough to hold its own. (I did something similar in 1991, after dying my hair black for years and experiencing a color removal disaster that left me with a patchwork of fall colors a la Excene Cervenka circa '79; I cried, too, and worried I looked like a m-a-n, and wore skirts and scooped collars for the next three years). This grey hair talk over Gujarati chai led to a discussion of invisiblity of Women of a Certain Age (both women are older than I), and how when it happens you (apparently) freak out because no one is looking at you (Can I just say how revolted I was two weeks ago, when the Sunday NYT called 43-year-old Jennifer Jason Leigh "a woman of a certain age." Male writer of course). Apparently there is even an exact moment when you notice this invisibility. Q. was 50 and walking down the street with a young obese woman when she noticed her companion was getting all the looks. Anyway the upside is that you can then *get away with things*. You know, because people don't notice you. At some point you apparently stop caring, too, and start to say and do what you want. It's a refreshingly intriguing concept, and takes some of the wind out of the utterly oppressive societal notion that women past menopause have no value (no one really says this per se, but that's the message driven home constantly; no-fucky, no-worthy). Also at that point the people (men) who spend time with you do so for one reason only; they want to. Or something like that. ...
Now, I wonder if, when I go into Alamo to get the hip old lady shoes -- in red, of course -- the salesmen will still notice me (they're all men, in short-sleeve white shirts and ties, and they're *all* over A Certain Age). At this point, my hair's over 50 percent grey. But I suspect they'll have to pay attention. After all, they work on commission.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
ES LA HORA
Here are the first few lines of a piece I'm working on:
"There are two types of people:
Those who have time to 'hang out.'
And those of us who hate them."
**
The Amazing Race is on tonight. They are still in India, in Jaipur. Among other things, contestants have had to locate a certain chai stall, put the chai on a cart, push the cart until they could find a specific government buliding, and serve one tea at a time (in the old fashioned clay cups) to a list of functionaries who are spread here, there, and everywhere, and whose job seems to consist of waiting for the next chai (well, whose isn't, really). It was the perfect challenge for India. Last week the "older couple" was making their way to the end of that day's race via auto-rickshaw (the man, Meredith, is usually pretty easygoing but had a *spectacular* Larry David moment at one point -- at which we all took a drink as we watched it over and over again). Anyway a couple of boys turned around and waved to them, then put their arms around each other. "Ooooo-ooo-oooo," sang Kvetchen. "I think our friends are gaaaay-ay!"
While we're on the subject of TV -- Henry scored the new Family Guy episode (a week ahead of the rest of 'Merica; it premieres next Sunday). I'm here to tell you it is as scathing and shocking and guffaw-inducing as ever, if not moreso. Fox: the folks who give you right-wing talk shows and two of the best sit-coms in TV history (the other being the Simpsons of course). Filthy whores.
We also caught an episode of What Not to Wear, in which Susanna (as usual) finds herself busily kneading a woman's knockers, or tits as they call them there (whenever they say "tits" or "nits" or feel someone up, you must take a drink). She was in the midst of a full-frontal squeeze when Trini (the "thin one") circled her and then, much like a cat (and just as quick) her right arm flew out and slapped the woman's left breast. It happened so fast we almost missed it. It was indeed the same movement my cat does when I walk by and he's annoyed and takes a swipe at me, and I'm not sure if he really did it and walk by again just to see if I was right in thinking he had. And thanks to TiVo we were able to watch Trini paw the woman a dozen times before the wine ran out / laughter died down.
**
Today some neighbour took it upon themself to move my clothes from the washer to the dryer. Normally the practice is to leave them where they are or put the clothes *on* the dryer. Which is a good thing, since most of my too-young-for-me outfits need to be drip-dried. But not these neighbours. They put my clothes *IN* the dryer. ON HIGH. And now I am the owner of two Barbie-sized vintage white long-sleeve t-shirts which I can no longer wear (Fashion Targets Breast Cancer, circa 1996, and Boss Hog's 2000 "Whiteout" tour, if you must know). And the nabes are the recipients of a snippy little note.
So much for non-attachment.
Here are the first few lines of a piece I'm working on:
"There are two types of people:
Those who have time to 'hang out.'
And those of us who hate them."
**
The Amazing Race is on tonight. They are still in India, in Jaipur. Among other things, contestants have had to locate a certain chai stall, put the chai on a cart, push the cart until they could find a specific government buliding, and serve one tea at a time (in the old fashioned clay cups) to a list of functionaries who are spread here, there, and everywhere, and whose job seems to consist of waiting for the next chai (well, whose isn't, really). It was the perfect challenge for India. Last week the "older couple" was making their way to the end of that day's race via auto-rickshaw (the man, Meredith, is usually pretty easygoing but had a *spectacular* Larry David moment at one point -- at which we all took a drink as we watched it over and over again). Anyway a couple of boys turned around and waved to them, then put their arms around each other. "Ooooo-ooo-oooo," sang Kvetchen. "I think our friends are gaaaay-ay!"
While we're on the subject of TV -- Henry scored the new Family Guy episode (a week ahead of the rest of 'Merica; it premieres next Sunday). I'm here to tell you it is as scathing and shocking and guffaw-inducing as ever, if not moreso. Fox: the folks who give you right-wing talk shows and two of the best sit-coms in TV history (the other being the Simpsons of course). Filthy whores.
We also caught an episode of What Not to Wear, in which Susanna (as usual) finds herself busily kneading a woman's knockers, or tits as they call them there (whenever they say "tits" or "nits" or feel someone up, you must take a drink). She was in the midst of a full-frontal squeeze when Trini (the "thin one") circled her and then, much like a cat (and just as quick) her right arm flew out and slapped the woman's left breast. It happened so fast we almost missed it. It was indeed the same movement my cat does when I walk by and he's annoyed and takes a swipe at me, and I'm not sure if he really did it and walk by again just to see if I was right in thinking he had. And thanks to TiVo we were able to watch Trini paw the woman a dozen times before the wine ran out / laughter died down.
**
Today some neighbour took it upon themself to move my clothes from the washer to the dryer. Normally the practice is to leave them where they are or put the clothes *on* the dryer. Which is a good thing, since most of my too-young-for-me outfits need to be drip-dried. But not these neighbours. They put my clothes *IN* the dryer. ON HIGH. And now I am the owner of two Barbie-sized vintage white long-sleeve t-shirts which I can no longer wear (Fashion Targets Breast Cancer, circa 1996, and Boss Hog's 2000 "Whiteout" tour, if you must know). And the nabes are the recipients of a snippy little note.
So much for non-attachment.
Friday, April 22, 2005
NIRVANA
The sages say that the only things we can control are our emotions / the fluctuations of the mind / our reactions to things that happen to us.
Having tried and tried and tried this and failed and failed and failed, I cannot agree.
But I have found that one thing most of us can control -- those without children, anyway -- is the amount of clutter in our house.
I've become convinced that the amount of mess in our habitat is greater than or equal to that in our mind, and that it's impossible to clear the latter when the former is disorganized.
Unfortunately mine is a minefield right now; even my virtual desktop is in very real disarray.
So much for chaos-control.
The sages say that the only things we can control are our emotions / the fluctuations of the mind / our reactions to things that happen to us.
Having tried and tried and tried this and failed and failed and failed, I cannot agree.
But I have found that one thing most of us can control -- those without children, anyway -- is the amount of clutter in our house.
I've become convinced that the amount of mess in our habitat is greater than or equal to that in our mind, and that it's impossible to clear the latter when the former is disorganized.
Unfortunately mine is a minefield right now; even my virtual desktop is in very real disarray.
So much for chaos-control.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
POPOPOLY: THE NEW MEDIA SATURATION GAME
Each time you hear "Pontiff" take a drink
Dive under the covers and take a shot whenever you hear "Conclave"
Sing a Beatles song (from start to finish) for every "John Paul II"
Light up whenever they talk about the white smoke.
Torch something when it's black.
Don something red for every mention of "Cardinal" (two items if it's plural). When you run out of clothes, switch to slathering yourself with red-tinged food and drink. No bathing til the smoke turns white.
Remove a piece of clothing for each "Fresco."
Read the back of a different cereal box for every mention of The Da Vinci Code.
Fall on your face every time NPR's Sylvia Poggioli files a report.
Fall on your sword if it's a rerun.
Hook up sans birth control each time Vatican II is invoked.
Stop in the middle if you hear "Wooden Balls."
Slap someone silly 16 times for each "Sistene." (If no one's around, pop in the "Sixteen Candles" DVD).
Defecate each time you hear a pundit pontificate.
Wander the streets like an Alzheimer's patient when they say "Rome."
Return home when the bells start to ring.
Each time you hear "Pontiff" take a drink
Dive under the covers and take a shot whenever you hear "Conclave"
Sing a Beatles song (from start to finish) for every "John Paul II"
Light up whenever they talk about the white smoke.
Torch something when it's black.
Don something red for every mention of "Cardinal" (two items if it's plural). When you run out of clothes, switch to slathering yourself with red-tinged food and drink. No bathing til the smoke turns white.
Remove a piece of clothing for each "Fresco."
Read the back of a different cereal box for every mention of The Da Vinci Code.
Fall on your face every time NPR's Sylvia Poggioli files a report.
Fall on your sword if it's a rerun.
Hook up sans birth control each time Vatican II is invoked.
Stop in the middle if you hear "Wooden Balls."
Slap someone silly 16 times for each "Sistene." (If no one's around, pop in the "Sixteen Candles" DVD).
Defecate each time you hear a pundit pontificate.
Wander the streets like an Alzheimer's patient when they say "Rome."
Return home when the bells start to ring.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
BAD LADY (AGAIN)
A trip to the doctor for what I thought was Pinkeye last week revealed that no, the reason I kept trying to scratch out both mine eyes had nothing to do with Pinkeye and everything to do with allergies. She then told me I've been walking around with an upper respiratory infection and prescribed amoxicillin. And some eye drops. As the pharmacist was ringing me up she asked (again) if I had insurance and reminded me that I could not return medication once it was purchased. Then she asked if I knew that the eye drops cost $95. I said no and held onto the counter. (Did I mention that I felt really, really sick and just spent 40 minutes shopping while I waited for my 'scrip, which was sposed to have been filled within 20? And that the Edgewater Jewel at noontime on a Thursday is the Land of Thousand Gimps, all of whom seem to be bent on knocking their shopping cart into yours?). As I stood there and sweated I realized I had spent more than that on the cat's last vet visit. But when I found out there *was* no generic version I said, "Take it off. I'll call the doctor." After much back-and-forth with the doctor and yet another pharmacist, i was able to -- hours later -- pick up some $15 drops (name brand!) that have worked many wonders on my eyes. Too bad the amoxicillin is giving me stomachaches. (<----man, that word looks *funny*), diarrhea, headache and exhaustion (or was that due to the 14 classes and trip to Madison last week?). I am convinced it's pseudomembranous colitis. From Medicinenet.com:
"...Antibiotics can alter the normal bacteria flora of the colon and permit overgrowth of C. difficile, a bacteria responsible for pseudomembranous colitis. Patients who develop pseudomembranous colitis as a result of antibiotic treatment can experience diarrhea, abdominal pain, fever, and sometimes even shock."
But the migraine and nausea this morning -- I was *sure* I was going to vomit during all those forward bends -- did not stop me from practicing. Nope. Not me.
A trip to the doctor for what I thought was Pinkeye last week revealed that no, the reason I kept trying to scratch out both mine eyes had nothing to do with Pinkeye and everything to do with allergies. She then told me I've been walking around with an upper respiratory infection and prescribed amoxicillin. And some eye drops. As the pharmacist was ringing me up she asked (again) if I had insurance and reminded me that I could not return medication once it was purchased. Then she asked if I knew that the eye drops cost $95. I said no and held onto the counter. (Did I mention that I felt really, really sick and just spent 40 minutes shopping while I waited for my 'scrip, which was sposed to have been filled within 20? And that the Edgewater Jewel at noontime on a Thursday is the Land of Thousand Gimps, all of whom seem to be bent on knocking their shopping cart into yours?). As I stood there and sweated I realized I had spent more than that on the cat's last vet visit. But when I found out there *was* no generic version I said, "Take it off. I'll call the doctor." After much back-and-forth with the doctor and yet another pharmacist, i was able to -- hours later -- pick up some $15 drops (name brand!) that have worked many wonders on my eyes. Too bad the amoxicillin is giving me stomachaches. (<----man, that word looks *funny*), diarrhea, headache and exhaustion (or was that due to the 14 classes and trip to Madison last week?). I am convinced it's pseudomembranous colitis. From Medicinenet.com:
"...Antibiotics can alter the normal bacteria flora of the colon and permit overgrowth of C. difficile, a bacteria responsible for pseudomembranous colitis. Patients who develop pseudomembranous colitis as a result of antibiotic treatment can experience diarrhea, abdominal pain, fever, and sometimes even shock."
But the migraine and nausea this morning -- I was *sure* I was going to vomit during all those forward bends -- did not stop me from practicing. Nope. Not me.
Sunday, April 03, 2005
FEAST OR FAME
Friday I taught three in a row and then headed over to Enelle's house, where I sprayed brown gook on my grey roots and installed the fake boobs, and we shot the missing "Tom From 'Nam" scene from the sit-com. Suffice to say it made us roll on the floor. But now of course I'm depressed that we're done shooting, and I'm no longer "talent" but some 40-year old awaiting her next role and/or Gap ad.
I saw the fillum Mughal E Azam yesterday -- amazing, you must go (even though I know you won't) -- and even talked to the theater manager about getting screening copies of fillums before they hit the big screen, so that one can review them. Apparently it's impossible, although it *is* often possible to find bootleg copies of yet-to-be-released fillums on Devon Avenue. That's where I went yesterday after getting a late e-mail asking me to do a capsule review of the 2003 Bollywood action blockbuster The Hero: Love Story of a Spy. It's screening April 13 at the University of Chicago's DOC Films as part of its Wednesday night Bollywood series (http://docfilms.uchicago.edu/calendar.shtml#wednesday). The DVD was only $10 at Mansoor Video.
In addition to getting the movie review in by 10 (seems like 9) tomorrow, I'm compiling a list of Chicago performance venues for some new travel guide (due tomorrow) and working on the May media column (the local public radio station is planning to spin off an all-music station next year; yet somehow the music will include expensive NPR talk shows such as Morning Edition). That was due Friday. I'm also cleaning up a review of Kari Tomashik's recent High Energy Yoga (an offshoot of Iyengar created by the late Roger Eischens) workshop, which I turned in Friday. And writing a sample club review for said travel guide (due tomorrow). And compiling a list for Chicago mag's upcoming Best Of Chicago issue (due ASAP so I don't get scooped). If you have any ideas, send 'em on.
At least I got the taxes to the accountant on Thursday.... which was the last day of March. That's a new land speed record for me.
And I'm finishing up Wendy (www.poundy.com) McClure's brilliant memoir "I'm Not the New Me" (for a profile) and in the middle of watching The Hero... which isn't at all painful although it features one of my favourite Bollywood action conceits: Hero flying slow-mo through the air, pistols in both fists, shooting (and hitting!) a slew of Bad Men (usually Muslim terrorists) who are trying to kill the Chaste Girl. Oh yeah, and I teach at noon (seems like 11) today and again at 8 (seems like 7) tomorrow morn.
Today is the eighth anniversary of my mother's death. I am still driving her car.* Barely.
Time to do yoga. Now.
The question is, when will I find time to feed the birds today (yearly ritual in honor of La Madre)?
And when will there be time to watch last week's episode of The Shield?
INJURY OF THE WEEK:
Broken/sprained, very painful, bright purple toe (middle left)
---
*'91 Geo Prizm that's needin' some pimpin'
Friday I taught three in a row and then headed over to Enelle's house, where I sprayed brown gook on my grey roots and installed the fake boobs, and we shot the missing "Tom From 'Nam" scene from the sit-com. Suffice to say it made us roll on the floor. But now of course I'm depressed that we're done shooting, and I'm no longer "talent" but some 40-year old awaiting her next role and/or Gap ad.
I saw the fillum Mughal E Azam yesterday -- amazing, you must go (even though I know you won't) -- and even talked to the theater manager about getting screening copies of fillums before they hit the big screen, so that one can review them. Apparently it's impossible, although it *is* often possible to find bootleg copies of yet-to-be-released fillums on Devon Avenue. That's where I went yesterday after getting a late e-mail asking me to do a capsule review of the 2003 Bollywood action blockbuster The Hero: Love Story of a Spy. It's screening April 13 at the University of Chicago's DOC Films as part of its Wednesday night Bollywood series (http://docfilms.uchicago.edu/calendar.shtml#wednesday). The DVD was only $10 at Mansoor Video.
In addition to getting the movie review in by 10 (seems like 9) tomorrow, I'm compiling a list of Chicago performance venues for some new travel guide (due tomorrow) and working on the May media column (the local public radio station is planning to spin off an all-music station next year; yet somehow the music will include expensive NPR talk shows such as Morning Edition). That was due Friday. I'm also cleaning up a review of Kari Tomashik's recent High Energy Yoga (an offshoot of Iyengar created by the late Roger Eischens) workshop, which I turned in Friday. And writing a sample club review for said travel guide (due tomorrow). And compiling a list for Chicago mag's upcoming Best Of Chicago issue (due ASAP so I don't get scooped). If you have any ideas, send 'em on.
At least I got the taxes to the accountant on Thursday.... which was the last day of March. That's a new land speed record for me.
And I'm finishing up Wendy (www.poundy.com) McClure's brilliant memoir "I'm Not the New Me" (for a profile) and in the middle of watching The Hero... which isn't at all painful although it features one of my favourite Bollywood action conceits: Hero flying slow-mo through the air, pistols in both fists, shooting (and hitting!) a slew of Bad Men (usually Muslim terrorists) who are trying to kill the Chaste Girl. Oh yeah, and I teach at noon (seems like 11) today and again at 8 (seems like 7) tomorrow morn.
Today is the eighth anniversary of my mother's death. I am still driving her car.* Barely.
Time to do yoga. Now.
The question is, when will I find time to feed the birds today (yearly ritual in honor of La Madre)?
And when will there be time to watch last week's episode of The Shield?
INJURY OF THE WEEK:
Broken/sprained, very painful, bright purple toe (middle left)
---
*'91 Geo Prizm that's needin' some pimpin'
Thursday, March 31, 2005
TWO FOR.... THURSDAY
The 1960 classic Mughal-e-Azam, recently colourised, opens tomorrow at the Des Plaines Theatre (1/2 hour from Chicago; the Metra train station is less than a block away from the theatre). It's a rare chance to see it on the big screen; apparently it boasts the best and most moving music our friend Bindi has ever heard in an Indian fillum. So clear out three hours (plus an hour for the r/t commute) and go. Timings and directions are at www.desplainescinema.com.
It seems there was a strike, and Mysore (12-ish hours ahead of us) was shut down today. Something tells me it was business as usual at the Ashtanga Yoga Nilam. From today's Star of Mysore (www.starofmysore.com):
TRADE BANDH HITS CONSUMERS
Mysore, Mar. 31 (BLU&BRS)- Majority of traders in the heart of the city and extensions downed shutters today to observe bandh in response to the call given by All India Federation of Traders Association demanding modifications in VAT (Value Added Tax) system. The State Government is implementing VAT from tomorrow.
Consumers dependent on the shops for their many daily needs were left to fend for themselves.
They could be seen swarming around a few shops which were kept half-open in the morning.
Residents of Agrahara, Nanjumalige, Vidyaranyapuram and surrounding areas, took the brunt of the bandh. These areas witnessed curfew-like atmosphere in many thoroughfares.
However, hotels, drug stores, liquor shops and cinema halls conducted their business as usual.
Business establishments in major commercial areas like Devaraj Urs road, Sayyaji Rao Road, Shivarampet, Old Bank Road, Ashoka Road, Irwin Road, Dhanvanthri Road and Gandhi Square remained closed.
Nearly a thousand businessmen took out a procession from K.R. Circle to DC's office at noon holding placards. A delegation of the traders submitted a memorandum to the Deputy Commissioner.
The memorandum urged the Government to raise the turnover ceiling for VAT from Rs. 10 lakh to Rs. 25 lakh.
It also urged the Government to suspend harsh measures like fine and punishment for violation of VAT during the first two years. It said it was not proper for implementing VAT in some States while sparing others.
The memorandum also opposed imposition of other Central and State taxes along with VAT.
The procession was led by Mysore Chamber of Commerce and Industry President H.N. Ramathirtha, Hon. Secretary A.S. Satish, Mysore Grain Merchants Association President C. Krishnappa, APMC Grain Merchants Association Director C. Narayan and others.
The bandh at APMC in Bandi-palya badly hit the farmers who had come along with their commodities.
The vendors of perishables such as flowers, fruits and vegetables at the locations of their daily business, however, carried on their trade without any hindrance.
The consumers heaved a sigh of relief for the small mercies shown by at least a section of traders.
Meanwhile, some shops on Devaraj Urs Road opened after the procession passed through. Some activists, supporting the bandh, were seen forcing them to down the shutters.
The 1960 classic Mughal-e-Azam, recently colourised, opens tomorrow at the Des Plaines Theatre (1/2 hour from Chicago; the Metra train station is less than a block away from the theatre). It's a rare chance to see it on the big screen; apparently it boasts the best and most moving music our friend Bindi has ever heard in an Indian fillum. So clear out three hours (plus an hour for the r/t commute) and go. Timings and directions are at www.desplainescinema.com.
It seems there was a strike, and Mysore (12-ish hours ahead of us) was shut down today. Something tells me it was business as usual at the Ashtanga Yoga Nilam. From today's Star of Mysore (www.starofmysore.com):
TRADE BANDH HITS CONSUMERS
Mysore, Mar. 31 (BLU&BRS)- Majority of traders in the heart of the city and extensions downed shutters today to observe bandh in response to the call given by All India Federation of Traders Association demanding modifications in VAT (Value Added Tax) system. The State Government is implementing VAT from tomorrow.
Consumers dependent on the shops for their many daily needs were left to fend for themselves.
They could be seen swarming around a few shops which were kept half-open in the morning.
Residents of Agrahara, Nanjumalige, Vidyaranyapuram and surrounding areas, took the brunt of the bandh. These areas witnessed curfew-like atmosphere in many thoroughfares.
However, hotels, drug stores, liquor shops and cinema halls conducted their business as usual.
Business establishments in major commercial areas like Devaraj Urs road, Sayyaji Rao Road, Shivarampet, Old Bank Road, Ashoka Road, Irwin Road, Dhanvanthri Road and Gandhi Square remained closed.
Nearly a thousand businessmen took out a procession from K.R. Circle to DC's office at noon holding placards. A delegation of the traders submitted a memorandum to the Deputy Commissioner.
The memorandum urged the Government to raise the turnover ceiling for VAT from Rs. 10 lakh to Rs. 25 lakh.
It also urged the Government to suspend harsh measures like fine and punishment for violation of VAT during the first two years. It said it was not proper for implementing VAT in some States while sparing others.
The memorandum also opposed imposition of other Central and State taxes along with VAT.
The procession was led by Mysore Chamber of Commerce and Industry President H.N. Ramathirtha, Hon. Secretary A.S. Satish, Mysore Grain Merchants Association President C. Krishnappa, APMC Grain Merchants Association Director C. Narayan and others.
The bandh at APMC in Bandi-palya badly hit the farmers who had come along with their commodities.
The vendors of perishables such as flowers, fruits and vegetables at the locations of their daily business, however, carried on their trade without any hindrance.
The consumers heaved a sigh of relief for the small mercies shown by at least a section of traders.
Meanwhile, some shops on Devaraj Urs Road opened after the procession passed through. Some activists, supporting the bandh, were seen forcing them to down the shutters.
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
ODE ON AN ODIOUS MONTH
TS Eliot said that April is the cruelest month.
And most of us would agree that February is the coldest.
But March is definitely the longest -- at least here in the Midwest.
I know this because on yet another dank, sunless day, my usually chipper yoga students will complain about the cold and snow -- again -- and ask why they have no energy.
"Because it's March," I tell them. "There’s no sun."
And as the month draws to a blustery, dark close, the students who aren’t out sick will start saying some very non-yogic things -- like "I hate March" and "Will this effing month never end?"
I see their point. They made it through February and are waiting for their reward. But this is Chicago. There is no reward.
It doesn’t matter whether March comes in like a lion or a lamb or some other Biblical creature. Because it always sticks around like a leech.
In March the average temperature in Chicago is 37 degrees, and 18 of the month’s 31 days are cloudy -- second only to December’s 19. And this year March began with Mother Nature dropping a bomb of snow on the city.
Sure, the first day of spring was on the 21st. But no one noticed.
And yes, there is always a day or two when the sun comes out and the temperature hovers near 50 and fratboys don shorts and blind us with their fat white winter legs.
The next day it will snow, of course, and the shorts and spring jackets will go back into storage (the baseball caps stay out of course).
But in March the snow never sticks around long enough to look pretty. Instead it stays just long enough to mix with the salt and dirt and turn the entire city an even more depressing shade of gray.
March is like a relationship that’s on its last legs but won’t give up the ghost. Both partners are compelled to flog it to death until the bitter end, making themselves and everyone around them completely miserable.
A week later the sun will come out again -- kind of like a wayward lover promising to do better. And he does for a day. And then goes back to his irritating old tricks.
Is it any coincidence that the third month inspired the terms Mad as a March Hare and March Madness? That last term isn’t about basketball -- it’s about losing it during a winter that never ends. This year alone sets a new record for random acts of insanity. On March 12 Brian Nichols killed three people outside an Atlanta courthouse. The next day Terry Ratzmann opened fire at Living Church of God in suburban Milwaukee, killing seven. On March 21, Red Lake High School student Jeff Weise killed ten people, including himself. Two days later a man opened fire at a plumbing store in Arlington Heights, Illinois (he missed). And on the 24th, Rockford, Illinois’ Michael W. Mitchell brandished a box cutter and tried to steal a gun from a store in Florida, so he could "take some action and rescue Terri Schiavo." (At least the Midwest is well represented here).
In early Roman times March was the first month of year, named for Mars -- the god of war -- and was actually designated "the time for resumption of war" (which apparently still holds true, seeing as how the US invaded Iraq two Marches ago).
Mostly, though, March just befuddles people -- like the woman with the $300 haircut who walked past me at Jewel grocery store the other day, wearing a flowered rayon skirt, stylish pink jacket ... and salt-covered winter boots.
Like me, she was sick and tired of wearing the same old down jacket and corduroy jeans.
So maybe I’ll defy the weather, too, and break out the miniskirt and combat boots.
After all, the cruelest month is just around the corner.
TS Eliot said that April is the cruelest month.
And most of us would agree that February is the coldest.
But March is definitely the longest -- at least here in the Midwest.
I know this because on yet another dank, sunless day, my usually chipper yoga students will complain about the cold and snow -- again -- and ask why they have no energy.
"Because it's March," I tell them. "There’s no sun."
And as the month draws to a blustery, dark close, the students who aren’t out sick will start saying some very non-yogic things -- like "I hate March" and "Will this effing month never end?"
I see their point. They made it through February and are waiting for their reward. But this is Chicago. There is no reward.
It doesn’t matter whether March comes in like a lion or a lamb or some other Biblical creature. Because it always sticks around like a leech.
In March the average temperature in Chicago is 37 degrees, and 18 of the month’s 31 days are cloudy -- second only to December’s 19. And this year March began with Mother Nature dropping a bomb of snow on the city.
Sure, the first day of spring was on the 21st. But no one noticed.
And yes, there is always a day or two when the sun comes out and the temperature hovers near 50 and fratboys don shorts and blind us with their fat white winter legs.
The next day it will snow, of course, and the shorts and spring jackets will go back into storage (the baseball caps stay out of course).
But in March the snow never sticks around long enough to look pretty. Instead it stays just long enough to mix with the salt and dirt and turn the entire city an even more depressing shade of gray.
March is like a relationship that’s on its last legs but won’t give up the ghost. Both partners are compelled to flog it to death until the bitter end, making themselves and everyone around them completely miserable.
A week later the sun will come out again -- kind of like a wayward lover promising to do better. And he does for a day. And then goes back to his irritating old tricks.
Is it any coincidence that the third month inspired the terms Mad as a March Hare and March Madness? That last term isn’t about basketball -- it’s about losing it during a winter that never ends. This year alone sets a new record for random acts of insanity. On March 12 Brian Nichols killed three people outside an Atlanta courthouse. The next day Terry Ratzmann opened fire at Living Church of God in suburban Milwaukee, killing seven. On March 21, Red Lake High School student Jeff Weise killed ten people, including himself. Two days later a man opened fire at a plumbing store in Arlington Heights, Illinois (he missed). And on the 24th, Rockford, Illinois’ Michael W. Mitchell brandished a box cutter and tried to steal a gun from a store in Florida, so he could "take some action and rescue Terri Schiavo." (At least the Midwest is well represented here).
In early Roman times March was the first month of year, named for Mars -- the god of war -- and was actually designated "the time for resumption of war" (which apparently still holds true, seeing as how the US invaded Iraq two Marches ago).
Mostly, though, March just befuddles people -- like the woman with the $300 haircut who walked past me at Jewel grocery store the other day, wearing a flowered rayon skirt, stylish pink jacket ... and salt-covered winter boots.
Like me, she was sick and tired of wearing the same old down jacket and corduroy jeans.
So maybe I’ll defy the weather, too, and break out the miniskirt and combat boots.
After all, the cruelest month is just around the corner.
Saturday, March 26, 2005
FUTZ-TUTZING
This morning's Mysore class was marred by the existence of two Futzers (people who dawdle), two Researchers (people who prep and prep and prep -- often with second series poses -- before going into a primary series pose) and two Free-Formers (there have been some minor skirmishes here between straight-up Mysore folks, who go by the book -- the book being Yoga Mala -- and those who see fit to add and subtract from and otherwise "improve" upon the practice of ashtanga yoga in their so-called Mysore classes... which means you get many different interpretations of the practice in Chi-town). In any case the Free-Formers were across from me, which meant there was no Dristi or inward focus but much marveling at their unique versions of the primary series... which in one case meant no vinyasa whatsoever, loud, earth-shaking jumping and backbend after inversions -- and which included Garudasana (Eagle pose) and various power yoga moves rarely performed outside of NYC's Om and Jivamukti studios.
At least there weren't any Locomotives (those distracting practitioners -- usually male -- who have no apparent inhale and force out their loud, short, violent exhale like Thomas the Tank Engine negotiating a steep, steep hill).
That said, it was good to practice at all, what with the sore back, tight hamstrings, hint of a cold and a demoralizing week dealing with Editors Who Can't Stand Me. (Did anyone else notice that yesterday was a full moon, Good Friday, Purim *and* the Hindu holiday of Holi? And earlier in the week it was the Persian and Bah'ai New Year!). So I could barely go into backbend today -- At least I was there. And, in the neverending month that is March (more on that soon), sometimes that's enough....
This morning's Mysore class was marred by the existence of two Futzers (people who dawdle), two Researchers (people who prep and prep and prep -- often with second series poses -- before going into a primary series pose) and two Free-Formers (there have been some minor skirmishes here between straight-up Mysore folks, who go by the book -- the book being Yoga Mala -- and those who see fit to add and subtract from and otherwise "improve" upon the practice of ashtanga yoga in their so-called Mysore classes... which means you get many different interpretations of the practice in Chi-town). In any case the Free-Formers were across from me, which meant there was no Dristi or inward focus but much marveling at their unique versions of the primary series... which in one case meant no vinyasa whatsoever, loud, earth-shaking jumping and backbend after inversions -- and which included Garudasana (Eagle pose) and various power yoga moves rarely performed outside of NYC's Om and Jivamukti studios.
At least there weren't any Locomotives (those distracting practitioners -- usually male -- who have no apparent inhale and force out their loud, short, violent exhale like Thomas the Tank Engine negotiating a steep, steep hill).
That said, it was good to practice at all, what with the sore back, tight hamstrings, hint of a cold and a demoralizing week dealing with Editors Who Can't Stand Me. (Did anyone else notice that yesterday was a full moon, Good Friday, Purim *and* the Hindu holiday of Holi? And earlier in the week it was the Persian and Bah'ai New Year!). So I could barely go into backbend today -- At least I was there. And, in the neverending month that is March (more on that soon), sometimes that's enough....
Thursday, March 24, 2005
YOU’RE EITHER WITH US OR AGAINST US*....
(or, why worry about foreign terrorists, when the homegrown version is so effective?)
Am I mistaken, or have more people been going postal of late:
February 24
David Hernandez Arroyo, Sr., using an an AK-47, kills two (inlcuding his ex-wife) in a Tyler, Texas courthouse rampage before being gunned down by police
Februay 28
Bart Ross kills Chicago Judge Joan Humphrey Lefkow's mother and husband (this occurred about two miles northeast of Satya's house).
March 12
Brian Nichols kills at least three people at an Atlanta courthouse.
March 13
Milwaukee-area loner Terry Ratzmann opens fire at the Living Church of God, killing seven (including himself)
March 21
16-year-old high school student Jeff Weise goes Columbine, killing ten (including himself) in Red Lake Minnesota
It's interesting that the Midwest is so well-represented....One can't help but wonder if it's all the unfortunate result of a too-long and too-dark winter (March Madness coming home to roost) or too much TiVo or not enough yoga / other hobbies or a reflection of what the gov's doing overseas or what.....
*From Bush's Sept. 21, 2001 speech, -- the last time the rest of the world really, really liked U.S.
(or, why worry about foreign terrorists, when the homegrown version is so effective?)
Am I mistaken, or have more people been going postal of late:
February 24
David Hernandez Arroyo, Sr., using an an AK-47, kills two (inlcuding his ex-wife) in a Tyler, Texas courthouse rampage before being gunned down by police
Februay 28
Bart Ross kills Chicago Judge Joan Humphrey Lefkow's mother and husband (this occurred about two miles northeast of Satya's house).
March 12
Brian Nichols kills at least three people at an Atlanta courthouse.
March 13
Milwaukee-area loner Terry Ratzmann opens fire at the Living Church of God, killing seven (including himself)
March 21
16-year-old high school student Jeff Weise goes Columbine, killing ten (including himself) in Red Lake Minnesota
It's interesting that the Midwest is so well-represented....One can't help but wonder if it's all the unfortunate result of a too-long and too-dark winter (March Madness coming home to roost) or too much TiVo or not enough yoga / other hobbies or a reflection of what the gov's doing overseas or what.....
*From Bush's Sept. 21, 2001 speech, -- the last time the rest of the world really, really liked U.S.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA
Today while attempting pinca mayurasana (a forearm balance with the legs in the air), my legs went all the way over and I flipped onto my back, emitting a very loud "Oh!" in the process.
It was more surprising than painful, though.
One wonders if jumping back from the pose into caturanga dandasana could be so anticlimactic.
Doubt it.
Today while attempting pinca mayurasana (a forearm balance with the legs in the air), my legs went all the way over and I flipped onto my back, emitting a very loud "Oh!" in the process.
It was more surprising than painful, though.
One wonders if jumping back from the pose into caturanga dandasana could be so anticlimactic.
Doubt it.
Friday, March 18, 2005
ODDS 'N (BLOODY) SODS
A Review of Bride & Prejudice from The Times of India (and I thought all those local papers lacked bite):
"The film employs the worst pre-packaged cliches about 'natives' letting their hair down at assorted weddings, as a classy, uptight American gulps in embarrassment while discreetly eying the pale and lifeless daughter of a middle-class family in Amritsar. Of course, there are shots of the Golden Temple to thrill the cockles of Britain's nostalgic Sikh community. What? No snakes and snake charmers? Relax, there's a hilarious Cobra dance. "
***
My favourite new web site is Badmash.org (thanks, Bindi) -- featuring really sharp desi cartoons. To start, click on issue #71: "for that yoga flame").
***
Oh yeah. I ran into the Vexx yesterday morn.
No, wait, he was standing by my bike after I taught two classes in a row and came out of the Habitrail club in a haze.
He had to call out to me twice before I saw him.
Stalking? It was snowing.
Apparently he's now driving a Volvo wagon. Apparently That Woman has sold half her apt. to him. Apparently...
Funny, the cat just threw up. While I was writing that last "Apparently"
Apparently he sold the recording studio and works out of her living room.....I mean "their" living room.
Apparently there was some need to tell me all this.
Apparently that couldda been me.
Most definitely I am better off (although three of the five missing lbs have come back home to roost).
I got off some real zingers, too.
***
That episode aired (erred?), er, occurred just five days after Jack and I went out to dinner with his ex-galpal and her husband and his (comedy) partner and intern. They were smart and accomplished but not to the point where you feel like a dullard. We were eating Death by Nachos and discussing various theater susperstitions and David Foster Wallace, etc. when some Liquid Sky-looking chick walked in. All the male heads turned at once. Turns out they were looking at Jack's most recent vexing ex.
ME: "So THAT'S why you wanted me to dye my hair blonde and get it cut short!"
ME AGAIN: "My god, Jack -- Half the women in this place have b*nged you!"
AND (hey, I had The PMS): "She looks a little pinched."
He agreed to the last. And a good time was had by all.
A Review of Bride & Prejudice from The Times of India (and I thought all those local papers lacked bite):
"The film employs the worst pre-packaged cliches about 'natives' letting their hair down at assorted weddings, as a classy, uptight American gulps in embarrassment while discreetly eying the pale and lifeless daughter of a middle-class family in Amritsar. Of course, there are shots of the Golden Temple to thrill the cockles of Britain's nostalgic Sikh community. What? No snakes and snake charmers? Relax, there's a hilarious Cobra dance. "
***
My favourite new web site is Badmash.org (thanks, Bindi) -- featuring really sharp desi cartoons. To start, click on issue #71: "for that yoga flame").
***
Oh yeah. I ran into the Vexx yesterday morn.
No, wait, he was standing by my bike after I taught two classes in a row and came out of the Habitrail club in a haze.
He had to call out to me twice before I saw him.
Stalking? It was snowing.
Apparently he's now driving a Volvo wagon. Apparently That Woman has sold half her apt. to him. Apparently...
Funny, the cat just threw up. While I was writing that last "Apparently"
Apparently he sold the recording studio and works out of her living room.....I mean "their" living room.
Apparently there was some need to tell me all this.
Apparently that couldda been me.
Most definitely I am better off (although three of the five missing lbs have come back home to roost).
I got off some real zingers, too.
***
That episode aired (erred?), er, occurred just five days after Jack and I went out to dinner with his ex-galpal and her husband and his (comedy) partner and intern. They were smart and accomplished but not to the point where you feel like a dullard. We were eating Death by Nachos and discussing various theater susperstitions and David Foster Wallace, etc. when some Liquid Sky-looking chick walked in. All the male heads turned at once. Turns out they were looking at Jack's most recent vexing ex.
ME: "So THAT'S why you wanted me to dye my hair blonde and get it cut short!"
ME AGAIN: "My god, Jack -- Half the women in this place have b*nged you!"
AND (hey, I had The PMS): "She looks a little pinched."
He agreed to the last. And a good time was had by all.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
NEW BEGINNINGS (?)
Did the war in Iraq start on March 16 2003? I thought it had. But after a Google search, I'm not so sure. Some news sources say it began March 14 or 15, others claim March 20. I think it's actually March 19. I supect that the people of Iraq and certain war vets remember the date quite well.....but for my sake let's say 'twas March 16:
-Two years ago the US invaded Iraq (the current death toll is some 16,000 dead civilians and over 1500 US troops, etc)
-One year ago (a few days before I left India) I got that e-message telling me my most regular, lucrative and long-running (8 years) writing assigment was being handed to my sub.* Some highlights:
" I think it's time to make a transition to a new....writer, and this leave of absence is as good a time as any..... Bla bla bla......various reasons....Bla.... not least the benefits that arise from making change for its own sake...Bla.... don't in any way interpret this as punishment or retaliation for your having taken time off."
Mmmmhmmm.
-This year I'm telling you that I'm teaching some 13 classes a week and my writing career is neither here nor there. I can barely go into backbend, let alone stand up from it.
That said, any yoga practice I can do is a godsend, the Shield is back on TV, the disheveled brothers are still in The Amazing Race and the Iraqi war vet has still not had a single flashback.
Except to old girlfriends.
Which is a whole 'nother story.....
------
*Who now apparenty works at CB2
Did the war in Iraq start on March 16 2003? I thought it had. But after a Google search, I'm not so sure. Some news sources say it began March 14 or 15, others claim March 20. I think it's actually March 19. I supect that the people of Iraq and certain war vets remember the date quite well.....but for my sake let's say 'twas March 16:
-Two years ago the US invaded Iraq (the current death toll is some 16,000 dead civilians and over 1500 US troops, etc)
-One year ago (a few days before I left India) I got that e-message telling me my most regular, lucrative and long-running (8 years) writing assigment was being handed to my sub.* Some highlights:
" I think it's time to make a transition to a new....writer, and this leave of absence is as good a time as any..... Bla bla bla......various reasons....Bla.... not least the benefits that arise from making change for its own sake...Bla.... don't in any way interpret this as punishment or retaliation for your having taken time off."
Mmmmhmmm.
-This year I'm telling you that I'm teaching some 13 classes a week and my writing career is neither here nor there. I can barely go into backbend, let alone stand up from it.
That said, any yoga practice I can do is a godsend, the Shield is back on TV, the disheveled brothers are still in The Amazing Race and the Iraqi war vet has still not had a single flashback.
Except to old girlfriends.
Which is a whole 'nother story.....
------
*Who now apparenty works at CB2
Friday, March 11, 2005
A SERIES OF ANNOYING BUT NOT-SO-UNFORTUNATE EVENTS
Apparently my latest radio essay aired while I was teaching open yoga to 14 people (one pregnant, one of whom hightailed it out of there before giving her last name)..... which just about covers the $30 parking ticket I received from a one-legged man the minute the meter expired, just after class ended (I also slipped on some snow-covered ice just before class, and tumbled down a half-flight of stairs, injuring my right hip, wrist and shoulder....Even worse, Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" is now lodged in my brain... and, hopefully, yours too):
"Satya
We were a bit short this morning, so your essay will be on around 10:30 this morning!
Sorry for the short notice…its unfortunately the nature of the business. I do have a copy of Online Dating for you and will also get one for this essay as well.
Best,
Manju C.
Producer"
The essay in question........
CONSPIRACY
By Satya Cacananda
I was driving on the tollway towards Chicago when my brother called to tell me -- again -- that I had to leave the city and move somewhere decent. He still lives in our hometown of McHenry out in the northwest suburbs , and calls me on my prepaid cell phone every time there's a scandal in the city. Which is often.
This time he was hopping mad about Jeffrey Boyle, the Chicago fire lieutenant suspected of setting fires. But he was also incensed with another Boyle brother -- John "Quarters" Boyle, who was charged last year with taking payoffs in the Trucks for Hire scandal.
Our conversation turned to Quarters' nickname, which he got after being convicted of stealing $4 million in change from the Illinois Tollway Authority.
I told my brother I’d opened two rolls of pennies for this trip on the tollway, and was preparing to drop all 100 of them into the toll basket.
I've been tossing pennies into the toll baskets for years out of principle -- the tollways were paid off long ago, and payments from motorists were supposed to be temporary. Pitching pennies is my one-woman protest, designed to make it as difficult and as expensive as possible for the state to take -- and transport -- my money.
But I didn't get serious and start buying rolls of pennies until after the first of the year, when tolls doubled for drivers who paid in cash instead of using I-Pass.
I brought home one of those I-Pass devices. But I don't like being coerced into having my movements tracked, even if it means paying double. And when I opened up the box and saw how much information they wanted from me, I decided to put off the transition as long as possible.
I don't like anyone knowing what I'm up to -- that's one of the reasons I live in a big apartment building on a busy street. But it doesn't stop there. I never use an ATM card, and pay in cash whenever I can. I buy magazines at the newsstand rather than subscribe. The US Patriot Act makes it much easier for the government to track the library books and videos I borrow. So I get what I can from friends. "They" can also track the TV shows we watch and the web sites we visit -- so of course I don't have TiVo or a cable modem. And when it was time to fill out the application for a Jewel Preferred Card, I used the first two street names that came to mind and created a whole new identity -- Lawrence J. Wacker. After all, I don't want The Man to find out I don't eat meat.
My brother warned me that I'd better not put my name on this essay. He said if I did, Homeland Security would be onto me in no time.
So this is Larry Wacker. Reporting from corrupt, beautiful, laissez-faire Chicago.
While she still can.
Apparently my latest radio essay aired while I was teaching open yoga to 14 people (one pregnant, one of whom hightailed it out of there before giving her last name)..... which just about covers the $30 parking ticket I received from a one-legged man the minute the meter expired, just after class ended (I also slipped on some snow-covered ice just before class, and tumbled down a half-flight of stairs, injuring my right hip, wrist and shoulder....Even worse, Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" is now lodged in my brain... and, hopefully, yours too):
"Satya
We were a bit short this morning, so your essay will be on around 10:30 this morning!
Sorry for the short notice…its unfortunately the nature of the business. I do have a copy of Online Dating for you and will also get one for this essay as well.
Best,
Manju C.
Producer"
The essay in question........
CONSPIRACY
By Satya Cacananda
I was driving on the tollway towards Chicago when my brother called to tell me -- again -- that I had to leave the city and move somewhere decent. He still lives in our hometown of McHenry out in the northwest suburbs , and calls me on my prepaid cell phone every time there's a scandal in the city. Which is often.
This time he was hopping mad about Jeffrey Boyle, the Chicago fire lieutenant suspected of setting fires. But he was also incensed with another Boyle brother -- John "Quarters" Boyle, who was charged last year with taking payoffs in the Trucks for Hire scandal.
Our conversation turned to Quarters' nickname, which he got after being convicted of stealing $4 million in change from the Illinois Tollway Authority.
I told my brother I’d opened two rolls of pennies for this trip on the tollway, and was preparing to drop all 100 of them into the toll basket.
I've been tossing pennies into the toll baskets for years out of principle -- the tollways were paid off long ago, and payments from motorists were supposed to be temporary. Pitching pennies is my one-woman protest, designed to make it as difficult and as expensive as possible for the state to take -- and transport -- my money.
But I didn't get serious and start buying rolls of pennies until after the first of the year, when tolls doubled for drivers who paid in cash instead of using I-Pass.
I brought home one of those I-Pass devices. But I don't like being coerced into having my movements tracked, even if it means paying double. And when I opened up the box and saw how much information they wanted from me, I decided to put off the transition as long as possible.
I don't like anyone knowing what I'm up to -- that's one of the reasons I live in a big apartment building on a busy street. But it doesn't stop there. I never use an ATM card, and pay in cash whenever I can. I buy magazines at the newsstand rather than subscribe. The US Patriot Act makes it much easier for the government to track the library books and videos I borrow. So I get what I can from friends. "They" can also track the TV shows we watch and the web sites we visit -- so of course I don't have TiVo or a cable modem. And when it was time to fill out the application for a Jewel Preferred Card, I used the first two street names that came to mind and created a whole new identity -- Lawrence J. Wacker. After all, I don't want The Man to find out I don't eat meat.
My brother warned me that I'd better not put my name on this essay. He said if I did, Homeland Security would be onto me in no time.
So this is Larry Wacker. Reporting from corrupt, beautiful, laissez-faire Chicago.
While she still can.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
SRA. LACONICA
The back is mending little by little what with help from the magical exercises in Pain Free (by Peter Egoscue, a big man with a moustache) and a visit to the chiro who's covering for my regular chiro. Turns out the new chiro's family's from Mumbai and his uncle is *a major producer of Bollywood fillums*. Although he's from Toronto and has never visited India, he's met every single star I named (all three of 'em) plus many I didn't. Can't wait to go back this afternoon....
That will be *after* a trip to Devon Avenue (street of Indian shops and restaurants).
Which reminds me. The competition to the Backwards R -- TimeOut Chicago -- has finally launched. It's coherent and easy-to-follow (unlike the re-designed, slightly dumbed-down Backwards R) and even has listings for kids' stuff... Not only that but you don't have to bend over (and throw out your back) to pick it up off the floor -- it comes right to your mailbox! ... yes, I'm kicking myself for not hitting 'em up for work after returning from India last year sans lucrative weekly Backwards R column. At the same time their movie listings are incomplete and the Backwards R covers things TOC would never even admit exist.......
The back is mending little by little what with help from the magical exercises in Pain Free (by Peter Egoscue, a big man with a moustache) and a visit to the chiro who's covering for my regular chiro. Turns out the new chiro's family's from Mumbai and his uncle is *a major producer of Bollywood fillums*. Although he's from Toronto and has never visited India, he's met every single star I named (all three of 'em) plus many I didn't. Can't wait to go back this afternoon....
That will be *after* a trip to Devon Avenue (street of Indian shops and restaurants).
Which reminds me. The competition to the Backwards R -- TimeOut Chicago -- has finally launched. It's coherent and easy-to-follow (unlike the re-designed, slightly dumbed-down Backwards R) and even has listings for kids' stuff... Not only that but you don't have to bend over (and throw out your back) to pick it up off the floor -- it comes right to your mailbox! ... yes, I'm kicking myself for not hitting 'em up for work after returning from India last year sans lucrative weekly Backwards R column. At the same time their movie listings are incomplete and the Backwards R covers things TOC would never even admit exist.......
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
BEAT ON THE BACK, BEAT ON THE BRAT, BEAT ON THE BACK WITH A BASEBALL BAT
(oh yeah)
Prior to Monday, I believed that people who "threw their back out" were full of sh*t; that the inevitable incapacitation and whining that came with it was a either a desperate cry for attention or a convenient excuse for breaking plans with me -- or both. Worse, I thought that if they were indeed in actual pain, it was their own fault for being stupid.
I take all of that back. Except for the last part. It IS probably quite foolish to repeatedly help tall, stiff yogi men drop back from standing into Backbend (and back up again, several times) when the entire time you're thinking, "This guy weighs too much! He's not ready for this. I'm not ready for this! Why did anyone ever start him on dropbacks? He should learn to walk down the wall instead, and open his own *&^%$#@ back......Why am I doing this? Mon dieu I hope my foot doesn't slip, and I fall on my tailbone! Please don't let my foot slip!" (There's less concern about Stiffy falling onto his head; having experienced this with Guruji in Mysore, I know it can be overcome. On the other hand, I'm still suffering the effects of a hard fall from Utthita Hasta Padangustasana onto my coccyx during a 1998 Mysore workshop, the trauma of which created an imbalance that has contributed to two hamstring pulls, wrist and knee pain, chronic S-I joint problems and thousands of dollars of therapy).
So yesterday while helping yet another Stiff Man back onto his head -- my least favorite part of the whole ordeal -- I felt something lock up somewhere around L3, and pain started shooting in every direction. Next thing I knew I was walking like Chaka from Land of the Lost. Every adjustment after that was a nightmare.
Ice, napping, exercises from Pain Free (a book that solved my chronic knee problem), liberal application of Traumeel (arnica) and the standing poses did little to help. While demonstrating the seated poses last night I was racked with pain -- particularly during the asanas with one leg straight, one bent. Tylenol PM and ice helped with sleep but as soon as it wore off it all came rushing back. *Now* I know what it feels like to be 40.
Of course the chiropractor is out of town.
And now my sad yoga practice is going to slip backwards even further...and when it finally resumes my hands will now be feet from my feet (rather than inches) in Kapotasana. Standing up from backbend? Not in this commercial! (In fact, doing it with splayed feet for 12 months probably contributed to this mess). Not that it's about *getting poses* or anything.
The good news is that I now have an excuse to get out of all and sundry obligations and spend some quality time sleeping in and bringing to the next level of intimacy my blossoming personal relationship with BBC America. And I'll hopefully command some much-needed attention in the process.....
Or so I think.
(oh yeah)
Prior to Monday, I believed that people who "threw their back out" were full of sh*t; that the inevitable incapacitation and whining that came with it was a either a desperate cry for attention or a convenient excuse for breaking plans with me -- or both. Worse, I thought that if they were indeed in actual pain, it was their own fault for being stupid.
I take all of that back. Except for the last part. It IS probably quite foolish to repeatedly help tall, stiff yogi men drop back from standing into Backbend (and back up again, several times) when the entire time you're thinking, "This guy weighs too much! He's not ready for this. I'm not ready for this! Why did anyone ever start him on dropbacks? He should learn to walk down the wall instead, and open his own *&^%$#@ back......Why am I doing this? Mon dieu I hope my foot doesn't slip, and I fall on my tailbone! Please don't let my foot slip!" (There's less concern about Stiffy falling onto his head; having experienced this with Guruji in Mysore, I know it can be overcome. On the other hand, I'm still suffering the effects of a hard fall from Utthita Hasta Padangustasana onto my coccyx during a 1998 Mysore workshop, the trauma of which created an imbalance that has contributed to two hamstring pulls, wrist and knee pain, chronic S-I joint problems and thousands of dollars of therapy).
So yesterday while helping yet another Stiff Man back onto his head -- my least favorite part of the whole ordeal -- I felt something lock up somewhere around L3, and pain started shooting in every direction. Next thing I knew I was walking like Chaka from Land of the Lost. Every adjustment after that was a nightmare.
Ice, napping, exercises from Pain Free (a book that solved my chronic knee problem), liberal application of Traumeel (arnica) and the standing poses did little to help. While demonstrating the seated poses last night I was racked with pain -- particularly during the asanas with one leg straight, one bent. Tylenol PM and ice helped with sleep but as soon as it wore off it all came rushing back. *Now* I know what it feels like to be 40.
Of course the chiropractor is out of town.
And now my sad yoga practice is going to slip backwards even further...and when it finally resumes my hands will now be feet from my feet (rather than inches) in Kapotasana. Standing up from backbend? Not in this commercial! (In fact, doing it with splayed feet for 12 months probably contributed to this mess). Not that it's about *getting poses* or anything.
The good news is that I now have an excuse to get out of all and sundry obligations and spend some quality time sleeping in and bringing to the next level of intimacy my blossoming personal relationship with BBC America. And I'll hopefully command some much-needed attention in the process.....
Or so I think.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
LIKE A VIRGIN......
From Howard Hughes wannabe Steve Fossett's web site:
"Three days before this particular attempt, he will go on a low residue diet of protein orientated foods like eggs to ensure that nothing upsets his digestive system and to dispense with the worry and inconvenience of mid-air of bowel movements. He will also be equipped with a pee bottle and a supply of diet milkshakes - which are low residue yet nutricious."
From Howard Hughes wannabe Steve Fossett's web site:
"Three days before this particular attempt, he will go on a low residue diet of protein orientated foods like eggs to ensure that nothing upsets his digestive system and to dispense with the worry and inconvenience of mid-air of bowel movements. He will also be equipped with a pee bottle and a supply of diet milkshakes - which are low residue yet nutricious."
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
LIMBO
No word yet on when the latest radio piece will air but today they did put on something by Aaron Freeman, one of the city's most ubiquitous and ________ writers (the "Council Wars" author's new stage show is running at the Apollo Theatre, next door to "Menopause the Musical"), so hopefully they've already run it or it's somewhere in the queue. As soon as I know I'll tell you. If not, I'll post the text here when I'm out of ideas.
In the past week:
-People in my class at the Fancy Seventies (lots of dark brown wood) Health Club on Sunday actually *listened* to what I said -- I doubt they've really gotten over their nasty habits of crossing their thumbs in V1, V2, Utkat and Parsvattonasana and sitting on their well-appointed arses and watching while I do vinyasas, *but* -- and afterwords a couple of 'em explained why; apparently *I* explain why we do certain things in yoga, "rather than just telling us to follow along." I usually explain things ad nauseum when I'm exasperated at their seeming deafness. I guess if it makes sense, they're more likely to do it (kind of like children, hmmmmm). And that from an ESL speaker no less (who also mentioned that he translated the entire class to his equally musclebound non-English speaking friend. Good man, that). Although it could be that they listened because my pink-pink top matched my way-too-visible-in-the-mirror thong. You never know.....
-After taking the Clubman moustache wax I gave him for a final spin and twirling up some really festive handlebars, Jack made good on his word and shaved off his beard, moustache and sideburns. This happened Sunday night, while I sat on the toilet and watched. Lid down. 'Twas a long and laborious process once the handlebars came off. Lots of snipping snipping snipping with scissors as red, brown and grey tufts flew everywhere. Followed by lots of foaming and shaving, interspersed with brushing and rinsing off the oft-clogged blade. He saved the intact part of the moustache for last; it made him look like an on-the-take cop. (Oops. Redudant). That was scary enough. Then he emerged tre clean-cut -- as someone much younger and far less serious looking than the Jack I know (two grey streaks in a beard can make a guy look positively professorial). I hardly recognized him. Recognize him. He also kisses differently (too much information, I know) and in some ways yes, it's like I'm cheating on him with him.
-On Friday me, Munkin and Jack went ice skating at one of the city's outdoor rinks, all of which closed for the season on the 27th. There was free parking, free skating, good weather, plentiful fresh air and lots of ice-space on which to suck at skating while tiny children whizzed by doing triple Axels (one pink-clad 'tween even tried to check me into the wall. But I showed *her*). Unfortunately the music they played is still reverberating in my head: the Bee Gees' "How Deep is Your Love?" , that annoying "Who Let the Dogs Out?" ditty and Lenny Kravitz's "Mr. Cab Driver," which they played complete with unbleeped "Fuck you!" Fun for the whole family. Can't wait to hear what they come up with next year.
-If you like The Amazing Race, which starts up again tonight, you'll love this very Satya Caca-esque take on Season 7: Media Fiends
-More caca here: The Brink
No word yet on when the latest radio piece will air but today they did put on something by Aaron Freeman, one of the city's most ubiquitous and ________ writers (the "Council Wars" author's new stage show is running at the Apollo Theatre, next door to "Menopause the Musical"), so hopefully they've already run it or it's somewhere in the queue. As soon as I know I'll tell you. If not, I'll post the text here when I'm out of ideas.
In the past week:
-People in my class at the Fancy Seventies (lots of dark brown wood) Health Club on Sunday actually *listened* to what I said -- I doubt they've really gotten over their nasty habits of crossing their thumbs in V1, V2, Utkat and Parsvattonasana and sitting on their well-appointed arses and watching while I do vinyasas, *but* -- and afterwords a couple of 'em explained why; apparently *I* explain why we do certain things in yoga, "rather than just telling us to follow along." I usually explain things ad nauseum when I'm exasperated at their seeming deafness. I guess if it makes sense, they're more likely to do it (kind of like children, hmmmmm). And that from an ESL speaker no less (who also mentioned that he translated the entire class to his equally musclebound non-English speaking friend. Good man, that). Although it could be that they listened because my pink-pink top matched my way-too-visible-in-the-mirror thong. You never know.....
-After taking the Clubman moustache wax I gave him for a final spin and twirling up some really festive handlebars, Jack made good on his word and shaved off his beard, moustache and sideburns. This happened Sunday night, while I sat on the toilet and watched. Lid down. 'Twas a long and laborious process once the handlebars came off. Lots of snipping snipping snipping with scissors as red, brown and grey tufts flew everywhere. Followed by lots of foaming and shaving, interspersed with brushing and rinsing off the oft-clogged blade. He saved the intact part of the moustache for last; it made him look like an on-the-take cop. (Oops. Redudant). That was scary enough. Then he emerged tre clean-cut -- as someone much younger and far less serious looking than the Jack I know (two grey streaks in a beard can make a guy look positively professorial). I hardly recognized him. Recognize him. He also kisses differently (too much information, I know) and in some ways yes, it's like I'm cheating on him with him.
-On Friday me, Munkin and Jack went ice skating at one of the city's outdoor rinks, all of which closed for the season on the 27th. There was free parking, free skating, good weather, plentiful fresh air and lots of ice-space on which to suck at skating while tiny children whizzed by doing triple Axels (one pink-clad 'tween even tried to check me into the wall. But I showed *her*). Unfortunately the music they played is still reverberating in my head: the Bee Gees' "How Deep is Your Love?" , that annoying "Who Let the Dogs Out?" ditty and Lenny Kravitz's "Mr. Cab Driver," which they played complete with unbleeped "Fuck you!" Fun for the whole family. Can't wait to hear what they come up with next year.
-If you like The Amazing Race, which starts up again tonight, you'll love this very Satya Caca-esque take on Season 7: Media Fiends
-More caca here: The Brink
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