Thursday night I had my first Gentle Intermediate Yoga class at the Garner Adult Education center. It was gentle! It was intermediate! It was Yoga! I wore Brian’s pajama pants.
I signed up for the class two weeks ago after I picked up the ‘Garner Adult Education Winter Catalogue’ to throw it away, but leafed through it instead. I’d been looking around online for a weekly yoga class, and I had begun to notice that the going rate per class was about the same price as a movie ticket, except with less popcorn and previews, and more downward dog. After investigating a few yoga studio websites, on which stylized lotus flowers opened and flitted across the screen and tranquil music piped in through my speakers, I’d just about given up.
Saved! By the Garner Adult Education Winter Catalogue!
The last Adult Education class I took was Hula with Laulau when we lived in Honolulu. I believe it was about 8 weeks of classes for about $8. What a steal! As the culmination of our eight weeks of Adult Education Hula Lessons, we got to give a performance in the cafeteria of the local high school during a budget meeting. It was kind of like the bonbon factory conveyer belt scene in I Love Lucy, except we were wearing muumuus. Lau and I considered the experience to be a great success overall.
As yoga time approached on Thursday, however, I found myself feeling a little apprehensive. This time I was going all by myself, and I had no idea what to expect. What if ‘Gentle Intermediate’ yoga involved complicated, difficult moves that would make me fall down and get laughed at? While I have some basic experience with yoga, I am extremely inflexible and not what you’d call ‘graceful’ or ‘aware of my own limitations’. What if everyone else in the class was a lean blonde gazelle who would touch her forehead to her mat when greeting the teacher? What if everyone else’s mat was a nicer color than mine? WHAT IF MY UGLY FEET OFFENDED OTHERS?
I have noticed that the more challenging poses in yoga tend to have names like, ‘Honorable Warrior’, whereas the easier resting poses have more ignoble names. I believe this is to goad unwilling students into pushing themselves to do more difficult poses. I mean, when the instructor says, “Now, if you are ready for it, please go into ‘Powerful Leader Pose’. If you do not feel strong enough for that, just relax into ‘Lazy Cow Pose’,”-really, what are you supposed to do there?
In any event, as soon as I was in the room with ten other barefoot adults all shifting their weight awkwardly and listening to new age music, I relaxed. Sometimes it just takes a minute for that little ‘eh, who cares?’ switch in your brain to turn on-you know, the one that makes you realize that even if your pants split in the middle of class, or the teacher tells you to point your toes and you turn red, it doesn’t matter. I once heard the saying, ‘Your most embarrassing moment is merely someone else’s temporary amusement’. It’s a phrase that’s given me great comfort through the years.
I have a new all-time favorite Simpson’s quote, from the episode where Homer tries to become an inventor like Thomas Edison:
Homer: “What have I done with my life? I’m 38 years old and I only have three memories! Waiting in line at the movies, getting a key made, and this conversation we’re having right now!”
I don’t know why this struck me as so funny and true, but it made me laugh throughout the entire rest of the episode, and then later on that evening it made me go, ‘what line was I laughing about so much, earlier? Oh, yeah!’ and then laugh for 10 more minutes.
What are your favorite Simpson’s quotes?
I keep thinking about the alleged assault against pop singer Rihanna by her boyfriend. It is very upsetting to hear about something like that. In the back of my mind though, I can’t help but think that, if the allegations are true, this is an opportunity to bring the issue of domestic violence into the spotlight for a new generation of women. This terrible situation emphasizes the fact that domestic violence does not just affect a certain kind of powerless, easily victimized woman. It also happens to smart, confident, beautiful, talented and famous women. It can happen to anyone.
Again, I know there are a lot of rumors swirling around right now, and it will probably take some time until things calm down and the truth actually comes out. However, if Rihanna was assaulted by her boyfriend, I really, really hope she publicly and decisively ends their relationship. This would send the message that battery is not ok, is not acceptable, and is not forgivable. It is a really important message for many, many women to receive, particularly from someone who is very much in the public eye and who many view as a role model.
In my limited experience working with victims of domestic violence a few years ago, I spent two days receiving educational training on the subject, and the most surprising information I learned about it was that the average battered woman leaves her partner around 7 different times before she leaves him for good. While this information shocked me initially, it began to make more sense once it was put into context. A lot of abused women do not have the financial resources to leave their partners, nor do they have the support they need from family and friends in order to make a final break. Also, they often feel trapped in their abusive relationships because they have children with their partners. In Rihanna’s situation, as far as I know, none of these issue should be a factor.
I realize that it is Rihanna’s choice to make, and that what ever she decides to do, it should be what is best for her personally, and not for her public image. But, since she has chosen to be a celebrity, I would hope that she will take into consideration the fact that her choices and actions are going to be watched and judged by millions of fans. Nobody wants to be the face of domestic violence, but right now Rihanna has the opportunity to set a powerful example for women everywhere who are in abusive relationships, by the actions she takes to change her own situation and show the consequences of domestic violence.
Note: Sorry about all the angry! I’ll be funny more soon, I promise.
I’ve been home sick these last two days. Like, sick-sick. I don’t get sick a lot, and when I’m not sick I almost envy the sick, because they don’t have to go to work and they get to drink juice and watch tv all day. What I forget to keep in mind is that being sick, after the initially kind of enjoyably self-pitying, ‘Oh, I am so sick, woe is me,’ moment of being sick, pretty much sucks.
Brian had whatever this is before I did (thanks, Brian!) but he managed to overcome it without a visit to the doctor. When I asked him how he did it, he said, “Lots of liquids, and lots of rest…and no candy.” He knows me too well.
Speaking of candy, we just missed the Raleigh Donut Run! Where you eat a dozen krispy kreme donuts and then run 6k! Damn it! Why do all the fun, donut-related activities seem to pass me by? I did enjoy that Raleigh’s newspaper, The News & Observer, filed their story about the donut run under “Food & Fitness” when really, it belonged under neither category.
Below is a sneak peek at this week’s Perpetual Post, which goes live tonight. I am debating Ted Berg on the relative hotness of actor Christian Bale. You can find his side of the argument here.
Christian Bale: May be Batman, but he lacks Bat-Game:
It’s all too easy for me to picture a scenario in which I am forced to fend off Christian Bale’s amorous advances. The effortlessness with which I can imagine such an encounter leads me to feel strongly that it is not only a plausible chain of events, but a likely one. Any day now, our paths will cross and I will be forced to make the difficult but unavoidable decision to tell Christian Bale, “Thanks, but no thanks to sex with you.”
I don’t relish rejecting Christian Bale’s hypothetical advances, but reject them I theoretically will. Certainly I would be excited to meet him in person, and flattered by his speculative interest, but it takes more than scruffy facial hair and washboard abs that go on for days to turn my head. It’s nothing personal, of course. I would hate for the popular actor, with his boyish good looks and brooding gaze, to feel insulted by my predetermined refusal to consider a sexual encounter with him if or when the opportunity presented itself. Hopefully I can help Christian Bale to see things my way in order to mitigate any hurt feelings or ego bruising. After all, I hear he has a bit of a temper, and I’d prefer to be on his good side, even as I remain outside his pants.
I’m sure it’s not hard for Christian Bale to understand that I’m merely looking out for my best interests in preemptively refusing to consider engaging in potentially demanded future sexual activities with him. If it helps any, I’ll try to take some of the sting out of my anticipatory rejection by advising him that he’s in good company. There’s a pantheon of other actors I’d probably prefer not to sleep with if given the chance, whose hallowed ranks include Zac Efron, Gary Sinise, that guy from Wings, and Vince Vaughn. I’m still on the fence about David Caruso. That one might actually make a good enough story.
That’s part of the problem with Christian Bale-despite several enjoyable films in which he’s played violent, aggressive characters, I’m just not convinced that that’s him, which I find disappointing. I enjoyed his turn as a sociopathic serial murderer in American Psycho, and he made a decently angsty Batman, but in all honesty he looked a little more at home playing Laurie in Little Women. And if I wanted to have a one-night-stand with Laurie from Little Women, I’d be…twelve years old. Also, nobody wants to have a one-night-stand with Laurie from Little Women. He’s clearly relationship material.
Now, on the other hand, take someone like Gary Busey. While not as physically attractive as Christian Bale, the man still has a certain terrifying madcap charisma that is impossible to deny. You just know that an evening spent alone with Gary Busey will result in the kinds of stories your grandchildren will tell their grandchildren, once they’re over 18, if you survive long enough to have them. The same goes for Mickey Rourke. Crusty and frightening as they may be on the outside, on the inside those men are stark, raving lunatics who will probably request that you do it on a pile of live lobsters ordered from room service. Then they’ll pack your ears with grits and ride you like a kangaroo through Times Square. These men are the stuff celebrity encounter dreams are made of. Christian Bale, on the other hand, would probably roll over, stroke your bicep, and ask if you thought he was a better Batman than George Clooney. Feh. I wouldn’t even tell my dentist about that kind of encounter. Not even if he asked.
I guess what I’m saying is, you’re just not edgy enough for me, Christian Bale, not to sound dismissive. Even when you were recently caught on tape spewing a curse-laden diatribe at your director, you sounded more like a fuming private school father chewing out his son’s lacrosse coach. As I listened to that rant, I still saw you in my head as loveable scamp Jack “Cowboy” Kelly from Newsies, wearing a jaunty red neckerchief and kicking your heels in the air. I half expected you to finish your tirade with a forceful, “Headlines don’t sell papes. Newsies sell papes!” Not only that, but immediately after that rant was released you issued a public apology! That wilting sound you hear is my libido, Christian Bale. The iron doors have closed for you. You can take me off your list of normal people you would sleep with if given the chance. But if you happen to run into Pete Doherty, you tell that screwball where he can find me.
Hilary Duff, you are so right to put Faye Dunaway in her place. How dare she question your acting talents? Lizzie McGuire was a tour de force!
Especially since the original Bonnie and Clyde movie was only a re-telling of the story– while the remake of the ’67 classic you’re starring in, in your own words, “is kind of like the true events of how everything went down.”
I’m sure it’s not your fault Ms. Dunaway allegedly lashed out at you. After all, she’s old! As you pointed out, “I might be mad if I looked like that now, too.” Well said, Hilary. Maybe you’ll get hit by a train and then you’ll always be young and beautiful forever!
I hope this feud does not go on for much longer. Maybe the two of you can put things right by starring in a modern, scene-for-scene remake of Mommie Dearest. Nothing would make me happier.
I think I might be slowly coming around to MacGyver. Don’t tell Brian I said this, but I may have misjudged the man. Last night we watched several episodes back-to-back, and by the end of the third one, when MacGyver and his lady friend of the hour parachuted out of a plane inside a sports car with a trunk full of stolen diamonds, I must admit, I was grudgingly impressed. I am also impressed that Microsoft Word’s dictionary corrected my spelling of the word ‘MacGyver’. Not just anyone gets into the Microsoft Word dictionary, my friends.
Don’t get me wrong here– the road to my heart is all not that easy; it takes more than a roll of duct tape and a bag of kettle corn to win me over (although it didn’t in college). I was extremely skeptical during the first episode or so. The synthesized music, the high-waisted jeans and off-the-shoulder shirts of the ’80s, MacGyver’s suspiciously mullet-like hair-all of these things added to my discomfort and my certainty that I was not going to watch more than an episode or two. Brian would be just fine watching the remaining 39 episodes of season one by himself, I thought. But gradually, I began to relax. I stopped snickering every time a female character fawningly repeated MacGyver’s name to him over and over again. “Oh, MacGyver! You’re so reckless. That’s just like you, isn’t it MacGyver? What am I going to MacGyver with you, MacGyver?”
After a few of snide remarks about the unlikelihood of MacGyver’s jury-rigged contraptions actually working, I decided to shut up and enjoy myself. After all, no one likes the killjoy who says things like, ‘He better hope there’s no wind, or that candle is going to blow out before it burns through her purse-strap and sets off those fireworks as a diversion.’ Likewise the wet blanket who sneers, ‘Can you really deflect a laser beam with plastic tubing?’ or ‘Those guys are two dunes away with automatic weapons, they can’t hit a frickin’ air balloon?’ That person is no fun. No one wants to watch MacGyver with them.
Of particular enjoyment to me was the refreshing lack of violence. I am what my mother would call ‘a delicate flower’– too faint-hearted for the gruesome scenes in most modern movies and television shows. Is it just me, or did there used to be less grisly stuff on basic cable? Now there is a CSI for every major city, and it is safe to assume that one of the actors in the first five minutes of any crime show is about to be shot, strangled or thrown off a roof. In contrast, during episode two, MacGyver and a plucky female journalist were discovered taking undercover pictures of a secret Central American terrorist organization. I figured they were about to be beaten to a pulp, or at the very least threatened with electrocution; instead they got yelled at. And the journalist’s camera film got exposed. But that was it! And then MacGyver and plucky journalist foiled their captors and disappeared into the jungle to spend the night together in a tent he rigged out of underbrush, but you know they only went to second base, because he is a gentleman.
Speaking of which, MacGyver also managed to earn high marks with me for his undisguised surprise each time the female lead in the episode threw herself at him. It happens in nearly every episode– and yet, each time, he appears unabashedly delighted that he’s actually going to get some. I like that in a man! Maybe I’m just weird.
I think my favorite part about the experience, though, was watching this show with Brian and realizing that this MacGyver was a big part of what made him want to study engineering. I imagine this was the case for a lot of children of the 1980s. It was exciting, feeling as though I were watching history in the making; that every jury-rigged explosion or home-made periscope was at one time encouraging young viewers to love science. Probably also mullets, but fortunately the science part had the most staying-power.
The Newest Issue of the Perpetual Post is out today. Below is my argument in favor of more selective text messaging. Read the Pro-Texting argument Here.
Also, check out the Joe/Jill Biden Sexy-off here: It’s worth it, believe me.
All right, I’m not going to lie. I send and receive text messages all the time. I text with friends I see every day, I text with people I haven’t seen in years. I text about the weather, I text about food, I text about love.
Glad texts! Mad Texts! Drunk texts! Sad texts!
‘Most fun night I’ve ever had!’ texts.
‘Can you believe what he said?!’ texts.
‘I can’t! I can’t! I’ll stomp his head!’ texts.
Texting was initially developed as a great way of relaying brief messages to people without being forced to interact with them directly, because really, who wants that? It’s also a good way to communicate with someone who might be in a noisy area and unable to hear you on the phone, or who has somehow discovered a public place left on earth where it is universally unacceptable to talk loudly on your cell-phone. I have to believe a place like that exists. That dream keeps me going.
Texting is also an entertaining way to keep in casual, sporadic contact with friends. It’s fun to get a random message from someone you don’t get to talk to or see often; it means that they are thinking of you and had some free time while waiting in line at the bank. Still, it should be noted that even constant texting is not a substitute for actually keeping in touch in a meaningful way. Those who think otherwise likely have the emotional capacity of a Speak-N-Spell.
Unfortunately, since the popularity of text messaging has grown in the last few years, I have noticed an increasing trend toward the misuse and abuse of this extremely impersonal method of communication. I am of course referring to the frowned-upon act of texting someone in a situation that would be more respectfully handled either with a phone call, or in person.
As someone who has been mistakenly referred to as ‘homeless’ more times than I am willing to admit (I was once even complimented for having ‘nice teeth, for a homeless girl’), I do not claim to be a master of etiquette—or, clearly, fashion (until fingerless gloves and punched-out top hats come back in style, which in this economy, should happen soon). But when it comes to the judicious use of text messaging in obviously unsuitable situations, I am beginning to believe that certain standards must be agreed upon and put into regular use by the texting community at large. Here are a few examples of types of text messages that should nevermore be sent:
The Break-Up Text: Since the dawn of time, people have been trying to weasel out of having to deliver uncomfortable or upsetting news in person. I read somewhere that stone tablets from ancient Egyptian times were recently found inscribed with hieroglyphs that were roughly translated to read, ‘It’s not you. It’s me. You’re great– I’m just going through some stuff right now. I need to focus on me.’ Both historically and in modern times, there is no excuse for this kind of cowardly behavior. Break-up texters, take heed. Your devastating electronic messages are wreaking havoc on your karma. No matter how casual, secretive or illegal the relationship in question is, if it is to the point where it needs to be definitively ended, then such an ending should be done at the very least over the phone, or maybe with a thoughtful card. A text message is not the way to handle this, no matter how gently you express your feelings through the tender use of emoticons.
Textin’ 2 Apologize: An apology text, no matter how heartfelt it is, and how many little ‘frowny-face’ or ‘crying-a-tear’ characters you use, is akin to a slap in the face followed by a half-hearted, smirking shrug. It says, ‘I am aware that I’ve wronged you, but I’m not willing to take more than 10 seconds out of my day to address that fact. Instead I’m going to assuage my guilt by apologizing with a two-sentence text message. L8R’. Text an apology if you must, but follow it with an apology to the person for your existence.
The Big News Message: Throughout our lives, if we are fortunate, we will hit many milestones. Some will be large, and others small. It is exciting and important for us to share these milestones with our loved ones. However, no one wants to learn that you are engaged, pregnant or have come out of a ten-year coma from a text-message. (I have a similar beef with holiday greeting text messages. Maybe I’m just a Grinch, but when I get the ‘Merry Christmas!’ text message from nine different friends on Christmas day, deep down I know that each friend has just scrolled through their phone’s list of contacts and checked off a bunch of people to send that one message to. My heart now shrinks three sizes too small when this happens.) In any event, if I’m important enough to you that you want to share your big news with me, share it with me personally. Otherwise, I’ll just figure it out myself by stalking you on MySpace.
I Heard Tell 