Fun fact: a *lot* of yoga teachers are on Medicaid due to the nature of their employment opportunities. Seriously: Some of your favorite teachers at your FAVORITE yoga studios.

So as not to publicly shame the studios with teachers on Medicare, I’ve redacted the studio names. But:

For a 1 hour class: a teacher with ~5 years experience receives between $35-$55 a class— this entails an hour long commute, two hours of class prep minimum, and the class itself. $8.75-$13.75 an hour.

For a teacher with 20 years experience? $55-$85 — that’s $13.75-21.25 an hour, with a maximum class cap per day of 4 (very, very high due to a maximum earning potential based on ability to commute and score gigs).

Are these livable wages? Discuss.

Two years ago I had an inkling of Jois’s abuses of power. I also had plausibility in my internal denial. I think Nigel has so eloquently stated so much of how i feel. I was reminded this morning by my statement of gratitude for Jois’s work from those two years ago— I am no less grateful for his vast accomplishment but also no longer interested in a purposeful naivety. Have nuance here— and leave space for others to do so also. And in the interim, please stop diefying, explicitly or implicitly, a flawed, complicated human. If you have real interest in helping others heal their traumas, take down your icons and your alters to an abuser.

When you are unemployed, which is to say when you are underfed, harassed, bored, and miserable, you don't want to eat dull wholesome food. You want something a little bit 'tasty'. There is always some cheaply pleasant thing to tempt you. Let's have threepennorth of chips! Run out and buy us a twopenny ice-cream! Put the kettle on and we'll all have a nice cup of tea! That is how your mind works when you are at the P.A.C. level. White bread-and-marg and sugared tea don't nourish you to any extent, but they are nicer (at least most people think so) than brown bread-and-dripping and cold water. Unemployment is an endless misery that has got to be constantly palliated, and especially with tea, the Englishman's opium. A cup of tea or even an aspirin is much better as a temporary stimulant than a crust of brown bread.
- George Orwell, The Road to Wigan Pier

"Caution: Especially those who want to start practicing the two yoganga’s “Asana” and “Pranayama” without following the aforementioned niyamas, following drawing charts and practicing on their own freewill will not receive benefits but may also be responsible for tarnishing the name and bringing disrepute. " http://grimmly2007.blogspot.com/2013/08/krishnamacharyas-house-recommendations.html?m=1

Want to know a secret?

I start out every single one of my yoga classes with a dynamic warmup, just like how we start a CrossFit class at Balance Gym.

Around my parts, we call the warmup “sun salutations,” and there are as many different varieties of sun salutations from tradition to tradition as there are accents from location to location.

A ”dynamic warmup” implies that the warmup changes based on neccesity. It would seem to me that this is why you find different salutations– making sure that everything is primed that’ll be used, and not wasting time on what won’t.

Ask any lifter who has trouble opening up their chest what its like to do an overhead press, cold: not so easy/safe. How about getting a yogi to place their forehead on their shins, immediately after starting practice? Oft-times, not likely. This is why we heat the body up and acquaint ourselves with correlated movements. I mean, c’mon! It’s called a WARM UP!

One of the most common sequences that you see in salutations also happen to be two of the more common movements you see at the start of a CrossFit class: Urdhva Mukha Svanasana and Adho Mukha Svanasana. You probably know them as upward facing dog and downward facing dog, respectively.

Why so popular? These two little movements work to create a flexible, strong back, improves posture, firms the buttocks, stimulates your abdominal organs, improves sciatica, and can be therapeutic for asthma. Getting movement back into your chest, shoulders, improving grip/wrist strength, aaaaaaaand improved breathing? That’s a lot of bang for your buck.

Knowing how to come into and to exit this posture, though, is important to receive maximum benefits. So how do we do this warmup effectively?

Lets start with Updog:

Step 1:

Start out lying on the floor, flat on your belly. Walk the legs back, making them as long as possible). The feet should be hips distance wide, lining up the center of the foot with the frontal hip bones. Place the hands on the floor next to your chest, keeping the middle fingers pointing straight ahead, in line with the deltoids.

Step 2:

-With an inhalation press the tops of the feet and the palms into the floor. Raise the head and chest.

Step 3:

-Straighten the arms and lift the waist, hips, and knees a few inches above the floor. Pull the trunk and legs forward.

-Turn the arms out, widening the collarbones, and curve the trunk back between them. Bring the coccyx, sacrum, and lumbar forward.

-Avoid firmly contracting the glutes– instead, firm the quads and lift the kneecaps. Stretch the front of the body from the pubis, feeling as though your frontal hip bones were reaching for the backs of your wrists. Raise the sternum and top ribs. Take the shoulders back and press the shoulder blades (and the muscles around them) in.

-Take the head back, without constricting the neck or straining the throat. Gaze back to intensify the curve of the trunk.

What else should I know?

First and foremost: keep your low belly drawing in and up. This will help keep you safe!

Sometimes, there’s a tendency in this pose to “hang” on the shoulders, which lifts them up toward the ears and “turtles” the neck. Actively draw the shoulders away from the ears by lengthening down along the back armpits, pulling the shoulder blades toward the tailbone, and puffing the side ribs forward.

Your legs should do the work, not your back. To increase the strength and lightness of this pose, push from the backs of your knees along thecalves and out through the heels. The tops of your feet will press more firmly against the floor; as they do, lift the top sternum up and forward.

Be aware here: Keep the elbows and knees locked.

It is also important to allow the abs to relax during any backward bending pose. The back muscles are what flex here and a relaxed forward side of the body helps allow for this backbend to happen.

So– what now?

To transiton into “downdog“:

-first engage the legs, then the tailbone, then the sacrum. Try to feel as though you were moving from the pelvis. Let your thighs pull back and your hips reach up, rolling over five or ten toes at a go.
-Pull in the head and neck last. The gaze is at the belly button, and the ribs tuck. This is the way to synch the postures without putting stress on your neck and shoulders.

Try it. Legs first, then tailbone, then sacrum, then the relaxed, dangling neck and head.

Need more help?

Hands and Feet:

A high plank hold, an upward facing dog, and a downward facing dog all have the same hand and foot placement. Keep the hands in line with each other and the feet hip distance wide. You needn’t fidget.

The Transition:

As you move from updog, tuck the toes under (either by rolling over the toes or by flipping each foot), raise the head and trunk; bend the legs to raise the hips. Straighten the arms.

Finding Down Dog:

-Press the palm heels into the floor, stretch the fingers and clutch at the earth as though it were a globe. Wrap the back of your armpits down towards the mat as you roll the inner arm up. The inner armpit should feel hollow.

-Lift the pelvis nice and high. Keep the coccyx and the bottom of the pubis pointing up, pulling the pubis between the legs.

-Without losing the height of the hips, stretch the heels down. Move the thighs and shins back to bring the weight onto the backs of the legs and the heels. You’ll really want to feel the thigh bone pressing into the back of the leg. Spread the toes.

-Continue moving the trunk towards the legs. Keep the ribs anchored in, and let the collarbones widen. Relax the head and neck. If possible, rest the head on the floor (with active, unbent arms).

For Further Reading:

Yoga Anatomy, Leslie Kaminoff

Yoga: The Iyengar Way, Silvia, Mira, & Shyam Mehta

Yoga Journal, Updog

Yoga Journal, Downdog

From the NYT Article, “A Yoga Manifesto“:

Yoga is definitely big business these days. A 2008 poll, commissioned by Yoga Journal, concluded that the number of people doing yoga had declined from 16.5 million in 2004 to 15.8 million almost four years later. But the poll also estimated that the actual spending on yoga classes and products had almost doubled in that same period, from $2.95 billion to $5.7 billion.

“The irony is that yoga, and spiritual ideals for which it stands, have become the ultimate commodity,” Mark Singleton, the author of “Yoga Body: The Origins of Modern Posture Practice,” wrote in an e-mail message this week. “Spirituality is a style, and the ‘rock star’ yoga teachers are the style gurus.”

Well, maybe it is the recession, but some yogis are now saying “Peace out” to all that. There’s a brewing resistance to the expense, the cult of personality, the membership fees. At the forefront of the movement is Yoga to the People, which opened its first studio in 2006 in the East Village on St. Marks Place, with a contribution-only, pay-what-you-can fee structure.

Lets make a few things really, really clear:

• Yoga on a mat without intention is simply exercise (albiet good exercise).
• Being an adept teacher (regardless of craft) does not automatically make someone a style icon but it will make that teacher a shaper of impressionable minds.
• Being free doesn’t mean being better, nor is the inverse true.
• Identifying with a teacher is not a bad thing, never has been, and it should come as no surprise that good teachers become well known.

So, what does it matter if you enjoy doing yoga in $108 yoga pants? It doesn’t.

What does it matter if you prefer sandy beaches over Manduka PVC? It doesn’t.

What does matter? Your attachment to these things. Me and my water bottle alone have no bearing on you as a yogi, but how YOU relate to me and my water bottle does. Luckily, if you practice yoga on the mat with good intention, you’ll be prepared to practice off the mat, too.

Pardon the platitude, but: practice, and all will come.

Yoga is a mind game, a breathing exercise, a way to prepare ourselves to be better for what lies ahead. That said, if you’re confronted by a sexy ass in a pair of something lulu, or caught up in envy of the mat (or pose, or person or…) to your left, you’ve been given some excellent obstacles to overcome in order to enrich your real yoga practice. Your own indignation is a reflection of the work that lies ahead for you.

This whole article struck me as indignant.

The goal, the main aim of (what I believe to be) true yoga is to stop the fluctuations, the churning, of the mind.

With the right intention you can charge how ever much you want for whatever you want and pay as little or as much as you want for whatever you want and it is yoga.

Everything else is yoga-based exercise.

It is the mission of Mid City Yoga (my company, for which this blog is a joyful supplement) to bring what I believe to be a transformative, ancient practice to new places and spaces. I’ve been calling it guerrilla yoga for the past few years, but in reality, its just another name for the same thing: yoga.

So, what does this have to do with finances?

At the end of the day, wear what you want. Do yoga on what you want. And do yourself (as well as the universal self of which we are all a part) a favor and don’t judge others for preferring to do their practice how and where they care to– whether its on a statue in the middle of a circle, in a pay what you can class at the end of the block, or in a mirrored room at the Sports Club LA with a private teacher and a $900 water bottle. Seriously, dude, just get out and practice.

Two more quick facts:

• Jealousy ain’t cute
• The paths are many, the truth is one.

Now, in regards to the “rock star” yogi business… well, I’m a teacher, and I have people who like my pedegogy. Call me biased, but I’m glad for that. I love sharing my practice, and couldn’t do that without my students. The very same students who, not so incidentally, challenge me daily. I take pleasure in seeing my students progress in asana as well as seeing their world views shift based on their realizations fostered by simple mat-bound exercise set.

I would not be upset if more people wanted to share with me.

I have worked with many excellent teachers (including the aforementioned Bryan Kest), but I have very few people for whom I allow the term teacher to take reverence. Kristen Krash and Kristina Maze have both been very instrumental in my development as a man, a yogi, and a teacher for very different reasons. We have a relationship that is commonly called a parampara. Don’t worry if the term is new to you, it simply denotes a teacher who teaches a student directly from a specific lineage.

My paths?

BKS Iyengar to John Schumacher to Kristen Krash to Me.
Swami Sivananda to Swami Vishnu-devananda to Kristina Maze to Me.

Would I call either lady my guru? Probably not, because much like the term parampara, that word has some boogidty-boo baggage with which I’d care not to associate directly. Perhaps its the American in me, but whatever. I’ll confess I’ve got hang ups around the notions of a guru.

A better question: would you call Iyengar or Sivananda rock stars? I’d call them world renowned teacher. I’m hard pressed to relate them to the Beatles, Lars Ulrich, Madonna (as much as I love her), or Robert Plant.

Is it really this articles assertion that their is a movement suggesting you knowing who my teachers have been (or heck, just knowing I’m going to be yours) make me less effective?

I don’t think so. I would argue the opposite but again, the paths are many.

One last thing: I practice, in my personal life, the yoga of syntheis.

From wiki:

Swami Sivananda’s approach to Yoga was to combine the four main paths – Karma Yoga, Bhakti Yoga,Jnana Yoga and Raja Yoga …. This is reflected in the motto of the society that he formed, The Divine Life Society…. “Serve (Karma Yoga), Love (Bhakti Yoga), Meditate (Jnana Yoga), Realise (Raja Yoga).” In his own words, “One-sided development is not commendable. Religion and Yoga must educate and develop the whole man – his heart, intellect and hand.”

Back to the money: Serve comes first.

I know we shouldn’t expect free things everywhere, but if you have a teacher not giving of themselves selflessly somewhere (in some way), then I’m hard pressed to believe they’re practicing fully off the mat. No judgement, just seems like common sense. Selfless service, Karma Yoga, is an essential part of a practice.

As I enjoy teaching (and might be better at it, than, say, collecting trash), I find that my volunteer hours are often well spent doing just that. So, it comes as no surprise to me that their are free classes all OVER the place. And you would be well served to take one. Just remember to give back, too. Teach your nephew wheel or something.

Practice yoga in line, in Stroga, and in the sack. Yoga everywhere. Yoga anywhere.

Everyone will be better for it, and it doesn’t have to cost a dime.

During the super sweaty and grunty high intensity portion of today’s CrossFit workout, we worked in two heats. I found myself in the second heat, and subsuqently was able to observe other people doing what I was about to go do– and the free few moments to wonder why I was about to put such a great set of physical demands on my body.

But then soon it was my turn, and soon I was done. And before even that? The thought had passed. As I read this evening, I came across some words that answered the question I had forgotten:

“We are still animals — our physical existence is, in the final analysis, the only one that actually matters. A weak man is not as happy as that same man would be if he were strong. This reality is offensive to some people who would like the intellectual or spiritual to take precedence. It is instructive to see what happens to these very people as their squat strength goes up.”

-Mark Rippetoe

I think he’s right. I am happy.

Have you ever sucked in your gut to create that creepy too-big-rib-cage effect? Then odds are good you’ve used a muscle called the Transverse Abdominus. The TA is an important link in the deep kinetic chain of the body that allows for power from the low body to relate and transfer into power for the upper body (and vice versa) via increased stabilization in the pelvic girdle (and how it relates to the shoulder girdle).

As many of you know, I spend a ton of time throwing heavy stuff over my head– like, um, my body. If I want to improve, how do I go about it? Accessing the TA. It’ll seem obvious when I say this, but bear with; the more consolidated the core, the more control we have in all sorts of actions (olympic lifting, handbalancing, keg-standing).

Think about your core:

What do we have hiding underneath the skin?

First, the obvious:

• The big-sexy-six pack: aka the up-and-down rectus abdominus.
• The Side-abs: the external obliques.

These guys are all associate with torso flexion. They allow the body to “crunch.” Thats all well and good, but it doesn’t neccesarily speak to stablizing during the “crunch” or, heck, any other activity that might require you to not wobble (I think I can think of a few).

Much like my friendship networks of yore, the stable buddies can sometimes go less noticed in leiu of the louder (erm, less “stable”) friends.

Who handles the stabilization, then? The less obvious nonsuperficial muscle:

• The internal obliques: You can think of them as Patrick Swayze’s hands on Baby’s torso during the lift scenes. They function like that, cradling and lifting. The fibers of this muscle run perpendicular to their external brethren.
• The multifidus: Weaves along each disk of the back, and works to stabilize the joints at each segmental level. The stiffness and stability makes each vertebra work more effectively, and reduces the degeneration of the joint structures.
• The transverse abdominus: beneath those, we find a corset like muscle going around the bottommost portion of the spine (lumbar) and connecting all the way up to the low ribs.

When you draw the navel in towards the belly, you’re engaging your real core, your inner corset. The transverse abdominus contracts inwardly, bringing everything internal closer together. This is required for consolidated movement and efficient energy usage.

The multifidus is very small, but it has a unique design that lends stability to the spine , as well as working to keep you upright. When the multifidus is put on a stretch, as when you bend forward, it actually gets stronger. This is unlike most muscles which, when lengthened, lose their strength. The multifidus also brings space to the disks of the back, and brings the pelvis into a more powerful alignment for bigger (safer) actions.

The internal obliques are our same-side rotators. . It acts with the external oblique muscle of the opposite side to achieve this torsional movement of the trunk. For example, the right internal oblique and the left external oblique contract as the torso flexes and rotates to bring the left shoulder towards the right hip.

So how do we strengthen these good muscles and program ourselves to engage them regularly?

This method is super easy, but also not the most exciting thing in the world. Truth be told, at any given point, you can contract your transverse abdominus, internal obliques, and work your multifidus.

Egg Timer Method:

Draw in your innermost layer of abdominals without collapsing the chest. Draw up and in with the navel until the ribs splay, and then draw back in. Avoid slumping the shoulders. Imagine a zipper from the low back that goes to the navel, and zip it up, too. This will work the multifidus. Hold this contraction for 30 seconds. Repeat after a brief rest. Do this 5 times. Include one legged standing tilts (such as Warrior III in yoga). Repeat a few times a day. Next week make it 45 seconds. Third week? A minute.

String Method:

While drawing in the TA, tie a string around your midsection along the natural waist. For the rest of the day, every time you notice the belly flesh digging into the string, draw the belly back in. Do this consistently. Full disclosure: I haven’t done this yet.

The Benefits:

• a (dramatically) smaller waist line
• confidence in strength
• good balance
• safety in “big lifts” and “big jumps”
• decrease in low back pain

I’ve been asked by my students if yoga is a religion, and I’m hard pressed to answer. If religion is concerned with the cause and nature of the universe, then yes, I guess yoga is a religion. But, then, so too is string theory. It seems everyone wants a piece of the yoga pie, and folks are indignant if they’re left with crumbs. So, to whom does yoga belong?

The Washington Post Online has a read-worthy article from Aseem Shukla on the “Theft of Yoga”:

“Yoga is identified today only with Hatha Yoga, the aspect of yoga focused on postures and breathing techniques. But this is only one part of the practice of Raja Yoga that is actually an eightfold path designed to lead the practitioner to moksha, or salvation. Indeed, yogis believe that to focus on the physicality of yoga without the spirituality is utterly rudimentary and deficient. Sure, practicing postures alone with a focus on breathing techniques will quiet the mind, tone the body, increase flexibility–even help children with Attention Deficit Disorder–but will miss the mark on holistic healing and wellness.”

Mr. Shukla sits on the Hindu American Foundation’s board, and they released a position paper decrying the “theft” of yoga from Hindu culture. If you ask me, it sounds like a lot of sour grapes. Don’t we want everyone to have access to the divine? After all: Namaste means “the divine in me recognizes the divine in you.”

If you were to ask the American Yoga Association about all of this business, they’d tell you that yoga predates Hinduism, with tales of stone carvings with people in asana:

No one knows exactly when Yoga began, but it certainly predates written history. Stone carvings depicting figures in Yoga positions have been found in archeological sites in the Indus Valley dating back 5,000 years or more. There is a common misconception that Yoga is rooted in Hinduism; on the contrary, Hinduism’s religious structures evolved much later and incorporated some of the practices of Yoga.

Why are we being so grabby for a piece of the yoga-as-religion pie? Why does a study of the self with the aim of simply being the very best version of ourselves we can be need to be owned by any one world religion? I mean, even some Torah, Quran, and Catholic inspired yoga is popping up:

The idea of combining yoga and the rosary came to him in late 2002 while he was working on an Advent calendar. One window said “Do Contemplation.” Another said, “Pray the Rosary.”

“It happened in prayer,” he says. “Sometimes in contemplative prayer I would just try to rest in the presence of God.”

Conventional Catholic breathing and praying traditions, such as saying “in God” while inhaling and then “out me” while exhaling, inspired Galentino. The idea of incorporating Hail Mary occurred to him almost by accident.

“I found myself combining the two,” he recalls, “contemplative prayer with the rosary.”

The eights limbs of yoga are all about finding truth, the self, and our relationship with universal oneness.

I’m not a catholic, a hindu, a secularist, nor a heathen. Neither am I christian, pagan, nor orthodox anything. I’m just a yogi.

I’m a firm believer in the transformative powers of yoga, and the powerful effects of adhering to the system of raja yoga. Not lying, being disciplined, and not holding on to more than you need: these are the principals to which I adhere, and these are the principals of yoga.

Heads up Hindus, Christians, Jews, Muslims, Buddhists and Bad Mamajamas of all colors and ilks: I love you. We can share yoga.

Om!

I'm going a little bit batty. It's been five days since the marathon and I want to go running terribly. I'm craving a nice hour of pavement pounding, but unfortunately I could do real damage to myself if I were to actually go out and about. So, I'm just fantasizing about it.

Jon Jon sent me a pic of his Halloween costume, all black trenchcoat goodness, a sleek set of matching .9mm's, and black hockey mask goodness; an inspired Black Jason. Also in the email? A picture of Josh and me. Aside from the fact that I need to stop seein old pictures of the two of us, I also don't need to be reminded of how fat I had gotten then. I looked a bit muppety with the weight. Oh, sure, not Kirsty Alley fat, but I was definatly chunk-o. Another reason I want to get the turf under my stride sooner rather than later.

But, ya, Tuesday was a good Halloweenin'. I rummaged through my clothes bins and pulled out my ancient football practice jersey and threw on Chris's green track pants. A nice black line done with old halloween lipstick under each eye and I was set to go. Football player it was. Nothing for ol' Guinness's books, but when an intoxicated tommy-gun totting moll asked an inebriated me (on a drunk bus, no less) what team I was on, I screamed "YOU KNOW WHAT TEAM I PLAY FOR!"

Fun. Fun. Fun.

I'm not here to judge the happenstance drunkenss of others, but I think that Team Sketch did very well. Puja played shortly after noon until right around dusk, her in a football jersey with the same lines as I had under my eyes. We were adorable. After that, we ended up at Toledo Lounge with (roll call!) Jordan, Nelina (bartending), Geoffery, Chris, Jason Lemon (Geoff's friend), and Rose (also G's buddy). From there, Chris and I hit up Tonic (after some minor barhopping), catchin up with Steve and Lisa.

Copious consumption continued until I was face down on steve's bed-- the same place I awoke November 1st.

There will be pictures shortly, with any luck.

What part of growing up means you feel less? I've lost track somewhere of how emotion places in the great race of life. When I was a freshman in college (hell, when I was a senior in high school) and Phoenix and I broke up, I thought I was going to die. I loved him so much. So very, very much. When Trevis and I ended things, I thought I had risked my life for him and deserved a better ending. I was so very naive, and so very, very young.

Age. Wisdom. Adult Emotion. They're not the same thing. It seems obvious, but it sometimes has to be said. Youth and naivity are intrinsicly different things, though they do frequently go hand in hand.

You haven't heard from me in the blogosphere in months because I've been dating. I've been actively seeing someone. I've been falling in love. And, my dear reader, as of now, it may be dunzo. I prefer to think it isn't. Without a sugar coat, things are very much undone and in the air. Over time, things may (and I hope they do) find a positive resolution that includes two people bedside.

I hope so. His name is Joshua. Josh Giamichae[l] to be exact, and one of the most amusing thing about him, to you my dear reader, is that he is (up till now) ungoogleable. Here it is. Find him on your whims-- this is his first post of placement. As of this hour, and on this day, I love a man. As cliches go, he's a good one to believe in. So, I'll ad hoc him into the 20 years from now stigma-- I expect to still love him for who he was to me. I (and here's how you know you love) hope that I still love him for who he is in 20 years. But for the here and for the present, I know a good man. I hope things work out for the best. I'm not sure what that is, but I've got faith it'll rear its head.

I've been gone because I've been chasing the ideals of love. I'm back now.

I plan on staying, love or no.

The paparazzi have been out in full effect this week, but I haven't gotten the photos to share with ya'll yet. I'm a slacking bastard, mostly, and haven't followed through on the follow throughable. Whatever, they'll get here when they get here. The photogs snapped a click-click or two of Krista and Myself in various regalia ranging from matching deconstructed looks to daniel and I as Truman Capote and Cowboy Queer. Three guesses which I was. Krista's visit coulda gone better, the poor dear. Her tire blew out, we never found einstein bagels, and our appointments ran long.

On the bright side, we did make good in the fat-kid section of Target.

Ugh, couple the negatives with a fabulous Mother Dearest-y hissy fit I threw on Tuesday, and I'm a raging star of self abuse and self involvement. I've been less than 5x5 for the past week or so, kinda down, less than bubbly. I don't know why, exactly, but of course it means that I'm a bit distant and cold. As someone who is both warm and mean at the same time, its often hard for those around me to know that when I'm cold and mean, it has little to do with them. Thats gotta be hard to take, and kinda just plain wrong of me to ask. And of course, a good rule of thumb for that, don't add alcohol.

So, I've bundled up nicely. Bought some pot. Stayed in. Went dancing on Thursday. Spent the weekend stoned. Its been nice. Lots of television catch up, and time to take care of the sick puppy.

He doesn't know he's sick, but he is. He's got really bad diarreha and whatnot. It could be from all of the shots he got last Monday, but I don't know for sure. Daddy's worried, and taking him to the vet tommorrow if he doesn't have consistantly firmer stool throughout the day (it was better yesterday). I'd take pictures of that, but honestly people, me in a daisey dukes is a far better sight. And besides, wait 'till you see Seb in his superman t-shirt Daniel gave him-- soo f'n cute, you won't know what to do with yourselves.

I love the smell of spray paint. It harkens back to a younger era of me in the country, bein' bad. I can always tell when someone's done a really fresh tag or when they've marked up the sidewalks somewhere for maintanence-- it throws me back to Colonial Beach before they paved the roads. A smell that I know equally well is that of ganj, a scent that harkens back to, oh, I dunno, about twelve hours ago.

I got all Taint-y with Alex on Sunday, and she had to twist my arm to get me there. I was zonked the fuck out from working all week, and had it not been for her insistance, I wouldn'ta made it. We were gonna go for a little drinky-drink, a little dancey-dance, and then just be-out. Two Sparks later, I had found my energy.

If you ask Alex, she'll tell you it wasn't the two Sparks, but the two boys, who got me moving.

Oh yeah, Alex and I got taken home from Taint. The boys, Joe and Dave, were both service industry folks. Joe's a little older, maybe early thirties, balding but cute, with a personality that was too blunt to be called catty and to catty to be called blunt. Facial hair and gauged earrings, light skin and darker features, he just wasn't quite my type. He checkeed a few boxes on the list, but really, his lack of boyish charm, and my Kathy Oversaturation, somehow warded off whatever spell he wanted to cast on me.

Dave, on the other hand, was much closer to my age. He was also much closer to Alex's height-- and Alex isn't a spectacularly tall girl, by any stretch. Not quite a stepladder makeout, but closer to 5'8 than to 5'10. Great arms, dark hair, and a fun smile. Funny as it is, Dave barbacks at Saint Ex, and remembered my drink that I had ordered all of once. Dave was being the wingman for Joe, and asked the normal litney of questions. I didn't give the answer Joe probably wanted. Thats okay, 'cause I'm fairly sure I gave the answer Dave wanted.

Puppy kicking and cruisey gym humor later, we had both made each other laugh. We moved from family guy to adult swim, and then he fessed up to liking Teen Titans. I told him that I dug on the Trigon storyline, and he misheard Trigun. We had both succesfully outed ourselves as nerds.

He invited us over, and on our way out (to his car), he told me that someone had to take shot gun.

"Shotty," says me. Like duh.

Alex, Yama (a third in their circle), Joe, Dave, and I smoked a ton of pot and watched a coach bag full of TV. We laughed our asses off, and enjoyed more Kathy Griffin on Bravo. "...Not Nicole Kidman" is a scream, and comes recommended. I didn't end up with either boy's number, but I liked my sit-next-to-session with Dave on the couch. I feel like following up or something, but we'll see. Its the start of the work week.

oh, speaking of work, I went out on Monday and saw The Aristocrats with a bunch of heads from work. Since we work at the Improv, we got invited to the sneak preview session. Enjoyed it fully, but the best part was with the old batty bitches midrow couldn't take the vulgarity anymore and dipped. That alone was as funny as the movie.

I was cranky all day Monday, but made it through. Feruza Balk and Return to Oz helped. Six Feet Under didn't. The second anniversery of Emily's death came and went, and I didn't totally break down. I was just salty at strangers. I also went a-googling Emily's name, and found out that the truck driver who hit her totally got four years in jail. Mary Washington also established a scholarship in her name.... the funny thing? She wouldn't have qualified.

She'd drink to the irony of all that.

There has been a sketchy-scary in my neighborhood harassing me for about the past week. I'd say he's roughly 39, looks 29, and is hella ripped, if on the lean side. His body is developed enough, and he's shirtless in the neighborhodd enough for me to have noticed, that I can't imagine he got that way outside of a gym. I believe him to be homeless, and with that said, I see him three or four times a day. He's been threatening, verbally abusive, sexually offensive, and just downright scary on more than a couple of occasions. We've had a yelling match (or two) and for the past few nights I've carried my mace securely in my freehand, safety off.

I shoot off my mouth and have to back it up-- he doesn't get away with talking shit to me, but I'm not out to pick a fight. I don't want to get fucking stabbed.

Last night he apologized to me on my walk home from Geoff's. Weird. He thinks we run into each other too often to have animosity. I don't disagree, and appreciated the sentiment, even if I'm still scared shitless. How do you take something like that at face value?

You fucking don't.

We ran into each other once again today while I was out running errands. He asked me, "Do you wanna hook up?" "No," I replied, not into fucking those that scare me (excluding for now the empirical evidence that proves otherwise). "It doesn't have to be sexual," he countered, finally saying "Do you place chess?" I again answered no, and told him that those weren't the kind of things that I was looking for. He wished me luck on finding the things that I was looking for. I wasn't rude or standoffish-- He then hit me up for a dollar, and I gave it, pleased enough that I didn't feel as though he was an immediate threat any longer.

I say "immediate threat" without any sort of color coded Ashcroftian slant, but if there was one, I'd still say that we're on level lemon. I managed to make lemonade once, but I don't doubt that this could still end sour.

Ahoy Hoy!

Sebastian Cole takes after his daddy more and more every day. Aside from runnin' all goofy-like, he also has an interest in gardening. Yes, little Bashers decided that he just couldn't stand my schaflera tree any longer and decided to dig it up. Seven and a half gallons of potting soil later, my kitchen looked like the start of a mud wrestling ring.

I had moved the ailing flora to the kitchen hoping that the better lighting would allow it to thrive, and now in hindsight, I'm glad I did. Much easier to sweep and mop the kitchen as opposed to the shag.

I've got no clue as to what time the puppy started digging, 'cause I found the mess this mornin. It had to be after Mark and I had dinner, but before the puppy was crated. I'd have a better idea if I hadn't already tied one on that evening-- Bellinis are delicious.

Speaking of bellinis, Mark and I have crafted an easy and delicious sparkling treat that also will fuck you up. Nothing like class and trash, right? Mash up about two slices of frozen peach and throw them into the bottom of a champagne flute. Add a shot of Absolut Apeach (delicious in everything!), and then fill the flute with your sparkling wine selection. Perfect-o and delicious. You can prego me later.

Oh, also in the naughty pet department, the neighbor's new little kitty decided to shit on Caitlin's bed this weekend. It was my fault, I didn't shut her door all the way when I went and raided her stencil stuffs. I made Lil Miss Mo a birthday stencil for the back of her work shirt so that she could roll in a little extra dough for working on her b-day. The shirt came out okay, but I wish it hadn't been at the expense of Caitlin's new sheets. Alas and anon, I'll be washing her linens this evening.

Back in the land of Stencil and Mirth, I'm almost done with my Sebastian stencil. I'm totally gonna put him on a wifebeater. I may also tag his likeness in some spots around town now that the infamous BORF has been caught-- someones gotta get prolific with the guerella art.

For now, this one's definatly going on a shirt and a wall:

[setup]I saw this great little movie that a few people have been talking about...[/setup]



So, ya, Mark and I made it to the midnight screening of Star Wars on Wednesday night. I wasn't super duper impressed, but then again I'm not a Star Wars Junkie. Shiny pretty glimmering funshows always hold my interest, and if I were stoned, I'd definatly watch it again; high praise for someone who thought the first two of these steaming digital dogpiples were nigh on unwatchable (even during the shiny pretties). I'm hunching that if you really dig the heck outta the original 70's SW, you're gonna bust a geek nut all over this one.

Midnight screenings always bring out a hodgepodge of folks, and lets be blunt: Star Wars fans are wook-tarded. I could link my little heart out just showing you a small percentage of that point fifteen times this way of tuseday, but I had my own little bit of asshattery right here in the District. Some drunk bitch totally caused a scene.



Not only that, get this, the bitch totally had to be escorted out with the aid of two managers, a handful of security guards, and even an undercover cop. After she was thrown out, her toolshed boyfriend didn't bother to leave or even see if she was okay. He stayed for the show. Can you blame him?

In the web of all things leaving, I've now left Bertucci's. No more chain pizza for me. We'll see what happens between me and the day job scene. The money lost, while certianly not entirely negligable, isn't make or break for me. This should prove to be a good oppertunity for new things-- outside of the resturant service industry. I guess I'm going to have less friday nights free for a while, but far more long nights out. This could prove fun.

I've been swirling around the month of May in a cloud of happiness and self reflection. I'm now 22 (22 on the 22nd), the same age as all the oldest "older man" from my dating days. I'm Trevis's age, ya know? Thats a little weird. Also a little cool. As a boy told me this week: Welcome to The Race for 30.

Yesterday was indeed the birf-day, if you happened to check the date, and it went off swimmingly. I spoke to all sorts of peeps on the phone, and I did some spring cleaning with Geoff-- good lord if le Cheatu de Ghetto didn't need it. We got it to a state of presentability that worked for a small soiree. In the evening, Miss Lauren, Pam [from Hawaii], Geoff, Nills, Lee, Alex, and Derrick[Alex's Twin] stopped by.

Oh, girl. Lots and lots of good chat-- we left the telecrack off all evening. It was totally a "That 70's Show" pana-rama-cam type o' night. Beers, Rum, Joints, Jokes, Bongs, Stories, and Bowls. Chatting and chilling for hours

The world is good, ya'll. So good, your find your imagination in high gear, and the urge to
tie a towel around your neck and run around a friends apartment overpowering. Being young and full of wonder is still okay, too.

When the streetlights outside hit the trees, and the shadows reflect onto one my windows, sometimes it looks like a monster waving just inches from the pane. The trees on P Street really are comforting, both in the day and at night. I don't mind the monster waving at me-- its like an old friend saying "Hey."

The snow has melted quickly, though its not as if the inclimate weather made much of a dent on my weekend. I made it to the National Aquariam with Marky, and we saw some excellent fatty invertibrates. Petrochirus diogenes, apparently. Just a good long day with a friend who I haven't spent a helluvalot of time with in a while. We even made it up to Adams Morgan to attack Toledo Lounge, catching up with Jordan and the boys. Mark and I won bragging rights by guessing the most Oscar Winners correctly AND we also have the high score on Q-Shot and Wordster. Granted, we were playing against straight men, but whatever. We're winners.

Good stuff. I guess this has been a swimming week for good buddyness.

Hawaii in two days.

Gosh, once upon a laxidazical, the idea of a lounge and a dentist’s office were wholly disparate notions. Alas and anon those days are gone. On a drunken stumble home, I noticed that Exhale Club and Lounge (motto: “Come in and Exhale”) was literally within two feet of an emergency dental office. The proximity conjured to mind other venues that maybe shouldn’t necessarily be so close: Amphetamines and glass blowers; ketamine and cat hospitals... that sort of thing. I expect more from my Adams Morgan, frankly! Adams Morgan should provide Cocain and Chimay; Sparks and Darvocet. Big Slice Pizza and self induced vomiting. But that’s it.

For all cotangled crackheadings, I am still glad that I can be honorable and worth knowing to a variety of people who have seen me falling down drunk (or otherwise out of my ever loving mind) in a massive way. Especially if those people caught that same state within a day of each other (re: I have a black eye still). At my most embarrassed for myself, its good to know that those friends who got to see you at that point of inebriation will still ask for your company to a movie or your company as a roommate, should they need it. All within two days of making an ass of yourself. Thank goodness.

I remember a thing from back in grade school when I was being bullied: negative attention and positive attention. Guidance counselors can’t be wrong– and a car that stalks me for two blocks, rolls down its window and has its driver shout to me “You need a ride” is clearly one of those aforementioned types. I’m gonna guess its negative, but I still like to think of it as postive... Without a valid quandary, I am left with two immediate and disparate thoughts: reach for your mace; be flattered. Both are equally valid, if not good. Important, if not right, as well as honest enough to each column of thought to allow myself pride and pleasure in going on my own skippy way. Without the ride.

I made it home safely last night.