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Movin' On Up--Over to WordPress

Yep, I'm moving this blog on over to WordPress-
Check it out: http://mccrabass.wordpress.com/
It'll be a mixture of Bikram posts and other things I feel like yap-yappin' about.
See you there!

Southern-Fried Yoga

So, I'm spending some quality time below the Mason-Dixon, specifically in Savannah. I thought I'd mix it up with the Southern folk and work on my slow-as-ass-sludge stroll, my lip-tripping drawl and see how well I do spending time in one of the Reddest states of the Union.

So far, so good.

I've met some great people, witnessed the Lilly Pulitzer/tattoo combo on a few folks and it does work--sort of. Then there's the food. Amazing. Yum. Puts some Chicago cuisine to shame. What I'm most amused by is how sloooow everything is here. People take their sweet ol' time doing the same tasks I do at a break-neck speed. At first this phenom was unsettling to me, but this slowness has made me realize that some things are not worth rushing and it's ok to sit and not do a damn thing for a moment except be in that moment. Huh. Interesting.... Bikram yoga is all about 'being in the moment,' so it looks like I may have learned something during the sweat, stretch and tears.

Ain't that just so damn precious? No, not that Precious. The other precious. No, not that one either. Do I really need to explain what I mean by precious? No? Good.

Yesterday, I checked out Bikram Yoga Savannah and wow--what a beautiful studio. Huge, airy, clean, comfortable--are the best words describe it. Welcoming too. How many studios/gyms/work out places offer free tampons, Witch Hazel wipes and other wonderful sundries? The studio also has those wonderful Kulae yoga mats for sale along with a healthy selection of Lululemon yoga clothes. Plus, water -- both plain and the coconut variety. It's allll good.

What about the actual class?

The room is very similar to my home studio, but Andersonville's is much larger. That makes total sense since there are more students and more classes than the Savannah studio. The instructor, Chris, looked like he was carved out of cream cheese--and I mean that in a good way. There weren't many differences between the instruction I've had in Chicago and Chris' instructions, except during the first part of this pose, where students are encouraged to loosen up their legs by bending their knees while their hands are on the floor in front of them. Once you feel warmed up, or when the instructor tells you to, it's posture time. Then, in round two, you're to go directly into the pose without warming up your legs again. That's not how it's done at the Savannah studio, or with Chris. Perhaps it's de riguer here, I don't know yet--I'll have to take another class with another instructor before I leave to see what he/she does. It's not a big deal, I just wasn't used to it.

During this series, we didn't turn to the left side of the room. Instead, we got off our mats and did these poses on the carpet--in our bare feets--a move that's verboten everywhere else I've practiced.

As I venture out for more of the Savannah good life, I'll leave you with a great tune by Savannah's native son. I look forward to my next round of Bikram here, even if they don't need a heated studio, they can just practice out in the parking lot. Yes, it's that brutally hot here.

Havin' Fun With No Money

Bikram is the only thing that makes sense in my life at the moment. It's what's saving me from jumping off the Sears Tower or putting on my lead bathing suit and going for a dip in the Chicago River. Everything else is completely out of control--no job, no prospects and no money. I'm on the wrong side of 40 and have nothing to show for it and that's just wrong. It seems that the harder I try to make things better in my life, the worse things get. This is not true with my Bikram practice. Seems that the harder I try, the better at it I get.

Case in point. I rock at this pose. You're probably thinking to yourself, "What the shit, Julia! That doesn't look tough at all! I can do that in my beer-induced sleep!" OK. G'head. Try it, not once, but four times without bending your legs, straightening your elbows or tipping your hips to one side. Then, after you catch your breath, we'll talk and I'll watch you dine on some crow.

Also, I've noticed some significant changes in my body. I look longer. I can't explain it--I just do. And leaner. During one of my nanosecond glances in the mirror today, I noticed these changes and was caught off-guard. Odd. I've also altered my diet quite a bit so the whole 'looking leaner' part ain't a huge surprise I guess. Actually, it's the stress I'm under that has helped to alter my diet--I don't want to eat because I'm not hungry and honestly, I can't quite afford it. So, I'm only eating about one and a half times a day. However, I am drinking copious amounts of coffee and water so that helps me feel full.

Another benefit, and I've mentioned this many a-time before, is how incredible my skin looks. See, I've been blessed with good skin. All of the women in my family have beautiful skin. Guess it's safe to say we're natural beauties. Bikram just makes it look that much better. I don't go out on the town that often but when I do, I don't need a lot of makeup. Just some mascara, a little eyeliner and some great, reddish lipstick on my pout.

Nice to know those Scottish/Northern Brit Isles genes are doing their fucking job. Lord knows my emotional being ain't doing shit for me.

Side note: My favorite Bikram yogini, Lauren, still hasn't given birth. However, she has 'dropped' since the last time I saw her. So, I'm hoping I won't see her in class tomorrow, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. This is for you, new mom!

Breathe & Try Like Hell to Release

First, before I get into today's shenanigans, I gotta give props to my fellow Bikram yogini, Lauren. She's been pregnant for nine months & some change, and she showed up at class today. She looks amazing and did all of the poses--even the ones adjusted for pregnant women--with no problem. The above pix is from a few days ago, but who cares! Go Lauren & bebeh!

Now, onto Julia's Bikram World. Meh. It stopped spinning today. In fact, it's hurtling through space and will hopefully be caught up in one of them thar black holes the Jesus freaks say don't exist. My concentration was in the shitter due to the current unpleasantness I'm experiencing. I tried to let it all go in the studio, but I couldn't. Chilling out in Savasana didn't help either. (My goodness--that photo looks like it's of a cult that's just downed some poison & is waiting for the Mother Ship to take them home.)

With each deep breath, my anxiety grew and eventually, my stomach began to ache. This is not the physical condition one wants to be in when doing any type of exercise, but I pushed through. What else was I gonna do? Melt into a puddle onto the floor? Oh HELL no. What's the point of giving up when you're already in the room? Might as well just go with the flow! This mindset worked--sort of.

By this pose, I resembled someone who's pregnant with twins because of the stomach pains. I didn't touch my water because that would only make it worse, so I relied on that patience I'm known for, and breathed my way through the pain.

All was quiet in the dome during this one. The pain had subsided considerably and I was able to finish my practice without wincing. However, my mind was still reeling over the mess that is my life.

Somethings can't be helped.

A side note: Today in 1958, Frank Zappa graduated from high school. This is for his fans. And for the woman in class today who had a fucking RAGING case of athlete's foot. Next time honey, please stay the fuck home.

Kickin' It Up a Notch

I figured out what's missing from my Bikram yoga practice: Running. Yep, running. I'm not getting into shape as quickly as I would like by just doing Bikram so it's time to amp things up. Starting tomorrow morning, I'll start crawling/loping/jogging/running again. My feet feel healthy as does my back so I'm ready.

I've been a sorta-runner on and off for years now, and I do enjoy it very much. It's difficult, frustrating and tiring--just like yoga. However, it gets the heart beating quicker and is better for "leaning one down" than any other exercise out there. Plus, I dig the idea of beating my body up by jogging and then going to yoga to stretch everything out again. The plan is to do Bikram everyday, and crawl/lope/jog/run about 3-5 times a week.

Start slow--that's the plan. My eating will have to change once again, but that's fine. I don't fear change at all--just clowns, carnies, lentils, tofu and Chico's. Perhaps I'll see our disgraced former governor jogging too, but he's a little busy these days, see. He lives in my 'hood and I've had the pleasure of witnessing him pickin' 'em up and puttin' 'em down a few times down my street. He looked very uncomfortable but his hair didn't--even in the light breeze. I was mesmerized. Still am at times too--when I need to calm the screaming in my soul, I think of Blago's hair--the stillness of it. The peace.

Reminds me of how I find stillness and peace in my yoga practice.

But for some odd reason, all of this Blago talk reminded me of this great tune.

Uniboobage Meets the Wardrobe Malfunction

What a suck shit of a day.

First, I let some insensitive, shallow dolts on the Internets get to me, which made me angry. That anger wasn't gone by the time I got to yoga. I kept thinking about how so much of this society is about flash over substance, and how damaging that attitude is toward everyone--even to the ones who are considered flashy and stylish--but they're too fucking clueless to get it. Those of us who are all about substance above everything else, suffer too. But, we get it, that's the difference. We just shake our heads, hopefully learn a lesson and keep the insensitive ones at a football field's length and occasionally acknowledge them with a monotone hello or "S'up" head nod. That's it--but that's tough to do too. Especially for me since I try to look for the good in everyone. Sadly, many I come across lack even the basic, common decency needed to make them functioning members of society--yet they skate along through life, virtually unscathed. I watch in wonder, shake my head and roll my eyes. Sigh. Move along, nothing to see here anymore.

Class was crowded today, which helped me to relax. The pregnant gal was back again too--putting everyone else to shame by holding her poses like a pro and barely breaking a sweat. She's awesome and looks amazing for being 4 months along. It'll be fun to watch her yoga practice & pregnancy evolve together.

I was "posing" along swimmingly until Standing Bow. Then, it happened. My bra came apart at the strap and there was boobage spillage. I was biting my lip so hard to keep from busting out laughing that I held this pose longer even though my boob was creeping up toward my neck. Turns out that laughter is a nice complement to one's yoga practice. In fact, it's downright obsequious. I didn't get a chance to fix my wardrobe malfunction until after Balancing Stick. Yeah, that was a fun one too--boobage swaying in the wind whilst balancing on one leg & my body lookin' like the letter T. I covered up my giggles with coughs. I sat for one set of this pose and did a Rube Goldberg-esque fix of my jumblies-holder. The first time around, it held for about 3 poses, then I had to result to tying the busticated part to the other strap to keep my boobage from grazing my waist. By this time, we were onto the floor poses so having a busted bra wasn't as big an issue. What's nice about Bikram is no one really pays attention to anyone else--except me. I try to take a glance at those around me during class just to see how they're doing.

Long story short, I survived class. So did my bra. But, I do believe it's time to shell out the big bucks to get a new one. Until then, this one's for you. 

Every breath I take ... I'll be bending better ...

Who knew that breathing would be such a pain in the ass--especially when I'm bending backwards with ass and legs locked up tighter than a nun's poohole, and hips thrust forward like I'm trying to get some Biff Loman type to stuff dollar bills into my g-string at a strip club just outside of Omaha. (Now, there's an image for you.)

The last two classes were all about breathing and listening for me. Not just listening to my body, but really focusing on what the instructor had to say. I've got the whole keep-your-standing-leg-locked-abs-tight-butt-squeezed parts down pat, but the breathing at times really has me flummoxed. It's strange that something as natural and simple as breathing would be a challenge, but it is in Bikram yoga. I think it's safe to assume that breathing is tough for every Bikram practitioner from time to time.

During this pose, I paid attention to my breathing more than bending & looking for the floor behind me (yeah right--like that's gonna happen any time soon). Same here. I don't even want to discuss this pose since it's hard to breathe when your mouf is smashed into your stinky, wet mat. Ouch, and get me an oxygen tank then a Marty's martini macht schnell. What was so great about breathing was the poses got easier and I was able to push myself a little harder and deeper (shut UP) into each pose. That's a huge accomplishment for someone who's lower-back has been giving me fits in the last few years. Now I'm pain-free.

Now, if I could see similar accomplishments in my professional life. 

AHHHH! That's what I'm talkin' about!

I feel alive again. So alive in fact, I gotta post this "cheasy" listening tune for your enjoyment. (Side note: How can you NOT love this movie? It's one of Joel Silver's finest producing efforts EVER.)

Back to the hot room. I immediately felt better the moment when I entered the studio and saw my fave teacher, Beth, at the front desk checking everyone in. She's good people. When I moseyed into the hot room, I decided to put my mat in the middle where it is a bit cooler than my usual spot in the back. I tested it today--back of the room is definitely the hottest--even though the owner/teachers claim it's not. My system is quite sensitive to temp change, so I respectfully disagree with them.

The opening breathing exercise showed how rusty I was, however, I wasn't as rusty as originally thought. I  felt much better by about the fifth breath and continued to improve with each pose. So much so I pushed myself more than usual and wasn't in agony like I was during Monday's class. My shoulder pain has disappeared for the time being too--another good sign that I'm doing something right in my life.

Triangle pose wasn't a killer either--it usually leaves my left knee giving me the finger and buckling so I fall on my ass. The thing is, I have extremely strong thighs from years of cycling. I wouldn't be surprised if I could crack walnuts with 'em--that's how powerful they are. Having this freakish amount of thigh strength, makes it easier to get into this pose, this too, let's add this too ... and finally, this one. I do believe that once I drop more weight, all poses will get easier.

Now, on with my day, but not after one more ELO/Xanadu overture with Gene Kelly and his fancy feets.

Achy Breaky Ass

It's been a few days since I've done any yoga. Since I'm not working, the need to take any kind of freelance gig that comes my way takes precedence over any self-improvement/hobbies I'm dabbling in. Plus, this particular gig I wanted to do because I like the people there, it's fun and could possibly lead to future gigs. 

During my brief stint on the copy desk, Bikram was missed. I could feel the "goodness" leaving my body at a rapid pace. The familiar, old aches and pains are slowly creeping back -- especially in my right shoulder, which is "paining" quite a bit. It's irritating me and causing great discomfort. My only remedy (well, not my only--Western med is always an option but I want to try something different) is to get back to Bikram ASAP. So, tomorrow morning at exactly 7:30, I'll be standing on my mat and towel, butt & thighs squeezed tight with all 10 fingers intertwined under my chin, getting ready to BREATHE. Knowing my physical and mental self, relief with be instantaneous .... 

I can't wait. 

On the Night Shift

Tonight I took my first night class. Tonight was the worst physical experience I have ever had. Tonight's class was worse than getting a mole scooped out of my boob, worse than getting a Pap smear and yes, worse than getting a mammogram.

I have never experienced such pain during any type of physical activity before--even when I participated in sports as a kidling. Worse than when I conked my head on the springboard during a reverse one-and-a-half, worse than being kicked in the chest by a horse with rear shoes on. Worse than tumbling over the handle bars of my Kestrel during a ride in the San Gabriel Mountains.

Ok, ok... you get the idea. Bad class.

During the long, lonely walk home down Clark Street in Andersonville, I went over the past couple of days to see what could have made this class so brutal. Perhaps I didn't get enough sleep, or I took an odd step somewhere along the way and didn't realize it until I was in the middle of Balancing Stick.

No, it was simpler than that.

First and foremost, I know I didn't eat nearly as much as I should have. Same goes with water--not nearly enough was consumed. And, because of my parched system, I could feel my body seizing up on me during the floor poses. My rib cage ached--both back and front--the same way my knees and hips did during the standing series. This pain frightened be a bit because I've never felt this type of pain in past Bikram classes. I ended up sitting out a few of the second sets of the standing series and quite a bit of the spine-strengthening series as well. Just couldn't do it. Done. Spent. Kaput. Beat. The towel has been thrown in.

However, during one of the Savasanas, I noticed something about the spot in the room I had chosen. I was in a corner of the room that had two floor heating elements facing in the same direction, which meant to me, that there was twice as much heat being spewed onto me and the guy standing right next to me. He looked like he was hurting as well. I will never go to this corner again. Lesson learned.

So now, I'm off to worship St. Mattress. I just took and Ambien and some high-powered Naproxen so sleep won't be a problem for me tonight.

A little musical interlude for my fans. You're welcome.

The Mirror Has Two Asses

Today, we had a fab new guest teacher, Anne, who is visiting from Ann Arbor for the weekend. I find it helpful to have a new teacher every now and then--gives me a new perspective and it's always good to learn different tricks and tips. The only tip I didn't appreciate was her insistence that we all "grab a piece of the mirror so we can watch ourselves in our poses." See, I hate looking at myself in the mirror. HATE IT. I always have, I always will. I'm quite deft at avoiding mirrors. I could teach a class, go on a lecture tour, preach at symposiums about how to time your gaze perfectly so you don't even see your shadow in a wall of mirrors. It's an art form and part-science, and I'm the best at it.

Is that a good skill to have? Who knows. It's worked for me quite well--until today. I tried to look at my toes in the mirror, but it only worked for so long. I couldn't concentrate and panic was starting to set in. How the hell was I going to get through the act of looking at myself in the mirror without going into convulsions?

Humor.

It dawned on me as my ass hovered above the imaginary chair in Awkward Pose-- I have a great sense of humor--fucking use it, Pud.

Suddenly, class got a whole lot more fun and interesting. During Standing Bow Pulling the Crap Out of Your Hips, Hamstrings and Shoulders, I spied not one, but two asses emanating from my form. Quelle charmante. Always a good look for those in the cheap seats--they don't even need binoculars.

When it was time for the floor version of the above mentioned pose, the Benny Hill Theme was playing in my head to help squelch the desire to let one rip. Yeah, I know, so un-lady-like. I fart. Who doesn't? Time to get over yourself if you're offended.

My wicked sense of humor keeps me from falling ass-over-tea-kettle into the pseudo-cult that is Bikram yoga. I do it for the challenge, the stillness, the sweat, the unpleasant body odor, the GREAT SKIN, the fearless farting and so much more. I don't do it to find my center, to bend & stretch for world peace or to compete. I take Bikram seriously--to a point. I've learned in my quarter decade on this planet *ahem*, that life is too short to take 85 percent of what life throws at you so seriously--especially something like yoga. Can't wait for the "you suck Julia, yoga is the only thing worth living for" comments on this post because it will be oh so fun to think of new and different ways to tell someone to lighten the fuck up.

If you can't laugh at yourself, then what's the point?

Seems appropo.

Muse of the Day: Frustration

I woke up frustrated this morning.

I'm frustrated because of my job-free situation, and even more baffled that no one is willing to take a chance on a hungry, semi-experienced reporter. I'm frustrated by my horrible financial state. I'm frustrated from living in Chicago--possibly the most expensive city in the country--tax-wise--and I can't enjoy it nearly as much as I'd like to. I'm frustrated I can't see my East and West coast pals more--I miss them dearly.

I'm frustrated because I have absolutely nothing to show for my life. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Zero.

During breakfast this morning, this frustration was not helping my digestion. In fact, it made my stomach hurt. Tums didn't help and neither did the forced, loud belches that shook the walls and caused foundation cracks. As I was squeezing my sore ass into my dry, but stank-ass yoga clothes this morning, excuses to not go to Bikram ran through what's left of my mind: My clothes stink. My stomach hurts. I'll probably end up farting real loud during class and everyone will turn, point and laugh at me. I don't feel like sweating. My ass is too big. I fucking hate my hair. I look like shit. I mulled over every excuse but couldn't pick a good one. I know that if I had missed class, I'd really be pissing guilt all over myself. Nope. I didn't have the stomach for it, natch. So, I gathered up my yoga gear, waved bye to the WGN Morning News Team, got into my mold-ridden shit car and drove to the studio.

Great. Class was crowded as fuck today. Super. John was teaching and I LOVE him. He's great--patient, explains everything clearly and it's obvious he loves to teach. Today I noticed that he looks like a young, James Caan--but cuter and not as hairy. 'Tis something you want in a male Bikram instructor who's half-nekkid in class. Trust me on this one folks.

During the opening breathing exercise, frustration left me for a bit and from what I could tell, was giving one of my fellow classmates one hell of a time. She looked pissed--I caught her gaze in the mirror and flashed her a small "I feel your pain" smile. She smiled back then relaxed a bit.

Everything was fine until this pose. The most important thing to remember about this pose is you're supposed to keep your standing leg straight--no bend in the knee, no nothing. If you can't keep your solid, standing leg from wobbling or bending, you're not supposed to move onto the next part of the posture. Today, I noticed that so many of my fellow classmates were not keeping their standing leg straight. Yes, Bikram Police,  I'm aware that you're not supposed to pay attention to your fellow yogis/yoginis during class, but I sat out the first round because of my frustrated stomach. Even when John explained, in plain language, the importance of keeping your standing leg uber-straight, the concept was still lost on some folks.

Whatever.

I did it the correct way the second time and that's all that matters. If these folks want to screw up their spines, then go right ahead.

For the rest of the class, frustration made a few more appearances but was gone by the final Savasana. I let it all go as I gazed at the pale-blue ceiling, and felt my body relax into my mat. Class was over. It wasn't one of my more productive ones, but the fact that I even showed up counts for something.

My little victory was tarnished when I arrived home to two job rejections. That's five for the week. Aannnd there's that frustration again--coming in through the bathroom window. Sigh.

Fear Ho-Ho's and cheeseburgers, not Bikram.

Where am I in the class count? Oh, somewhere in the nineties I believe. I'll check later.

One of the side effects of doing such intense balancing, breathing, stretching and sweating is I want to make the rest of my life healthier. And, when I say 'the rest of my life,' I mean my diet. This is being accomplished but in baby steps. I'm not going to give up chocolate, peanut butter or anything of that ilk completely--it just ain't gonna happen--and those who say I MUST are full of shit. Also, I'm no longer beating myself up if I eat a few Oreos and wash them down with some red wine. During class yesterday, Jessica told us a Bikram Choudury gem. Recently, at a teacher training class, Bikram told his students (paraphrasing here) to tell their beginners not to fear the heat, the poses, the carpet or the 90 minute class, but the ho-ho's and cheeseburgers that got them to go to Bikram in the first place.

Hmm. Interesting. Makes total sense. I've read various pieces that claim that weight loss is between 80-90% diet, while exercise is not that important. Of course, exercise is essential to overall health, but it's not a necessity for weight loss. It finally dawned on me that eating crap and exercising like an MMA fighter and not seeing any results in my shape, was a huge waste of time and energy. So I decided to do something about it. I may even kick caffeine one of these days, but I'm still in the phase where thinking of a caffeine-free Julia reduces me to tears. Again with the baby steps.

Today's class was very crowded with an eclectic group--something I always like to see--not just in yoga, but out in the world. I'm getting more comfortable with this pose and this one too--so comfortable in fact that I push myself to kick harder and drop my head back further to find a new stillness. It's working. We'll see what the next few classes bring because I'm sure I'll fuck it all up somehow. 'Tis the story of my life.

One recent drawback--my groin is sore, so I may act all chill n' stuff for the next class or so. I don't want to end up like Randy Gardner.

A gal's gotta eat--just not crap

It's been about two and a half hours since number 94 ended, and I'm still not hungry. I've been pounding water like there's no tomorrow but hunger has evaded me since I woke up this morning. Around 7am, I forced myself to eat non-fat Greek yogurt, homemade granola and coffee with the best stuff on Earth stirred in.

Knowing how my body works, I managed to down a grapefruit and one of these crazy muffins made with pure pumpkin puree instead of oil and eggs before my system went into full melt-down mode. When that happens, it'll take the strength of Georges St. Pierre to keep me from heading over to the local Jewelito to load up on DoubleStuf Oreos and chocolate milk. It just proves that an eating disorder never truly goes away--it's always there--kinda like, oh, I don't know, herpes and being an asshole. I will eat something soon. I promise.

After class, I struck up a conversation with two very nice women who have just started doing Bikram. One was around my age and the other, I'm guessing, was a bit younger. Somehow body image came up and I mentioned how American women are expected to be a size 0 no matter what. She could be the smartest women around but if she's over a size 0, she's seen as unworthy of just about everything life has to offer. Recently, I read an article about how most American women would rather suffer from severe depression than be obese. We have to wonder about a society that puts so little value on a woman's intelligence, and more on the size of her thighs. Utter bullshit. I've witnessed this horrid behaviour with close friends and family members, and I don't put up with it anymore.

My self-image waivers from time to time too. A friend of mine recently accused me of having a poor self-image, which I fervently denied but he's right. I do. My attempts to make up for it by being smart & funny only have a limited success. It's a daily struggle--even for us smart women who know our worth, but are bombarded with Madison Avenue's message at every turn. All I can say is those who write us off  because our chests aren't concave, are missing out.

But, I digress... where was I? Oh yes, my two new pals I met. One was wondering if you can lose weight with Bikram and I believe it's possible. Some experts claim one can burn between 800 and 1500 calories per session--depending on body weight. I used to obsess about it, but now how Bikram makes me feel physically and mentally is more important than whether or not my ass is getting smaller. It will shrink with time and by doing other activities like walking or running. Sure, there are a couple of women in class who look at the more zaftig women sideways, but they seem really sad to me.

So, on that note, I think I'll mosey on into the kitchen and rustle up some grub.

For you. Thanks.

Top of the Ninety-fifth ...

I never said my yoga challenge was going to be perfect.

Life gets in the way and sometimes, I'm just too damn lazy to do anything except pee, nosh and look at Internet porn. Most weeks, I only wash my hair once. That's because I have a ton of hair and don't like being underwater for too long-reminds me too much of water boarding. Of course, I shower everyday, but the scrubbing of the locks is only a weekly occurrence until I get a job or when the court orders me to bathe more thoroughly. So, until either of those events happen, I'll just remain holed up in my apartment, not bothering the outside world with my greasy lid or my permanent sneer.

I completed number ninety-five. No great breakthroughs, sadly, just this nagging lower-back pain on my right side that hurts during forward bending poses. Camel, Standing Bow, Balancing Stick and the one where you're supposed to pull your forehead to the floor whilst your legs are all spread eagle, don't hurt at all. However, Eagle Pose is brutal. I can't hold it and when I swing my arms to cross one under the other, all I want to do is Vogue. I tap my feet a bit then the next thing I know, I'm doing Warren Beatty circa 1993. That's not a good image for anyone to have drifting in and out of their subconscious. Great. Now I need one of these. And maybe one of these too.

I'm not even going to discuss this one.  It aggravates this too much at times.

99, 98, 97, 96 ... or "Pain is the gift that nobody wants."

Ninety-nine passed by with little or no discomfort. I did have some post-Bikram gas pains though which forced me to gulp down a couple handfuls of Tums. That stuff's nasty too, but it works. One thing I've noticed about post-Bikram class is I have to force myself to eat. The hunger is not there for about 6 hours after class and even then, I have to psych myself up to make a salad. However, I am thirsty, so I drink copious amounts of water--an act that has never been a problem for me at all.

Class 98 was not fun. Not at all. I was thirstier than usual even though I drink more than enough water when not in class. The attempts to quell my thirst with breathing (which is what Bikram suggests students do before hitting the bottle), weren't successful at all, so I was sucking down water during the floor portion of the class. Then, the pesky lower back pain on my right side just above my hip resurfaced during the final savasana. However, I think that has more to do with how I sit during the day and where I sit--on a couch that doesn't provide much lumbar support. The thing is, I need a proper desk and one of them fancy Aeron chairs that's made from Aeron virgins. Then, my back issues will disappear. But, before I can obtain these necessary objects, I need to get a job. Believe me, I'm trying but to no avail. And, of course, I can't get my unemployment & financial woes out of my head when I'm in class. It ain't gonna happen no matter how hard I try.

Number 97 made me feel old and rickety. Jessica taught this class and while I was in this pose, she said something that still resonates with me to this day and it's something I'll never forget: "Pain is the gift that nobody wants." If you feel pain, that means you're alive (duh) and your body is telling you something. In this instance, I imagine that Jessica was alluding to how fucking much your arms hurt during this particular pose--like your arms are gonna snap in two with blood and ick spraying everywhere. By the way, I suck shit at Lotus pose. The single leg poses I can do without a hitch, but the double leg like the picture? Nope. I can maybe lift my gams up about 4 inches but that's it. It's still not as difficult as this pose or this one. I find it hard to believe the woman demo'ing Half-Moon in the photo was smiling. I'll bet she has some sort of epidural plugged into her back helping her get through it all.

But, with the way I'm going, this will be me in about 20 years. Hooker boots and all.

When I woke up this morning, I felt the best I've felt in months. My lower-back didn't hurt and my knees didn't creak at all. Also, my vision wasn't as blurry as it is most mornings. No Ambien hangover, no wishing I were somewhere OR someone else. Strange. I ate my Greek yogurt with home-made granola and slurped down coffee doused with the best stuff on Earth. Then, after a couple of hours, I donned my yoga apparel and moseyed on over to the studio. While getting ready in the ladies' locker room, I overheard two young women bitching about how much they hated the new Land Rover. And, how the new Rolexes aren't all that. Seriously, my eyes are still hurting from all the eye rolling I did during that 10 minute conversation. Sure I could've left, but why? These gals provided me with GREAT material! I could go on and on about what they were griping about, but it would just depress the shit out you. But trust me when I say this: The rich are different than us.

Onto to number 96. I had a good class. Very good. Some poses I sat out but for the most part, the poses that have been vexing me in the past, I could do. And, more importantly, there was no slurping water or searing back pain. My back felt strong & bendy during it all. I even laughed a bit when I knocked my neighbor's paw during this pose.

The best of the class? When the instructor farted during an explanation then admitted to it. Totally made my day.

100

I've decided to challenge the hell out of myself by doing 100 Bikram classes in 100 days. However, I've had to tweak this challenge a titch already since there are a few weekends where I'll be out of town & unable to practice where I'm going due to prior commitments. To make up for those missed classes, I'll do doubles on certain days. Not quite sure where this decision came from or if I'll be able to even meet it.

All I know is I've gotta give ye olde college try--who knows--I'll probably be able to do it and then some. What am I expecting from this? I have no fucking idea. None. I do know physically I'll change, mentally too. How much mentally I have no idea. But, that's the fun of the challenge--seeing what I can accomplish both physically and mentally--and how I feel when I traipse up the stairs for number 101.

Today was Day 1. All's well so far. More to come. Until then, enjoy.

I've been listening to a lot of Level 42 lately, partly because Mark King is an incredible bass player AND has an unusual voice. It has character, depth because it's not perfect. Sure, the songs I've been listening to are from the late 80s, but they're interesting musically--it's obvious the band members knew what they were doing--have had some type of musical training--not like the synthesised crap you hear today with singers over singing every fucking note just to show they have range. It ain't range--it's called shouting. 


So, how does all of this relate to Bikram? In class today, the teacher mentioned how Bikram yoga tends to bring out all of your imperfections and there's nothing wrong with that. For some reason, Level 42's "Something About You" popped into my foggy, sweaty brain when he uttered those words, mainly these lyrics: 
But making mistakes
Is a part of life's imperfections
Born of the years
Is it so wrong
To be human after all...


Then, the rest of the song made its way through my mind during Standing Bow: 
Drawn into the stream
Of undefined illusion

Those diamond dreams

They can't disguise the truth... 

The truth that it's gonna take years to get my Bikram practice to a place where I'm no longer embarrassed to fall out of poses that I should be able to hold because of my freakish Gray family strength and years of being a springboard diver. Being a diver for so long gave me an incredible sense of balance and flexibility until I was diagnosed with vertigo about 20 years ago--even though by the time of the diagnoses, diving was no longer a part of my life. My balance hasn't been the same since, however, Bikram has returned it a lot of it back to me. The undefined illusion of Bikram is that no matter how old you are, or how rigid your life/body has become, you can be born again by partaking in Bikram. It's a tool for living, an added bonus for those who've discovered and relish in its benefits. 

Even the most seasoned Bikram folks have shitty days when their minds and bodies ain't cooperating. There's not much that can be done when that happens--just power through and not get down & out on yourself. 

Just remember what the song says: 

Gone, fragile but free

We remain tender together

If not so in love

It's not so wrong

We're only human after all...

Sorry about the crappy quality. 

Typhoid Yogini

There are a lot of proven claims about yoga with regards to health floating around. The main ones being it helps to improve breathing, flexibility, stamina, and balance. I've benefited greatly from Bikram--I can now maintain control of all four limbs for about 12 hours a day (up from two hours about five months ago) and then there's the whole awesome complexion thing. Also,  I had a conversation with a young woman recently who said that her six-day/week Bikram habit helped to fix her eyesight--she used to wear glasses--but not anymore. She didn't require glasses for her driver's license renewal test. Impressive.

Some even claim that Bikram can stop the cold or flu dead in its tracks. I'm an open-minded person, but I'm also a born skeptic, so this cure-the-common cold/flu claim doesn't quite work for me. So, when I was in class the other day with a young woman who had a box of Kleenex next to her, I knew something was amiss. When the deep, painful-sounding coughing started during Half-Moon, I started to get a scosch irritated. After all, we're in a very hot, carpeted room crowded with sweaty bodies engaged in deep breathing exercises. Germs are bound to fester longer than, say, outside. Sure, I felt bad for her--she was sick. It happens to everyone numerous times during one's life. We've all been there. I understand wanting to push through sickness because you have stuff to do, a life to live.

However, when your choices could possibly affect my health, that's when my empathy goes right out window. Showing up sick to Bikram is not the same as showing up to work sick (another pet peeve for another time) because one doesn't need to do Bikram in order to feed one's family or pay bills. Some folks could counter with the "you don't know where he/she is in the cold/flu cycle," or the "you just need be present in the hot room--that's your yoga practice if that's all you can do" Both arguments have their merits. But, when each cough sounds like you're about to lose a lung, and you're sporting a rheumy appearance with the hallow-looking eyes and gray complexion, you should've stayed in bed watching "Sanford & Son" reruns with a trough of steaming miso soup on the bedside table.

Sometimes I wonder about common courtesy--where did it go? Will it ever return?

As I ponder this, I wonder what it would be like to show up to class in intestinal distress.

Yeah, you know you're thinking the same thing.

Pimples & puke

I don't like it rough.

No, pervs, I'm not talking about sex. Duh. I'm talking about Bikram and today was particularly rough. I had a low-grade headache when I woke up and no amount of coffee, healthy food or water was going to put the kibosh on it. Even Tylenol couldn't touch it so I decided to experiment with the Bikram adage that it cures all that ails you.

Big mistake.

I could barely concentrate during the opening breathing exercise. My ass and thighs were squeezed tight like a frickin' snare drum and my spine was stretched to damn ceiling, but that didn't help. It just made me more achy. Half-Moon? Forget it. I felt like a scarecrow with a pole stuck up my ass. Lovely. Awkward Pose was, well, awkward. Sit back in the chair? Only if someone hands me a an actual chair to sit on AND a half-naked Cuban (man, not cigar) brings me a cold martini. The only two poses of the standing series I did a half-way decent job at were Standing Bow and Balancing Stick. Both looked a lot like the photos I posted--comes from having a strong back & legs--and squeezing the crap out of every muscle in my body to keep from falling on my face.

As for the floor series--forgettable. Being face down on sweaty mat forced me to go to my happy place, until we got to Camel Pose, that's when the urge to puke all over the room really hit me. As my eyes looked for the back wall, the bile started to rise in my throat and I had to force it down the way a kid forces down liver & onions for the first time. Gross. The rest of class flew by and I high-tailed it out of there without refunding all over the studio. 'Twas a good day in that respect.

However, that all changed when I got home. Let's just say it's a good thing my apartment is on the first floor AND that puke on hardwood is not necessarily a bad thing. That's what those disinfecting wipes are for--and open windows to help get rid of the smell. Today would be a whole lot different if I had some sort of carpeting. Puke on a shag carpet? I wanna puke thinking about how to clean it up.

Another nasty side effect of Bikram are pimples. For me, these are a mystery because I've been blessed with good skin--you know, clear, line-free with the occasional breakout. I feel for those folks who have to buy Proactiv by the trough-load because they have a mini-version of the Great Divide on their visages. But, here I am: Zit Central and it ain't pretty. Guess it's a good thing that unemployment is my lifestyle choice at the moment because I'd probably get arrested for being in public looking like this. Also, the fact that it's still too cold out to wear short sleeves, let's not even go there.

Stretch, Sweat & Tears

Over the past 24 hours, I did some healthy things: I showered. I ate healthy foods. I took my master's degree info off of my resume, and I've started to use my actual physical master's degree as scratch paper.

Oh, and I did Bikram today.

My mood has been in the toilet as of late due to my lack of employment and dismal financial state,  and I'm constantly amazed at how going to Bikram really brings those emotions to the surface. There must be something about all of that organ compression, bending, stretching and sweating that forces you to deeply feel all of the emotional shit you're going through. Bikram doesn't allow you to ignore anything that's going on with both your physical and mental self--it's cheap therapy. By the time you're done with class, you're too blissed out to give shit about your troubles for a few hours. Or you're too exhausted to care. With me, it's a combo platter of the two.

I held it together during the opening breathing exercise, but during this pose, the desire to scream my fool head off was overpowering. I tried to concentrate on falling back, go back, way back, but it was tough to do when all I could see was me in the stockade for defaulting on my student loans. The other images sloshing around in my noggin were of me, living in a VW van in a trailer park just outside of Mattoon, Illinois, making & selling sweaters made of out my cats' fur. As I wrapped my forearms around my calves in this part of the pose, I saw myself sleeping in the van in an old army-issue sleeping bag & a large bag of rice as a pillow. I had one cat snuggled up in one armpit and the other was on top of my head, you know, for warmth. The windows of the van were blacked out by numerous rejection emails I printed out for added entertainment and a constant reminder of my failings as a journalist. Seriously, what was I thinking when I considered this career? What a mah-roon! What a nin-cow-poop.

After this pose was finished and as I focused my gaze on one spot in the mirror, I gave myself the finger. Ahh ... self-loathing. There's a certain dignity to it.

The rest of the standing series was just super peachy keen and I'm constantly surprised how physically powerful I am--even with my sizable ass and advancing age. Huge strength. Amazing. At one point, I allowed myself to notice the other students and realized that my ass wasn't the largest in class. Seriously, it's the little victories like this which keep me from taking a dip in the Chicago River in a lead bathing suit.

Tears mixed with sweat in the eyes really bite. Hard. I felt like someone had lobbed some pepper into my hazels for shits and giggles. Pretty damn painful, folks. However, my face was planted into my mat so no one was the wiser. I just plowed through and tried like hell to get the images of me selling my collection of F. Murray Abraham thumbnail portraits out of my mind. I can't bring myself to do it--I just can't.

What am I gonna do now? Don't know. I really don't. The fact that I wasted all that time & money on a useless degree really sucks and I'm angry I did it. The bile in my throat is started to burn more because I don't see things getting better for me. I do know one thing though--I'm gonna keep going back to Bikram every day because it's the only thing that truly makes sense at the moment.

The world's largest virtual coffee klatsch

I'm doing it wrong--looking for a new job that is.

Apparently, the new ways to gain employment these days are to fiddle-fuck around on social media, mainly Twitter, and to have your own website. Twitter is the new networking group, the new gathering place for those who are unemployed. It works well on that level because you don't have to spend time and money getting all dolled-up only to sit at a bar drinking the house Chianti and chatting with some guy who knows a guy who's developing a 'neighborhoods with the most dog poop' app. Instead, it's possible to get an "in" with a prospective employer by hanging out on Twitter and retweeting their posts or just by stalking them in general. It's not a guarantee you'll get a job, mind you, but Twitter is a great way to bypass all of the usual bullshit that's associated with job hunting--mainly clueless HR departments. Even I have made some great business contacts on Twitter, but it wasn't done in a haphazard manner.

Now, I love Twitter. I see it as writing my own personal headline--in 140 characters or less. Also, it's the world's largest virtual coffee klatsch, if you will. It's fun to see what my followers are up to--well, some at least. There don't seem to be any rules and my fellow Tweeps just love to let it allll hang out--something I've been known to do from time to time. Twitter has shown to be a valuable news source during trying times--I didn't take my eyes off my Twitter feed during the Iranian uprising, healthcare reform, the mid-term elections, the assassination attempt of Gabby Giffords and, of course, Egypt. Twitter shows us the ugly side of humanity as well as the good. It is, in short, a wonderful tool.

But, I've heard of at least a half-dozen situations where someone has gotten a job by the act of virtual ass-kissing on Twitter. Retweeting a celebrity's bon mots is the most obvious form of the virtual and transparent suck-up. Or following a celeb and bugging them so much they follow you back just to get you to just shut yer yapper. What I have witnessed in my chosen field are those who have landed jobs with little or no experience but are deft at the social media game. And when you lack the actual skills of the job you're after, Twitter is a most valuable tool--you can reach millions with your observations and appropriately worded tweets guiding your fellow Tweeps back to your blog or website. This frightens me because there are those of out there who, while we like and rely on social media a great deal, believe that Twitter should not be the deciding factor on who is worthy of employment and who isn't. To be fair, however, I've never been good at self-promotion and while it may have hurt me professionally at times, I know full well that the jobs I've had in the past I landed because of my professional skills. Not via a self-important and in dire-need-of-an-editor blog or website. My hopes are, that once Twitter is seen as one of the many job/attention-gettin' tools, those who are worthy of recognition will get it through other avenues, not just through social media.

Which leads me to personal websites. A friend told me that I might need one in order to land a job because I'm losing jobs to folks who have websites. Sounds like a great idea, then I took a gander at a few of these personal websites and let's just say that having a damn fine gag reflex is a wonderful thing.

I'm losing jobs to these folks? Seriously? Yes I am, so now I need to get my head out of my ass and make up some sort of website for all of the world to see, heap praise on me (the critics will be silenced on my site thankyouverymuch) and hang on my every word. I have to get used to folks posting phrases like the dreaded and lazy "LOL!" and "OMG!" and "FTW!" Oh, uh ... there's that gag reflex again. Damn, it's starting to weaken. Time to deaden it with copious amounts of alcohol and constant reassurances of how amazingly brilliant I am from my fans in Iceland and Tasmania.

A website dedicated to how awesome the author is, well, it's a scosch much.

A modern day Biff Loman--with boobs

I've become a stereotype. I'm sitting in a Starbuck's up on Clark Street in Andersonville, writing on my MacBook Pro and sipping a tepid green tea chai latte thingy-no foam. The only thing I'm not doing is writing a screenplay, but I think writing a blog is in the screenplay-poseur category, however. The reason I'm here is because the Internets are out at mi casa and I really didn't feel like, you know, reading a book or watching the cats barf up technicolor hairballs all the live long day. Plus, I had cabin fever due to the frickin' blizzard that blew through Chicago over the past 48 hours. I can only watch the snow fall and my neighbors dig out their cars (really who are they kidding? BUT, they probably have cabin fever too) for so long before I want to encase the contents of my apartment in jello. I had to get out. It was that simple. 

So, I've been trying to figure out what the fuck to do with this blog. It's been weighing heavy on my mind because I've been told over and over by friends and acquaintances that I should be putting my wit and whatever out there, for all to see. The thing is, there are so many blogs out there and maybe 10 percent are worth reading. Out of that 10 percent, maybe 2 percent are worth reading on a daily basis. So many blogs are filled with the same old song and dance--politics, self-discovery, overtired & self-important mommy bloggers, observations, arts, arts criticism, snarky shit, etc. It goes on and on and they're all wonderful cures for insomnia. I'm gonna try like hell to not have a blog like any of those. I may dip into those subjects from time to time, but most of my posts will be random and hopefully interesting.

Like this one. A few weeks ago, my part-time job was eliminated at the magazine I'd been at for two years.  After the initial shock, which immediately turned to anger and has now morphed into depression, I'm trying to get through each day without getting sized for a straight-jacket. That's it. I'm not using any ancient secrets or meditation (which to me is just a sitting-up nap), I'm just letting it all work it's way through me like bad gas. You see, I firmly believe that when one experiences loss, whether it's death, a break-up or some sort of event that shakes one's core, one needs to feel bad. You just do and there's no magic pill to help one through it all (meth/heroin/X don't count). All of the anger, hurt and bad feelings have to be respected, and it's best to not attempt to quash those feelings because the inevitable is being delayed. I figure it's crappy outside, I don't want to be among the living, so why not go through all the anger and all the hurt in the comfort of my own home? Hell, I've got cable, access to Internet porn and a phone--which I rarely answer--but it's nice to know it's available to me when I feel a bout of black-wire fever coming on.

During this time, I've been getting lots of attention from my friends/family because of my job-free situation. Their attention is all wonderful and so welcome, but the best are some of the emails I've received--especially ones that are about job possibilities and what I should really be "doing with my life." 


Then, there are the emails that give me pause. Like this one. And, fyi, the name of the publication has been changed to protect ... well, whatever.


"FancyPants Journal, a weekly bidness mag for smart folks, is seeking a part-time intern for its big city, downtown newsroom. Responsibilities include managing editorial content on the magazine's two websites, FancyPantsJournal.com and KnickersAGoGo.com. Specifically, the position will assist in the posting of the magazine content, both text and graphics, on the two websites. Position may also do some basic writing, reporting and editing. The successful candidate must have an interest in all things fancy and smart, superior technical skills, familiarity with HTML, some copy editing experience or training, and a passion for fancy online journalism. Internship pays $XX/hour for so many hours a week and blah de blahhhh. The position would last for 3 months with the possibility of it being extended for another 3 or so months. FANCY! Send a cover letter, samples and whatnot to .. Mr. Schmenky McSchmenkman EIC, some big street in a big city. 


I got this announcement via a listserv I'm a member of and when it arrived, admittedly, it upset me. The body was still warm, my shadow was still lingering on the office door when this was posted. Granted, it's different from my job there--I worked 3 days/week, all day and did more editorial work. And, I was paid more, but not by much. 


It hurt to see and it made me realize that I meant nothing to this place for two years. 


While I was taking this all in and experiencing what a mini-stroke feels like, this email was forwarded to me by a former grad school chum--someone I haven't spoken with since we handed in our final stories.

"Hi Jules! I hear you have health care reporting experience. This would be the PERFECT JOB FOR YOU! Go for it! YOU CAN DO IT!" 


I sat staring at this email for a long time--reading it over & over--mouth agape and drooling like a mastiff. I read it again, squeezed my eyes shut tight, shook my head, opened them with the hope that it was a mirage, a cruel joke if you will. 


Nope. No such luck.


I looked out my window, shook my head and started to laugh uncontrollably. What else could I do? Laughing about this just made more sense! After all, it just proves that I'm the universe's court jester, a female Biff Loman, its sad sack and it's hilarious. It just proves that 2011 is turning out to be uber-turdelicious, but what can I really do about it? Nothing, except laugh it off. That's really all I have at this point and that's something, isn't it?