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I have not gone to Bikram Yoga for almost three weeks. In six years, Iâve never had this long of a break in my practice. My enthusiasm for this slightly déclassé, rough-hewn but effective discipline inspired me to buy a fifty class card on Thanksgiving Day, whereupon I strutted into class and wrenched my back with an over-enthusiastic ardashandrasana. I didnât notice it at the time but I realized by the end of the class that Iâd had increasing lower back distress throughout the class. The next evening, I compounded my problem by changing a flat tire. Even though I âused my legs, not my backâ, Iâm sure that didnât help. For three weeks now, sitting can be painful, and rising from sitting to standing requires me to carefully lead and lift with my knees to avoid strain. I went to my friendly acupuncturist / bodyworker for one session. He taught me some useful stretches and crunches, and vigorously inserted some acupuncture needles the size of golf clubs. The pain was always pretty mild but reminds me that Iâm of an age where recovery from injury is getting slower all the time. Iâm finally getting my freedom of movement back and am sitting comfortably instead of constantly needing to squirm. Fortunately, walking, dancing and biking have been OK throughout, but for a sedentary office worker like me a sitting problem is really a challenge. The last two days the pain has been definitely receding. I now expect to pain free and back to yoga in two more weeks. I will modify asanas to avoid pain.
I've started reading the transcendently vacuous "Eat, Pray, Love". The protagonist decided not to have a baby and instead traveled to Italy, India, and Indonesia, consuming a Williams-Sonoma gift box of cuisine, romance, and enlightenment Experiences. Ohmygosh, mid-30's privileged and can't quite decide what to do? Why do I care? Why bother even opening this book? For the same reason I've watched three whole Superbowls. To see what the fuss is about. My wife's book club read it, and I've told that "well, it gets better". The self-congratulation, the arch little formal tricks, the page upon page about the divorce that the writer promises at the outset not to dwell on, what's to like here? There is something about the way the author polishes her coiffed little aura with a puff of self-deprecation here, a squirt of self-reference there that makes me, well, envious, I guess. I'm cynical, and materialistic, and haven't saved the world. Gosh, if I wuz a girl and wrote a memoir and had talent and connections.... It's envy. I'm on page 40. I'll give it till page 60.
Thu, November 29, 2007 - 8:45 PM
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I am in a hotel lobby in Ann Arbor, pecking away at a shared computer since there is no wireless functioning anywhere in the freakin' building, despite the helpful instruction card on the desk in my room.
I just realized I've been waiting for M.I.A. all my life. Maya Arul has the political lyrics I've loved since my Rock Against Racism days, and electronic production values for days. She uses poetry as percussion, which so turned me on when rap emerged in the early 80s. She's South Asian, and I think I read that she's a second generation leftie. And polyglot UK socialists tickle my latent Europhilia, yeah, right there. If Linton Kwesi Johnson and Poly Styrene had had a Sri Lankan love child, she'd be it. Now I have to go back to eMusic and download her new album, too. Pull Up The People!
Sun, September 30, 2007 - 12:48 PM
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Tue, August 28, 2007 - 9:00 AM
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originally published at Just a Modern Guy
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