Saving the world one globetrotter at a time

The saying goes that you can only truly understand yourself when you see yourself through someone else’s eyes. The same stands true on a global level. The increase in generation Y’s interest in studying and working abroad is not only a great opportunity to see what life is like outside the subdivision fences but also a chance to shine some light on how the US appears in the global field. Last week, Jeffrey Bartholet and Daniel Stone wrote an article in Newsweek about the number of members of Obama’s administration that have lived and worked abroad, including our Commander-in-Chief himself, his roots deeply seeded in an international family tree.

I had the fortunate opportunity to study abroad in London in 2005. Along with plenty of time touring the pubs of Kensington and Chelsea, and poking around the city with a great group of people, I was able to travel and explore the UK, Ireland, and France. But perhaps due to my naivety to international culture and global relations (I was only 19 when I went, without much interest in politics or world news) I lacked the eye and attitude needed to truly embrace and learn from the experience of living abroad. I also clung to my fear of the uncertain when deciding where to study; choosing a country that spoke my language and who’s culture is in line with American. Now, 4 years later and 4 years wiser and 4 years more aware, I watch everyday for an opportunity to arise for me to live abroad again, with some changes. I think a more life-changing experience for me would be set in a culture far difference from what I am used to everyday. London gave me the confidence to know that I can live comfortably on the other side of the ocean from my family and friends, but to truly see the vast range of cultures and values around the world, something outside my comfort zone would be more beneficial.

I may not have a living abroad options in the near future but I will be able to live vicariously and learn through my friends and family that will have that opportunity. When Doc departs for his grand excursion in the Peace Corp, I will be able to go visit him in the South Pacific, see what work he is doing, and get the tour from an expat. My sister is planning her last two years of college around a semester studying sociology in Ghana. I have always said that my dream is to visit Africa, because I see their culture as the most extreme and most difficult to understand and I want so badly to feel what it feels to live so differently from the comforts of home. I plan on visiting her as well to learn from her chance to study culture in the field. Lucky girl!

It is unquestionably true that when you have an international awareness from first-hand experiences interacting with different people and cultures, you come to understand more thoroughly what differences are evident, what ideas are universal and which are cultural. You also have the opportunity from talking with other people, to see what the view of your own culture looks like from the eyes of an outside. And as you develop relationships with these new friends, you discover that their opinions are worth being compassionate towards, no longer veiled in ignorance. These values are exactly what Americans need to better interact in an increasingly global world. The fact that so many politicians that will be representing America in the global ring have these experiences under their belt and in their minds is a refreshing and progressive aspect to our political system. Hopefully the number of students that are open and able to study abroad will continue to increase so as a new generation fills the white house desks, our views will become more and more open to new ideas from around the world.

Identity Crisis

I am becoming just like all the Estelle's in the world. Remember Joey's agent on Friends? Box-dyed hair, blue eyeshadow, voice destroyed by years of chain-smoking and talking too much, and can name every man that Erica Kane has married on All My Children. I am on the road to becoming the next person in line at the grocery store to pick up Soap Opera digest (I actually did once...) During my lunch hour at work, me and a few unnamed co-workers sneak into an abandoned corner of the warehouse where we have pitched an old TV among the boxes of inventory to watch All My Children. It started as a way to relax and escape our cubicles for an hour but now I have trouble missing a day. So my secret is out. Next thing you know I'll be drinking Manhattan's and talking about the good old days when phone's were used for talking and there was no such thing as fug. 

So one of the current AMC plots is that Annie is locked in a mental institute because she killed her brother, kidnapped her daughter, stabbed Erica Kane, and now believes she is her daughter. But the twist is that we don't know if she is really mental or if she's playing her part to avoid going to jail. This is one of the better plots so far this year. The doctor in charge of "curing" Annie has focused her medical research on felons that do just that, fake being insane to avoid doing time in the big house. I understand this is a soap opera and the situations are exaggerated for the Estelle's the world that need that extra dose of drama in their life to get through the day. But, in reality, I don't doubt that there are criminals that do just this. Mental instability cannot be proved, can be debated endlessly, yet is treated as a medical disease that requires treatment. Perpetrated by the desire to avoid going to jail, felons could very well put themselves into a mental state that appears to require medical attention but in reality is an extreme case of fight or flight. 

But the complete focus that must be placed on the brain in order to foul a medical expert with years of experience and research can be tolling on the brain. Could the brain even begin to believe that this mental instability is it's true form? Ironically, Jezebel posted an article about just this. Norah Vincent is an author that voluntarily checked herself into three different types of mental treatment facilities in order to compare and judge the conditions and treatment methods of each one. The experience was so trying on her mentally that she actually began to develop a mental illness from living this experiment. It must also be noted the extent that Norah submerges herself into "research" for her novels. She previously lived as a man for several years for a book she wrote and, as a result, suffered a mental breakdown. This experience was what lead her to this new research. I don't know if I should praise her complete mental devotion to her art or wonder why she would subject herself to such an identity crisis. Twice. 

This could be a social trend due the prevalence of mental illness diagnoses today. This is a type of disease that is intangible. There are no x-rays or medical tests (that I know of - understand I am not a thorough or credible source) to prove if a person has a disease of this nature. This gives people a place in a medical environment to hide from the world and the consequences that go with it. I am NOT disproving the importance or existence of mental health issues, only that it is a new and developing science that some below-the-law people are exploiting. It is a side effect of this new diagnosis that was unanticipated; the ability the "fake" medicine. It sounds like the next plot line of Grey's Anatomy. 

Back in the saddle

Oh I try and I try to keep up with this blog. I feel a sense of responsibility to this project because I have no real responsibility to it. By choice I share all the useless but awesome stories I hear and see. So I'M BACK (again and again). I was watching Jon Stewart last night. After a sorrowful moment in memorium of all the material Bush has given Jon over the years and the realization that this show will have to actually start working for satire once Bush retires, Arianna Huffington was the guest. She is the creator and editor of the Huffington Post. The website pulls links from all news sources and blogs into this tidy site, like a "best of" of the day's headlines and features. After there is caffiene running through my veins in the morning, I log onto the site to get my fill of headlines instead of having to click from CNN to NY Times to the Tribune to Jezebel. So there is my plug. The editors and bloggers on the site just published a book about blogging. Arianna and her sexy Greek accent made blogging seem like the most passionate hobby a person can have. "Blogging is not about perfectionism. Blogging is about intimacy, transparency, and sharing your thoughts the way you share them with a friend." My first thought: I want one! Thought #2: Oh yea....I have one! That line reminded me why I have this blog. Primarily so I can pass on all the pop culture nuances to my friends without wasting their anytime minutes, and also with the slight hope in the back of my heart that I can turn a career out of my mining for absured realizations about this cultural haven we live in.

So to begin again I have one word. Obama. It is amazing to really understand and feel what it means to be proud to be an American. It is a term I used to be too young to understand, followed by too ashamed to feel. But being meer miles away from Grant Park the night Obama was declared our 44th president, being able to hear the eruption of cheers from my window, seeing people smile when they talk about a politican, scrolling through my friends' facebook statuses reminding people to vote, to change. Finally it feels like there is a person to symbolize our country that actually encompasses the values and ideas that Americans want projected onto the world. Change is good.

Next, a topic I would be stupid not to write about. On Tuesday I heard Annie Leibovitz speak at the Chicago Public Library downtown about her new book Annie Leibovitz at Work. Photography is an art that can steal my attention for hours. It's almost meditative for me to follow the clean focused lines, calming to see the monocrom black and white, reassuring that the world can still appear so beautiful. To me, the quality of Annie's photos that sets her appart from other photographers is the surrealism that glitters through the realistic nature of her photos. When I met Annie at the book signing after her talk, I told her that her photos make Hollywood still look glamorous. The lighting, the sharp quality, the glow. Her Vanity Fair portraits makes me believe that somewhere there are ladies and gentlemen that still walk around in diamond incrusted gowns and drap themselves in family jewels. That there are still sassy and sophisticated pin up girls in martini bars somewhere. That rock stars are still invincible. That fairy tales can come true. At the same time, her photos of average Americans show natural beauty in their eyes, their wrinkles, their shape, their stature, their clothes, their story.

Every one of her photos have a story that adds another layer to the photo and the subject. She talked about countless backstories to her photos, about different subjects and genres. She is not a good public speaker. She would try to start talking about a photo then relieve herself back into the pages of the book, reading passages about the photos. I found that very comforting, knowing that she was not at easy in front of the crowd. I think people that thrive being on stage, in the spotlight, eyes burning into them to be very unnatural, very forced. Words that you type out and write down, think about, plan, compare, can be easier to trust than split seconds words that come out of your mouth, that you can't delete. It is a more thoughtful and confident form of communicating your voice. Actually, Annie as a photographer has an even better form of communicating her voice through her art. Visual art can evoke emotions within the viewer that go beyond words, written or spoken. On some level I am jealous that I'm not talented enough to bring forth those emotions in my audience. Yet.

McYoga

Now that I am back in the embracing arms of hatha yoga again, in a room with a view, I can reflect back on the sweaty regiment of bikram yoga.

The stellar reviews on Yelp.com were my only motivation for returning to the studio each week for 90 minutes of perspiring hell. Every time I came home swearing under my breath at the state of my body and mind after class, I wondered what it is that the other hot yogis experience that I don’t. Everyone raved about how energized they felt, how they lost weight, didn't want to each junk food anymore, how it healed old injuries. I felt nothing but dizzy and strung out when I left. The only major difference I noticed was that when I rode my bike home after class my legs were stronger and I could increase the tension on the gears. But when I was expecting a body-altering experience, the bike ride seemed insignificant. I can understand the method to their madness, to sweat out toxins and unclog dirty pores; which is probably more healthy and active that the comparative spa treatment of an $80 facial. But asside from the rebirth of my skin, I didn't feel like the practice knocked my core into an altered state of living.

It’s also disheartening to experience how vastly different the energy of the bikram class is compared to a classic vinyasa or hatha yoga class. One of the building blocks of yoga, as I have learned it, is acceptance. Acceptance of your body’s limitations. Acceptance of your, and others, skill level. Acceptance of an empty mind. Acceptance of calm and quiet running through your body. The bikram yoga classes bring out a person's limits, challenges the body's commitment, brings a competative mindset to the forfront of your practice. The harsh clap that signals a change in pose doesn't allow you to fall into a flow between poses. The monotone, scripted instructions of the instructor doesn't allow for creativity or change from practice to practice. Having attention drawn to you in a negative way when you stop to take a drink of water to prevent yourself from passing out because you did not wait until the point in the class when you are allowed to drink. The demand to push your body past its natural point of resistance, which seems strengthening in theory, is very defeating in actuality when you cannot hold a pose long enough. In traditional yoga classes you are supposed to stay in tune with your body’s needs and pains, to listen and obey your body; not the instructor. There is a stronger feeling of pulling the body into a pose in bikram yoga, as opposed to the feeling of gentle pushing the body into a stronger pose in hatha or vinyasa yoga. The lack of force put on the body and mind of hatha yoga is what lets my mind relax and absorb the practice. I suppose the conclusion of this would be that if you are looking for a different way to push you body physically, a new challenge to face, then bikram yoga is something worth trying, but if you perform yoga for the spirituality of the experience, then bikram is going to be a blast of cold water on your peaceful body. Or hot air.

A brief histroy of bikram shows the conceptual differences between the practice and traditional yoga. Bikram was developed by Bikram Choudhury in LA. It is an exercise of 26 posturses performed in a room heated to 105 degrees guided by a specific dialouge of the bikram certified instructors. The sequence of the 26 postures is copyrighted and the studios are franchised by Bikram. There is intense controversy around the term "yoga" used within the Bikram yoga practice. The acient history of yoga poses, which predated by centuries, the ideas of copyright, franchisment, and capitalist nature of today's society, seems to tarnish the sacred act dedicated to inner growth and awareness, not profit or national acclaim. The documentary "Yoga, Inc." gives more examples and details on how bikram yoga does not follow so many of the teaches and nature of traditional yoga. I have been to my fair share of yoga studios in the last 2 years. I have always admired their low maintenance decor and operation. I envy the teachers that come to class, not because it is their job or because of the money they are making to be there, but because of their love and dedication to the practice, the desire to help other experience what they do in their practice. They are always friendly and happy, calm and open. I would hate to think that if more "McYogas" pop up around the US, the appeal of the profits, of cashing in on people's love for yoga, will overhaul the pure, simple joy that traditional yoga brings.

Ladies No Longer in Waiting

Try as I might, I cannot avoid the inevitable topic that, every 4 years, becomes the dictator of the media, water cooler conversations, magazine covers, and pillow talk all across the USA! USA! USA! Presidential election season is upon us again. But you can take comfort in the fact that I will try to keep this as objective as an election conversation can be. I’m not here to force my un-groomed and less-than-educated political views upon you; I’ll leave that to the professionals. I couldn’t help but write about the topic because how can I possibly analyze the state of our 9/8/08 culture and ignore the baby-kissing presidential beast that has taken over our culture right now? So I’m going to take a lighter, more superficial, approach to the race. Someone has to. Sometimes we need a distraction from the exhausting debates over baby’s mama’s drama, sexism, patriotism, and the population of Alaska. So I am here to discuss the ladies.

When Michelle Obama burst onto the political field a few months ago, she was an outspoken, successful, frank woman first. She was Barak’s wife second. I knew about her Harvard degree and career progression before I knew that she was the mother of two (beautiful and microphone-loving) daughters. Some people that still believe in the sanctity of politicians were dumbfounded by her forthrightness in discussing Barak’s trail of dirty socks (How can he allow her to reveal such behavior! A presidential nominee would NEVER divulge such character flaws!). But the rest of us could relate to the playful banter with our significant others. I’m no worshipper of the house of Doc when talking about him. I’ll joke with my friends about his scruffy nomad beard for the sake of relatability. The outspoken woman is sexy. The outspoken woman is not a woman to be dismissed as a simple pillow-fluffer at the end of the day. The outspoken woman is the backbone and down to earth character that a politician needs to keep things real and fist-tap for support.

But that was then. Months on the campaign trail. Months of criticism over her “anti-American” style. Months of worried campaign managers hoping to avoid another Hillary, pulling Bill’s puppet strings from inside the White House. Who was really in control here? We don’t want a submissive president. So now, watching her speech at the DNC, I see her subsiding into her Jackie O dresses and supportive smiles. Talks of her daughters, family, and her husband. The candid banter of “Barak – He’s just like us!” gone. So where did she go?

I will be honest in saying that I know less about Cindy McCain, partly because my interest leans towards the Obama’s and partly because the woman is so severe looking I have trouble getting past the tight librarian bun and paycheck. She looks so tightly wound and pursed-lipped that I had trouble see her lack of personality as a threat to the White House. But seeing her at the RNC the night of McCain speech, with her hair down, a small smile on her face, even I saw some semblance of pride in how her life brought her to that moment. But that moment of awareness was gone as soon as it came, blinded by talks of her $300,000 getup and private plane. But where did the librarian bun go?

And now there is Sarah Palin. I can’t seem to stop reading about her background and family. I am drawn to her story and I cannot figure out why. My question for her fresh face is where did she come from?

The trend here is the entrance of the woman into the political playing field. Three women are under the torturous microscope of the media and America (mostly because of the media). Hillary, the trailblazer, was the first sign that it is time Washington gave some attention to the political woman. The importance of the first lady has become almost comparable to the importance of the president himself. Hillary showed that the first lady cannot be overlooked, because she may someday be the one you are voting for. It is a new frontier for women in politics and there must be an appealing image to wrangle in the votes, because lets not forget that this is still a political race and it’s all about the votes. Men have had hundreds of years to evolve their persona into what they know Americans can look up to and are comfortable with and are generally willing to let lose on the world as the face of our nation. Navy blue suit, red tie, good orator, uses words like “change” and “hope”, wears an American flag pin. Now the women are at the beginning of their evolution into what America will trust. Michelle came out of the gate a little too strong, Cindy came out with her bun a little too tight. Both are working towards a middle ground. Because who knows which one of them could be next.

So now the transformation from hockey mom to vice presidential nominee for Sarah Palin will begin. What middle ground will she have to conform to? Only time and debates and Karl Roves growling monologues will tell.

I'm a Mac. I'm a desperate PC

There are so many things that seem so extraordinary in theory, but the grandeur falls apart at the seams after execution. Like bottled water or Sarah Palin. Like a collaboration between Jerry Seinfeld and Bill Gates.

Microsoft kicked off their new ad campaign this week. Bringing out the big guns/dollars with their first commercial featuring the sneaker-wearing Seinfeld and the cheapest richest man Gates at a Payless-esque discount shoe store sharing insight on pleather footwear and the future of edible hardware. First thought: ????? Second thought: Thank Lord Elton John for DVR.  It took a few viewings to piece together what Microsoft was trying to accomplish with this "commercial about nothing".  There were so many levels and angles Microsoft was trying to play in this ad that the end result was a mess of mug shots and wedgies. They are countering the "I'm a mac" commercials with Seinfeld; a cross-generational icon. But Jerry eating a chutto has a tough time proving its hip status up against the oh so cute mac guy, not to mention the "I'm a mac" commercials have been well established for 2 years now. Why start trying now? Trying to a desperate level no less; $300 million on a campaign starring two of the most visible and highest paid members of their industries is no understatement. The approach of the campaign is to show these two moguls as everyday Americans that shop in malls and sign up for retail discount memberships. But two globally discernible faces being normal, like the "Stars; They're Just Like Us!" section of Us Weekly, has a depressing way of making a bike ride seem more fashionable than ordinary.

The official explanation from Microsoft is that this is only a "teaser" for future commercials meant to "engage customers in a conversation and dialogue in a humorous and intriguing way".  I believe that exact quote was used on the set of Seinfeld. Other then a flash of the Microsoft logo at the end of the commercial and the presence of Bill Gates, there is no mention of the company, products, or performance. I got a hold of the second commercial (Is there anything Youtube can't give me?) This one gives us a future of fish with blogs, a small explanation of the duet's adventure, and a pretty witty one liner ("You live in a moon house hoovering over Seattle and I have so many cars I get stuck in my own traffic jams") , it still left me wondering when they were going to sell me something. 

Remember when commercials used to be for products? 

It's Just a Year

This has become the mantra of Gen Y. It's just a year, it's just a year, it’s just a year. As we map and re map the path of our life, we dip our feet into different jobs and places and experiences, crossing off the bad and starring the good. But the uncertainty of how you will handle a new experience can make the task of stepping into a new pool of responsibility unnerving yet necessary. And there are the entry-level tasks and "resume building" keys we all need to have to open doors down the line. Doors that you don't even know address to yet. But you don’t want to miss any of the necessary grunt work that might lead to your American (or International) Dream. So you bite the bullet. For a year.

It’s all I can say when talking to my friends about their I-don’t-get-no-satisfaction entry level jobs and when they get pink eye for the third time from their students. It’s just a year. Then something else, something better. Grin and bare it and make friends with the local bartender and you will survive. If you have something that you want in your future bad enough, I think patient is a virtue. Kate has been talk and dreaming about moving to Europe for a while now. She talked to her boss and they are situating her in the company in a place that could really make that come true. But before she jets off to Italy, she has to work in the agency’s corporate headquarters, a culture far different from the small boutique agency branch she loves and works in now. But it’s just a year. A year in the conservative ivory tower of corporate life that could lead to her dream job working in an international advertising agency, painting the Paris skyline from a bridge across the Seine, and having passionate and forbidden love affairs with tall, dark, and handsome European soccer players. It’s just a year.

Laura has the same relationship with teaching that I have with accounting. Don’t love it, sometimes hate it, but not ready to throw that bachelor’s degree in the trash just yet. She suffered through one year of student teaching and three bouts of pink eye, because, even though she was uninspired by her years of education courses, because she knows she needs to be a real teacher for at least one year, with her own classroom and her own kids and her own rules for one year, before really thinking about throwing in the towel. It's just a year. Then she can reevaluate where she is and where she wants to be.

Even where we live in our 20's is a hop scotch game from city to city, trying out all different lifestyles before making a commitment to settle down somewhere. Big city, small town, East Coast, West Coast, US or abroad. The possibilities are endless. For as long as I can remember I have known that I wanted to live in a big city. And I'm here and I love it. Living the dream now is making room for another dream to reach for once I've soaked up enough of the city to satisfy. I still take comfort in the fact that the only thing tying me down is my apartment lease.

They call this time in a Gen Yers life the "quarter-life crisis". Where the proverbial midlife crisis is based on regrets of paths not taken in the past, the quarter-life crisis is stress over having too many options and paths to take and fear of taking the wrong path or missing one that could lead to a fulfilled and happy life. I don't think anyone in our position is whining about how many choices we have, but the choices we face are decided by our character, who we are and who we will become. Too bad not enough of us have been out of the structure of academia to really know who we are or who we will become. I think part of the fuel behind the quarter-life crisis, a relatively newly coined phrase in 2001, is the commonality of the term midlife crisis. We've been hearing that term and the negative emotions surrounding it, our whole life (the term was first published in 1965). Instead of accepting our fate of regret when we are 50 years old, we are trying our hardest to leave no regrets in our past, to take every challenge we can, not to miss any passing opportunities, to do what we love every day. But its tough to do what we love every day when we don't know what that is yet. So we want to try it all, we don't want to miss a chance to catch our dreams and live what we love every day. It's just a year, a year closer to that dream.

Hipster Paradise

It’s been a busy week as I gather back together all the parts of my life that exploded last weekend with the culmination of so many months of planning and anticipating and mix taping. Lollapalooza ’08. It was yet another weekend of living inside my iPod, body surrounded by music at every corner of Grant Park.

The overwhelming feeling that comes with trying to see 130 bands over 3 days was curbed by the accompaniment of my two rock and roll tour guides; Boutit (for a complete band-by-band run down of who we saw, please enjoy Boutit’s blog.) and my alter ego/sister Andrea. Between the three of us, we had a full schedule to tackle over the 3 days. An added challenge was staying cool. Because Mother Nature has a sense of humor, Aug 1-3 happened to be the 3 hottest days of the summer. The sun and sweat was relentless. Hours under the cloudless sky and weaving in and out of the largest crowd to ever hit the park (225,000 people total for the weekend) made for a very uncomfortable few days. Unfortunately, this personally put a damper on the weekend. Constantly whipping the sweat off my face and making sure I always had some cold water to drink, trying to stick together as we made our way from one end of the park to the other along with a hurricane of people moving in all directions and reading the schedule at the same time took away from some of the magic of the festival.

But I’m no Debbie Downer when it comes to music so aside from being a baby wah wah about the weather and crowd conditions it was a weekend of discovering new bands, people watching, and jump jump jumping around jump around. The crowds were the most entertaining part of the weekend for me. The shear number of people that swarmed the city for the music was enough to give me chills even in the heatwave. The carpet of people that covered the mile long park was a picture of a culture of escapism, getting lost in the wave of the music, wanting for even just a weekend to forget the everyday life of responsiblity and boredom. Everyone filled their days with music from every corner of the world and every genre, simple tasks of bathing, eating, and dressing back burnered in exchange for squirt guns and hula hoops. It was hipster mecca with robes of skinny jeans and crowns of sweat bands, neon green and pink sunglasses protecting from the glare of the desert sun over Lake Michigan. The one image that formed in my mind that, even though I never got to fly overhead and see, will always sum up the spectrum of music that was played was an aerial view of the park at 8:30 Sunday night when Kanye West was putting on a flashing lights show at the south end of the park while Nine Inch Nails got closer to god at the north end.

Other high points in the weekend included:

-CSS and their neon costumes

-The crowd cheering during Black Keys when the sun went behind the only cloud in the sky

-Lupe Fiasco’s Rocky-esque entrance, including a back flip on stage.

-Discovering 3 new bands to download and love: Mates of State, Margot & the Nuclear So & So’s, and What Made Milwaukee Famous

-Seeing a star being born when MGMT introduced themselves as Radiohead, and believing them by the size of the turnout for their show.

-Living a fantasy watching DJ Momjeans (more commonly known as Hyde from That 70’s Show). Learning that in order to be in his entourage you must wear a fedora.

-Placing bets on when the lead singer of Steel Train would fall off the stage during his schizophrenic guitar solos.

-Trying not to look away when confronted with the hairy chested P-Thugg of Chromeo

-Turning the stage into an irish pub when Flogging Molly took the stage.

-Seeing Girl Talk for the 3^rd time (one, two, three) this year. GT having to stop the party to let everyone know they had to get off the stage because they were bending it. Seeing my sister crowd surf over my head. GT rafting across the audience at the end of his set.

-Missing the memo that Lollapalooza was a memorial concert for Jounrey. Girl Talk, Gnarls Barkley, and Kayne all paid homage to the band.

-Tearing up when Kanye sang "Homecoming" to the city we all love.

There were a lot of stark contrasts between this festival and Rothbury (the audience, the pace, the heat, the groove, the Sherwood forest), but both left me satisfied and smiling (that’s what she said)

Hot Yogi in the City

There are such an outstanding number of facets to yoga and the idea of trying to submerge myself in the practice has become increasingly daunting the more I read and learn about it. Laura seconds my stress when she said that when she reads Yoga Journal she feels like she needs flash cards to remember all the new terms that are stuffed into one issue (always thinking like a teacher!). I have come to terms with the fact that there is no crash course in and am taking small steps in understanding the bigger picture of the stretches and poses. I’m confident in my beginner practice and flexibility, so I decided this week to take it to a different level. I took my first bikram yoga class.

Bikram yoga is a specific yoga practice that is done is a room that is headed to 105 degrees. I did it originally because it’s the closest yoga studio to my apartment and the reviews of it rave about when it does to your body and how you sweat out toxins and stretch deeper, etc. Cut to my first class the other night. Sweet baby Shiva, this was like a 90 min tour of the 6th circle of hell (I say hell only because this type of yoga is actually very anti-yoga and goes against a lot of the core principles of the practice. More on that later) I walked in prepared for the heat and sweating but this was no normal sweating. I have run 10 miles in the middle of August through Hell, MI (literally) and I know sweating. But this, this was not normal humane sweating. This was water coming out of every pore in my body. Within 15 min I had stripped off my tank top and my sports bra was soaked through. I actually think the only thought in my brain that got me through the first half of the class was being completely enthralled with the amount of “toxin” coming out of my skin. Unfortunately, after the phenomenon of my secretions had subside, I realized with shock, that I was actually in yoga boot camp. The poses forced you to freeze your muscles for up to a minute, it was fast paced with the instructor clapping every time you had to come out of your position, always changing directions and bending at the waist. Anyone that has woken up hungover on a hot summer day knows that the last thing your body wants to do jerk up and down and side to side. After 60 min of freezing and twisting and stretching, my eyes gave up on focusing and my head went into a fog. I pride myself in all I’ve learned and am able to do in my normal yoga classes after a year of practice, but I couldn’t get through this without stopping for water after every pose and towards the end I had to skip a few, something I am never proud to do. At the end I was ready for Savasana when I can lay flat on my back and let my body unscramble and take in everything it just went through. But no, class was over abruptly. I opened my eyes and looked around as everyone was rolling up their mats and talking to their friends. Nothing like a normal class when it take you 10 min to get up and you want to stay inside your head as long as possible without talking to people. You also don’t normally look drunk as you struggle to stand, roll your mat, and make it across the room into the air conditioned lobby. I felt like I had taken a wrong turn on my way to my happyland afterwards. I wasn’t calm, I hated my body, I was a mess of sweat, I was walking down Clark St in a sports bra, all social norms out the window, and convinced I was going to have my chance run in with Johnny Depp at that moment (It’s inevitably going to happen. Someday.) I was, above all, pissed off. It shock me that something related to yoga, my release, my relaxer, my core, could mess with my emotions and my body so much. Never again, I said.

The unfortunate lesson behind this story is never buy a month-long pass to a yoga class you have never tried before. I spent $30 for an unlimited first month of classes. I had never seen such a deal for yoga classes before so I jumped at it! HA. But I had to make some good come of this experience. Asside from a newly formed try-before-you-buy philosophy, I am now determined to see where all these rave reviews of the class come from, why people are addicted to it. So I am going to continue to go to the class once or twice a week for the next month and see where my experience goes. But I am also going to get myself back into my safe haven asana yoga classes to calm my mind from this military style bikram yoga.

A spoonful of comedy

After a long weekend of tasting Chicago and dancing to Stevie Wonder and practicing my beach volleyball skills, this rainy Sunday turned into a couch-sitting marathon. And coincidentally an “I Love the New Millennium” marathon. The VH1 “I Love….” series is as addicting as Sudoku, and even more so when the commenters are talking ABOUT Sudoku. Initially I thought it was obviously too soon to roll out this series; the signs are pretty clear when you can’t even make it a clean 10 part series because the new millennium isn’t coming to a close yet! But two hours into the marathon, Kate, Doc, and I had failed to move or attempt to change the channel yet. Four hours into it and we were committed. At the Sixth hour we could predict the next event before the clip even started, yet still we couldn’t fathom changing the channel until the bitter end.

Where “I Love the 70s” was a history class for Gen Yers and hippie wannabes (myself included), and the 80s series was a challenge to see how far back into your toddler years you remember, and the 90s was an embarrassing parade of all the bedazzled memorabilia of our childhood, the 21^st century series is an “in case you forgot” play by play of current events. So what was it that drew us into the pop culture explosion of products and events that we had already lived to see? Not nostalgia, not history. For me it was the underlying truth to the outlandish statements of the commenters. This goes back to my profession of love to John Stewart. The only way to survive this over stimulated, opinionated, babies-laughing-are-controversial 21st century is humor. It may be an avoidance tactic to buy more time before having to think about real issues like an economy slipping silently into a recession or being on the brink of make-or-break-the-state-of-the-union election in a few months, but why is that so bad? I watch and listen to enough vh1 clip shows and stand up and comedy central and last comic standing to see the humor in pop culture and newsmakers today. I don't think it makes the nature of things lose importance, but gives things a spoonful of sugar twist of Mary Poppins, helps it go down easier, puts things in perspective. News is not so end-of-the-world scary and LA starlet aren't so this-is-the-state-of-our-youth when you can laugh at them and be happy that your life does not involve paparazzi or Ann Coulter. If you listen to right comedians, they actually have great brush-your-shoulders-off views of America. Ellen has taught the world that sometimes all you can do is dance. And THAT is the greatest message of all.