Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Friday, October 22, 2004
Friday, October 22, 2004
Melancholy Baby
Sunday, October 17, 2004
The weather is changing here. Getting colder and overcast. I love this time of year but it makes me extremely melancholy. Soon the time change will be in effect and it will be dark at 4:30 in the afternoon. But I'm kinda looking forward to that.
Got the new Elliott Smith record. G-d, every time I hear his voice I get so mad. Mad that he's gone and won't make any more music. Such a waste. I knew Elliott when he lived in NYC (like many other people did - I'm not playing the bragging game. - he would've hated that, actually.) He was an intense person with a surprising good sense of humor. He was also one of those people that spoke like he sang. Sam Prekop is the same way. Love that. So the new album is very cinematic (supposedly some of the songs are meant to be in an upcoming movie, based on the very excellent book by Walter Kirn), super produced and even a little bit trippy. Lots of Beatles influence and even a touch of Pink Floyd -- but no matter who Elliott references, that voice comes through. And it sounds good. And melancholy.
Perfect for this time of year.
Got the new Elliott Smith record. G-d, every time I hear his voice I get so mad. Mad that he's gone and won't make any more music. Such a waste. I knew Elliott when he lived in NYC (like many other people did - I'm not playing the bragging game. - he would've hated that, actually.) He was an intense person with a surprising good sense of humor. He was also one of those people that spoke like he sang. Sam Prekop is the same way. Love that. So the new album is very cinematic (supposedly some of the songs are meant to be in an upcoming movie, based on the very excellent book by Walter Kirn), super produced and even a little bit trippy. Lots of Beatles influence and even a touch of Pink Floyd -- but no matter who Elliott references, that voice comes through. And it sounds good. And melancholy.
Perfect for this time of year.
Let's All (Not) Chant
Thursday, October 07, 2004
I used to think that I was the only person in yoga class who wasn't down with all the chanting at the beginning of class. I don't mind the Oms and a little chant at the end, but in prenatal class there is a whole big chant that goes on for like 10 minutes. (Which is a long time when you've got a human being kicking you from the inside.) I usually sit quietly while the teacher belts it out and a handful of participants chant responsively back. It doesn't bother me at all - I just rather get my breathing in a rhythm and gear up for class. As I've said before, doing yoga pregnant is rather humbling. The legs just won't go from down-dog to a lunge.
However, at Thursday's class I could feel the shift towards my way on thinking as only two or so people chanted back with the teacher. I could hear the woman next to me giggling (she's not down with chanting either) and it was getting harder and harder to stay focused on my breathing. The teacher however, kept it up for TEN MINUTES. "Look," I wanted to say, "you've got a room full of preggos with backaches who want to do The Yoga, enough with the chanting already." But that didn't seem the right thing to do so I just shut my cakehole.
Then yesterday happened. New teacher, same chant. Only this time no one chanted back. NO ONE. As all ten of us sat in complete quiet, the teacher yelled "this is responsive, so RESPOND." This time it was my turn to giggle - I've never been yelled at in yoga before -- as one or two students weakly responded back to the chant. Class progressed and it was pretty good (but what is up with making us do Triangle? The sciatica don't like that.) I thought about writing a note asking for a shorter chant or for some sort of instructions that chanting is not mandatory, but wondered if I was missing the point. I know yoga is not about the pose, it's not about perfection and making your body into a pretzel. It's about feeling good and centered and getting the energy moving in a positive way.
So to chant or not to chant? I say NOT. But don't let me stop you. In fact, come to my class and get me off the hook. The more you chant, the less I have to...
However, at Thursday's class I could feel the shift towards my way on thinking as only two or so people chanted back with the teacher. I could hear the woman next to me giggling (she's not down with chanting either) and it was getting harder and harder to stay focused on my breathing. The teacher however, kept it up for TEN MINUTES. "Look," I wanted to say, "you've got a room full of preggos with backaches who want to do The Yoga, enough with the chanting already." But that didn't seem the right thing to do so I just shut my cakehole.
Then yesterday happened. New teacher, same chant. Only this time no one chanted back. NO ONE. As all ten of us sat in complete quiet, the teacher yelled "this is responsive, so RESPOND." This time it was my turn to giggle - I've never been yelled at in yoga before -- as one or two students weakly responded back to the chant. Class progressed and it was pretty good (but what is up with making us do Triangle? The sciatica don't like that.) I thought about writing a note asking for a shorter chant or for some sort of instructions that chanting is not mandatory, but wondered if I was missing the point. I know yoga is not about the pose, it's not about perfection and making your body into a pretzel. It's about feeling good and centered and getting the energy moving in a positive way.
So to chant or not to chant? I say NOT. But don't let me stop you. In fact, come to my class and get me off the hook. The more you chant, the less I have to...
Meat My Neighbor
It's been four days since my 3-hour glucose test and five blood draws later, my arms still look like Courtney Love's. No results yet but I'm hoping that no news is good news. (UPDATE: All is well.)
Been having weird dreams. Last night I dreamt of Dori. She came to our house for a party and we all applauded her as she arrived on the paved driveway. I don't know what was weirder - the fact that we gave her a round of hand clapping or that we had a house, with a driveway.
You see, I have house envy. And quiet envy. It's been even more noisy here than ever. Let's just say that the jackhammering started at 8AM today. A whole section of brick has been taken out of the wall here. Luckily not on our apartment but on the apartment next door. The one that belongs to the lady who used to be some sort of singer/ showgirl/ Broadway actress ages ago. The one who lives in a huge studio apartment that she got for like, $90,000. She's a pip, this one. When we moved in and didn't have a working kitchen yet, she hung meatloaf on our doorknob (Well, good mornin' to you too!) I enjoy her eccentricities (the way she yells at the workmen, the way she yells at the doorman, the way she yells at the co-op board) -- unless it's pointed at me. "Hey Mommie," she calls me, smelling like cigarettes and stale perfume, aromas that when I was young seemed very glamorous. She likes to corner me every time that I am running back into the apartment to go to the bathroom and ask me things like "am I sleeping enough?" and "do I need any meat?" (answers: No and No). Doug keeps threatening to have her over to sing show tunes. Which would be hysterical, I'm sure but I think we need to keep a little distance from her. It's all right, though. I have enough meat anyway.
Been having weird dreams. Last night I dreamt of Dori. She came to our house for a party and we all applauded her as she arrived on the paved driveway. I don't know what was weirder - the fact that we gave her a round of hand clapping or that we had a house, with a driveway.
You see, I have house envy. And quiet envy. It's been even more noisy here than ever. Let's just say that the jackhammering started at 8AM today. A whole section of brick has been taken out of the wall here. Luckily not on our apartment but on the apartment next door. The one that belongs to the lady who used to be some sort of singer/ showgirl/ Broadway actress ages ago. The one who lives in a huge studio apartment that she got for like, $90,000. She's a pip, this one. When we moved in and didn't have a working kitchen yet, she hung meatloaf on our doorknob (Well, good mornin' to you too!) I enjoy her eccentricities (the way she yells at the workmen, the way she yells at the doorman, the way she yells at the co-op board) -- unless it's pointed at me. "Hey Mommie," she calls me, smelling like cigarettes and stale perfume, aromas that when I was young seemed very glamorous. She likes to corner me every time that I am running back into the apartment to go to the bathroom and ask me things like "am I sleeping enough?" and "do I need any meat?" (answers: No and No). Doug keeps threatening to have her over to sing show tunes. Which would be hysterical, I'm sure but I think we need to keep a little distance from her. It's all right, though. I have enough meat anyway.
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