H. Hsu Word Salad

Some have said that love is the international/universal language.  I’m dubious about that one… as cultural definitions of what love even is vary pretty darn wildly. More importantly-most of us can’t manage to communicate love with clarity even within a monolingual setting!  Hence, the proliferation of guidebooks, advice columnists, and relationship counselors. And bartenders.

In my biased little view, if there are international means of communication, they are 1) Food!!!  and 2) Music

I alluded to Dave getting me hooked on Cream Puffs. I have not yet figured out a way to adequately share my sensuous foodie escapades with blog readers (already got one reservation in for Dine About Town in SF next month, more to come). 

But another amigo has got me hooked on You Tube, where are least I can share music memories and musings

This is Karen Mok & a guy whose name escapes me. Why the title is HIroshima Love song also escapes me.  I think it has to do with a show that the song was used for.  Hey-someone who reads Chinese (at more than my preschool level) please enlighten us about those detials.  Anyways, this is an old pop song my cousin in Taiwan once copied for me, that I adore, most important lyric line being "I have/had loved you". Yeah, OK you’ll have to trust me that it sounds much more meaningful in Chinese…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s75lQpsPhbg

I’m a bit of sucker for good duets / harmonies / collaborations / ensembles.  Everything from your plain ‘ol twosome singing with a mere acoustic guitar, through those 4 chaps in Il Divo, to a full blown Les Miserables all-cast finale. 

This also happens to be probably the only Chinese song I sing (Yah, KTV!), other than the nursery school songs my mom taught me oh, 28 years ago.  Granted I sing it with my quadrilingual amiga Monica assisting me with the literacy. Who knew that to sing karoake one requires the assistance of both a telempromtper AND a live simultaneous prompter?   

At the rate I am going, I think all my Chinese literacy shall be hard won by deciphering a combination of Karoake song lyrics & menus.  How fitting. 

Lo siento, no subtitles in Ingles for you anglophiles.  But being one of the international modes of communication, I think that the general sentiment is clear.  Both parties express their realization about how difficult love truly is, time being long overdue to stop playing games and make tough decisions etc. etc. the only consolation being the memory of having truly and whole-heartedly having loved one another.  Poor timing and delayed comprehension of relational gaffes seem to be a worldwide phenomenon. Corny videos and KTV? Almost as much of a worldwide a phenomenon as well.

BTW Mok also starred in a telenovela titled "Love Scar" about a love triangle featuring her and two brothers.  Eeek. Now there’s some fodder to write doomed love songs about until the cows come home…

My new role model should be the writer Goethe.

According to the author of the Know-It-All, Goethe was a "critic, journalist, lawyer, painter, theater manager, statesman, educationalist, alchemist, soldier, astrologer, novelist, spongwriter, philospher, botanist, biologist, color theorist, mine inspector, and issuer of military uniforms."

Never mind that I am not sure what in hell a color theorist or educationalist is exactly, but even if you take those two out, you have to add the additional roles one assumes he had, i.e. son, lover, brother, spouse, friend…not sure if he was a parent or uncle or mentor or patron too.

Have you ever read those "find the job you love/parachute/career guidance" type books?  Or taken those vocational assessment tests? The one vocational assessment exam I can recall was taken in high school, and concluded that I should be a coroner (!!!) or a model teacher (as in a teacher of models, not an explemplary teacher). Aaaaalllrighty. Not helpful.

However, I do wonder what about my personality makes me suitable to be a coroner.  And how did a paper and pencil test know that I have the skills to teach models, yet fail to have the physical characteristics to actually be a model?!

One of those books instructed me to fantasize elaborately about all the detials of my ideal vocational life.  The idea being that a no holds barred fantasy could reveal my true self, true calling or some such thing. 

I’ll spare you the details but I came up with a charming combination of Grizzly Adams meets Oprah meets Madonna & the Indigo Girls meets Paul Farmer.  For those of you who do not know about this truly heroic and inspiring  M.D.:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Farmer

And let’s throw in some dashes of Noam Chomsky/Alice Walker/Fritjof Capra/Alice Waters/Jane Goodall and Mother Jones for good measure.

So let’s see the people I want to be when I grow up: Author/rabble rouser/activist/chef/scientist/media mogul/talk show host/singer/artist/food critic/healer/revolutionary/isolated cabin dweller who communes with animals…Somehow, I can’t figure out a career that encompasses all those things! But not a model nor a coroner in sight (nor a therapist!).

Maybe who I really need to learn from is Buddha (or my yoga teacher). Maybe I really ought to learn more about being quiet for once in my life, and sitting still, and being, just being. 

We get a half day off from work today for New Year’s (yeah I am blogging in the office-but hey, I am long OFF the clock!!).  Perhaps I should spend the extra time sipping my Cafe 817 mocha (black & bittersweet as life, just the way I like it) and shut down the frontal lobes of my head for awhile.  I can aspire to be, like a cat. One day  I will learn to while away entire days lying in a patch of sun and purring to myself.

"There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life:

Music, and cats."  -Albert Schweitzer

I’ve never been much of a fan of cute blonde girl bands, but over the years Dixie chicks have impressed me with their staying power, declining blondeness, and especially for the Much Ado about Nothing that exploded when they had the gall to diss Bush as a fellow Texan.

This comment during a concert led to some disconcerting behaviors which I dare say are "Un-American". Boycotts, death threats against these "uppity women", CD-burning pyres and the like.  It really was a shameful display of behaviors that most Americans stereotype Muslim extremists for.  Then again, it was a display of not only political fanatcism, but frankly sexism as well.  You didn’t see people making CD flambes out of Springsteen or Mellencamp or other men who oppose Bushie (in Chinese the press refers to him as "litle Bush" AKA "Shao Bushie").

I do love this song-and the section of lyrics below. Judge for yourself.  I know not everyone, even those I love (and presumbly love me back), share my political leanings.

But Democracy IS Dissent. 

If we can’t agree to disagree without sending death threats to one another merely for free speech - then the cause is already long lost.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bR1l95sLroQ&feature=PlayList&p=7A703FF1FAB9EE46&index=0

make my bed, and i sleep like a baby with no regrets

and i dont mind saying its a sad, sad, story

when a mother would teach her daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger,

and how in the world can the words that I said send somebody so over the edge

that they’d write me a letter sayin that I better ’shut up and sing’ or my life will be over’?

Movie critic Ebert also commented about getting hate mail when he voiced his political concerns.  And he pointed out how nasty and dangerous it is when people have silly one dimensional notions like only "experts" have any "right" to comment about this world and our government.  He also got comments like "shut up and stick with movies". 

As Noam Chomsky has pointed out, there is nothing about basic politcal systems and the use/abuse of power that could not be explained to an 8th grader.  As a rather over-educated and over-institutionalized person myself, I feel even more strongly that we need to hear the voices of people from all walks of life.  Lots of my peers with bunches of fancy letters after their names are lesser human beings than the lady running taco truck or the guy washign your car.  Keep it real to so speak.  Some of why we are in such a darn mess is that the current government looks, act, feels, lives, not one whit like your average working Joe American.  The entire point of a democracy is that one need not be any kind of royalty or official Ivy league talking head so as to have a voice and a say, one that matters.   

So, even if you’re ideologically at odds with me & my peeps: speak up.

Don’t let those few vitriolic windbags obscure the middle ground.

Some of us still believe in those quaint concepts: dialogue, compromise, and most importantly, Peace.

This was one of the best albums ever. 

One of the moments when I knew my office spouse and her man were amigos por vida was when we hauled ass into SF on a weekday night to see Midnight Oil. These guys had apparently not aged a minute, say the least of a day since the 80’s! And he had a stage presence that could bust right through the audience and out of Warfield altogether.  That man tearing up a stage and a mic could be the very definition of "intense".

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V_JpJeHN3ds

(Ok, so just overlook the fact that Peter Garrett is dressed somewhat reminiscent of Freddy Krueger in this video!)

This tune stirs up the anti-colonialism/capitalism ire in me like no other.  I have grown to love this album more and more  over the years.  Sadly, that is because its message is ever increasingly relevant to our ever messier little world.

The video is depicting all those tourists that traipse up and down the sacred site at Ayers rock, not minding one whit that its gravely disrespectful of the aboriginal beliefs. I’ll let our buds at Wikipedia explain (having not ever been there, I am no expert):

Restrictions for tourists:

[edit] Climbing Uluru

Climbers and warning sign

The local Anangu do not climb Uluru because of its great spiritual significance. They request that visitors not climb the rock, partly due to the path crossing a sacred traditional dreaming track, and also a sense of responsibility for the safety of visitors to their land. The Anangu have a spiritual connection to Uluru, and feel great sadness when a person dies or is injured whilst climbing. In 1983, then Prime Minister of Australia Bob Hawke promised to forbid climbing, but access to climb Uluru was made a condition before title was officially given back to the traditional owners.

Climbing Uluru is a popular attraction for visitors. A chain handhold added in 1964 and extended in 1976 makes the hour long climb easier, but it is still a long and steep hike to the top. An above average level of fitness, and a high tolerance to the extreme hot desert conditions is required. Over the years there have been at least forty deaths, mainly due to heart failure whilst climbing Uluru, as well as non-fatal heart attacks and other injuries.

[edit] Photographing Uluru

The Anangu also request that visitors not photograph certain sections of Uluru, for reasons related to traditional beliefs (called tjukurpa). These sections are the sites of gender-linked rituals, and are forbidden ground for Anangu of the opposite sex of those participating in the rituals in question. The photographic ban is intended to prevent Anangu from inadvertently violating this taboo by encountering photographs of the forbidden sites in the outside world.

Historical photographs of these formations continue to circulate through the world population at large. Signs have been posted around the restricted areas, to ensure that visitors will not violate the ban by mistake. ^[4]

[edit] Superstitions

It is often reported that those who take rocks from the area will be cursed and suffer misfortune. [1]

All I have to say is that Anangu are better souls than given the "great sadness" they feel when these climbers kick the bucket. 

Sorry, but if we told ya not to climb a giant sacred rock in the middle of a desert & you go ahead…maybe that’s cosmic karma kicking in.  I just chalk those folks up for a series of Darwin Awards.

Citizens of the world, who needs arbitrary geopolitical definitions?

"We carry in our hearts the true country…" Just goes to show how the right musical talent can make a rousing song out of aberrations in human history.  Sort of like how I love how Janet Jackson’s tribute song to friends who have passed on of HIV is not a sad and gloomy tune, but brims with love and energy.

It is dang COLD out there by California standards-perfect for staying in with a mug of that Fair Trade organic hot cocoa (Trader Joe’s) & reading ’til my eyes go blurry.

Years ago I thought Half.com was a pretty cool site, one could buy or sell mostly books or music Ebay style, but with the bonus of no expiration to the listings.  Now Half is bought by Ebay and the action is kinda dead-but a new site for Bibliophiles has come up:

http://bookmooch.com/about/overview

FYI for those who heard our best man Allen’s show stopping wedding speech: ‘Bibliophile’ was the word he helped P look up so as to respond suavely to one of my earliest e-mails.  I hear he later also assisted in shopping for gifts as well as the accoutrements of plotting the proposal plan.  What a guy! (Why some savvy Christian woman has not yet snatched up Al for herself is a great mystery/loss…but the fact that my MOST well-rounded, awesome friends all seem to be the single ones is fodder for a different blog).

Back to books. So this is a great site for folks like me who have oh, maybe 7 or more bookshelves all exploding with books, yet who continue to come home with more ‘must have’ books surreptitiously stashed in all my bags.(Truth comes out, hon). 

My Rav4 is practically a mobile library most days. Let’s take last Friday as an example: in my car there was one book on China (where I hope to go next year), one by Theroux on his 30 yr. friendship with V.S. Naipul, there is the Best travel writing of 2006, How to write a Book  Proposal, an illustrated guide to the philospher Rosseau, and also How to help your Teenager with an Eating Disorder. I guess I Thomas Guide is also a sort of book for those lackign GPS.  In my purse was Pen on Fire: http://www.barbarademarcobarrett.com/

Also a book in the trunk on how to deal with a Picky Eater (for my sister in law to deal with our neice A), this book nestled next to 3 bags of Calbee snap pea snacks which A actually enjoys eating and refers to as "Auntie Helen food". Which cracks me up. Sounds like how one refers to "Cat Food’ or ‘Bird food".

At my agency, we’ve cultivated a crew of about 5 voracious readers and their respective partners. It’s been such a pleasure to share the tomes I love, and to hear others tell me that they cried, laughed, felt I’d changed their lives with a carefully selected volume. 

But STILL I can’t keep pace with the influx.

However, I love many of these books far too much to fling them to the mercies of Goodwill or even the public library.  I want them to be circulated and cherished by those endangered like minded geeks that must be lurking out there.  So book mooch it is.  See ya there. 

Any excuse to buy beautiful stationary and party is a happy occasion in life - but it’s difficult not to get a little Humbug about the commercialization of the holidays.  I can’t help but notice the crass deluge of advertisements for Porsches, BMW’s, watches, Diamonds & other shiny objects destined to win the undying astonished love of your beloved…

I’d like to know what in the hell does one buy for a follow-up present next year!?  After all, I imagine your recipient can only make do with so many shiny objects at a time lest they begin to resemble a Christmas tree themselves…and does each holiday up the ante for a more expensive gift? 

P’s friend called one year to query about the proper amount of dinero to budget for a girlfriend’s jewelry gift, which led to some conversation about that…pay scale (for lack of a better word).  They were trying to make calculations based upon length of relationship etc.

I’m simple to shop for: either know what book or food I love, or else accompany me camping or out of this country, preferably out of this hemisphere!

Ah, well, What do I know? Big rocks & fancy cars simply do not speak to me.  I’m a foreigner, dialect-impaired in such realms. 

I also don’t watch TV. So poor P has to rely on the admiration of houseguests to truly savor our giant Tele with.  The two lads from next door literally prostrated themselves before the big TV in an imitation of worship. I think they were being facetious, and they sure are cute and funny…but that was alarming in its own way!

See Jane Tri is the name of a great store, focused entirely on the female athlete.  They are also the group that offered the training program for the Sprint distance triathlon I completed in 2005.  It’s now time to consider signing up for the 2007 training season, and they sent me an e-mail about getting ready to train following the "Festivus cookies".

Hm. Is "Festivus" a typo?  I did eat two Beard Papas cream puffs today (I know, I know, but I just HAD to try pumpkin flavor) but I’ve never heard of a Festivus cookie or party…Fortunately, at the end of the e-mail there is an asteriked explanation: 

*Festivus is a nondenominational holiday featured in "The Strike" episode of Seinfeld. According to "Seinfeld", Festivus is celebrated each year on December 23, but many people celebrate it other times, often in early December.

Its slogan is "A Festivus for the rest of us!!"

An aluminum pole is generally used in lieu of a Christmas tree or other holiday decoration, shedding holiday materialism.

Those attending participate in the "Airing of Grievances" in which each person tells each and everyone else all the ways they’ve disappointed him/her over the past year, and after a Festivus dinner, the "Feats of Strength" are performed.

Traditionally, Festivus is not over until the head of the household is wrestled to the floor and pinned."

Hey!  I like it.

Sounds like my kind of party!!

Just think of the possibilities- Airing of Grievances with the in-laws! Feats of Strength at the Office party!

Something useful from TV land after all…

Ah, marketing savvy. That sharp tongued Simon of Idol fame searched the world for some international cute guys with pipes and cranked out Il Divo.

They made the ladies swoon when they went on Oprah to Sing "Regresa me", a young testosterone laden Italiano version of Unbreak my Heart (Toni, you’ve a beautiful voice, but that has simply got to be one of the most godawful repetitive songs ever written).

But at a Tower Records listening station, I curiously quequed up track 2 because it was titled "Mama".  Cheesy? You bet.  Eye Candy pop? Heck, yeah. But the lyrics almost made me weep on the spot; for if there is one love in my life that’s worth going all maudlin, over it’s Mom. 

I immediately bought the CD for her, and she loved it.  She also said one of the Il Divo boys was especially handsome and "should be cast as Batman in the next movie".

"Excuse me!?, what on earth are you talking about mom?"

"Look, he has such perfect lips and jaw. He’d look perfect in that Batman mask". 

OK, then. Not going there.  Take a looksee for yourself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkKGemUt_70

Ignore the pretentiousness of the video and the creepy religious imagery (Ok, creepy to me, inspiring to others I understand, including mom who is a semi-Catholic).  And if you’re into boys, the fact that they are muy guapo sure doesn’t hurt… 

But the lyrics are beautiful and so true for those of us who were blessed enough to have kindhearted mums.  The longer I work with clients who suffer or are damaged emotionally, the more I realize that most people do NOT have a mom like mine.

Each swiflty passing year I understand more that much of what is solid in this heart is a credit to her alone, and has given me a lifelong advantage.

On this day, my mom is away in Taipei, tending to her mother, my 92 year old grandma "Puopuo".  I mourn for grandma but more I dread the emotional loss when she does pass.  Mom and Auntie still cry rivers about Grandpa, and he died more than 33 years ago.

I’m driving her car around, and playing the Il Divo CD I got her, (as well as some Julio Iglesies- whom we took her to see at Mt. Winery).

When she is here, she makes me completely nuts.

Reminding me of the need to take potty breaks, wash my car, eat more, cook more, improve my Chinese, and suggesting "don’t you think you’re getting a little too old to wear stuff like that?". (No, Mom I don’t think so!  I’ll flaunt my measly 2-pack for as long as I have it…Sophia Loren just modeled for the Pirelli calendar and she is HOW old!?). Her response when I revealed my deep -seated fear that matrimony is kind of "a trap" was ,

"Well, yes, of course it’s a trap!. But you have to get married sometime. That’s just life!" This said with great cheeriness. Uh, not helpful! 

I go feed the cat, Mimi longs for her - but will accept me as a substitute to bestow those purrs on.  The plants also grudgingly accept my substandard care while she is away.  Nothing dies. But they don’t exactly thrive either… 

It’s midnight in Cali, daybreak in Taiwan. 

And I miss my mom.

This is all Dave’s fault.  His wife got me addicted to running, and now, the siren song of Beard Papa’s calls to me each week when I work in SF. It’s Dave’s fault for pointing me into that damned pastry shop in the first place. 

See, I had heard of Krispy Kreme eons before one opened near our place, and I am relatively immune to their charms.  But I’d never heard of Beard Papa, but the words "cream" and "Japanese pastries" works as a Pavlovian saliva trigger for yours truly.

I have rather willfully avoided reading the nutrition information, but on this rainy day I had to look:

http://www.muginohousa.com

HOLY COW. There’s more fat and calories in that puff than in many of my entire meals-drink plus entree inclusive!

Ah well, addictions swan in and out of my life.  Better it be Beard Papa’s than some other things (such as the excessive gambling many of my male compatriots seem to be obsessed with).  At least the running and cream puff addictions (almost) cancel one another out. 

I’ve a young friend whose addictions have managed to morph from food, to cigarettes, to alcohol, to work, to sex, and back around a few times (mind you, this dude is younger than me). 

I have brilliant comrades who do amazing work with youth battling substance addictions.  (Kudos to y’all- I simply do not possess the patience for addiction work). And they’ve educated us all on change-readiness models etc.  It’s great stuff but too lofty and jargon laden to be of utility for your average joe, I think.

So here’s my cliff notes version of intervention approaches for your addiction du jour:

1. Cease. Desist. Now. (AKA cold turkey. And I do mean cold, stone cold, baby)

2.  Indulge & go down in a blaze of hedonistc glory.  This rapidly leads to what addicts call "hitting bottom".  Um, this is generally against medical advisement.

3. Taper/titrate down in a planned and gradual manner.  While user friendly and realistic, there MUST be a timeline or target date set or else the end can be drawn out indefinitely (insert infinity symbol here).

4. La Fiesta Finalmente. The last hurrah, promptly followed by #1, see frio poultry.

5.  Prevention. By every means possible, don’t try it, quit touching it, don’t go there, never be an addict to begin with. (although if you’re reading this perhaps it’s too late)

6.  Distraction, Find something else to channel into. Repeat obsessively.

7.  Harm Reduction. Do it, but in the safest possible manner for self and others.

8. Remove the stimulus entirely. All cues, paraphernelia, triggers. Non -accessibility is key. Moving to Nebraska would help.

9. Enlist the mafia. Seriously. By this I mean your scariest friend/relative/lover to  be the enforcer.  They can take away the goods and keep an eye on your sweaty withdrawal until you are a better person.

10. Or, just balance & spread out your little addictions so they don’t actually interfere in your life to a diagnosable level. 

Hmm…there are two people having a rollicking, cussing, screaming argument outside my window right now. Fascinating. I listened for a while trying to sort out the nature of the dispute and thought "I’ll have to blog that."  They sound a bit young, and it’s sort of like listening to a soap opera on the radio.  As I am not about to go stand blatantly at my widow ringside seat to check them out.
I have often wondered how different my life would be if I was a screamer/cusser/venter. 

In the personal and professional spheres, I have oft been told that one of my great qualities is that "you mange to stay so calm".  Certainly this contributes to the longevity of my friendships, and it’s handy to maintain composure when calming someone suffering from psychosis or a panic attack.  Also useful when dealing with insensitive in-laws, and served me well when employed in the retail service industry (quite possibly hell on earth, henceforth I NEVER go Black Friday shopping).  In the wake of natural disasters large and small (ranging from Loma Prieta & Northridge earthquakes to my gory mountain bike accident to the wreckage of Hurricane Katrina) this was also of no small utility. 

No time for histrionics or personal sensitivies…

A good rule for life is to pause a breath before ever opening one’s mouth (breathe twice if you are ticked off!).  On these two hands (less really)I can count the number of times I have let fly a verbal tic/assault that I seriously regret.  Note that this method won’t neccesarily spare one from the verbal assaults of others!

Ouch! I can attest to that…

One can’t totally credit my dispostion.  Make no mistake, I do not take after that sweet-natured gal: my mother.  In my head I call people all sorts of names, and, dissolve into hopelessness perhaps bi- annually, and am an impatient sadist as much as the next person.  Another helpful feature is possessing an odd sense of humor, and no small sense of irony.  What was the DePeche Mode (AKA Depressed Mode)  song? ah yes, …"I don’t want to spread any blasphemous rumours, but I think that God has a sick sense of humor…" Me, too.

What I’m really thinking about is that becoming a loose cannon would be quite refreshing. 

How great to be that lady that shut bustling Costco down into a shocked hush with a screaming, F word laden rant about the capital F, fool trying to cut in front of her.  That dude will be cutting queques no more.  

Oh, how I am tempted to pitch a wailing hissy fit in response to MIL (you recent brides and Knot members know what that stands for) provocation or client fits.  How would it feel to pelt cars with tomatoes (Ok, rocks actually) as I often fantasize about? or to let fly some pottery or glassware as part and parcel of a domestic chat?  Or telling the leering gents exactly where they can shove it and how far?! How about storming off in a blaze of exhaust smoke to run off to parts unknown with no forwarding address?  Better yet, setting things afire to express my esteemed opinions…

Fear not, you are not reading the thoughts of the next Unabomber.  For starters, I am the exact opposite of a mathematical genius, and I prefer to deliver my political protests the old fashioned way: via petition  or ballot. 

Alas, such anarchy can probably never be.. Us Chinese folks have been dutifully trained to "save face" since we were fetuses, I think.  That kind of programming is impossible to undo, even with chemical additives I simply could not sustain the sort of hollering accusatory laments currently playing out on this city street….they’ve been at it for a good 15 minutes now, but one appears to be nearing the car-door slamming, peel-out getway point. 

After about 3 minutes in, I think I’d be too mortified and hoarse to continue.

One is "sick and tired of busting my ass for you ungrateful people" and the other doesnt ‘want you to come ’round here ever again".  And that’s that.

Meanwhile, I’ll go write some politely respectful subtly disagreeable and terse e-mails clarifying key points to those who annoy me…

One bleak evening on a Thursday after work, Iugged myself to Alameda for class.  The temptation to retreat to happy hour or dessert hour or Nordstrom-shopping-retail therapy hour was great, but I knew from experience that odds were high I’d emerge from yoga a better person than the one that walked in.

Our yoga instructor Sandy decided to lead us into some twisting poses.  Being fairly flexible, I enjoy twists, and I enjoy the release of pressure from the lower back especially. 

She then shared the imagery from a student who said she’d been taught to "twist the meaness out of you". 

Hmm.

I like that, picturing myself as a towel-like entity who was having all this cruddy stuff just wrung, twisted out.

All day at work I soaked in people’s fear, problem, complaints, and overall existential angst. That’s actually not so awful.   It is the human condition - and even longing or grief and certain levels of suffering possess an element of beauty or dignity. 

The bureacratic levels of incompetence, administrative drivel, organizational ineptitude, pompousness, lack of accountability, and deluge of paperwork is what REALLY yanks my chain.  Not a thing dignified nor graceful to be found for miles around…

Which leads to endless backsliding into my past life as a caffeine addict and "problem" drinker, increasing mileage on my shoes, legs, and poor feet, and a persistently nasty habit of emitting sporadic profanities on a near daily basis while behind the wheel of a large automobile. (Talking Heads fans can hear that Bryne voice right now, "and you may say to yourself, ‘Well how did I get here?!’")

Back to yoga class.

Anyone who has ever tried meditation or yoga or tai chi or any such  discpline that fosters awareness will be familiar with the cacophany of "noise" that lurks in the backgrounds of our heads.  In yoga class as we are lulled by Sandy’s voice into focusing on our breaths and letting the rest pass through, I allow myself to be amused by the frantic wanderings of my head.  In a mere 6 minute shivasana, I have caught myself mentally traveling to places as far-ranging as: Fremont, Oakland, Richmond,Taiwan, San Francisco, Fort Lauderdale, Mexico, Los Angeles, and beyond.  Just give me an hour and I could probably map my way across 4 continents or at least 20 states.

I guided this hectic gnome of a brain back to the little mat space in this time and place. And we twisted our bodies as I untwisted my mind, and indeed came out into the night a calmer, profanity-free, meaness-tamed kind of woman.

P has started exploring a little yoga a la Gaiam videos, perhaps soon he’ll feel ready to come to classes.  Just imagine if yoga could wring all specks of negativity out of a house of marriage as well!  Now that would really be something worth writing further about…