O God, o God I am so fucking crippled. If yoga is supposed to be so good for you, why is it putting me in a wheelchair?

So yes, not only did I start yoga last week, I continued yoga yesterday, not thinking that doing it once counted forever, as I am wont to do. But remember how last time I said that though my arms are limp pieces of spaghetti, my legs were stronger than I thought? That was because last week we did a great deal of arm work and not that much leg. How do I know this? Because yesterday we did mostly legs and I am completely unable to walk. We were working on our power centre, and apparently I do not actually have one.

The question is how much better will I get only doing this once a week? I'd rather like to do more, but can I afford it? I wonder if the studio is a place that you can join, and if so how much and so on. And do I want to make this commitment after only two classes? It's not as though I don't know myself pretty well and how likely I am to just let it fall by the wayside.

So far, though, I still like it and I'm not planning on quitting, but then, I never plan on quitting, it just kind of happens.

After class I went home, having to take off my jacket because it was so warm and lovely. Time to go in the backyard! So I puttered a little and gathered up my cd player and some magazines, went into the backyard, and the sun had gone. In fifteen minutes it had gone from too warm to wear a jacket to too cool to wear sandals comfortably.

I stayed out for a little while anyway, hoping that the sun would come back and letting the cats have a bit of fresh air. I made sure that the dog hadn't disturbed Elvis' grave. I never mentioned that I finally buried Elvis, did I? On Oscar day when we were waiting for Omar to arrive, Fran finally dug the grave and I finally took him out from under the pizza in the freezer and buried him. So he died on Grammy night and was buried on Oscar night. Appropriate.

After a bit, the wind started to pick up, so I went inside and hung around staring at the walls and so on, figuring that I did enough cleaning on Friday to do any more, and I can't wash clothes on the weekend because that's when Fran does dozens of loads of laundry himself. So, sitting and staring was the order of the day.

Around 9.30p I realized that I was going to bring in a script of Milk Train to Gregg David who is kindly replacing someone who had to drop out for the reading on Monday, and if I waited until today he wouldn't have time to read it before the reading itself, so I went in.

I was going to drop it off before the matinee of Blue Alaska, so I knew that the evening show wasn't quite over yet. Of course, I had to wait forever for the van in the drizzling rain, but they were still there by the time that I got in.

So was I going to spend $2.10 to come into the city (I took the Jersey Transit bus rather than the van, which is more expensive) and then just turn around and go back home? No siree! So I went to the AMC to see what was playing. Bend it Like Beckham had already started, but I really wanted to see it, so I went in anyway.

And I loved it! Loved it loved it loved it! It was so charming and fun and lovely that I was thrilled that I missed the beginning, because it gave me the excuse to sit through it a second time. The performers were all great, the Indian girl was marvelous as was the cute blonde playing her friend, I loved the mick coach with Bob Geldof's accent and the cheekbones that you could cut yourself on, and Juliet Stevenson must have had fun as the white girl's mother.

I'm sure that I cannot be anything like the first to dub it My Sister's Big Fat Sikh Wedding, but who could possibly restrain themselves? Not me. The audience was so into it that there were cheers, cheers in several places at 12.30a! My favourite line was one that I missed the first time through, when Juliet Stevenson thinks that the two girls are lesbians and she grabs her daughter's shoes off of the Indian girl's feet shrieking, "Get your lesbian feet out of my daughter's shoes!" in the background you hear, "She is not Lebanese, she is Punjabi!"

So I got home at nearly 4a and had to ride on the van with the drunken slags going home of a Saturday night, complaining that we have to wait for the van to be filled before starting, just like we have to every single night forever and ever, amen. And it was worth it.

Today's horoscope:
Someone scrambles your order. Reaction happens before action. Maybe you can't do anything different yet, but you can certainly think about it.

One year ago today:
...just a few people walking up the side aisle, talking quietly, was as shocking as if they had been tap-dancing naked down the centre aisle, burping and farting.

* Yesterday / Index / This Month / Tomorrow *

E-Mail / In the Belly of the Hedgehog

Graphics by that fair colleen Saundra!

This page was written by hand. My hand. Only pussies use HTML editors.
Last Updated Sun 30 March 16:04:09 2003