The improv class that wasn’t

Two people showed up today: The Other Dave and me. Volleyball Guy told us to practice Mysore style. Okay. At first I was all discombobulated and wondered if I should do a full practice of all of primary and my part of second. It seemed like the right thing to do, since I would do that if I were doing my practice at home. But the sudden change to what I had been expecting to do (improv) kind of threw me. I wasn’t planning on doing my own practice. Blah blah blah. Why is that even an issue, I wondered to myself. Then I just began.

Well, what happened was a good practice. I was distracted by a new top. The material is great — very soft and it feels really good, and basically the top is so comfy that I was afraid I was gonna flash someone without even knowing about it. Turns out it just required an occasional adjustment to keep everything in order.

Volleyball Guy decided to torment me once I got to the intermediate poses: handstands after ustrasana, laghu vajrasana, and kapotasana. But not just one laghu vajrasana. After the first one, he said, “Handstand.” Then, “Good — laghu vajrasana again.” Followed by, “Handstand.” Followed by, “Again, laghu vajrasana.” And, of course, “Handstand.”

As I was setting up for kapotasana, I said, “Can’t we just talk for a while?” He laughed and said, “This isn’t Anusara.” So kapotasana and then another handstand. I totally expected to face plant, but was okay in the end. Thank God there are usually other people to distract him during practice.

I asked about my fast breath, and again he told me I was fine. As long as the breath syncs with the movements and it feels smooth, I am okay.


The Cop is grabbing some sleep and then we’re going to go see “The Bourne Ultimatum.” Then we’ll pick up my folks and take them out to dinner at P.F. Chang’s. They just discovered P.F. Chang’s and think it’s great. I think they may be under the impression that it is a Mom and Pop restaurant. This is amusing, because it’s a chain restaurant and there are a bazillion of them, including in Boston and Florida, where they lived before Arizona. The Cop is not a fan, but he’s agreed to pretend he is so everyone can feel like this is very special. It’s not like it’ll matter much anyhow: he always eats too much popcorn at movies, so whatever he eats for dinner isn’t gonna be very important.


Better with age, ugly shoes, guns

Last night, before The Cop went to work, we watched “Mississippi Burning.” A harrowing movie. He ordered it from Netflix and said he was amazed I hadn’t already ordered it, since my movie list is “all Willem Dafoe, all the time.” I defended the Dafoe viewing thusly: “No matter what role he’s playing, I think to myself, ‘He can do chakra bandhasana!'” It’s a game I never tire of. Particularly amusing while watching “Last Temptation of Christ.”

Damn. I can’t find a picture of chakra bandhasana on the web… Wanted to link one. Perhaps I am search-exhausted after my shoe shopping this morning (more on that in a moment).

Anyhow, I prefer Dafoe in later movies, because he is one of those people who looks better and better with age.


This morning I got up and aside from all the current first-thing-in-the-morning achy spots (abs, shoulders, sacrum), I had to admit, finally, that my freaking feet are killing me. This happens every summer. Many years ago, I screwed up my feet running (particularly the left one), and while they don’t bother me like they used to, they do act up. The reason for the current issues: flip flops. I LOVE flip flops. It is one of the advantages of living in Arizona. You can pretty much wear ’em year round. I have a selection of formal, high heeled ones with different configurations of thin straps, and I have funky flat ones of various casual materials. All of them entirely unsupportive and guaranteed to wreck my feet even more.

So I got online and swore I’d find some shoes with support. One requirement is that my shoes not have a back, because I kick them off as soon as I get into my office. And in meetings, I need to be able to slip out of my shoes during the course of the meeting, then slip them back on upon exiting the conference room.

I looked at Birkenstocks. I looked for a long time. I looked at podiatry sites. I saw that Birkenstocks are celebrated by podiatrists. I looked at every possible style. Sigh. I just couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t buy them. Shades of hippies in Harvard Square.

In the end, I did something perhaps even weirder than buy Birkenstocks. I bought some Dansko clogs. I am really hoping that with black pants, they will mostly look like boots. I am accustomed to buying shoes according to visual cues. High heels, delicate cut, pretty materials, etc. This morning I listened to my aching feet. I used to have clogs. Uh, pretty much back when Sweden first exported them to the US. So a LONG time ago. I liked them quite a bit. They definitely look great with jeans. How they’ll look with regular black pants, I’m not sure. But a little better than Birkenstocks.


Meanwhile, as I tried to determine what criteria one uses to buy sensible shoes (since none of them even remotely overlap the criteria I usually use when purchasing shoes), The Cop was working late. Usually he’s home by 6:30 AM. Today, though, 8 AM rolled around. Finally he showed up, with tales of a crazy night. All the usual public drunkenness and fighting. With the added excitement of pulling over and arresting a guy with a felony warrant. And a gun in the car with him. Everyone in Arizona carries a gun, which makes The Cop’s job rather difficult. (Okay, not everyone carries a gun, but way more than in normal states that aren’t into the Wild West thing.)

Anyhow, the general public often takes offense at The Cop’s attitude, which is that all situations are potentially dangerous. People think he should be able to look at them and see that they are law-abiding citizens that he needn’t be vigilant about. Of course, he doesn’t ever know that about anyone, and it would be very foolish for him to make assumptions. 99% of the time, everyone is a-okay; but he has to be vigilant 100% of the time, in order not to be caught out by surprise. It’s nothing personal. Most of the time, he pulls people over and they are just speeding. Sometimes, though, they have warrants and guns.