Monday, October 24, 2005
Beam Me Up, Scotty!
I swear I’m going to be a yogini.
There’s something oddly satisfying about twisting your body into odd shapes while teetering on one limb. If I squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I touch my right heel to my left earlobe and then reach for my left big toe with the tip of my nose, I can almost morph into some kind of Martian bacteria at will.
After attending five classes including a multi-level Power Yoga one, which is really just slightly less punishing than say, “The Wheel”, I feel so empowered that I can probably turn Cristina Aguilera into an elegant virgin. Yes, from a graceless whore...not that you’re wondering…
With a bit more practice, I can possibly teleport or apparate (whichever era you prefer) to places just by chanting ‘ohm’ earnestly while entranced in meditation. Hey, this skill should come in handy as I attempt to traverse the boundaries of space and time to magically appear in the wonderful city of Manila, Philippines on the day Constantine Maroulis arrives to rape the Filipino public with his eyes. What? I just want to know whether it had been worth it to be ridiculed to the damages of incest and sodomy when I wailed over his demise at AI. I was rundown and impressionable, okay? Cut me some slack…pretty please?
So, anyway, I know it would be so much easier to just fly, as in a plane, to the target destination but c’mon now, did you really expect I’d shell out the airfare? Okay, maybe I would but with my fucked up work sked and the irreversible damages caused by multiple attacks of shopaholism in the past several weeks, it’s simply out of the question.
Back to yoga then, I may just learn how to apparate in time.
There’s something oddly satisfying about twisting your body into odd shapes while teetering on one limb. If I squeeze my eyes shut tightly as I touch my right heel to my left earlobe and then reach for my left big toe with the tip of my nose, I can almost morph into some kind of Martian bacteria at will.
After attending five classes including a multi-level Power Yoga one, which is really just slightly less punishing than say, “The Wheel”, I feel so empowered that I can probably turn Cristina Aguilera into an elegant virgin. Yes, from a graceless whore...not that you’re wondering…
With a bit more practice, I can possibly teleport or apparate (whichever era you prefer) to places just by chanting ‘ohm’ earnestly while entranced in meditation. Hey, this skill should come in handy as I attempt to traverse the boundaries of space and time to magically appear in the wonderful city of Manila, Philippines on the day Constantine Maroulis arrives to rape the Filipino public with his eyes. What? I just want to know whether it had been worth it to be ridiculed to the damages of incest and sodomy when I wailed over his demise at AI. I was rundown and impressionable, okay? Cut me some slack…pretty please?
So, anyway, I know it would be so much easier to just fly, as in a plane, to the target destination but c’mon now, did you really expect I’d shell out the airfare? Okay, maybe I would but with my fucked up work sked and the irreversible damages caused by multiple attacks of shopaholism in the past several weeks, it’s simply out of the question.
Back to yoga then, I may just learn how to apparate in time.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Back But Maybe Not for Long...
Whew, looks like I’ve been missed!
I’ve had a bad case of the sniffles this past week and constantly felt like my head was going to burst but I kept going to work anyway because I have deadlines and no one else could do my job for me. It‘s really hard to think creatively when you can’t even feel your brain with all that mucus flowing around your head, but things had to be done. One word: agony.
About the only things more painful are my butt muscles (didn’t think they exist) and quadriceps right now. They feel like they’re going to fall off of my body. The culprit? Hatha Vinyasa Yoga. I went to my second class last night and contrary to popular belief, yoga is not the gentle, easy exercise that it seems. Most of the postures look quite simple but each one literally sends every sinew to a raging burn, if you hold it long enough.
I woke up this morning feeling like the unfortunate drain cover that Juan Pablo hit in last Sunday’s über boring F1 Shanghai GP. It was like watching the Aquarium Channel. The cars hobbled along the circuit like acutely poisoned fish and only the water was missing. If it had been raining, no one would have been able to tell the difference.
Fortunately, this sham of a Grand Prix came in the heels of an exhilarating Suzuka race which Kimi Räikkönen brilliantly won just the week before so it's easier to just ignore this Shanghai horror. Also, if you weren’t convinced before, the Japan GP should totally make a believer out of you. Kimi is a total god.
So other than catching a bug and a couple of Grands Prix and subjecting myself to some really extreme corporal torture, nothing much has been happening still. Unless you count downloading 11 hours worth of 80’s metal monumental. Well, I’m sooo glad that boybands are finally out and I quite appreciate today’s emo/punk music, too but it’s about time that metal makes a comeback, you know? I’m sure I’m not the only one who misses head banging. With heavy rock concerts everywhere, who needs a blowdryer to give your hair that sensational lift and bounce? Just don't get whacked by a water bottle...although from Baz, I probably wouldn't mind.
I’ve had a bad case of the sniffles this past week and constantly felt like my head was going to burst but I kept going to work anyway because I have deadlines and no one else could do my job for me. It‘s really hard to think creatively when you can’t even feel your brain with all that mucus flowing around your head, but things had to be done. One word: agony.
About the only things more painful are my butt muscles (didn’t think they exist) and quadriceps right now. They feel like they’re going to fall off of my body. The culprit? Hatha Vinyasa Yoga. I went to my second class last night and contrary to popular belief, yoga is not the gentle, easy exercise that it seems. Most of the postures look quite simple but each one literally sends every sinew to a raging burn, if you hold it long enough.
I woke up this morning feeling like the unfortunate drain cover that Juan Pablo hit in last Sunday’s über boring F1 Shanghai GP. It was like watching the Aquarium Channel. The cars hobbled along the circuit like acutely poisoned fish and only the water was missing. If it had been raining, no one would have been able to tell the difference.
Fortunately, this sham of a Grand Prix came in the heels of an exhilarating Suzuka race which Kimi Räikkönen brilliantly won just the week before so it's easier to just ignore this Shanghai horror. Also, if you weren’t convinced before, the Japan GP should totally make a believer out of you. Kimi is a total god.
So other than catching a bug and a couple of Grands Prix and subjecting myself to some really extreme corporal torture, nothing much has been happening still. Unless you count downloading 11 hours worth of 80’s metal monumental. Well, I’m sooo glad that boybands are finally out and I quite appreciate today’s emo/punk music, too but it’s about time that metal makes a comeback, you know? I’m sure I’m not the only one who misses head banging. With heavy rock concerts everywhere, who needs a blowdryer to give your hair that sensational lift and bounce? Just don't get whacked by a water bottle...although from Baz, I probably wouldn't mind.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Now to Find Me a 6-foot Long Alligator…
Been MIA from the blogosphere for almost two weeks. You’d think I’d return with a truckload of amusing anecdotes to tell enough to snag me a lucrative tell-all book deal but no.
In the past week and a half, everyone seems to have accomplished something monumental:Katie Kate Holmes got herself implanted with the seed of the devil, Superman has literally been reborn and a 12 foot Burmese python busted its guts open after attempting to digest an alligator half its length in a swamp somewhere in Florida.
Wow.
They are all very unfortunate events, really but at least they had something going on worthy of CNN reportage, you know?
While I on the other hand, had only been able to stay perfectly still like a partially digested scrap of squiggly lettuce trapped between my date’s teeth after a Burger King dinner. What?
You know it's quite bad when the highlight of the last fortnight had been a juicy online debate with a total stranger who insisted that GNR’s Patience was the best power ballad of the metal era. It’s not even technically a power ballad; the song is acoustic for heaven’s sake! And like you didn’t know, my vote is of course, on Skid Row’s I Remember You.
Yep, I may have busted my ear drums listening to Axl Rose’s vocal chord-shattering screams (he actually blew them twice or thrice throughout his career) all through junior high but he just couldn’t, cannot, will never be able to, compare to Sebastian Bach. Baz is god. In fact, he is above god. If you have ever heard him sing, you simply couldn't disagree. He can make anything, anything at all, and I bet even that dreadful, traumatizing “Ketchup Song,” sound absolutely divine. That voice is just unbelievable.
And speaking of unbelievable, I got to see STOMP sometime last week and it was an aural odyssey that defies logic and conventions. Making music from newspapers? Plastic bags? Lighters? PVC pipes? Paint scrapers? Get out of here! It would have been perfect if not for stupid audience members who kept clapping at all the wrong moments totally drowning the subtle rhythmic transitions in between acts. I got this close to spending the night at Changi Prison for battery…
…which wouldn’t have been so bad. I could have had the perfect excuse not to come to work. I’ve never been good at lying. Heck, coming from me, even truths sound like lies!
But I could really use a break, which might not be justified as I've worked for only about five months this year. You know you're in trouble though when everyday feels like a Monday. It’s probably time to call in a priest to exorcise my demons. It will be too late once the weekends start to feel like Mondays, too.
I would look in the directory but who knows how locals call exorcists in this country? 'bub catchers? Demon eaters? I mean I never got to find an electrician and they’re supposed to be more common, eh? The wiring in the house is still busted and Japan GP is fast approaching.
I would need some Rogaine.
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In the past week and a half, everyone seems to have accomplished something monumental:
Wow.
They are all very unfortunate events, really but at least they had something going on worthy of CNN reportage, you know?
While I on the other hand, had only been able to stay perfectly still like a partially digested scrap of squiggly lettuce trapped between my date’s teeth after a Burger King dinner. What?
You know it's quite bad when the highlight of the last fortnight had been a juicy online debate with a total stranger who insisted that GNR’s Patience was the best power ballad of the metal era. It’s not even technically a power ballad; the song is acoustic for heaven’s sake! And like you didn’t know, my vote is of course, on Skid Row’s I Remember You.
Yep, I may have busted my ear drums listening to Axl Rose’s vocal chord-shattering screams (he actually blew them twice or thrice throughout his career) all through junior high but he just couldn’t, cannot, will never be able to, compare to Sebastian Bach. Baz is god. In fact, he is above god. If you have ever heard him sing, you simply couldn't disagree. He can make anything, anything at all, and I bet even that dreadful, traumatizing “Ketchup Song,” sound absolutely divine. That voice is just unbelievable.
And speaking of unbelievable, I got to see STOMP sometime last week and it was an aural odyssey that defies logic and conventions. Making music from newspapers? Plastic bags? Lighters? PVC pipes? Paint scrapers? Get out of here! It would have been perfect if not for stupid audience members who kept clapping at all the wrong moments totally drowning the subtle rhythmic transitions in between acts. I got this close to spending the night at Changi Prison for battery…
…which wouldn’t have been so bad. I could have had the perfect excuse not to come to work. I’ve never been good at lying. Heck, coming from me, even truths sound like lies!
But I could really use a break, which might not be justified as I've worked for only about five months this year. You know you're in trouble though when everyday feels like a Monday. It’s probably time to call in a priest to exorcise my demons. It will be too late once the weekends start to feel like Mondays, too.
I would look in the directory but who knows how locals call exorcists in this country? 'bub catchers? Demon eaters? I mean I never got to find an electrician and they’re supposed to be more common, eh? The wiring in the house is still busted and Japan GP is fast approaching.
I would need some Rogaine.
