Krista meets world
Y to the OGA
Namaste. Savasana. Pranayama.
Gibberish, right? Yes. Unless you’re a Yogi. Which I think I have become.
First things first, it’s (apparently) a known fact that exercise positively contributes to your overall health and wellness. Well, I don’t like to exercise. There was a time where I took up running, and there was also a time where I purchased a Jazzercise DVD and did it twice. I’ll be honest and say I tend to not stick with things, and I would prefer the fat to just fall off my body while sitting on the couch. A bonus would be if I could just sweat out all my impurities while sitting in a lounge chair next to the pool instead of a hot yoga studio.
Well dear reader, I am a changed woman. Because I now practice yoga. I bought a mat and everything.
Recommended by a friend (who has been at it for four months and has effectively transformed her body), I decided to try it. First class? I hated it. It was too hard, too hot, I thought I was dying, and I’m pretty sure I saw Jesus. Pick yourself up and try again, as my mother always says before I punch her in the face. So two days later I went back. Easier class (intro beginner amateur hour), little less hot, little more stamina. I started slow, and began trying all the different classes, sweating my way through my lovehandle reserve of beer, and carbs, and artificial sweetener.
A co-worker of mine goes to Yoga for the purpose of centering herself, relaxing, and getting in touch with her heart & brain & feelings. While all of those are certainly valid reasons, that is not why I go to Yoga. I attend for the sole vain purpose of getting so in shape that people stop me on the street to ask me what the heck I’ve been doing to look so fantastic. That hasn’t happened yet, but I really feel like it could happen soon (sidenote: I can usually be found walking near my work on 5th and Cedar around noon M-F.)
Case in point: you should try Yoga. You never knew your legs could bend that way, or that you could sweat so much without passing out. You’ll feel stronger, and more flexible, and you’ll reduce your jiggles (you know the ones.)
And just in case I haven’t successfully swayed you to sign up for a free week, here is a shortened list of the benefits of Yoga:
Decreases: blood pressure, respiratory rate, and hostility.
Increases: energy levels, joint range of motion, and the chances your thin jeans will fit.
Improves: posture, concentration, and the chances your thin jeans will fit.
My final push for you to do everything I do - Yoga is actually fun. After you leave the class and go outside and breath air that doesn’t feel like it’s coming out of a humidifier, you feel awesome. And thin. And liberated. Join me, won’t you?
I’ll be the one grunting in the corner.
Namaste.
It has been said often that a big book is more important and has more authority than a short book. There are exceptions of course but it is very nearly always true. I have tried to find a reasonable explanation for this and at last have come up with my theory, to wit: The human mind, particularly in the present, is troubled and fogged and bee-stung with a thousand little details from taxes to war worry to the price of meat. All these usually get together and result in a man’s fighting with his wife because that is the easiest channel of relief for inner unrest. Now—we must think of a book as a wedge driven into a man’s personal life. A short book would be in and out quickly. And it is possible for such a wedge to open the mind and do its work before it is withdrawn leaving quivering nerves and cut tissue. A long book, on the other hand, drives in very slowly and if only in point of time remains for a while. Instead of cutting and leaving, it allows the mind to rearrange itself to fit around the wedge. Let’s carry the analogy a little farther. When the quick wedge is withdrawn, the tendency of the mind is quickly to heal itself exactly as it was before the attack. With the long book perhaps the healing has been warped around the shape of the wedge so that when the wedge is finally withdrawn and the book set down, the mind cannot ever be quite what it was before. This is my theory and it may explain the greater importance of a long book. Living with it longer has given it greater force. If this is true a long book, even not so good, is more effective than an excellent short story.
- John Steinbeck, The Art of Fiction No. 45
My creative phase is continuing.
This past weekend I threw a baby shower for my girlfriend Megan. Theme: storybook. Sex of baby: unknown. Final product: yellow-infused book cover decor with emphasis on serving desserts since that’s what she’s been craving. Done & done.
The Hunger Games: a review
As a general rule I don’t see movies where I’ve read the book. I’m pretty sure that rule originated after I saw Message in a Bottle in 1999, and was only further confirmed with the first Twilight movie. Don’t even talk to me.
Against my grain, I went to see The Hunger Games. I am actually glad I did.
I thought the most important facets of the books transferred over, although with more time it could have included more Gale (yes please), more Capital, more training, more arena. I thought it was well-cast; I was pleasantly surprised with Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss, I thought she was beautiful & stubborn & had the perfect amount of heart. Although I wasn’t 100% sold on Josh Hutcherson as Peeta. I wanted to want to fall in love with him like I did in the book. Maybe he’ll grow on me. In the meantime, Liam Hemsworth will serve my eyes just fine. Is it disturbing that I’m 31?
The gruesome nature of the plot was played perfectly - the right amount of graphic, blood & death for a PG-13 rating. As a stepmother to a 14-year-old girl I thought it was appropriate. I mean, the subject is kids killing kids. There isn’t too much sugarcoating wiggle room there nor should there be.
It did for me everything I want a movie to do: I shed a tear, jumped in my seat, fell in love, cheered, sighed & didn’t look at my watch. Score.
