Multiply by Stupidity, Subtract Piece of Mind

Multiply by Stupidity, Subtract Piece of Mind

You know how there is always some amount of nonsense that ruins everything? I am working on codifying that into a mathematical formula I would like to call the Asinine Factor. Multiply anything you want to achieve against it and come out 2 to 140,000 steps behind. It’s the universal wail of “Why?!!??” that we all scream at least once a year or maybe 10 times a day. Depends how lucky you are.

This is what got me ruminating on it. I am on my second pair of cool sneakers. Cool sneakers are for special occasions. They are there to signify to other people that you know what’s what. If you can’t afford to know what’s what on a regular basis you have to only wear them when you think someone might see you. Otherwise you wear the regular sneakers. I loved my first pair of cool sneakers and when the shine came off they actually became the regular sneakers. What a wonderful time that was. Even I thought I was cool for ten seconds. But eventually they wore down. They now live in retirement under my bedside table. You are supposed to have footwear nearby in the event of a nighttime earthquake event so you don’t cut your feet running down the hall of broken framed family portraits in the dark, calling out to the dogs. So no matter what I write next, I have that going for me. I’m not going to have bloody feet when I find out half my apartment is gone.

Little Dusty Under Here

So my new cool sneakers are the same style, different color combo. Arc’teryx calls them the “Approach” shoe. According to the sales person, it’s the shoe you wear when you are approaching the mountain you’re going to hike. The implication being you would change into hiking boots upon getting to said mountain. What a world! So many specialty items! So little disposable income! I use mine to walk the same set of 10 blocks while my two small dogs pee on pee. We could call it the “Approaching Urination” shoe and it would be just as appropriate.

Stupidly I was wearing the approaching urination shoes for my own pleasure only to come home to the wonderful game of “Do you smell that?” Answer honestly, have you ever played that game and the outcome wasn’t dog shit? Chivalrously, husband said he would handle it for me. I usually handle my own shit but I’m stressed out with work and so I accepted. Turns out his offer was no different than being in denial. The shoe was placed by the backdoor where is has remained as an impediment to entry every since. Each time I kick it aside, I think a little more deeply about the Asinine Factor or AF for short.

The AF is about that portion of reality that can’t be made to go according to plan. I notice it everywhere. Let’s look at another example that is not at all similar and yet yields the same discouraging results: Adobe Creative Suite. So many updates, so many opportunities to trade expansive creative time for clenched jawed trouble shooting. What’s more soul enriching that googling the phrase: “.mov .mp4 thumbnails not showing in 2019”. I mean why even do art when I could learn and learn and learn and learn about preference settings and Mac OS incompatibilities. Just cuz it worked for the last two years doesn’t mean I don’t thrill to the romance of it not working today. Adobe you bad boy! And of course the horrible international health scare that is AF-ing every plan of every person on the planet.

So the AF is that which worked yesterday but does not work today. It’s the slow person weaving in front of you on a narrow sidewalk when you’re late to a movie. It’s a virus you’re thinking more about than politics. That’s weird! It’s the world where shitty shoes stand sentry to your comings and goings because your to do list has a year long wait list. Life may holds many joys and many sorrows but none go un-mixed with stupidity.

Stains. What are they good for?

Stains. What are they good for?

I can’t think of any positive connotation for stain, can you? The word implies degradation, even ruination. Yet I hunt for these spoilers of the pristine. What’s the attraction?

For starters, I can’t add to perfection. If everything was unmarred, unsullied, untainted, unworn it would be like finding myself in a giant art studio with a huge canvas and no paint. There would be nothing to do. Boring!

So as the lowly maggot is to processing waste, I am to soiled pavement, an agent of transformation. Okay, not quite. My contributions are ephemeral and symbolic rather than transformative and pragmatically useful. Nevertheless, as I pass by the same stains week after week, I find that having spent time turning them into little characters I look forward to seeing them again. The stains become like neighbors, friendly ones I wave at rather than blemishes upon some vast field of unbroken conformity. The familiarity makes me feel I’m really here. Their specificity means I could be no where else.

To deeply notice a thing is to change your perception of it. To interact with it is to become intimate. To collaborate with it is to create a bond. That is why art is so transformative. It is like friendship but with a process rather than a person.

I can’t make the world a less blemished place but I can make the stains more fun.

Not What I Expected Part 4. Who Here Thinks This is a Yoga Class?

Not What I Expected Part 4. Who Here Thinks This is a Yoga Class?
How I felt when it was over.

I am medium fit. Compared to people who don’t exercise at all I am in great shape. Compared to people who take it seriously, I am weak as Lipton tea (we prefer PG Tips). The bulk of my exercise comes from walking dogs. We average a mile and half a day and hike once on the weekends. This doesn’t make me buff or visually interesting but it does allow for beer drinking without too much mid section expansion. A good trade in my mind. I also do precisely one yoga class a week and have for several decades. This keeps neck and back tension at bay and sort of feels like having the correct amount of oil in car, just enough for base line maintenance. Twenty years in and I still can’t put my head on my knees with straight legs. Oh well. Cross that off the bucket list.

Before we get to what happened you need to know I take the easiest class. It’s only an hour and follows the same series of postures every time allowing me to track where we are in the routine and conserve energy so I know I can do it all. I keep a post-it note on my computer with the times of the classes I like. They change the schedule and teachers every week so I use the post-it note method regularly. Working freelance, I never know what day is going to be best.

My stupid post it note said there was a 1:30 class. I rode my bike to the studio, about a mile away. There are two class rooms, the name and time of the class is written on the door so you know which one to enter. I noticed the door said 1:30 but rather than Modo (my class) it said The Workout. I turned back to the young guy filling his water bottle behind me and asked him what kind of class that was. He said, “Their hardest”.

Okay.

He said something about interval training.

Okay.

My brain is calculating like crazy. Is this some cross fit level business? How sore and depleted will I be in an hour? Will I be able to ride my bike home?

The room was warm as always, it’s a hot yoga studio after all. There are words written on the mirror. I’ve never seen that. They say things like Death Lunges, Craptastic Curls and Adios Biceps. I don’t know what it said. I can’t remember but here’s what happened.

The teacher comes in and says “Who here thinks this is a yoga class?” I don’t raise my hand. We proceed to do 3 ten minute sets of exercise where you rotate from one awful thing to the next with out stopping for ten minutes. In between there is a tiny amount of slumping on the ground and a lot of one off exercises. The only reason any of this can work at all is because the speakers are loudly pumping out an analogous interval merry go round of Ozzy Osborne, Rage Against the Machine and Soundgarden. Dear God Thank You for Hard Rock. Thank you for the unparalleled vocal righteous anger that is the voice of Zack de le Rocha. Without him I could not have done 5000 pushups.

I honestly don’t have much memory of the ordeal. It didn’t take long for me to pass into an altered state. The final exercise was abs. At first it felt so great just to be butt down not using my arms which had taken out a full ivy league tuition level of lactic acid debt. I feared we wouldn’t be using them again for decades. I proudly had knees bent and feet off the ground as we twisted left to right and right to left for 5 solid days. By the end my feet were embedded in the mat like rebar in cement reducing needed core strength by as much as possible, I had utterly disassociated from the concept of feet and I was swaying more than twisting. I am not sure I have ever really truly collapsed before this class but at the end of that final exercise I involuntarily relinquished all muscle control and flattened like spilled ice cream on hot pavement.

Several eons passed and we figured out global warming and tribalism.

Wait, no, that didn’t happen. It was probably only a few minutes and the world was mostly the same except that when I attempted to become vertical again, I was over taken with a light headedness which quickly morphed into a need to puke. I didn’t. That’s nice. I sat semi-catatonic in the changing room for a while. Slowly my sense of self came back and with it a giddy wad of happiness. What is a giddy wad you ask. Go do an interval training sesh and find out!

I rode my bike home in 1st gear, peddling so slow it’s amazing the bike didn’t topple over. It wasn’t even the muscle fatigue I had to worry about. I was riding while extremely high. Some Venice Italy level flooding of endorphins was turning me into a day tripper. And I liked it. I was having thoughts of doing it again. I can’t tell you how strange that is. It’s the opposite reaction I usually have to discomfort.

It took 4 whole days to get back to normal. I am not fit enough to do another class yet I am contemplating it. Not what I expected.

How I felt when I thought about doing it again.