Bad Yoga. Bad! Bad!

Had my first bad yoga class. So bad I nearly left part way through. The regular teacher (who reminds me of Janeane Garofalo, so I quite like her) was away and we had this "it doesn’t matter what you’re doing, just dialogue with your body by moving it around" teacher. Listen, crazy tshirt-tucked-into-bicycle-shorts-showing-off-your-
not-inconsiderable-package man, if I wanted a general dialogue with my body I’d run up and down my hallway and then jerk off. For free.

It didn’t help that the kookaphone was ringing quietly but persistently on the mat beside me and the guy on the other side of me was having some serious halitosis issues. It is hard to be calm and focus on your breathing when you’re trying to avoid taking in the foul air around you.

It may have been a sign that I should not do yoga on the first day of my period, when I tend to be irritable with cramps and my sense of smell is heightened to uncomfortable heights.

The rest of the weekend was dandy. A lovely Sunday pancaking with the Grs. and lots of movie watching and knitting, besides. I finished Henry the Bear to send to my niece, who is possibly the cutest baby that ever lived. I will get her parents to send me a picture of her with the bear, so you all can admire them in one fell swoop.

The Beard is convalescing well - well enough to play a gig last Saturday night. I carried the gear so as to avoid him bursting nasal blood vessels. The rest of the Empiricalsoffered to wear mustache dressings too, to make him feel less conspicuous. He declined, opting for gauze conservation instead. Save the gauze!