22 February 2011


I recently started going to yoga. I wish I could say regularly, but 4 times in 2011 probably doesn't count. I wish I could say that I'm motivated to go every time, but it's actually because of a friend of mine dragging me that I've gone as much. As an exercise, I actually really do like yoga. I love its similarity to dance, all the stretching, and {let's face it} any exercise that requires me to lay on a mat is scoring major points with me!

The unfortunate thing about yoga, is that there are other people in the class doing yoga. At first I thought it would be a great opportunity to meet friends {because post-college is tough} but after a few classes, I don't think I have much in common with the die-hards. I also find a room full of people very distracting. The teachers stress the importance of being present and experiencing what's going on with your body instead of letting your mind chatter away. However when the guy behind you is panting, the girl in front of you keep nearly kicking your face, and there's a guy in the corner who just smells, it's hard to tune into yourself.

I took a different type of class yesterday, one which I had been really excited about trying. The class was clearly more serious and advanced about yoga than I am. I can keep up easily from all my dance training, I just don't have all the pose names memorized. There was a lot of ego in the class, which is annoying because that's generally the opposite of what yoga is supposed to be. And there was one incredibly distracting woman in the class who with every breath let out a moan.

Not a groan, a moan.

Don't get me wrong, yoga feels great. But it doesn't feel THAT good. And if you're seriously that close to orgasm with each new pose, you need desperately to get laid.

19 February 2011

A Rant of Sorts

Dear Starbucks,

I love you, I mean how could I not? You meet all my needs – cappuccino for when I'm feeling {like impersonating a} European, decaf for when I'm feeling anxious, white mocha for when I need warming, iced caramel macchiato for my milky-sweet cravings, and peppermint mocha for my winter insulation {aka 5 pounds I gain every Christmas while this beverage is in season.}

Sure, I love South End type cafes and bakeries, but you're closer by and you do still have a community vibe that I dig. I tend to be “that guy” whose drink goes missing, but it's generally quickly & easily remedied. I do have one extreme pet peeve though, about your shop. And it's this:

When I ask for coffee cake, I want coffee cake. Do not ask me which kind of coffee cake I want. If I wanted blueberry coffee cake, I'd ask for blueberry. If I wanted reduced fat, I'd ask for reduced fat. If I ask for coffee cake period, give me classic coffee cake.

It's simple really, but I've had more altercations with a barista over this than I care to mention. It generally escalates into a shouting match until a “Classic” coffee cake is thrown carelessly into a ripped bag which is then slid across the counter along with a passive-agressive “have a nice day.” Then I leave feeling like an asshole, and I hate that because, I'm not.

So let's resolve this difference. From the way the question is usually stated, I have a feeling that I'm not the one who experiences this problem. It's not that I'm not willing to bend, I just don't think I have to. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, because let's face it – we know my kitchen cabinets hold little more than wine glasses.



17 February 2011

A Sweet Story

There's a cute old man who works at a parking lot that I always walk by on my way to work. He's usually the first person I talk to every morning, which may sound strange, but I think it's kind of neat. I don't even know his name.

I haven't seen him in a few days, but this morning when I was passing by, he quickly made his way over to me. He then gave a big smile and said, "I missed you Monday" and handed me a heart-shaped lollipop.

{The best part was that the wrapper was kind of tattered, as though he had been carrying it around in his pocket until he saw me again.}

What he doesn't realize, is that this piece of candy means so much more to me than a Valentine's Day treat. It's a measure of kindness a stranger can extend, and a reminder of the impact one seemingly unrelated life can have on another. Use it wisely, use it kindly.