Rhymes with Diva
Shane and I spent last weekend in San Francisco, living it up. I will write more about that, but not right now. Right now I will write about this.
Last night, we went to a yoga workshop led by a world-famous yogini. I’d heard amazing things about her, and whenever she comes to Seattle, her workshops quickly fill up with hundreds of people. Last time she was here, I signed up too late and missed out. This time, I signed up early. And I convinced Shane to sign up too. Actually, I registered him myself. At first, he was skeptical. “I don’t like those yoga gurus. I don’t want to drink the punch.” Or something like that. But I convinced him that she’d be really down to earth, that he’d have a great workout, if not a life-changing experience.
Within five minutes of arriving, I knew I was wrong. And by the end of the workshop, I was convinced that, not only was she not “down to earth,” the woman was an alien. Perhaps a carnivorous one. It was astounding. First, she made an Entrance with her Entourage. This is when I could feel Shane’s eyeballs burning into the back of my head. (He was right behind me).
A few minutes later, she had the whole crowd flapping our arms up and down in order to “get our electromagnetic fields in sync.” At this point, it was taking much focus on my part not to start laughing. I’m sure if I would have turned around and made eye contact with Shane I would have peed my fancy yoga pants laughing. She proceeded to further offend (and entertain) me by using the word “quantum” in lots of ways that have nothing to do with physics.
We stayed to the end, but were some of the first folks out the door. As soon as we got outside, I apologized to Shane. He was very sweet about it, actually. He knew that I had no idea what I’d signed us on for. That our attendance at this combination of woo-woo and church camp and yoga postures and Southern California celebrity culture was all a big mistake.
And I felt lucky to have a partner like that.
April 22nd, 2007 at 10:00
Girl, we have too much history in the kool-aid camp to be sucked into these glittery, woo-woo farces. Even yogis can be total nutters. Here’s to the downward dog done in a quiet studio without the pretense.