Here’s a puzzler: Why is Glamour magazine naming Caitlyn fucking Jenner “Woman of the Year” when Caitlyn Jenner hasn’t even been living as a woman for a full year? What does Caitlyn Jenner know about the struggle of womanhood? Has Caitlyn Jenner ever endured menstrual cramps? Fuck no. Has Caitlyn Jenner ever been paid less for equal work because of her vagina? Hell no. When Caitlyn Jenner walks alone at night is she afraid she’s going to be raped? I doubt it very seriously. Transgender poster girl, maybe. Woman of the year? Well that’s just an insult to those of us who haven’t lived with the benefit of affluent, white, male, privilege for the last 65 years. Eat a dick, Glamour, you traitorous rag!
Alright yogis, I know you are busy. I know you have kids. I know you are electronically leashed in a variety of ways. All that notwithstanding, do you really NEED your cell phone in yoga class? Yoga is a spiritual practice. Your postures are your body praying. Would you bring a cell phone into pray? Leave your electronics, keys, and shoes outside the yoga room. If you are understandably nervous about your shit getting stolen, lock it up. Namaste.
For about the last month, an anticipatory buzz has been building around the Starz miniseries Flesh and Bone. If you’re thinking all ballet stories are the same, you’re right. There’s always the Company neophyte, the aging star, the temperamental director and his put-upon assistant. The archetypes are familiar, but I still ♥♥♥ Flesh and Bone. Some dance movies skimp on the dance and the ones that don’t often skimp on story. Flesh and Bone has every ballet company cliché: drugs, fucking, fashion, music, dancing, backstabbing, and broken toenails. It’s Black Swan + Center Stage + Showgirls. Give it a twirl.
Next weekend is the First Annual Lip Sync Showcase. I have to prepare a number. What song would you choose? I’ve been profoundly contemplating my choice. I’m not sure what to perform. As a fan of Lip Sync Battle, I’ve been paying close attention to what works and what doesn’t. Nobody wants an earnest lip sync situation. The song must be worded with a wink. There are some obvious go-to’s. I want to avoid those. No Gloria Gaynor. No Madonna. But you don’t want to go too obscure or dark. It’s preferable when everyone in the audience knows the words. Speaking of audience, the selection must hype the people. I know a kid who insists on karaoke-ing Happiness is a Warm Gun, and it is such a bummer every single time. Don’t be that guy. An upbeat song choice is key, but you don’t want to go too corny either. I’m auditioning a few different ditties – and there’s choreography to consider. I gotta get to werk. And for those of you participating, I look forward to experiencing the full gamut of magic you have to offer.
I’m not a huge fan of the air kiss. To me, it smacks of insincerity, but I’ve accepted it’s part and parcel of a standard greeting for certain people, and therefore cannot be entirely avoided. Outside of Italy, how am I supposed to know if we air kiss one, two, or three times? You treble kissers must have strong and nimble necks. There is one particularly ferocious air kisser, who doesn’t seem to understand the “air” part of air kisser. On a weekly basis, she plants a fat, glossy, wet smooch on my cheek. I feel the gooey gloss on my cheek after her lips depart. This is often before I have to teach class, so I’m always paranoid that I have lip prints on my cheek. I love her, but too much moisture, hunny. If we must touch upon greeting socially (which as far as I’m concerned we don’t), I prefer handslap over all other available options. Obviously, a firm handshake is the only appropriate contact for business situations. That’s where many of us could use some work, the handshake department. With some folks, it’s like yanking a sad, little limp dick.
When should we complain? That’s the question of the moment. In 2015, We are already mired in passive aggressive energy courtesy of the Year of the Sheep. That means we are all in for a lot of subtle bitching both serving and getting served in the complaint department. When you are as critical as I can be, there are always areas of dissatisfaction. When is it worth it to express that dissatisfaction and expect a meaningful response?The following unsatisfactory situations recently occurred. Which would you complain about and which would you just suck up without complaint?
1) I visited a waxer. After less than 15 minutes on her table, she declared me “finished.” She did not remove enough hair to actually clear my bikini line. The line between the crease and the thigh still had hair. She did not even go a quarter of an inch inside the crease. The treatment cost $37 for a “classic bikini wax.” Request more removal or leave hairy and dissatisfied?
2) I checked into a hotel room and hair from the last guest was all over the floor and bathtub. Criticize housekeeping or clean up the mess?
3) My dentist urged me to spend big money on a bite analysis and revision. After thousands of dollars my bite still didn’t feel right and my teeth uncomfortably bumped together. Furthermore, at my last cleaning, the technician didn’t polish my teeth. Fuss or suffer?4) My neighbors are door slammers. Bitch to the HOA or endure the clamor?How did you answer to each of these scenarios? Here are my answers: 1) didn’t request a waxing revision; 2) hate-cleaned it myself; 3) made him fix it (I basically paid for a chunk of his kid’s college last year for what I spent in his office); 4) haven’t notified the HOA….yet.
Well kiddos, I made it a month without smoking grass. I can hardly believe it myself. There have been some trying times. I managed to avoid puffing at a party, during relationship duress, and through several sleepless nights. After I made it through the physical detox, a new set of psychological challenges emerged. What surfaced was a deep well of seething rage that I’ve been spouting out in every direction at anyone who even slightly annoys me. It’s fair to say that without weed, I’m a total cunt. All my physical symptoms have diminished. No more sharp pains between my ribs. The wheeze is gone, as is the choking feeling I experienced around my throat. My moods, however, need regulation. For quite some time, I’ve been using ganja like some people use lithium – to manage moods. While I was aware of my dope dependency, I didn’t realize until I quit that I arrested my emotional development by using instead of feeling. Now, at this late stage in the life game, I’ve got to come up with new ways to cope with the depressing state of the human condition. I’m far from figuring out a consistent solution, but I’m working several different angles – yoga, meditation, and therapy, to name a few. Some days these methods are effective, and I can self-soothe my frustration. And some days I yell “fat boy” at my neighbor for continuously slamming his door like an obnoxious idiot. I’m not proud of the way I behave when I get aggressive with others, but I’m working on it. I also wonder if I will ever be able to successfully reintroduce miss maryjane back into my life in a similar fashion to the relationship I have with alcohol – which is I can take it or leave it. I don’t crave booze. I can have a Scotch occasionally with friends and go months without a drink. It is this relationship of non-attachment that I strive for in every area of my life.
After hate-reading Frankel’s latest relationship advice book, I word-snacked on Giuliana Rancic’s Going Off Script: How I Survived a Crazy Childhood, Cancer, and Clooney’s 32 On-Screen Rejections. I know, my literary predilections are so intellectual right now. Due to extremely low expectations, I enjoyed Giuliana’s book more than I thought I would, especially her recounting of pulling a bitch out of class and beating her ass in the high school hallway, nearly choking out her college boyfriend, and confirming Jerry O’Connell is an epic social-climbing douche. You can take the girl out of Naples, but not the Naples out of the girl…Now I’m thoroughly enjoying the illuminating Is Gwyneth Paltrow Wrong About Everything?: How the Famous Sell Us Elixirs of Health, Beauty & Happiness by Timothy Caulfield. In my line of work, someone is always bragging about improving themselves with the latest cleanse, juicing, or ridiculous beauty treatment. We’ve all fallen prey. Caulfield debunks the efficacy of a number of diets and beauty treatments by exposing the utter lack of scientific basis behind most of the shit celebs shill. The hyped Dr. Junger Clean Cleanse promoted by Gwyneth Paltrow is apparently total bullshit. Facials and facial acupuncture have no merit. Adrenal fatigue is medical fiction. According to this book, most of what you spend your time and money on has absolutely no bearing on your health or beauty. It is both depressing – when considering how much money and time I’ve wasted on bunk beauty bullshit, and refreshing – in knowing how much money, time, and energy I’ll save moving forward by sticking with what really works. And what is that you ask? There are no secrets. It’s all stuff you’ve heard before. Eat a diet comprised of at least 50% fruits and vegetables. Wear sunscreen. Sleep. Beyond these basic time-tested truths, science suggests very little else has any impact on your beauty or health at all.