 The Sun Will Rise |
|
Yoga last night was so wonderful that I wanted it to be two hours instead of one. The teacher (not the Yoga Nazi) focused on the upper back, and knowing as I do that that's where I hold the majority of tension in my body, doing the stretching and straightening exercises was almost like getting a massage. I was so relaxed and blissy after class that when watching American Idol, I almost got teary when Simon was so nice to Fantasia. It must have been the endorphins. My sister was trying to convince me yesterday that working out in the mornings is the way to go, but seeing as she's a person who enjoys exercising passionately and I'm a person who enjoys parking my ass on the couch and eating Pringles while watching Days of Our Lives, I didn't put much stock in my ability to actually get up and go. But miracles do happen. I set my alarm for 6:00, woke up at 3:30 to pee and reset it for 7:00 because 6:00 seemed too disgusting to contemplate, and then Khaki jumped on my head at exactly 6:00 so I took it as a sign to get up. So I did! In the dark, in the rain, to the gym I went, doing the elliptical for thirty minutes while reading the latest EW and rocking my mp3 player to the likes of "Heads Carolina, Tails California" (shut up), "Forget about the Boy," "I Love to Boogie," "Fame," and "Better Things," of course. I then went to do my weights and surprised myself by finding that the arm weights are already so much easier that I decided to set my next sets for a little higher. (The computer notes if you complete the maximum number of lifts and asks if you want to bump up the weights for next time. That it thinks for me makes it all much simpler to deal with, I have to say.) Not that my arms are any less string beany by any stretch and not that they don't still start to shake after a few too many plank pose / downward dog switcheroos, but I hope they are getting at least a little stronger. Clearly if I am to repeat this feat I need to go earlier, as I ran out of time for a shower and am hence a greasy sweatball today (not that it matters, because everyone is sporting Variation on Drowned Rat), but I'm still proud. In the yoga class from hell on Saturday, we were doing these sit-ups where we clasped our hands together with straight arms, pointed them between our knees, and were meant to pull ourselves up in a complete sit-up that way without moving our feet at all. Well, I had news for the Nazi, but that was not going to happen. In order to go all the way up, I would have to flail my legs about and hoist myself up, so I decided to just go up halfway and call it a pose. She came over (OF COURSE) and told me to raise myself until I was sitting up completely with a straight back, but I just regarded her as if deranged and said, "I can't go all the way up." She clucked and said, "That's fine! Sometimes women who are pregnant or who've had surgery can only come up halfway." I bit my tongue instead of sniping that I was neither pregnant nor surgically scarred and just nodded red-facedly, continuing my little half sit-ups and trying not to resent her for assuming that we all have her titanium abs. Also, I wish she would lose the music. It doesn't add to my serenity to hear strange instrumental music that sounds like Madonna chanting about the Kabbalah through pursed lips while playing the kazoo. To celebrate my early morning visit to the gym, I'm now eating a sliver of strawberry cheesecake king cake and doing a non-rain dance because we are all so cold and soggy and my dogs are so cabin feverified that I fear we all might be going slowly insane. Here comes the flood. Sing it, Peter.
Jason Raize, who played the older Simba in Broadway's The Lion King, committed suicide. He was only 28. I am sad. He had a beautiful voice. I'm going to listen to "Endless Night" on the way home today, because you know I have that soundtrack in my car.
May I say a word about Everwood now please? I am still recovering from hysterical blindness brought on by the last episode. I cannot deal with Ephram having sex! I think I would like the character of Madison on paper -- on second thought, no, I wouldn't, because she's a condescending twit -- but I cannot stand the actress and her weird overbite. I mean, I don't have a perfect jaw either, but I also don't have a major role on a television show, and neither should she! I feel like every time she starts making pedantic statements to Ephram in that mothering manner she regularly adopts or starts making out with him, she is going to eat his head. This is not an appealing relationship, and it's not just because I want Ephram for myself. (That's right, AB, step aside.) I don't see the chemistry, and I realize that the age difference is kind of the whole point, but it's too much of a difference. She and her huge overbite and her tiny low cut jeans are just too old for him, and every scene makes that clear, and I NEED THIS STORYLINE TO END NOW. As crazy as Amy Abbott drives me sometimes and in spite of my uncertainty about her bangs and the loathsome way she has treated him in the past, at least she is his PEER. His FRIEND. She can be an immature brat, but so can he, and at least they would be on an equal playing field, and at least the actress who portrays her can actually act. This Madison business (along with dismal and alarming shade of Marcia Cross's hair) is almost enough to make me stop watching this show altogether. So listen up, Berlanti! Enough already! Axe the babysitter. Thank GOD there's a new O.C. on tonight. The sight of Oliver might be just enough to allow my Madison hatred to wane somehwat in comparison. And it's definitely high time for some Seth Cohen in my world.
© Copyright 2004 elb |
|
