Just call me Sweaty McPitstains

Today was a big, fat, farmer adventure in the Bikram world for I attended my first hot yoga class in Southern California. Also, it’s been my first yoga class in about two weeks and my body let me know how just how pissed it is at me for taking so long to get back to the studio.

In short, it was brutal, and yours truly over here is to blame. My mind was swimming when I traipsed up the stairs to the small studio in South Pasadena. I couldn’t settle my thoughts — so much crap is racing through my mind and soul right now that concentration is a fucking luxury. This is one of the many drawbacks about being so damn cerebral (I know … I know … http://www.whitewhine.com..).

It’s a nice studio — for the most part — except I’m used to a much larger space like at my home studio, Bikram Yoga Andersonville. My sizest attitude quelled once I got situated in the room. The teacher, Satchi, had a very thick Japanese accent which was tough to decipher at times, but I liked her style — she knew her stuff and got after me (and rightly so) for my fidgeting between poses. I’m a major league fidgeter —  I don’t do “still” very well. My new pal, Indira, told me today that as soon as she stopped with the fidgeting, her mind cleared and her practice improved exponentially. Oh how I hope that works for me too. I think it will once I learn to leave the bullshit cerebral crap at the front door but in my defense, turning off my brain ain’t one of my strengths.

I held my own for the most part, but I still can’t do Standing Head to Knee because my core is weak.

Time to crank out planks a couple times a day and stop eating, you know, food, and I’ll have the posture under my control by the end of February.

My choice of wardrobe didn’t help my mood either — my lovely threads made me look like a pitted-out Newt Gingrich in an auburn wig <shudder>. So, it’s off to Target to purchase some yoga clothes that don’t make me look like a blowhard twink from Georgia.

You know, more like a McCrabass.



I don’t know why sometimes I get frightened ….

For those of you who are into music from the days of yore, why yes, I am quoting a Split Enz song. Can’t help it — it’s one of my fave songs from back in the day, and I’ve heard it on the radio at least 5 times since arriving in LA. However, there is a reason why I’m referencing this tune and it has to do with where my life is at this very moment. Even though the song is about obsessive love, most of the lyrics are quite pertinent to my situation.

Let’s have a look, shall we?

“I got you – that’s all I want
I won’t forget – that’s a whole lot
I don’t go out – now that you’re in
Sometimes we shout – but that’s no problem”

I shout all right, but not at anyone in particular. Well, maybe me. Whilst looking at myself in the bathroom mirror.

“I don’t know why sometimes I get frightened
You can see my eyes, you can tell that I’m not lyin’

Look at you – you’re a pageant
You’re everything – that I’ve imagined
Something’s wrong – I feel uneasy
You show me – tell me you’re not teasin’ “

The “I don’t know why sometimes I get frightened …” That’s a no-brainer, if you ask me. Here I am, at a major crossroads in my life with a murky future ahead of me. It could go either way. What I’m doing out here could be a complete disaster of Michael Dukakis presidential campaign proportions. Or I could succeed beyond my wildest expectations. I doubt either will happen — it’ll likely be something in between.

The first two lines of the second verse are heaven. I wonder what it’s like to be told “You’re everything that I’ve imagined.” Simply put, hearing those words by someone I adore would take my breath away. Total sweetness.

Enough with the romantic crap and back to the issue at hand.

Something’s wrong — no shit — but I’ve covered this already. It’s being remedied I hope and it’s just gonna take some time. I’m tattooing that on my forehead in the morning.

Until then, enjoy the video.


One down …

It’s been a while since I’ve woken up to 70 degree weather — in January. Am I complaining? Hell no — especially since I know what kind of atmospheric fuckery is going on back home. This morning was spent contemplating my next few moves for ye olde career and getting used to the quirks of the apartment. I do think it’s haunted — I just hope my little apparition doesn’t turn into a wraith and drink all of my wine and eat my Trader Joe’s Molasses Chews.

Last night, I dined with my dearest friend, David at Casa Bianca Pizza in lovely Eagle Rock after he dropped off a box of my supplies I sent to myself — really, it’s not as masturbatory-fabulous as it sounds — my box was filled with droopy sweaters, tampons and various other sundries. The pizza was excellent, even better was the conversation — it was almost as if I had never left California lo those many years ago. But I did leave and the friendship changed, but there are some common threads left that are still quite strong. We’re different people from when we were roommates with Kimmie Kim at the Palazzo on Beverly Glen and Olympic, which is a good thing the more I think about it. Also, I don’t think any of us could survive the Lump again.

I drove in circles today — it’s safe to say I haven’t found my bearings quite yet. York Blvd. goes in all sorts of wacky directions and I’ve yet to find a news stand. The Trader Joe’s in my old hood is still hopping — so much so that a local lesbian hit on me in the cheese section. Yeaaahhh … you’re nice — mom-nice — but there will be no tapping of that. Wait … I’m in LA …. maybe I should consider it since things are different out here, it’s the land of fruits and nuts, dykes, trannies, d-girls, clowns and the Kardashians. They’re people too! C’mon! Hmm.. hmm.. NO. I love women, but I don’t LOVE women.

And on that note, time to worship St. Mattress.

Hello it’s me …

… I’ve been away from you for a long, long time.

Today, I returned to Los Angeles for a visit. Yes, I said returned. See, I lived here for well over a decade when I worked in the movie business. I’ve been away from LA for well over a decade too. So coming back is a sort-of homecoming.

A few things I’ve noticed since landing:

The freeways extend into the sky now. Yes, they do. Oh and everyone drives a billion miles per hour.

I’ve heard When In Rome’s “The Promise” at least 5 times so far. Also, the RHCP’s “Give It Away Now” at least four times. KROQ is still on the air, and they manage to play waaay too much Smashing Pumpkins.

Mockingbirds are the sassy brats of the bird world, and they’re everywhere out here. One was screaming at this me this morning as I strolled through my old South Pasadena neighborhood.

And, while we’re on the subject of South Pasadena, it didn’t miss the wave of progress that has swept through LA. Since I left in 2000, LA has added a metro rail commuter system, which is nice because a metropolitan area this size should have a decent public transportation system. There’s a metro rail stop in So. Pasadena, at Mission, about a 1/2 mile or so from my old apartment on Mission. What I noticed about the train as it rolled into the stop,  is it isn’t as noisy as the trains I’m used to, and the disruption is minimal. Perhaps it’s worse during rush hour and to be fair, I only spent about an hour in the area so I didn’t get the full impact. I’m sure that there are those who loathe it, but I’m hoping that Los Angelenos will come to recognize how important public transportation really is to the life of any city/metropolis.

This is where I used to live.

South Pasadena still has that small-town feel even though it’s right on the edge of a booming metropolis, which is why I love it so much. I grew up in a very small town, so the smallness of So. Pasadena resonates with me. It’s comfortable. The local hangouts like Buster’s and the small used bookstore I checked out were bustling with people. Locals tend to support the locally owned and operated businesses, which I believe improves the morale of any small town.

Oh, and as I was wandering down Mission, I came across this little slice of heaven–


As my good friend Melissa said, all you need are potatoes then it would be absolute carb heaven. However, I’m curious if any patrons are big into putting cereal ON their grilled cheese sammiches, OR if they cut up the sammiches and put them in the bowl with the cereal. Hey, it’s Southern California so I wouldn’t be surprised if that happened a few times.

Finally, as I was wandering toward my former Trader Joe’s, I found this gem about a block and a half from my old homestead.

A sign perhaps?