Is that Santa?
No, dear, that’s the work train that just a’ran me over today.
Wave as it mangles your sense of joy!
Back to my regularly scheduled blog insanity tomorrow.
Hopefully.
Menlo Park CalTrain station. Photo Copyright 2011, Karen Fayeth. Photo taken with iPhone4s using the Hipstamatic app and subject to the Creative Commons license in the far right column of this page.
“Show me on the doll where Yoga touched you in a bad way…”
Here…and here….and over there….oh yeah, and that place too.
In the early afternoon hours of this past Saturday, I traveled up to the city of San Francisco to take what promised to be a really wonderful yoga class. Entitled “Yoga for Writers” it was taught by a gentleman who is both a well known local columnist and avid Yoga practitioner.
I like his writing style and the price was right, so I signed up. I arrived in time for class with my brand new yoga mat firmly in hand and a lot of hope.
This class promised that through Yoga, through getting out of your head and into your body and tapping into your inner self, you might be able to write more smoothly, easily, and with lots of verve. (ok, I made up the verve part, but it sounds good).
While I’ve been doing a good job keep up with my blog, mostly, the fiction side of my writing life is suffering in a big way.
I have a confession to make. I have a scant 3,500 words on my goal of 50,000 for the month of November.
Um. There are only nine days left? Right? I’m utterly failing. I stare at the screen and I got nuthin’ to write. It’s very bad.
My writer’s block has become immense. Intense. It depresses me. So I really did rather hope that the yoga class would help free up the ol’ Muse and get her dancing.
I was in a TERRIBLE mood after having a god awful week at work, and so I was actually scared and nervous going into this thing. Would the class be chock full of hipsters? Would it be chock full of tiny yoga girls in tiny yoga pants?
Answer was yes on both counts.
I entered the yoga room and immediately wanted to pass out. Why is it so *hot* in there? Ok, yeah, I know, they keep yoga rooms warm, even if you aren’t doing the kind of yoga (Bikram) where you sweat your holymarymotherofgod off while you stretch.
Sitting there on my little mat waiting for class to start, I was already pitted out.
*sigh*
The class description said “not for absolute yoga beginners. Assumes moderate level of physical ability and yoga experience.”
Ok. That’s me. I’ve done quite a bit of yoga in my life, though not recently. I know my Tree of Life from my Warrior pose. I walk three to four miles a day.
I’m not an athlete but I certainly have a moderate level of physical ability.
My lard ass was actually NOT prepared for what lay ahead.
I thought this would be a writing class interspersed with yoga. This was instead a hardcore not-for-sissies yoga class with an occasional writing exercise.
In the three hour class there were three 15 minute writing exercises and one 15 minute stint of sharing some of what we wrote.
The other two hours were intense, almost brutal yoga.
Yoga never hurt me before. Why, overly large statue of Shiva in the front of the room, WHY?!?!?!
My god. This isn’t peace, love and butterflies. It’s agony served up on a rubber mat!
I hurt. I can hardly use the restroom because while sitting down goes ok, I can’t get back up off the toilet. I can’t be still for more than a few minutes at a time or I yelp in pain when I move again.
Look. I’m a writer! We’re notoriously pasty and out of shape!
When did yoga start hurting people?
I found this article titled When Yoga Hurts from several years ago (2007) with concerns that Yoga was being taken a wee bit too seriously (i.e. competitively) in the local health clubs.
I’ll say!
Ow.
(To be fair, the instructor was actually really good, just incredibly hard core. He’s that kind of guy who can balance a handstand on one pinky at the rocky tip of a mountain and hold it for an hour while thinking pure and spiritual thoughts. Whatevs. I’ll meditate on a bag of chips and feel just fine.)
Image from Icanhascheeseburger
This was what the sky looked like yesterday evening as I left work for the day at my company’s Sacramento office.
Was it just the high winds as they blew across the Sacramento valley that caused this look? Is it simply the jet stream of late fall?
Either way, as I got into the Jeep, I was humming a little Creedence Clearwater Revival.
“There’s a bad moon on the rise….”
(click for full size)
Photo by Karen Fayeth and Copyright 2011.
This morning I drove home to the Bay Area where creepy dappled clouds are replaced by solid gray dripping clouds.
Welcome to a cold, rainy weekend.
*sigh*
Think the cat will let me squeeze onto a corner of the heater vent?
Photo taken with my iPhone4s and the Camera+ app. Photo subject to the Creative Commons license found in the far right column of this page.
Sunday rolled around and The Good Man and I had something special on the agenda. We had a date with Candlestick Park and a dance with the San Francisco 49ers football team.
The Good Man had attended professional football games in the past, but I never had. I’ve spent much time inside Candlestick, but it was back in the late 90’s, watching my beloved San Francisco Giants get brutalized. The Giants moved to their new yard in 2000 and I hadn’t been to Candlestick since.
I wondered how the ‘Stick had held up over the past eleven years. The answer? About how you’d expect.
Photo by Karen Fayeth, Copyright 2011
Once upon a time I was a huge 49ers fan (going back to living in New Mexico where they were my team of choice). But over the past decade they kept stomping on my heart over and over, so I had to break up with them.
But this year…with their shiny 8-1 record…I might have been woo’d back to their side.
I think I’ve finally worked out my issues with this guy (that’s the long suffering quarterback, first round draft pick, Alex Smith).
Photo by Karen Fayeth, Copyright 2011
I gave up on him when I kept shouting at my television “THROW THE DAMN BALL ALREADY!!!” and he wouldn’t throw the ball. And then he’d get clobbered.
On Sunday, he threw the ball. Oh he threw it, indeed. And he ran it, and he handed it off and did everything a calm, cool quarterback should do.
Photo by Karen Fayeth, Copyright 2011
Oh, hello Kendall Hunter. Welcome to the end zone.
Photo by Karen Fayeth, Copyright 2011
This morning, the local sports radio show keeps talking about the amazing atmosphere at the ‘Stick on Sunday.
It was crazy.
Isn’t it always like that?
Photo by Karen Fayeth, Copyright 2011
For the non-baseball fans, I hear a lot of talk about how baseball is so slow, there’s waiting around, blah blah blah.
You know what? There is a lot of waiting around in football too.
Photo by Karen Fayeth, Copyright 2011
But there is an awful lot more blood in football. Yikes.
Photo by Karen Fayeth, Copyright 2011
I guess that tends to happen when your whole intent, play by play, is smashing into very large people. Our seats were great and I sure did see a lot of men crash into other men. Sometimes I had to close one eye and look away. That’s usually when the guys around me would shout “yeeeah!”
Boys. Hmph.
Photo by Karen Fayeth, Copyright 2011
Football is a crazy sport. A crazy, fun, outrageous, holy cow YEAH baby kind of sport.
In short…I loved it. Seeing it live was really something spectacular.
All photos by Karen Fayeth and subject to the Creative Commons license found in the far right column of this page.
According to Wikipedia: “A camera obscura (Latin; “camera” is a “vaulted chamber/room”, “obscura” means “dark”, camera obscura = “darkened chamber/room”) is an optical device that projects an image of its surroundings on a screen. The device consists of a box or room with a hole in one side. Light from an external scene passes through the hole and strikes a surface inside where it is reproduced, upside-down, but with color and perspective preserved.”
According to me, a camera obscura is one of the fun, wacky, quirky things I discovered in my first tentative days living in the Bay Area.
Down at Ocean Beach, over by the Cliff House, there is a really wonderful camera obscura that was installed in 1946.
Just for whimsy, it’s actually shaped like a camera (the camera obscura was a precursor to pinhole cameras and the beginnings of photography).
Photo by Karen Fayeth, Copyright 2011
The camera obscura at the Cliff House used to be right next to the Musee Mechanique, a mesmerizing collection of vintage penny arcade games. The Musee Mechanique moved to Fisherman’s Wharf in 2002, but the camera obscura lives on at Ocean Beach.
The little triangle mirror apparatus at the top spins slowly, so you get this really enchanting 360-degree view of the beach, Seal Rocks, and the surroundings. It’s all reflected onto this white dish shaped table in the center of the small, dark room.
Between the camera obscura and the Musee Mechanique, I could get lost for hours. Fresh off the highway from New Mexico, it was some of the coolest stuff I’d ever seen in my life.
When The Good Man and I paid a visit to the Cliff House this weekend, I was so excited to see the camera obscura is still there. It wasn’t open that day, but it’s there. And that makes me happy.
It was added to the National Register of Historic places in 2001, and is now under the conservancy of the National Park Service, so hopefully it will project on for many years.
The camera obscura makes me so nostalgic. I adore it!
That’s me. My purse was under my jacket, so that’s why my jacket tails are sticking out at such an angle. That and the fact that I’m simply a dork of epic proportions.
Photo taken by The Good Man, Copyright Karen Fayeth 2011
Photos Copyright Karen Fayeth 2011, and taken with an iPhone4 using the Hipstamatic and the Camera+ apps.