Yoga: Relaxing?

So I went back to the gym. I figured that I could take it slow and begin with a yoga class. A few years ago I took yoga at Ferndale Yoga in a small suburb near my home in Detroit. My yoga instructor, Pam, was a wonderful woman who somewhat reminded me of a bunny rabbit (don't ask, she just did). In class she would come around frequently, check our asanas (poses) and help us rearrange our bodies into pretzel like positions. I became a master of downward dog, tree, plank, half-spinal twists and so on. After a 45 minute session we would spend 15 minutes, laying quietly on our backs, holding small bags of crystals, and doing deep breathing exercises. It was nice. Relaxing. We would use our collective energy, deeply breathing in and out, to create a spirit of consciousness--or whatever BS we were doing. My body felt better instantly. My flexibility increased (or so said my then boyfriend), I learned how to breathe, I was generally nicer and spread little seeds of peace wherever I went. Namaste.

I decided to go back to yoga in Vegas. Remembering how wonderful it was in Ferndale, yesterday I bopped into a yoga class at the Las Vegas Athletic Club. I was wearing my loosefitting yoga pants and a black wife beater. I was ready. The students were seated, cross legged, and quietly chanting one of the seed syllable, "om." Smiling, I laid down my mat and joined right in. Right after I walked in, a young couple--a very limber looking girl and a very buffed, basketball playing looking guy--came in after me and took their position next to me.

The yogi, an early 20-something male covered in tats with a very deep, yet soothing voice, moved us from the bow-legged position to plank position. I smiled, got into plank and moved seamlessly into downward facing dog.

Then yoga went from sugar to shit.

Yogi man started barking out commands, except he didn't bark. His soothing voice called them out forcefully. Tadasana...utanasana...Lunge...downward facing dog. Plank.Chaturanga Dandasana. Low Cobra! Upward Facing Dog! Downward facing dog! Lunge. These set of commands, otherwise known as the sun salutation, went on for 25 minutes. Non stop. During this set of commands you move from laying on the floor, to being in a push up position to standing up right to getting back on the floor. AFter the 5th time I was a little winded. By the 10th time I was sweating like a run away slave. By the 11th time, the buff, basketball man next to me was bright red and dripping in sweat. Sometime in the middle of downward facing dog--which calls for one's hands and feet to be on the floor and one's ass to be poked up in the air, kind of like a human tee pee--the woman in front of me, also engaged in downward facing dog, ripped out a huge downward facing fart--right into my downward facing face. Nice.

We moved from Sun Salutations to some sort of warrior poses that were just as difficult. I had stopped breathing--which is hard to do in a yoga class. I felt my spleen push into my heart (which, in case you were wondering, does not feel very good or very relaxing). About 35 minutes into the hot, sweaty, non-relaxing yoga class, as I was contemplating my easiest move toward the door, yogi master called out in a soothing voice: "push through the pain. Take your body to the limit. Don't quit. Let your body be your guide. " And abruptly ended my thoughts of slipping out through the side door.

As I was gasping for breath, the man next to me cursed. His girlfriend, by the way, was effortlessly engaged in a position in which her body resembled a bowl of limp spaghetti noodles.

Then, by the grace of God, we got to relaxation. I have never, in my life, not been able to let my body relax during relaxation. Until now. My muscles, limbs and bones were so wound up and tired, I could not get them to relax. I laid there, in the dark, and contemplated whom I could pay to push me to my car while I felt my bones grind against each other.

Ahh...yoga

Miah Does Seattle :)

So this past weekend I visited my best friend Alana in Seattle. Though it was very dark and somewhat dreary and I got caught walking in a horrendous, torrential thunderstorm, I had a great time. This great time is mostly characterized by what I ate (yummy warm goat cheese patty swaddled in a blanket of walnuts and served with a tasty fruit compote and a very creamy, melt-in-your mouth pate) and what I drank (wine...lots and lots of wine. Martinis...lots and lots of martinis) but along the way I managed to develop a crush on an absolutely gorgeous gay man, visit the (un)happiest place on earth (The original Starbucks), meet a sailor, talk about pirates, see some marlin sail become airborn across a fish market, visit the world famous Snoqualmie falls, climb a hill, taste curds, find out what whey really is, spin records (haha) as a DJ, ride the SLUT, celebrate my Irish heritage, keep a leprechaun in my pocket, and other things that i cannot mention because one day I may want to run for public office.

As opposed to giving you a detailed play-by-play of my weekend, I'll just post the pictures. Enjoy!

*M*

Click here for some pics!

Click here for more photos

PS--For all my professional friends who spend too much time reading this and not, well, working, click on the little triangle at the bottom of the puzzle to really waste time. :)

Wow...I really AM unobserverant

Last week, in the midst of all the testing chaos (and there was chaos) a new girl enrolled in my English class. She was pretty quiet, came in, introduced herself and told me that the counselor had switched her English classes. I didn't think much about it: After all, in the past three weeks, I had recieved roughly 7 new student--about one every other day. Kids in this school move classes like I shower: frequently. Don't like a teacher? Switch classes. Failing with one teacher? Switch classes. Threaten to beat up a teacher (yup)? Switch classes. Want a class with your friends? Switch classes. Whatever the "issue" may be, kids switch classes.

For three days last week, new girl #3 sat in my 3rd hour English class. Yesterday we took a quiz on the perfect tense of verbs. I told new girl #3 that she did not have to take it because she was not enrolled when I had taught the material, she was only there for 1 day of review. New girl #3 wanted to take it and she did. New girl #3 got the highest score in the class. I was excited; finally, they had given me someone smart! Most of my class failed the quiz. Today when I expressed my displeasure and disgust in a very loud, conrolled voice, I mentioned that new girl #3 had the best score. I applauded new girl #3 and suddenly like 4 kids sitting around new girl #3 started giggling--something that always makes me uneasy. Not seeing anything obvious, I dismissed it.

I asked new girl #3 where she had transferred in from and she told me Mrs. P. Mrs. P teaches next door to me.

At lunch I saw Mrs. P. and asked her about new girl #3. I asked her why new girl #3 had transferred. Please follow the conversation:

Me: Hey, do you know new girl #3?
Mrs. P: Yes, why
Me: Well, new girl #3 is really smart. I like her a lot.
Mrs. P.: Me too. She's one of my brightest students.
Me: Why did new girl #3 transfer out of your class?
Mrs. P: (with a look of confusion) Transfer? She hasn't transferred. I saw her during 4th hour.
Me: Yes she did, she's in my 3rd hour.
Mrs. P: No she's not. I just saw her.
Me: Yes she did. I just had her and she just took a quiz and got the highest grade.
Mrs. P: What? Are you sure? She has dark hair right and was wearing a really really low cut top today?
Me: Yes. That's her. I'm telling you she's been coming to my class, taking notes and taking quizzes.
Mrs. P: Has she shown up on your attendance roster?
Me: Um...not yet. I was going to talk to counselor X this afternoon about that.

You get the idea.

After about 5 minutes, I realized that new girl #3 had NOT transferred into my class, was NOT a new student, and was NOT being completely honest.

New girl #3, who is now kicked out girl #1 was angry with her art teacher and had been skipping for a week and just hanging out is my English class because she heard it was "fun."

*Salty Teacher #1*

Kwame isn't the only dummy...

This week my students took their state exams. These exams not only determine if teachers are "teaching" (LMAO) and a school's amount of state fuding, but also are a matter of natonal and federal security. Basically (and here come the conspiracy theory) the feds don't want to pay schools so they force school districts to create dense, convoluted exams at various grade levels. If your kids happen to pass (which very few do) they you get the little bit of chump change that your school needs to remain barely functional and teachers still do not get a raise. However, since the feds don't really want to pay the schools, these tests are more secure than Fort Knox, the SAT/ACT/LSAT/MCAT/GRE/GMAT, and Barack Obama's house combined. There all all kinds of test security measures which, if not followed, can invalidate an entire school's set of tests and keep them from getting their chump change.

These test measures include text messages.

Today, as I was proctoring, I noticed one of my female students sending a text message. Bright red bells rang in my head "TEST SECURITY BREACH!" As protocol, I confiscated her phone, stood in the hallway holding a bright red "IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE" sign and waited for the chain of command to start. The first level of security appeared. I passed the phone and name to him, he passed the phone and name to the counselor, who passed the phone and name to a dean who passed the phone and name to the Assistant Principal. She read the text message, determined the text did not contain sensitive test information and locked it.

The AP told the dean who told the counselor who told the first level of security what the text message said who told me so I could continue testing random female student X.

The message, which was sent to a boyfried, read: "I want you to Fuck me tonight."

Again, I teach 8th grade.

*M*

(Not) Barack Obama's House

Life has been BUSY for me lately: gave my kids the wrong State exam, worried about getting canned (i didn't), murdered Mickey Mouse, and grew an afro (like literally). In all the madness, I had forgotten to tell you about the end of my Chicago trip.

So the day I left, my sands Kelly (who now resides in Chicago) told me that she lives "around the corner" from Barack Obama and asked me if I wanted to see his house. I'm nosy so of course I gave her a resoundig "YES!" We took two cars and drove to Mr. Obama's neighborhood. On the way, my friend whose car I was in informed me that secret service was planted outside his house. Not to be daunted by some squares in suits, I ordered us forward.

So we get to the neighborhood. Kelly (who is in the lead car) points to some houses. I look and see the house she is pointing at. We pull over and stand: the car I am in is in front of Obama's house and Kelly is planted in front of some neighbor's house. Gleefully, I roll down the window and snap a picture. Barack's House. One day this picture may be worth millions.

No sooner had I snapped the pic and rolled up the window, a square in a suit tapped on Kelly's window. He literally emerged from no where, like an early morning mist or evening fog. She rolled down her window while i scooched lower in my seat and watched out of the passenger side window. They exchanged words for a few minutes and I knew he was coming to my vehicle next to confiscate my camera, strip and cavity search me. But he didn't. He walked away.

As we drove off, Kelly called exclaiming that she is now "in the system." When asked what he said, she told us that he said there was no parking in front of the Obama household. I thought that was odd--I had taken the picture and he said nothing to me.

Then I realized: I was in front of Obama's neighbor's house. Touche.

If you want to see a picture of what Barack's neighbor's house looks like, see below.



*M*

PS--For taking a picture of a house that belongs to someone I neither know anything about nor care about, I ended up missing my flight and being stuck in the airport for about 2 hours.