For me, meditating is like having bad sex. It fulfills a need but I'm bored, my mind wanders and I can't stop wondering how soon it'll be over. But unlike bad sex, I know that meditation is a good and necessary evil. Why? Well, I've noticed that I've got these preconceived, new-agey ideals about appropriate emotional responses to life's experiences and traumas.
I'm attracted to talent. Especially raw, uninhibited talent. In fact, there's no greater turn-on for me than to observe an artist completely absorbed in the process of their own creativity. And after watching MeShell Ndegeocello do her thaaang at the Highline Ballroom which borders NYC's pulsating Meatpacking District, I think I'm in love.
Not only did my first date in four years cancel on me (emotional buzz kill) but, add to that, it was grey, dreary and rainy outside (amplifying said buzz kill). Ah, the perfect day for a depressive afternoon of self-pitying and over-indulgent eating.
I traveled to the far flung edges of NYC's west side, traversing avenue blocks in the cold only to have my very existence questioned at The Kitchen. "World of Wires" created a multi-media, "big brother is watching"-ish theater experience that confronted me with questions like: Am I truly human? Or am I a mere test subject in a scientific computer simulation of earth-scale proportions? Is my life simply an experiment conducted by some post-human civilization studying our less evolved human behavior and emotion? And can I blame a computer glitch for this insane compulsion of mine to divulge my life experiences and dirty little secrets on the worldwide web in the form of a diary; thereby relieving savvy post-human scientists the arduous task of recording their findings about flawed behavioral patterns and their consequences?
Variety is the spice of life. That's why I'm not a "strictly in the bedroom" type of gal. And I'm no prude when it comes to my Pilates classes either. I like to mix it up a bit and get my "scoop" on in new and different spots around the city. So, I slipped on the same matchy-matchy Lululemon attire I had retired since my teaching days and headed to Power Pilates on W23rd St for a Tower Class with Alana.
