Post-Punk Progression

Yoga was … yogic, I suppose. Let me preface this by saying that until yesterday, my experience with yoga was limited to three power yoga classes at my former gym and an astonishing number of half-assed attempts at Brian Kest’s Power Yoga DVDs that mostly involved me grunting, sweating and heaving through the poses, as well as a terrifyingly bad form. So this was my first “real” yoga experience, if you will.

Have I ever told you, by the way, that I have an issue with nervous laughter? HAHAHAHA, I do, and trust me, it’s fantastic — particularly at funerals, where I am the life of the party. I don’t know where it comes from, but when I’m supremely uncomfortable, I get the giggles. As anyone with this problem will tell you, it’s not that I find the situation at hand funny, really, I don’t, it’s that I’m so full of discomfort that the only release my body deems appropriate is to snork heaving laughs right through the nose. I have laughed at every funeral I’ve ever attended and it’s about as horrible as you would expect — and when something genuinely funny happens at a funeral, I’m screwed, for while everyone else is chuckling softly, I’m barking with loud, inappropriate “HAR HAR HAR”s for I am so RELIEVED to be able to let it out.

At Adam’s grandfather’s funeral — a man I genuinely loved and was crushed to lose — about six years ago, there was a moment of silence, as funerals are wont to incorporate, and at the exact, and I mean PRECISE, moment the silence began, someone bumped our niece’s Buzz Lightyear toy, which promptly announced, “TO INFINITY AND BEYOND!” to the silent room of mourners. Everyone chuckled politely, and I? I. could. not. be. stopped. And later, when Adam, who was a pallbearer, got trapped behind the out-of-control coffin, his disembodied head floating above the floral arrangement as he yelled, “HOLD UP! HOLD UP!” I was also inconsolable in the most inappropriate fashion possible.

See? Life of the funeral right here.

So you can imagine how gracefully I handled yoga, where there were all sorts of CONTRAPTIONS and STRAPS and BOXES and BLANKETS to behold, and where it was even less inappropriate to bust out laughing at the peak of my discomfort. And — the part where I really lost it — the whole session ended with my instructor SINGING (chanting?) some Buddhist thing that was supposed to be uplifting, and in actual fact, probably was, but for some reason I found it unintentionally hilarious. Suddenly, in the midst of my silence and namaste-laden happy thoughts, there was this CHANTING and whaa? IS SHE SINGING? OMG, SHE IS. This may have been because at the exact moment of her chant, I was strapped into this wild pose that involved no fewer than six blankets, a wooden block and some sort of purple belt-like thing that would be at home in any S&M closet.

Seriously, why didn’t anyone tell me there would be PROPS? I thought yoga was one of those things you could do anywhere, sans equipment? Why was I all strapped in? It’s worth noting as well that at one point my instructor came running over, her soothing voice sounding strained as I strapped myself into what was apparently a dangerous position, “Oh Jonna, oh Jonna wow, UNSTRAP THAT. That looks tight and you could really kill yourself there. RELEASE THE STRAP. No, not there. Oh no. THERE. RELEASE THAT.” (It was around my knees and waist, if you were wondering, and I imagine I looked somewhat like a balled-up and very precarious Weeble.)

That being said, giggles aside, I felt very warm and stretchy afterwards and will very likely go back, with less snickering this time. Although in the interest of full disclosure, I have to tell you that I internally rolled my eyes when my instructor busted out in her unitard and unshaved armpits because OF COURSE. I AM IN A YOGA CLASS IN VERMONT.

(And look, I know all the feminist arguments against hair removal and let me say that while I find it admirable, I couldn’t do it, and it freaks me out a little, okay?)

(Also, I nearly killed myself at the thought of putting on a unitard myself, because it would actually look like I swallowed an entire tire, in fact.)

(And also! Since more than one person commented on it, I also should tell you when I write that these stereotypes happen, it’s not that I actually believe that EVERYONE is like this! No! Not everyone in Vermont!. For example, I’m aware that most people shave. Or even if they don’t, it really doesn’t matter, but part of me does sort of do an eyeroll, I’m sorry. It’s just that when something happens to fit the stereotype, I’m sorry, it’s … it’s funny as hell, because it’s just so what everyone expects to see, but rarely does. Imagine, if you will, being in Southie and seeing a large portion of men with bad accents in Fila jumpsuits. It’s like seeing someone from central casting!)

Anyway, as if yoga wasn’t enough excitement, when evening rolled around, I found myself attending open mike night at a local coffee house at the invitation of my neighbor, whose sister is in a Japanese J-punk band that was headlining the evening as part of their North American tour. And let me tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a 19-year-old Japanese student flailing around on the ground and playing air guitar with a rubber chicken. I should note that they were actually quite good, rubber chicken oddity aside.

This was preceded by a well-known local playwright jamming on a harmonica and a man who, again, seemed like he stepped right out of central casting. His act, if you were wondering, involved strumming a guitar laden with Tibetan flags and desperately trying to find the proper chord as he wailed, “THE EEEEAAAARTH. WE ONLY GET ONNNNNE. SAAAAAVE IT.”

His denouement, however, was a song called “February Snow” and he introduced it by saying, “This is a song about February. And snow. It’s called ‘February Snow.’”

Of course it is.

I hope you all have a great weekend. Happy weekend to you!

*Snow Patrol

**Please note that I am ALL for saving the earth, really. Finding humor in this portion of our show doesn’t mean I want the earth to ROT. I recycle! I conserve! I COMPOST for crying out loud! I LOVE THE EARTH AND REALIZE THAT WE ONLY HAVE ONE, OKAY?

25 comments March 21st, 2008