Happy Holidays!

Ok, I couldn't resist

Way to go, dancers!

A Night Out (in which I did not forget to work on Mobility)

In my woolly vest, soaked with rain, forced to consume delicacies, I do not forget my mobility exercises....

I also had an audience...

Executive stretch

Some sort of stretch but seriously the boots are cute

The Spencers are amazing lasso artists as well as riders

SEF

So today I am at home with alternating ice & hot packs on my face.

I am suffering from SEF.

Those in the teaching profession are at high risk for the painful SEF syndrome:
  Smiling Encouraging Face.

Smiling Encouraging Face is completely different Professional Face (PF.)  PF is a happy enthusiastic face that I wear for short periods of time and usually the PF either genuinely reflects the fun I'm having or it can actually generate a sense of fun for real.

On the other hand, I have to wear Smiling Encouraging Face for 5-6 hours at a time.  I use this face when sitting through a series of presentations given by nervous students.  I have to look encouraging, friendly, interested and engaged in whatever they are demonstrating.  I totally understand that presenting to a group of people can be nerve-racking, and even more so if the language you are presenting in is not your own.  So SEF gives them assurance in the way that a light house reminds anxious ships that land is nearby.

But while sometimes PF can be hard to maintain (it does involve an eye smile as well,) the SEF is an absolute labor of love: the sheer endurance factor has my face aching after the first hour.  I've even taken Advil because my aching cheeks feel as though they have single-handedly each pushed a Prowler.  Uphill.  In the Snow. To Canada.

This semester is complicated because after sitting with SEF through 6 hours of presentations, I have a 2 hour break before teaching a dance class that requires a mix of PF and SEF.  During that afternoon break, I let my face pass out into an utterly expressionless coma.

By the time I get home uber-late after the dance class,  my lips feel like rubber, my eyes are jammed back into my cerebrum, and my cheeks are like individual face migraines.

However, the presentations are now over and I'll be giving final exams:
It would be pretty creepy if I were smiling and nodding while watching students working on tests.  So I get to look just as blank as they do.

Phone Tag, Part 2: I'm it

So I do a quick assessment of the restaurant and realize the only quiet place will be outside.  So I rush through the front door and try to get a grip on the giggles.  In a post-laughter adrenaline-haze, I lean against a lamp post and manage, "Hello?"
OB1 clearly can tell that I am in the middle of something interesting and politely asks, "Is this a good time?  Perhaps I should call back later?"

So, I have two options:
I can say, "Actually, OB1, thanks so much for asking, let me call you back later because in my current situation I can only wander up and down the street outside of this restaurant in the middle of Oakland in the dark, avoiding interesting street people who are highly entertained by my sparkly super-cute shoes and the fact that I am walking outside without a coat, talking by myself in the cold, cold rain."

Or
I can say (and I'm paraphrasing,) "No, it's totally fine!"

So I'm not sure that either of us could actually understand everything I was saying by the end of the call since I was shivering pretty hard, clutching that phone with a chilled, dripping hand.

Call Me

So Obi Wan and I have been playing phone tag for a while.  It's been more like, he texts asking me to call, and I call and leave messages that become increasingly more rambling and more inane.  For example:

Me:   Hi, uh, I know I'm calling later than we agreed but I was driving and...well, I actually always drive at that time so I'm not sure... I mean, I have to teach at...  never mind, it's just that I have more time at night so... oh, and don't call back at this number it's my work number and I never answer it or check messages... Not that I'm a slacker. I just use email and... oh God why isn't there a Delete Your Message option on your phone???

Since I pretty much earn a living speaking and performing extemporaneously, relying heavily on the ability to think and communicate simultaneously, I was mortified at my lack of even basic coherence.  I hung up, imagining Obi Wan's face as he listens to the inarticulate babbling, sure that he now thinks I must have a ghost writer for my work.

So, at any rate, tonight I'm in a Middle Eastern restaurant watching (and dancing with) my dancer friend.  There is a rowdy group of customers celebrating a birthday and we are all shouting encouragement as the men get up and dance.  And then out of the corner of my eye, I see that my cell phone is flashing.  It's OB1.  So without thinking, I grab it and swipe the Droid unlock to answer it.

And then I stare at the phone.

I become acutely aware of my surroundings: middle eastern music blasting away, people clapping and shouting, dancer's zils blazing; there is no chance whatsoever that I will be able to hear anything OB1 may say in response to anything that I am probably going to shout, spontaneously babbling.

So I stare at the phone.  And then it happens.

Before I go any further, I have to relate what happened to me and Elaine at Easter Mass a couple of years ago.  Elaine and I were sitting in the middle of a pew together in the center of a large Catholic church, listening as a visiting priest sang part of the liturgy.  For those of you not Catholic, normally the cantors (real singers) sing parts of the liturgy.   This unfortunate man, alas, was tone deaf and struggled mightily to sound even remotely musical.  However, he did achieve an odd rolling rhythm that was eerily familiar.  Elaine and many members of the congregation struggled to stay focused, but I was on a tangent, fully absorbed trying to identify that cadence and figure out where I had heard it before.  I was unaware that Elaine was now biting her lip in an effort to maintain control.

Suddenly, I recognized the rolling, rolling rhythm and I leaned over to Elaine, when the priest wound down, and sang quietly into her left ear the triumphant climactic phrase:
"♫ Rawhide! ♫ "

I was unprepared for the consequences of my action.

Elaine exploded into gasping, racking bouts of laughter, startling everyone in the congregation.  Her honking volume grew exponentially with each breath; I was swept away by the volcanic pyroclastic flow of her laughter and burst out laughing.  As I'm sure you know, trying to contain it only added additional effects like snorting, choking and tears.  I could only think "Get Out of here! Get Out of here!"   Elaine was way ahead of me, shoving her way through the pews, barely able to breathe through the howling paroxysms.  We staggered outside.
Elaine: HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW
Me:      HA HA HA HEE HEE HEE HEE

After several minutes of painful, convulsive laughter, we lay gasping on the grass in our nice Easter Dresses.
Elaine: OMG!
Me: BWHA HA HA HA HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE
Elaine: HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW

And finally another quiet moment of ragged breathing.
Me: We will have to change churches now.

Elaine: BWHAW HAW HAW HAW HAW
Me: HA HA HA HEE HEE HEE HEE

These repeated attempts to regain sanity continued for the rest of the day.
We were pretty famous after that.

At any rate, back to the Middle Eastern restaurant & the Droid.  So I'm standing in the middle of the restaurant surrounded by shouting, clapping people dancing to the beat of the crazy loud music and I have answered my cell phone.  All OB1 can hear is a melange of serious noises... dominated by my helpless giggling laughter spawned by the complete pathos of the moment that our phone tag has led to.

A Whole New World

So I'm working away on Web stuff.  My coffee is steaming, the flu has been successfully trounced by my immune system, and I did not burn the bacon.

My puppy is playing with her Kiwi bird by drowning it in her water bowl and then violently thrashing it.

I type away on a blog draft and in the middle of a sentence----
Nothing.  The screen is frozen. What the --?
I have lost connectivity!
I check the ethernet connection.
I check the router.
I reboot my computer.
My puppy watches all of this with interest.

Then she disappears back under the table and reappears dragging a long blue cable:

Paleo in the High Beta Lane

So here is my daily breakfast routine:

1) Put 1/2 pound awesome fresh Wellshire bacon in large pan and place on burner.

2) Turn burner on medium.

3) Go to computer to "check on a few things" before flipping bacon.

4) Read email from friend asking opinion about costume color.  Go to website, check out costume.  Notice other costumes.  Check sizes.  Consider buying one. Send reply to friend.

5) Read request from student to check a homework assignment.  Log into online work.  Review student's work and correct it.  Send message to student.

6) Think of new idea for Blog and open application to jot down a few notes.

7) Imagine picture that will go well with it, search for the base photo in folders, open Photoshop and...

8) Accck!!

9) Race to the pan in the smoke-filled kitchen and scrape out 1/2 pound of charred remains.

10) Go back to Step 1 and start process again.

If there were a trophy for the largest quantity of bacon burned per month, I would be a double crown winner.

The Sound of Silence

So I got a couple of emails asking why there has been a black hole of silence in my blog.
I think it's better that I simply report the conversation I had this past weekend:

Brain:     Dudes, we need a blog episode and I'm too tired to think of anything

              remotely interesting to say.

Rest of Body:

Rest of Body: 

Rest of Body:  

Rest of Body: 

Brain:      Stomach? No comment from you?

Stomach: Not available, still enjoying the pumpkin pie and whipped cream

                swimming pool down here!

Brain:     Um, Immune System? 

Immune system:  Sorry, a little busy here planning a raid on the out of control Rave

                          that the germs have going on behind the eyes.

Brain:

Brain:

Brain:  Uh, hey, Germs! Do you have a few minutes?

Germs: We're not funny.

Tis the Season

So my weekends are booking up as companies and people are organizing their seasonal, end of year parties.  As Kelly pointed out, nothing says the Holidays like a belly dancer!
This luckily coincides with the slowdown of the school semester so that I have more time for practicing, performing and choreographing, not to mention a little sewing to tweak the fit on costumes  (although admittedly my sewing skills are perhaps on the Frankensteinian level.)

And right on schedule, the semester just peaking with loads of projects, exams, grading, and presentations, dancing, workshops, and rehearsals, my sullen immune system senses the impending slow down at work with the advent of the holiday season.

Immune System:   so, uh, hey, how are you feeling, Throat?

Throat             :  What? What are you --- oh, no, I think...I think I feel sore!

Immune System :  No way!  And how are you feeling, Metabolism?

Metabolism       : Actually, I feel sort of elevated, but not in a good way...
                          Do we have a fever?

Immune System:  Hmmmm, don't know.  Hey, eyes, how are you today?

Eyes                : Wait a minute, we feel raw and bloodshot!  What's going on?
                          I think we are being invaded by microbes!

Immune System:  Well, how about that?  Maybe I should do something about those germs, Maybe I should get off my over-worked-taken-for-granted butt and maybe help you all out One More Time!  Well, I'll certainly take it under advisement-  once I have finished this delightful glass of champagne.

Rest of Body     :  This is SO wrong!!  You rotter!  Brain, Help!!

Immune System : Tsk, Tsk, looks like Mr. Stress has momentarily stepped out. MWHAHAHA!

Stomach           : Um, FYI guys, I have heard that lots of barbecue is good for a fever...

 .

Drum Roll Please......

BOTH ears are up!

Speaking of Milestones

Mile Marker : five months

So I'm now five months into this and I finally hit a significant milestone: this was the first day that I noticed a difference in my efforts with Paul.  I wasn't floundering & confused.  I was actually focused and working!


It feels totally weird to have Paul who is sporting a new IceMan haircut like Steve McQueen's in The Great Escape, talking about "plates" and I know what those are.  They are not actually called wheels even though they look exactly like wheels and nothing like plates, at least not the plates at my house.

So anyway, after repeatedly shoving the Pink Prowler that Paul kindly continued to enhance by adding two wheels of weight after each run, I bent over panting against the table legs waiting for the sickening sucking sensation to leave my legs.

Paul:       You have a new PR!

Brain:      Prowler Run?

Stomach: Pork Rinds!

Paul :      Personal Record!  You have pushed over 2 1/2 times your weight!

Me:

Me:

Me:

So there it is: a sense of accomplishment not based solely on the fact that I survived intact.


.

Paul decides I need to go another round with the Lacrosse Balls

TMI

So Paul had me on my back on the floor with my legs up against the wall.  The task was to see how far I could reach to each side with each leg to stretch some technical term muscle/ligament in order to make my squats amazing and powerful! I had slid my legs down the wall and was now actively trying to push them farther apart.  Aforementioned tendon now felt like a steel cable tearing through my flesh.

Me:  Um, this is as far as my legs will go given the current state of my physical human body.

Paul:  Well, I could stand here, like this, and then push down on your legs to get more stretch.

He faces the wall, straddling my torso. As he begins to lean forward, his butt begins a journey out toward my face.   And I realize those loose shorts are about to cross the event (line of sight) horizon.

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as Paul's baggy shorts hover over my face.

Paul: Ok, I'm going to reach down to push on your legs.

ME:  !!!
ME:  Auughhh!

Paul:

Paul:

Paul:

Paul: Ok, or maybe not.

in delicto flagrante

Paul:  Can u change ur appt from 3:00 to 2:30?
Me  : In class giving test hang on
Paul: Ok
Me  : Ok think so. will drive fast.
Paul: ok will b w Mr. J
Me  : ok
Paul: thnx 4 b flexible w time
Me  : no worries

So while this seems like a pretty innocuous text exchange, the text-versation actually occurred while I was in a classroom watching my students wring out cerebral sweat onto an exam.  One of my students came up with a question while I was typing and I actually said with my own human flesh lips, "hang on a sec."

This comment made my student's eyes bulge because my class is like an airplane: the use of electronic devices is not permitted while the plane is in motion.  Unauthorized use of a cell phone or iPod interferes with the successful navigation of the class.  Students must keep them off until I turn off the Fasten Seat Belt sign.  And yet, there I was, blatantly texting while the students struggled with stem-changing verbs.

So I confessed the shamefulness of my behavior to Paul.

Paul (and I am paraphrasing):  Well, everyone is hypocritical.  After all, look at me with the health diet!  And yet, I am a serious cookie monster.
Me:
Me:
Me:   This is SO true!

So then I thought, there is no point to being a measly hypocrite:

From now on, I will Be Brazen!

  

Point-CounterPoint

Paul: I've thought about blogging my perspective on our training sessions, you know.

Me :   Oh really?  You see them differently from the way I do?  I think I portray them pretty accurately.  And I try to see my efforts from your point of view too:  like the
          burning building thing.

Paul: Ha, ha, yeah.  Anyway, when I thought about what I was going to blog,
         I couldn't think of a way to describe it that was, well, like not, well,
         that wasn't like kinda mean or anything.

Me  :

Me  :

Me  :

Me  :

Paul : Um...wait a minute...

Election Day Results

Raising the Bar

So Mr. J. has me working on crunches and butt squeezy things. Then I get up and see that we are heading over to the metal frame where Paul has me do the oxen yoke bar lifts.  I'm thinking, ok, I have done these before.
But Mr. J has placed a metal bar at the bottom of the frame.
I stare at Mr. J, confused.
He then says, Today you are going to do a (technical term technical term) lift.   While I don't recognize the name, my brain makes a huge leap and accurately translates this into DeadLift.

My entire body breaks into a sweat, and I struggle to understand Mr. J's instructions. This is hard for my brain to do because my low back is letting out a constant wailing scream that rivals a fire engine:

Mr. J.: Ok, you are going to push your ass back and keep your chest up and reach for the bar.
Lower Back: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

Mr. J.: And then fnslkeopnmr vsdlfjvpso jalk  oiseurjksf whelrjp lker.
Brain: What? What? I can't hear anything?!
Lower Back: Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

Mr. J. : Ok, give it a try.

With the Lower Back in full banshee mode, my hands damp with sweat, and my brain completely bailing and heading out for a drink, I stick my butt back, pushing down into the floor against the outside of my feet and keeping my chest up.  I grip the bar, take a deep breath, brace, and push my hips forward.

And stagger backwards, nearly falling.

Mr J. has given me a new bar that I will call the Smurf bar.  Although it appears to be a heavy steel bar, it is once again one of his illusions: it is like one of the aluminum edge tubes on a hang-glider, weighing basically nothing.

My whole body is silent.

My brain, slightly tipsy on an adrenaline Martini, says: Well, looks like Someone at the Body Party deserves to wear the Cone of Shame!

Lower back (sniffling): well, it could have been really heavy!

Mr. J.: Ok, well, now that the drama is over, let's try a little weight.

So although the lower back whimpered about how the Rest of Body may be sorry, it held up very well and even got the hang of it as we went up in increments to something bordering actual effort.

Mr. J. is still working the street magic.