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Two tinkles to a flush?

26 Jul

My father is an ardent environmentalist, so I grew up accepting certain practices as normal, only to discover as an adult that most people do not, in fact, live that way. I’ve been away from home long enough that when I do go back, I am guiltily reminded of how far off the farm I’ve wandered.

I was on the back porch of my parents’ home in Michigan this last week, eating dinner with them, when the phone rang. My mom took the call and it was one of her fellow members from Garden Club. They talked for a surprising length of time since my mom is not a phone person, but even more surprising was what they talked about.

“Two tinkles to a flush,” I heard her proclaim. “That’s the only rule!”

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If I wanted to read, I would’ve rented a book.

24 Jul

The forecast called for rain, so my mom picked up a few movies to take to the cottage with us this weekend. Friday night we popped one in – a foreign movie set in Jerusalem. The opening credits rolled to music, but as the first scene started, subtitles appeared on the screen.

Dad: Anne, can you read that?

Mom squinted.

Mom: What are you talking about?

Dad: The words on the screen. This is subtitled.”

Mom: What?

Mom squinted at screen again.

Mom: Well I’m not going to read the whole thing. Piss on it.

Earlier, she had cracked me up on our drive to the cottage. She was telling my dad about someone in the community, but my dad couldn’t place the guy.

“Yes, John. You know him. Remember? He’s the guy who let his dog shit right next to Jim’s car?”

The thing is, with that description, my dad knew exactly who she was talking about.

She has a way with words, my mother.

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It’s not that I like to see people fail…

17 Jul

… it’s that I like to see braggarts get punished for, well, bragging.

I’ve been practicing yoga regularly for 2.5 years and continue to see value in a Flow 1 class, though I routinely hit more advanced classes. The beauty of yoga is that you can challenge yourself at any level.

So I don’t announce to the Flow 1 class that I’ve been practicing yoga for 2.5 years, that I’m capable of relatively sophisticated arm balances, and that – if the teacher were to abandon us – I’m relatively confident I could step into her place and deliver a class that ran almost as smoothly. I don’t do that because – on any given day, I *am* a Flow 1 student. My body doesn’t always cooperate. Some days I’m more exhausted or weak than others and plugging through a 90 minute class even doing the minimum is a challenge.

Anyway, back to my point: Apparently not everyone has learned humility. I say this because last week I hit a Flow 1 class at my local yoga studio and – as I grabbed my mat – I overheard a girl signing in say, “I’m a yoga teacher, visiting from out of town.”

I did a double-take because her body did not seem to fit the mold of a person who was so dedicated to yoga that she had logged the requisite hours to get certified as a teacher. I know, that sounds mean, but let’s just agree that there’s a “look” common to most yoga teachers. And while most are svelte, even those that aren’t tend to have some pretty obvious biceps and triceps. This girl looked soft.

She continued on with her conversation, and I mentally rolled my eyes as I went into the room to get set up for class. Of course, about two minutes later she walked in and rolled her mat out next to me. When the teacher arrived – a tough instructor named Terrance whose classes all provide a fairly brutal work out – he asked if anyone had any injuries he should be aware of. Most people passively shook their heads, but Eager Beaver to my left piped up. “I’m a yoga teacher!” she announced.

Terrance looked at her with a blank expression along the lines of, “And your point is?” before recovering and saying, “Welcome. I hope you enjoy the class.”

As it turns out, I’m going to say that “enjoyment” is not exactly the word for what she took from the class. It became obvious early that she was in over her head. While the rest of us pushed through some fast-moving vinyasas, she collapsed onto her mat in Child’s Pose.

I know yoga isn’t supposed to be a competitive endeavor, and you shouldn’t judge anyone since every person’s “edge” is different. However, when someone marches in repeatedly announcing to the world that she’s a “pro,” then promptly has her ass handed to her – well, I guess that’s just human nature to take a little pleasure in that. And I’ve never claimed I’m a true yogi. Unlike this dude:

This is disturbing on so many levels. Let me assure you that when I practice yoga, I: a) wear a shirt, b) do not put my (figurative) ball sack on display, and c) don't look like I'm about to seduce someone while listening to Yanni. But I hope you already knew all that about me.

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It’s not a job; it’s a vocation.

23 Jun

You hear people talk about callings and vocations all the time. “Oh, it’s not a job,” they tell you with a slight trace of superiority, “I would do it even if I weren’t paid.”

I’ve always been like, “Yeah, sure. Let me know how your mortgage works out for you.” That is, until today.

I think I finally was able to see it.

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All lightsabers must be inspected. No exceptions.

21 Jun

This morning the airport was a typical Monday zoo. I was behind a dorky looking couple that went out of its way to engage with the TSA worker who was shouting out security checkpoint reminders.

TSA: Please remove all laptops and electronic devices and place in a plastic bin.

Dork: Tell me more about the types of electronic devices that need to come out of a bag.

TSA: Well, what do you have that you’re unsure of.

Dork: The question is what don’t I have. <Snickers with equally dorky wife>

OK. It’s not very charitable for me to label them as dorks without providing some of the indicators and parameters of dorkiness.

First, he was wearing denim shorts – also known as “jorts” (deriving from “jeans shorts”) which were last popular with non-retirees in 1991.

(Why the age-based stipulation? Because AARP members can dress however they would like without looking dorky. Or rather, it is expected that retirees give up on being trendy, just go with what’s comfortable and have earned the right to tell anyone who judges them to piss off.)

Second, he had a Bluetooth in his ear the entire time we were waiting in line (25 minutes) without actually using it to make or receive a phone call. That’s like a techie’s earring.

The TSA worker even pointed to it and said, “You’ll need to put that in the bin as well,” to which the Dork just nodded but didn’t remove it. He waited until the last possible minute to give it up, presumably because he was waiting for a VERY IMPORTANT call.

When he loaded up his bin, I was too distracted by dealing with my own stuff to notice what sorts of electronic devices he was unpacking, so I had to wait until we were on the other side of the x-ray to watch him reclaim his items.

What did he have? High-end camera equipment? Multiple laptops? iPhones aplenty? Um, no. Try Walkie-Talkies. Four of them. And one Bluetooth headset.

Dude.

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