Thursday, October 29, 2009

In which I make amends for the last blog post




So, it appears I'm no good at faking it. My husband who came to New York with me read my last post and complained it was boring and not at all representative of the time spent in the Crabby Apple. I admit, I was having a 'lights on but no-one in' day at the time. I was lying back and taking it for England so to speak that day and it simply did not do. No. So today, I make amends in a sheer nightie, soft lighting and anchors away sort of fashion.

I'm going to start with a caveat, to be taken non-prescriptively of course. 'Tis but a humble opinion and strictly for the purposes of setting the scene. Afterall, how can you compare without a reference point? Mine is a little town just outside of Toronto in Southern Ontario - a town I should add that fun forgot and Ontario invented to put all its odd socks in - also where I currently live.

Living in a place like this - I've heard it described as a sleeper town, we call it a commuter village in the UK but I prefer sleeper because that's what it makes me want to become every time I look out of my window at it. It's a lot like drinking a tall glass of water; Refreshing at times, wholesome, restorative even, but there is only so much water one can drink before starting to feel a little bit like a fish in a plastic bag and I gotta tell you the funfair left town a long time ago.

So before you even think it, I can honestly say my feelings about this place do not stem from me being a big city girl; I've been to tiny mountain hamlets in the north of Spain that had more 'cojones' - but I dwell on the negative and I'm trying to kick that habit.

New York then was like a little sip of Absinthe for the eternally bored (that would be me). It's like a little shot of adrenalin to flush out arteries in danger of succumbing to a big attack of the dreary. If I sound ungrateful, well shame on me because in fact I ought to be much more thankful but I dare anyone to spend more than a week in this commuter town without wanting to hit the bottle hard or do drugs. - also hard. I remain strong just very very numb at times.

To expand on the earlier post then. Yes, New York had culture and 'scenes' but more than these things - I loved that there was a bar (the burlesque one with the 40 year old exotic dancers) where a guy dressed as Jesus Christ (who opens the show hanging from a crucifix) can address the audience as cheap mothafuckas and get a laugh.

I have neighbours who would call the police at the thought of living next to someone who derives so much fun from so much irreverence.

The parks, the museums and the flea markets are all worthy of a mention not least because we don't have any where I live (none that don't within 5 minutes of arriving fill you with the eye watering dread of tedium and dismay) so yes, these things matter to me.

More than that even was the depth of the remarkable people we were with; Take the war correspondent - international man of mystery who would slip in and out of broody silences that no-one would dare interrupt, walking around as he did with a leg full of shrapnel - also a subject off limits or the rapper with the smiling eyes that glinted at anything dark and mean. Then there was the talented and delightful picture editor full of mother love and my husband, Genghis Khan he may be by day but by night furry and adorable.

Most of all, I think what I love about weekends or places with balls that like to rock out with their BEEP out, is the feeling it gives of being alive. When your life is in danger of becoming homage to mediocrity - stuff like this matters.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Nothing Crabby about this Big Apple


Just got back from a weekend in New York. It was my second time and I fell in love with it just a little bit more. The outrageous symmetry of streets crossing avenues, teeny churches nestled between glass Art Deco giants and perky parks popping up just when you need them, NYC is truly the planned 2nd child of world class cities though, it is still entirely possible to get just a little bit lost. And thank god for that as the most coveted gems of any city are usually found between the cracks in the pavement.

At the centre lies the respiratory system rising and falling around the craggy corners and luscious lawns of Central Park where a seal lives very contentedly in a zoo petting area, I discovered.


A view from every window, modern history and social commentary at every corner, this is the city that doesn't have to talk about itself any more. I spent Saturday in the company of a war correspondent, a picture editor and a hip hop artist & writer. Was this just a lucky coincidence? Or is it that a city such as New York can't help but create this kind of urban poetry, drawn there from elsewhere in search of nurture.




Intense and funny, intensely funny - that was the leitmotif of my weekend in a city that just keeps on giving. From the oldest, most misogynist bar in town (McSorleys, where wishbones from last chicken suppers of soldiers that never made it back still hang from a dusty chandelier) to a narrow curry house as bright as it was narrow. You won't be disappointed by the food or the waiters (delicious and rude) just as curry should be served.

From the best awful burlesque bar, The Slipper Room, in deepest lower East Side - hosted by Jesus Christ himself - (all C-section, no silicon and full of meaty goodness, it was worth every cent) to old school DJing at a Saki Bar near Tompkins Square Park. And I had a lot more dance in me yet but our hosts had responsibilities and cabs to find that would take them to Brooklyn at 2am. Mission Impossible in a city where taxi drivers don't for the most part actually want you in their cabs at all.

So we parted on a high with much gratitude and shaky hugs and wants that will have to wait for the next trip - the best way to leave.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Instant Karma's Gonna Get You!

I had a most enlightening (as befits the course) yoga lesson last night. As you know I'm studying to become a Hatha Yoga teacher. The course is made up of 3 main parts: Anatomy, Philosophy and Practical. I knew I'd love Anatomy (secretly always fancied myself as an ER surgeon but I suck at maths and the repercussions of calculating the wrong amount of adrenalin is best left for the TV version) - to wit - I've aced all my anatomy tests so far. The practical - well it went without saying that I would enjoy this being the front desk of the profession so to speak. I was however sceptical about Philosophy, being naturally cynical and hugely sensitized to the bullshit of indoctrination - I was brought up Roman Catholic and we'll leave it at that.

So it was with a 7 foot Hollywood-style perimeter fence that I approached last night's philosophy lesson and it wasn't long before the first alarm bell went off. When someone (the teacher in this case) who looks 12 introduces themselves as a Shaman and Reiki master...unless you are the next Dalai Lama or Dr. Mikao Usui (the founder of Reiki) - I'm likely going to take a bite of my apple, sit back on my haunches and enjoy the show. Which is what I did.

But conscious that one of the principles of Yoga is to not judge but observe, I decided to at least try and take that approach. And as I listened and we all talked about Karma and Dharma and the Yamas and Niyamas and the role of ego - I realised that these were all fancy words for finding inner peace and being happy today because yesterday is gone and tomorrow isn't here yet. Easier said than done. Or is it?

Have you ever found yourself asking - Who am I? What is my true purpose? That's Dharma and it isn't always about the destination. Hell - in a way you don't want to arrive because then the journey is over and it's time to start the tiresome process from scratch in another lifetime. Simpler than that is Karma - did you know you can reincarnate in the same lifetime? No smoke and mirrors - it merely refers to life changing decisions. E.g. I am not the same girl I was 5 years ago in fact funnily enough I'm beginning to relate more to my teenage self ( I think it's called a mid life crisis). Joking apart - total fulfilment comes from being in the moment. Don't take my word for it. Think about the last time you had a freaking good time - say like at a concert - that's mine. I was at a Pearl Jam concert and for that hour or so - that's all I was doing and it felt great.

What is more if you can let go of the emotions attached to outcome - you’re basically sorted. Luckily this is so incredibly difficult most of us will need a few more miserable years on earth to get this and thank god because I'm not ready to die. This one confused the class - we were like: But how can you not get pissed off with public transport if the outcome means you miss an important meeting? Answer: (the hippies and jazz heads will love this) Nothing starts until you get there. And while it won't get you promoted, it is sort of true. Not a great example but it kind of gets the point across and made me feel a lot better about having arrived half an hour late to the lesson.

Better still was this question: What would we (the students) all do if we were told that we would not be graduating from this course in January - that we would all fail? A collective gasp of panic spread among the new Yogis. That's unthinkable! We all want to get on with our lives! So....by that rationale what you are doing now, this course of study means nothing at this moment?

Well when you put it like that...

What about this one: What is the difference between destiny and fate? Yep that one caused a few silent headaches. Ok - I'll tell you - destiny is what you choose and it's a fearless choice e.g. I'm walking out of my job today because it sucks donkey balls and I'm unhappy as shit while fate is sitting at your desk in a job that sucks donkey balls unhappy as shit until one fine day your boss calls you into his office and fires your arse.


Both wonderful outcomes arrived at in slightly different ways. Fate however means that not having made that conscious choice some doors that might otherwise have been open for you, had you taken that decision proactively might now be closed. But don't worry because if you then decide to get all Destiny's Child about it - all you have to do is knock and they will open if they are meant to.

And you know what? This observing thing really worked because by the end of it all I decided that if the teacher wants to call herself a Shaman and Reiki master - more power to her.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Get a Room

I'm having a very 'reality TV' morning -  full of minutiae; triffling matters of the human condition.   It started with the nipper singing 'Winnie the Pooh' (massive emphasis on POOH) and the 'I Love You' song from Barney the Dinosaur, 'cept she changed the lyrics to: I hate Barney -  such mordant wit and so young.  I guess I'm doing something right.

Anyway, after dropping The Lish off at daycare I went for my morning coffee.  It's instinctual - like breathing.  Before anything else gets done, this must occur otherwise almost anything at all could happen and I don't believe it would be pretty.  Standing in the queue at the usual coffee shop, looking at the familiar rows of baked goods (...baked, deep fried -  let's be honest and all the more delicious for it) observing the usual suspects behind the counter, awaiting my turn to ask for the same thing I always get - a large with milk which I'll admit given the elephantine selection of coffees in this country is the most unimaginative selection of all - aside from the fact that I don't ask for sugar.  That always elicits a double take - What? No sugar?  But this is North America!!  Please note, in this country coffee with sugar is called a 'regular'.  Enough said.

But I run the risk of sounding contemptuous which for a woman who shovelled a mint chocolate chip ice-cream down her gullet at 11pm last night is asking for the forcible seizure of credibility.

So, there I am in the queue looking at 'Coral' - smiling and serving the stimulant-deprived locals their caffeine fixes with the dedication and commitment of a 'Medecin Sans Frontiers'; the personification of 'bubbly' when all of a sudden I notice a palpable change in energy.  It's almost cloying, dripping with abashment.  What's up with Coral?  I'll tell you what's up - Libido.

I've never really noticed this in real life - but there it was - the instinctual manifestation of the sexual drive. How odd that it makes you do the opposite of what is considered personable. But then again, I guess you're not fishing for a handshake.  I look at the object of her desires -  not unhandsome -   a rugged blue collar worker about to start a shift on a building site, I think, from the looks of things.  Meanwhile she's turned into a filleted fish - it's embarrassing to watch - I can't.  I almost cover my eyes.  GET A ROOM already. 

Not one second of eye contact and yet, this approach will almost certainly lead to rumpy pumpy, eventually, hopefully before they both retire.  Oddities of the human kind.  I know I've been there...or have I?  I'm subtle but direct though I don't know, perhaps you should ask my hubby.  He didn't for a second suspect that I liked him when we met on a dusty evening in Vientiane, Laos.  I walked away mildly confused. It was an act of gallantry and UFOs that later brought us together in Koh Chang, Thailand - but that  story is for another day.

I leave the coffee shop with a coffee I now no longer want to drink - sullied as it is with sex vibes of the parent kind - EEEWW! still, I drink it just the same as I would eat chocolate cake out of the garbage if I really had to. 

Human behaviour - in the words of that paragon of mental stability: Bjork - "there's definitely, definitely, definitely no logic".  True that.