Girls To The Front

I've just spent the last oh I don’t know hour (give or take 25 years) cyber stalking Kathleen Hanna.  She was the founder of Riot Grrrlll movement (that’s her corporate title); others call her a feminist punk artist and someone who left a comment on a YouTube clip of a new film about her: The Punk Singer, called her a “screamy cunt trying to tell us she is not a screamy cunt”.  Pick your potato.  To me she is a legend.  The lead singer of girl grunge band Bikini Kill who I believe really was behind the emergence of grunge in Seattle; she was mates with Kurt before Nirvana blew its load over the disenfranchised indie crowd and is responsible for the phrase “smells like teen spirit” which we all now know as the title of Nirvana’s breakthrough single.  Kurt’s then girlfriend, Toby Vail was the drummer in Hanna's band Bikini K.  Today she fronts band The Julie Ruin which she arrived at via other underground cult punk band Le Tigre.  She is at once the tithesis and antithesis of everything that feminism is generally accepted to mean – and since the term is WIDE open to interpretation, it really is a huge space she has had to at once fill and empty.

So since circa 1994 Kathleen has been seething her way through feminism using art, music and poetry.  She is a complete paradox (to my mind): all balls on stage while privately crippled by low self-esteem, too paralysed to ask for help lest her on-stage mask should slip.  Ironically she talks like a valley girl (guttural and vulnerable-like) and after trading her T-shirt, no pants look of her true F-U days in Bikini Kill for the 50s prom queen one in Le Tigre to today’s mumsy mien (she’s not a mum, just has that wholesome thing going on) she suddenly went very quiet – leaving the music scene altogether saying she was done.  Turns out she had Lyme’s Disease and didn't want to admit it was the reason behind her disappearance for fear it would make this fearless feminist appear weak.  Furthermore, she didn’t tell any of her immediate circle for ages because she felt as “the strong feisty feminist” that she has always been the one helping not asking for it.  There’s that contradiction again.  Mad ennit?  We all do it; keep it all in and it’s just not healthy.  Eventually it finds an outlet and when that happens it’s rarely a pretty sight. 

 In this case and testament to her true commitment to music and her own identity – she used the time convalescing doing what she says is “the only thing she knows how to do” write songs to sing.  In this way The Julie Ruin was born.  She recovered enough to start recording and until recently was on a world tour which was set to include The Electric Ballroom in London this August.  Then Lyme’s Disease reared its ugly head and forced her to postpone while she received treatment.  Postpone not abandon.  This is progress. 

Incidentally, she is married to Beastie Boy Adam Horowitz whom she describes as a really good husband - big words (big action getting married) for a once militant feminist worth her bra-less boobies.   Now that she has graduated from youth’s tunnel vision on the topic she is OK with being a feminist with feelings and isn't afraid to ask for help any more.  So now she can add mental health role model to her impressive list of achievements.  

Something in the Way

I'm having works done at home.  Nothing extravagant, just a few small improvements here and there but as I've come to realise, it's the small things that become the big things over time and indeed the small things together make one nice big thing.  Still, small (or big) as they are, I'm feeling the strain and this morning I woke up with a small coldsore.  I haven't had one in a couple of years  - remarkable really when I think about the stress of last year.  I can only conclude that I am better at dealing with avalanches than trickles.  Actually this is possibly true for everyone after all you can't worry about stuff that's too huge to fathom right?  Cos you just either go into shock or auto pilot.  No it's the niggly little shit that seeps into spaces until eventually you can't walk for tripping.  Huh.  I'd never really seen it like that. Ok, so now I'm not feeling so overwhelmed, now that I've dismantled that.  Clarity (of sorts) can be cool like that.  It's one of the things the therapist I was seeing last year told me to demand of myself and others. Clarity.  It avoids misunderstandings.  Gosh, it's all so freaking obvious when you stop to think.   His other tip was about spending time with myself which I now also understand to mean taking everything down a notch.  Stopping to think for instance.  Quiet time.  I could do with a bit of thinking now that I think about it as I've been feeling a little bit like something isn't quite right.  It's why I have a pain down my right side, I'm convinced of that.  The last time I had what I can only describe as a cloud of dread, I was visited by my mum in a dream who frankly looked sad for me.  She was pushing a flight of stairs.  An uphill struggle?  She wasn't wrong and she was forearming me. At first I saw it as a warning that someone in my life was in danger.  After making lots of phone calls to friends and family which I can tell you did nothing to help any political aspirations (were I to have them) it later transpired that it was ME who was in danger.  It wasn't long afterward the truth of a foul and huge deceit against me and on the part of someone whose trust and respect I should never have had to doubt came to light.  One day I will go into the sordid details but that day is not today.  Just to say that the awful dread is here again and frankly I'm concerned....so far no message from the other side and truth be told I take comfort in that.  I'm hoping this time around, it's simply the build up of strain caused by 1.) the uncertainty at work and 2.) the inconvenience of builders in the house - which prevents me from doing as much yoga as I'd like.  Thankfully this time around I have demanded clarity from the situation, including a frank conversation with myself people close to me with the power to pull punches that would hurt. I'm satisfied for now that nothing potentially soul-destroying is taking place.  So, its time for a walk, perchance a run.  The answers come to a quiet mind.

The Certainty of Uncertainty

It's remarkable really that I should be so badly injured when it is I that begins every yoga class listing contra- indications and reinforcing the importance of never pushing past your limit.  Yoga is not aerobics I tell yoginis.  Yoga should be effortless - though done with effort (reassuringly mystical, I think you'll agree).  So you can imagine my frustration that 4 weeks after noticing the first symptoms of what I at first self diagnosed as rotator cuff issues,  I am now having to teach through the cosy cocoon of codeine, entirely unsure of what it is that is wrong.  Actually, let me clarify before I continue, I'm not having to do anything - it brings me immeasurable joy to teach yoga, painfully or otherwise.  Being spiritually inclined (you may have noticed) I truly believe that illness, unexplained or sudden onset of pain is a physical manifestation of something that began in the emotional realm.  And as the lucky recipient of the best psycho-therapy private medical can buy, I no longer have to rely just on the spiritual to understand (as opposed to have to trust - the spiritual is entirely founded on faith and trust) what could be at the root of it all.  In this case, after soothing silence of meditation, the answer came.  I am carrying the weight of the world around - a.k.a the stress of the uncertain.

I mentioned in an earlier post that my role where I work is currently at risk after a company reshuffle.  On it's own it really is no biggie - I know I can get a PR job without too much fuss if I had to.  No it wasn't just that.  Digging a little deeper I came to see that I'm also holding onto the pressure of general uncertainty.  What will I really do if I'm made redundant next week?  Do I stay in PR or do I go?  Do I throw myself into my passion and start working for myself?  And I have to be honest, I was worried The Silverback was having a mid-life wobble and could be "given to fly".  I made the mistake of putting on a brave face instead of bravely facing these uncertainties.  So for the past month, I've had the most excruciating pain running from the deepest part of my right shoulder girdle to the tips of my fingers on my right side.  I know the pressure points so the little muscle on the side body about 4 fingers down from your armpit was also very very sore.  Try it. Find that little knot of "muscle" on top of the first side rib and press...if it's sore...know that it's not muscle, it's pressure and you are not dealing with  external stress triggers properly (well that and that you're probably using your smartphone too much!!).

This absorbed, I took myself off for my weekly Jivamukti class - it's the only class per week I do that I'm not also teaching and braced myself for the almost intolerable pain in my right shoulder (tut tut - rule breaker that I am) when....nothing.  No shoulder or heart opening pose, no inversion could bring that now familiar sharp jabbing.  I even managed a forearm stand - which I can tell you is like opening up the patio doors for your shoulders.  Nothing.  I came home on a bit of a high but I am a seeker by nature.  I could have just blissfully accepted this and you know I really have but I like a side of insight with my epiphanies.  And then the penny finally dropped last night.  As I emptied a whole wall of books in preparation for a load of building work (yep, then there was the building work) and aware that school started again for kids (my kid) on Monday after 2 weeks off for Easter, I saw that my issue was I was not OK with uncertainty.  But here is the ridiculous thing about that:  uncertainty is the only certainty there is.  Giving myself permission to be OK with this finally released me.

Gigantic

So I went out with my little film-o-phile friend to the British Film Institute (of course, where else?) last night.  He’s the fella that took me to see The Corpse Grinders (takes place in a cat food factory that uses human flesh as its main ingredient).  Who needs highbrow when you can have high camp? In his defense he also took me to see a film I thought I’d imagined called Over The Edge that stars a teenage Matt Dillon in his first movie role.  I had often thought about this elusive film from my dim and distant past but try as I might, I just could never find any evidence it had ever been made.  In fact I started to believe I had made this up – a mash-up of  bits from other films to form this personal portrait of teenage boredom.  If I could do that, I’d be making films not rambling on a blog no doubt – so you see my dilemma.  It didn't help that I couldn't remember the name of the film, so imagine my utter delight when it turned out to be the film for that particular outing.  This time however, the BFI is currently having an extended run of James Dean movies and my mate – let’s call him Twisted Sister – asked if I’d like to go see Dean’s last film, Giant.  He forewarned me it was “quite long”.  I mean, how long can “quite long” be?  

Over THREE hours long it turns out.  In for a penny….but I have to admit, it flew by.  I also have to admit I’d never seen it.  It flew, not because the story line bounced along seamlessly, it really didn't.  I've never seen two people tussle, court, fall in love, get married and change lives so fast.  Suffice to say the film isn’t a love story say like Gone With The Wind is.  I did get the impression it was kinda hoping to be like GWTW spanning as it does generations of the ranch farming Benedict family.  It didn't quite pull it off in my very humble (never produced anything in my life) opinion –so what do I really know?  Well, I know cheese.  And this was cheesy in many parts but in such a stylised way, I loved it.  From Liz Taylor’s pretty and contained militant-ism about the minority rights of her Mexican house servants to the predictable rise of down-at –heel social misfit Jett Rink, played by Jimmy D who finds out the hard way money does not solve problems.  

Oh but the colours, the youthful beauty of these true cinema giants; it was a step back in time when things were more vibrant and so lithe.  I didn't recognise Dennis Hopper the first few times he was on screen – he looks like a Ken doll.  And I love it.  Course by the time the film credits stumbled over the finish line there was just enough time to high-tail it to the tube for the last train.  I took the opportunity to read over the BFI information sheet you collect as you go into the film so you can get all muso about it.  It tells me that James Dean died 13 days after his final day of shooting the film.  It had a Kurt Cobain effect on the film for sure but not without basis.  Watch it if you have three weeks to spare and notice how Dean squeezes every last nuance of the character out of every scene.

The Business of Yoga

Kinesiology or Yoga Therapy? That is the question.  After some investigation (which is not like me at all) I've decided that it has to be Yoga Therapy.  I'm looking at expanding knowledge as a way of differentiating myself from the mat of yoga instructors in my area.  Yes, that's right, a mat of yoga instructors.  I think it is a perfect collective noun for us.  So rather than offer (albeit first class) yoga instruction that you can get at any good yoga outlet, I want to tap into segments of the population for whom the pills have stopped working - for whom the pills were never designed to work.  I'm talking about people suffering from clinical conditions - obesity, diabetes, muscular-skeletal problems (ipad back, joint probs, gen mobility etc..), depression & anxiety and all the effects of the things you are led to do when you are feeling anxious and depressed.  So I'm excited about the new YT course I'm signing up to.  Not cheap either which gives that unpalatable comfort that you're not just doing a community class in a room above a coffee shop.  No, I mean business and the type you get accredited for with letter after your name YO!  Then I'm looking at setting up a novel business model which of course I can't talk about here as that would be foolish but the roots of it start and end with the "customer".  However for now, you can find me leading class at your local church hall.  Meanwhile I myself have been drinking from the font of flexibility at the expert hands of my local Jivamukti yoga instructor. This is a more spiritual, mantra-led practice, however let this description lead you not into a false sense of security.  My inner thigh muscles are still feeling the effects of last Sunday's class...ahem...as I edge ever closer to a perfect split.  I have about 10 inches to go before groin and floor make contact or...12 years of practice.

I Can See Clearly Now

I've been thinking about the purpose of this blog going forward.  I mean I could use it as a very public "Dear Diary" but it would need to be a lot more revealing to create any impact.  Revealing I have, revealing I can do - believe me. However I would need to kill you all and then also kill all those whose names I had changed to protect.  So that's out. Perhaps I could turn it into something useful - a source of infinite wisdom and knowledge.  God, I can't even type that without losing the will to live.  Who am I kidding?  If I had wisdom and knowledge I wouldn't have ended up in therapy for a year (but like I said, best thing I ever did). So I'll stick to helpful and honest. That's really the best I can do on the advice front.   Then I thought, being a qualified Yoga practitioner I would impart some spiritual guidance...but again - really? Guess, this will have to continue to be my place of purging.   But here is the kicker - I don't really purge anymore.  Therapy armed me with the tools to deal with stress and other mood affecting sensations.  For instance, today I have been feeling teary and truth be told, bored.  Just bored. With nothing in particular.  Bored enough to bid on a bangle on eBay.  Seriously.   In the past this would have caused me to fret and paint everything black.  But now I demand clarity from myself.  So I know that all this is is a combination of PMT and a torn rotator cuff that has got me eating codeine like it was popcorn which in turn has brought my energy levels down.  That's all.  Nothing that an early morning yoga session won't help or a lovely 30 minutes of meditation before bedtime won't solve. In the meantime, I do have important issues to consider.  For instance, my job is sort of almost certainly on the line after my company announced a restructure and my division was cut.  I see this as an opportunity to look at where I'm going work-wise and that really excites me.  

All or Nothing

You know when you've got a build-up of stories to tell but you don't know where best to start for maximum impact, minimum effort?  Then you sort of start condensing things to the bare bones and end up whittling them down to one useless stub?  It's sort of what's happening to me right now.  See I want to lose the detail without sacrificing the soul...but somehow it has all ended up a bit insipid.  I am reminded of the Shakespeare Masterclass sketch in 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie' where Fry gets Laurie to squeeze the essence out of a speech in such a way they don't get past the first word.  It's quite funny.   Anyway, succinctness is a true art and one that has not only passed me by - it simply didn't come my way.  All of this to say I have become vegan and teetotal. Yes, it's like saying "I'm now a lesbian" (I'm not - but you know what I mean). And the result?  I look and feel younger.  Who would have thought it?  All that crap about a glass of wine a day being good for you and how the body needs protein from meat malarkey....well it took me a LONG time but I finally broke out of the media mold.  My body needs alcohol and meat like a freaking hole in the head.  If I told you I lost a dress size and the dark circles under my eyes by cutting out all things once considered life's little pleasures would you then believe that vegan teetotalism is in fact the secret to becoming and staying a skinny bitch? Well it is. I've also cut out sugar and carbs...yes, you're now thinking I've replaced one mania with another.  Maybe but I have to say this mania makes me feel (and even if I say so myself) look freaking great.  Ok, if The Silverback is reading this, he will know that I'm slightly lying about sugar.  I do still eat sweet things but I try to make sure the sweetness comes from anything but processed sugar (yes including demarara).  To wit:  I made a banana cake on Wednesday with maple syrup, vegetable fat and water and it lasted a couple of hours.  It was delicious.  I'm astounded.  As you may recall, I'm not a baker.  My cakes usually look and taste of ass.  Lesson here is that you can have vegan cakes and I certainly know how to eat them.  I probably shouldn't makes these too often...clearly I have ZERO self control.  Which brings me back to the all or nothing diet (nay lifestyle) I'm now on.  I can't cut down, I have to cut out and that is just the way it is with me.  Yoga is easier for me too now that I'm not lugging the cake shelf around - but more on that and my annual ashram retreat another time.