When a white guy in a dress shows up and he’s legally changed his name to “Krishna,” there is absolutely no way I am going to take him seriously.
I love learning Sanskrit. The words and phrases flow beautifully off the tongue in soft, rounded tones. But let’s be honest, when it comes time for me to teach a class, the phrase “awkward chair pose” is a lot more relatable to students than “utkatasana.”
Mike, I understand. You “want to go where the summer never ends.” What a super breakthrough realization about yourself. “Everyone deserves music.” Again, totally with you. Really, really original stuff here.
But seriously, for the love of God, I do not want to hear another fucking song about how great sunshine is. I feel like I’m trapped at a New-Age sex party on Long Island and I don’t have a ride home.
When a pair of flammable, skintight stretch pants costs 80 bucks and a 72”x24” piece of rubber costs 120, yoga starts to get just as elitist as downhill skiing.
I raise chickens. I hail from a family of hunters. I grow my own vegetables. I know how gross hot dogs are. I am not ignorant to the horror of factory farming. But sometimes after a weekend-long intensive of Vinyasa Flow, I want to eat a burger with three different animal products on it and I don’t want to watch you cry about it.
People are going to breathe loudly and it’s going to be obnoxious. Your ass is going to feel like you entertained a sexual act with a hedgehog. For the most part, though, meditation is pretty cool.
I found that after a while, my thoughts were moving further and further away, like they were at the end of a deep tunnel and my mind was free to just be blank. (I wasn’t on acid, I swear.)
Maybe all the world’s Escalade-driving hockey moms should find another source for their $200 see-through leggings.
Some people do yoga to relax. Some people do yoga to break a sweat and bust a serious move to Tina Tuner’s “Simply the Best.” Neither form is superior to the other. So please, all you “traditional yogis,” un-clutch your prayer beads.
I might show up to practice, but I might also be planning what I’m going to sing at karaoke the whole time.
I was a little nervous to participate at first, but chanting and singing in unison with a room full of strangers turned out to be an uplifting and not at all cult-like experience.
When I go to a class, I hope for a teacher who is personable and real, someone who winces during chair pose and falls sometimes during dancer. I don’t want to learn from perfection. I hope that my future students don’t want to either.