what the yogi saw

So there I was, breathing deeply into my forward bend.

It had been 3 long weeks since I'd last attended my yoga class ~ 3 weeks of living the good life, the high life, the straight-to-my-thigh life. In addition to the splurges associated with our fun-loving guest, I celebrated my birthday this weekend by trying to eat and drink my way into the Guinness Book of World Records.

One day, lunch at the local grill with a girlfriend (mojitos, ahi salad, bread and ...mojitos!) was followed by some casual shopping, which led to a few hilarious rounds at the bar of a deconsecrated church (peartinis, bruschetta and blasphemy) where we made our pious young bartender so nervous with our irreverent joking that he apologized to whatever gods there be several times on our behalf. This was eventually followed by a light repast (pizza and beer) out on the patio with the neglected Turk ~ you know, just so he wouldn't feel left out.

The next night found me enjoying a nice mushroom risotto, goat cheese salad and a superb lamb prepared in a plumy red wine sauce at Napa Rose, where Turk had made reservations for a wonderfully romantic dinner, enhanced by a very-berry pinot noir. Sunday was all about pasta, vino and a celebratory cheesecake. All told, it was all less birthday than carnival, really. If I did a calorie count of the past several days (weeks) I'd have to do the right thing and and shoot myself. Instead I took the coward's way out and headed for a gym.

I was thus enjoying the feeling of being once again inwardly focused, surprised by how readily my body was responding in spite of so much pleasurable but blatant abuse. It was a joy to let go in a positive, healing manner. Yielding to the soothing rhythm of the Tibetan gong chiming softly in the background, I sank yet deeper into my pose. Grasping my ankles, I sent a long, slow breath into the back of my legs and pulled my forehead to my knees. With a small, satisfied smile on my lips, I opened my eyes.

And that's when I saw it. Looming behind me was a massive mound of stretched-to-capacity black micro-fiber. My startled face appeared directly below.

"OMFG!" thought I, because I really do think almost exclusively in text messaging now (tex mex, if you will) although I have never actually sent a text message nor do I ever anticipate so doing. But I think in it. Because it is so much easier to swear in it.

"Is that thing mine?"

I shook my own tiny hiney. And watched in dismay as the monolith in the mirror shifted in kind. Zen and reflective glass don't lie; that monster was mine.

Knocked the chi right outta me.

Waiting for me when I got home was a card from my best mate since high school telling me, among other things, that she had just signed up to run a half-marathon. By contrast, I was anticipating yet another party on Sunday, this time to be held in honor of one of Turk's golf buddies at a place well known for the excellence of it's brunches; my only goal had been to scale the shrimp tower and take a heady dip in the champagne fountain.

I have really got to get my act together.

And since no one should be made to suffer my sins but me (there is nothing more dreary than someone else's diet and exercise routines, however noble) I will be taking my sorry self offline to do so. See you in 10 pounds.

I'm still going to that party, though. This could take a while.

not-so-deep thoughts

Yesterday I had that rare gem of a thing ~ a whole day to myself in which to do absolutely nothing. No deeds to do, no promises to keep. And nothing is exactly what I did. Well, I did do some painting but it didn't go very well and amounted to little, so I'm pretty sure that counts as nothing. It generally does.

Turk and I had been playing host to an old friend from Boston for the past several days, and it has flown by in a haze of good food, decent wines and better beers.

We ambled through family photographs online, indulging liberally in memories and laughter. We took in a movie; Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Crystal Meth, I believe it was. We gave it three thumbs meh (pro forma, light on plot).

Turk grilled up a mess o' pork ribs, which he burnt beyond recognition. Our friend took us to lunch. We all went to the beach and ate watching the sun go down. One day we hit the local sports pub and debated the relative merits of the White Sox v Cubs with a Long Beach couple who had recently returned from Chicago. We went to the mall; Alex shopped for a birthday present for his wife, while I scored an adorable top at the Guess store for $21.99, marked down from the original $80. It was even my size, which is good because I would probably have bought it anyway. I generally do. And just when I thought life couldn't get any better, it did.

My friend debugged my computer. He took on the dread Demon of Darkness that is Vista, and 3 hours later emerged from the guest room bloodied but victorious, triumphantly holding a printed piece of paper aloft like the head of a slain enemy. The beast has been bested. And I can print again.

What can I say? Life is good. Life is very good.

I grow weary

...of complaining about my computer. But I haven't had a printer for some months now, and it's making me crazy. The last thing I printed out was a plane ticket to New York back in January. After that, it's all a sadly image-less, undocumented blur.

It appears that sometime during one of the last of my multiple System Recovery operations, Vista decided that it would not work and play well with others, including the previously problem-free Epson printer. No one I contacted at HP or Epson tech support has any idea what to do about it and, in fact, ever since my warranty expired in April HP tech support has stopped taking my calls. I suspect that Trevor may have filed a stalking suit against me. Frankly, I don't blame him. (Oh, Trevor ~ how could you leave me after all we've been through? That fateful system recovery was all you, Trevor! I did it for you! Trev? TREVOR....??)

So, where was I? Oh, yeah ~ in any case, nothing I nor anyone else can think of has solved the issue. I get the same error message;



Yes. Thank you. No kidding. Especially for the terrifying exclamation point. I'll have you know that the printer works splendidly off line; it's just that after several uninstall/installs something went awry and it can't interface with the operating system anymore. I thought it might be the driver when I saw this on the MS website:

Windows Vista may stop responding when you install software that adds legacy network drivers

but a check of the system swears that everything is working as god and Bill Gates intended. I'm worn out and bleary-eyed from trying to find patches. I've downloaded all Microsoft's Vista updates and searched for fixes, but Vista won't allow me to make some downloads; I get an astonishing 'You are not authorized access...' message and refusal to comply.

I am, I assure you, duly authorized, deputized and canonized as Chief Administrator and Lord High Mayor of this little berg and have so instructed the computer; as far as access goes, if not me, then who? If not now, when? I don't need a system recovery, I need a system overthrow.

If anyone knows of a cure for what ails me and my HAL (outside of a new printer or a shotgun) I'd be grateful if you'd let me know. In the meantime, I'm off to clean the house in anticipation of visitors. If I can get the vacuum cleaner to interface with the dust cloth, that is, never an easy task on the best of days. As if housekeeping weren't torture enough, my MP3 player just broke. No pictures. No music. No Trevor. Cleaning.

I go to my doom. Pray for me.