Mostly true stuff…

I am in a Yin Yoga class. ‘Yin’ is Tibetan for ‘nap’. I think. That’s what the people do. They lie on mats. Cocooned in blankets. Eyes closed.  Well, that’s what I saw the first time I popped my head in. I thought: “I can do this!” So, I registered.

The following week. I lie one with the mat. Wilco T-shirt. Tights. Big League Chew.  I am the only one not attired in organic, soy/hemp cotton. I am wearing Adidas. He’s a God. Roman. Latin. I have my own old-school, mystical allure goin’ on. I breathe in. Choke. Swallow gum.

But, WHAAAAT? What’s this? Sit up? I was unaware of the upright portion of the class. We stretch and bend ourselves into a variety of poses. I am Keanu in the Matrix. This hurts. There is Dragonfly, Sleeping Swan, Tadpole……Christopher Reeve, Glue Stick, Convicted Felon.

“Breathe,” the teacher urges.The woman beside me lets out big, earthy groans. Frankly, she sounds retarded. And, I don’t like it one bit. I finger my Tibetan prayer beads and fantasize about whipping into her eye sockets. I hear a persistent, rhythmic ‘ping, ‘ping, ping’. Is a Special Needs person playing the Triangle?

“Let peace and tranquility flood in.”We stretch our legs, loosen our hip joints. I glance at the woman in front. ‘Ha, ha, I’m waaay more flexible than she is. She’s like…almost a gimp. I mean, look how far I can move my legs. She sucks. I’m the best. I WIN!

“STILL the mind.”White cheesies vs orange cheesies. Cancer. La la la. Terrorism. Plastics. Guilt. Sundin. Fruit roll-ups. Gluten. Death Cab for Cutie. Marsha Brady.

After class, I tailgate an elderly driver home. ‘Get OFF the road, you incompetent, Driving Miss Daisy, sight-challenged MORON.’

I want my Big League Chew.

Good morning, Vancouver.

This Friday:

Me, performing in Vancouver’s newest comedy room ‘ Cameo’ alongside the beaten down, comedic angst of Kevin Foxx.  He cuts like a knife. I like it.

But, FIRST:

A corporate show, Friday mid-day, for 100 tennis players. Hmm, racquet metaphors? Court-side lingo in silly rhyme? Sampras sex scandal references?

Meh.

I’ll do 30 minutes on AIDS, poverty, and homelessness.

That should liven things up.

I’ve been invited to see Robin Williams tonight.

It’s not the understated, cerebral, one-liner, New Yorker style I normally gravitate to.

Which is exactly why I need to go.

Seatbelt. Crash helmet. Water.

Ready.

Set.

Go.