No (wo)man is an island

No man is an island entire of itself; every man
is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe
is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as any manner of thy friends or of thine
own were; any man's death diminishes me,
because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom
the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. 

-From John Donne's Meditation XVII        

I have been thinking about this poem lately for a reason that is almost too ridiculous to admit. In the spirit of the Real World confessional, I will come clean . . . I watched the first episode of TLC's Sister Wives. If you know what show I am talking about-- stop judging. You know you're dying to watch it! If you have never heard of this show, you're probably better off but I will inform you just the same. Sister Wives is a reality show following the lives of a polygamist family (one husband, three wives and their respective litters of children). 

I could go on and on about how sexist a polygamist lifestyle is and how I am shocked that Big Love was so damn accurate, but I won't. It's not super fun to read others' rantings. What I will say is that Sister Wives reminded me of something so true about our humanity: we crave community.

While I wanted to punch the husband in his face, I actually found myself identifying with much of what the sister wives were saying. They wanted other women around to help them with their kids, support their daily lives and be there if something were to happen to them. Of course I felt like shouting "get friends, not sister wives, you brainwashed idiots!" at the screen, but something stopped me. Even though I completely disagree with the way they have found their community, I can't disagree with their desire for it. 

After all, it is my desire for community that leads me to my faith. Even to my yoga practice. In both Christianity and yoga, community is supremely valued. John Donne's poem echoes the passage from 1 Corinthians 12 that compares a spiritual community to a physical body: every part is essential and, standing alone, can do nothing. For Hindues (who brought us yoga), the Bhagavad Gita asserts the connectedness of all creation over and over again.

Even if a person is not religious or interested in spirituality, I think we can all agree that we need each other. Things are just better together. Think about it: Harry Potter doesn't go searching for Horcruxes on his own but brings Hermione and Ron with him. 

Yes, that was a freak flag. 

So, just do me a favor. Don't take a sister wife. They're creepy. Find other ways to get your community on.

Movies that Traumatized Me

I prefer happy movies, in general. Give me a "happily ever after" and I am all set. I prefer my cinema with a side of hope, thank you. I will leave the scarring and traumatization for my real life.

So, a list of the top ten "movies that traumatized me" (clearly I watched Letterman last night) . . .

10. Marley and Me
Thanks but, I prefer my pets to live forever and not die a slow death that is magnified by the presence of small children mourning.

9. Gone Baby Gone
Ben Affleck as the director should have been my first clue. I refuse to say more because of my PTSD.

8. The Changeling
Clint Eastwood loves to f$&# with me. That and the fact that I am still not over Brad leaving Jen for this movie's leading lady made for two hours of my life that I want back.

7. Sex and the City 2
Yes, of course I was just happy to see all the girls together again but WTF, Michael Patrick King? Why did they have to go to Abu Dhabi? Everyone knows you can't get a Cosmo in the UAE. It's illegal!

6. Million Dollar Baby
Damn you, Clint Eastwood!

5. Down to You
Hopefully you haven't heard if this movie starring Julia Stiles and Freddie Prinze, Jr. All I can say is that I paid good money to see this chick flick and I am still waiting for a refund. Sex after eating tons of cake is just totally gross. I really don't even remember anything else about it.

4. Twilight
Yes, I read the books. In like 3 days. Stop judging. I don't know what I was scarred by more: Kristen Stewart trying to act or Robert Pattinson being SO hot yet unable to act. It's a question for the ages. . .

3. The Lion King
I have been waiting to get this off my chest since sixth grade. Simba, I am just so sorry you lost your father. Scar sucks.

2. The Birds
I really have no idea why I ever watched this movie but I know it's why birds terrify me. That, and Fabio.


1. Arachnaphobia
Watched this at my friend Jennifer's house in 4th grade. Clearly her parents did not employ the same parenting techniques mine did and I have years of fear for which to thank them.

Now, I am not telling you to not watch these movies but, if you have any sense, you won't. If you do, may God have mercy on your soul. Namaste.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Logan Aiport

Namaste, St. Ignatius!

I'm not really into saints, even though I reference one in this post's title. Yes, I have a background in theology but saints are really just not my thing. Even when I was Confirmed as a 13 year-old and had to pick a saint's name to take on, I just couldn't get into it. I ended up picking St. Lucy because Lucy was my dog's name and I was into her.

St. Ignatius however, might be an exception. This person who lived 400 years ago has had a deep effect on my life. His way of thinking about faith is really the only reason why I haven't walked away (more like run!) from the Catholic Church and some of its not so progressive ways.

One of the most powerful things I can take from St. Ignatius is his commitment to "find God in all things." If you're not particularly religious, I think it's completely acceptable to amend this phrase to say "find sacredness in all things." Ignatius was convinced that the fingerprint of the Creator was upon everything-- that nothing escaped the love and beauty of God's hand. Even the ugly things . . . like acid washed jeans or (eek) spiders.

I find this notion to also be present in the practice of yoga. When we seal our hands together at our hearts, bow to each other and say "Namaste," we are actually acknowledging the sacredness in both ourselves and the life around us. The word "Namaste" literally translates to "I bow to the god in you" or, "the sacred in me bows to the sacred in you." In this way, each day presents a new challenge. Some days, I can easily see my own sacredness or self-worth. Other days, I struggle to see my own value and am overwhelmed by the good I might see in others. It's a daily process, this Namaste-ing. 

While I would love to pretend old Iggy practiced yoga back in 16th century Spain, I know it is just a pipe dream. I am amazed however, that, in different parts of the world, at different times, people were coming around to the same truths: that all human beings have worth and our world is filled to the brim with the the sacred. Ignatian spirituality certainly illuminates my yoga practice.

So, I say to you "Namaste" and hope you can say it back to me.                              

Can't you see this guy rocking a downward dog?

Yogini in Central Park

I have been traveling up the east coast for the last few days having many adventures. I am no longer at my parents' home so I am finally safe from snakes but I did travel through New York City which, as you may know, is a pigeon's paradise. Needless to say there was some awkward ducking happening on the streets of NY just yesterday. By the grace of God I escaped unscathed (unlike Fabio on the roller coaster circa seven years ago . . . I'll never forget, Fabio! you have not suffered in vain!).

Being in New York is always fun. I love shopping, sightseeing and, of course, visiting my roommate from college who now resides on the Upper East Side (how very Carrie Bradshaw of her. . . ).  She lives just three blocks from Central Park and five from Museum Mile-- what a great spot.

One of the things I was dying to do while I was there was go for a run in Central Park. I was so fixated on it for some reason that I literally could not sleep on Sunday night because I was too excited to explore the park in my running shoes the following morning. Yes, I really am that big of a loser. So, I got up at 8 the next morning after sleeping about three hours, and went for a run. I ran around the reservoir and then down through much of the park. Of course I had no idea where I was going which made it all the more fun. I had a great run.

I am completely overjoyed by my random display of enthusiasm for running because, you see, I have been in a major running slump. My knees were hurting, my routes seemed boring and running just seemed like such a chore. Instead of it being something I looked forward to, something that gave me energy, I dreaded it and went on strike.

You may have guessed this about me but it is not easy to get me to do something I don't want to do. Just ask my father about bringing me to Mass every Sunday growing up. I was not above hiding in my room or throwing temper tantrums to get out of going to hear some old guy bore me to death. Even though my plans never worked, I never gave up my quest for a Mass-free Sunday. Once my father wrestled me there, I would sneak off to the bathroom and practice my cartwheels. If there was one good thing about my church, it's that the bathrooms were HUGE. Perfect for my routines . . .

Thankfully, my desire to run has returned-- the strike is over. I am so grateful to have the will back because I do love running. Not all the time, but it really is a gratifying thing to do. It's hard not to be thankful for your body when you run. Raising my heart rate, getting in sync with my breathing and pushing myself are things that I really love to do. Perhaps all I needed was something new to explore to make me remember why I do it in the first place.

Sometimes . . . I ruin adventures.

So my husband loves to go on, what he calls, adventures. I know what you're thinking: I'm either married to an eight year-old or to Indiana Jones. Let's just compromise and say he's a bit of both.

I have ruined a couple of our adventures because, well, I can be fragile. By that, I mean I have motion sickness and am absolutely not a good sport about it. I also go from zero to starving in like a millisecond. He loves that. I'm not necessarily proud of this "not being a good sport" thing but this blog makes me feel like I'm in the confessional room on The Real World (back when it was good, obviously).

When we first moved to San Francisco, my husband and I drove up to Point Reyes. Point Reyes is a beautiful peninsula about an hour and a half drive on a ridiculously curvy road. Ridiculously. My very own explorer extraordinaire had the route mapped out for us. I will spare you the details but you can imagine how this scenic drive went for him and his adventure-ruiner. Let's just say I have not returned to beautiful Point Reyes and I don't intend to unless they make a straighter freaking road. I know California's broke but I personally think it should be on Arnold's "to do" list. I know what you're thinking, Why would your husband make you go with him when he knows you'll just get sick and ruin everything? The answer, my friends: naive optimism. Remember: a hybrid of an eight year-old and Indiana Jones. It's a dynamite combination.

I have a long history of ruining adventures with my fragility. I'm like a peach.

I was six when we took our first ski trip. We were living in Madrid, Spain at the time and decided to go somewhere in the French Alps (I feel ridiculous even writing this because it sounds snobby. Please feel better about me knowing that I was in a bright purple one-piece snowsuit and my dad was decked out in neon colors . . . see below). Of course the road was brutal and I threw up all over my purple snowsuit. My father, ever the problem-solver, had me go out and roll in the snow to get cleaned off. Awesome. Despite my vomiting and later peeing myself during ski school, I actually enjoyed my first skiing adventure. That purple snowsuit went through a lot.

So yeah, I'm fragile. It's a miracle I am still here.

 Sorry about the quality- best my secretary could do. . .

My Ex-Boyfriend's Band

Ok so maybe the title "ex-boyfriend" isn't really appropriate since we "dated" when we were in sixth grade for like three weeks. But still, three weeks back then was HUGE. Sure, we didn't ever talk and there was absolutely zero physical contact but, it meant something. Jason Blynn's curly blond hair was just too much for me to resist as an awkward sixth grader. Jason lived in my neighborhood so naturally, our romance started on the bus. Of course we would never speak directly to one another but we had our friends to help us communicate. It was like the most awkward game of telephone ever played, as if telephone isn't super awkward enough already.

Now Jason is a big deal. He's in a band with another schoolmate of mine, Sarab Singh, called Harper Blynn comes out of New York City. Of course I had an enormous crush on Sarab when I was in eighth grade. I was much more mature then; Sarab and I actually talked.

Jason is lead vocals and guitar while Sarab plays the drums. The other guys (Pete Harper and a guy name Whynot) are really great, too. I've just never met them before therefore never had a crush on them and apparently this post is all about my old crushes. Anyways, their songs are great-- I think my fave is "Steal Your Love."

Check out the review of their album "Loneliest Generation" on Paste Magazine's web site. Also-- their myspace page is amazing since it lets you listen to a bunch of their songs to see what you think.

I am posting their cover of Beyonce's "Halo" and hoping it will act as a gateway drug to their music. Enjoy!! My SF friends-- they will be at The Independent on November 10th!

"Quirky" by Claudymom

I love quirky people and would like to be one someday. Maybe the quirkiest person I know is my mom, Claudymom. She is both delightful and a little odd-- my favorite combination. She has these tiny little freak flags (they are subtler and more tasteful than mine-- I think she hired a decorator) that she displays from time to time. I decided to dedicate this post to Claudymom and give you, all 5 of my readers, Claudymom's Guide to Being Quirky:

1. Put ice in your white wine. Because, no matter what, it is just never cold enough!
2. Get a hula hoop and take up hula hooping. Do it for your daughter's friends when they come over. They will love it.
3. Purchase a sling shot and some ammo. Get to be a really good shot and chase the geese away that ruin your backyard.
4. Mispronounce random words that everyone else can say. Refuse to ever get a Volvo because it would sound like you are talking about female anatomy any time you'd mention it.
5. Never spit out your toothpaste because it is crass to spit. When you are lectured by your daughter for poisoning yourself, tell her that you've been doing it all your life and you haven't died yet!
6. Say things straight out of "Charlie Brown" like good grief! Add your own spin and expand to good griefous! or something like that. Go crazy!
7. Get the most out of every tank of gas. Don't refill until you are literally about to run out of gas. Pass this trait onto your daughters.
8. Make up your own names for things. "P.F. Chang's" restaurant might become "P.C. Fang's" or, for short, "Fang's." Get creative with it.
9. Get a really kick-ass nickname like "Claudymom" and become an entity unto yourself. Own it. Live it. Get an aol screen name circa 1996.
10. Don't be afraid to incorporate new lingo into your life. It might mesh well with words from your vernacular like "hunk" or, everyone's favorite, "heebie jeebies." Surprise your kids when you "call bitch" (aka claim the middle back seat of a car for yourself.)

I think the overall message of Claudymom is to be all around fabulous and well-liked. Loved, actually.

Well, good luck being quirky! Claudymom has helped all she can- the rest is up to you.

Who is the quirkiest person YOU know?

Product Placement

So I was at Wegman's in Frasier, PA today with my mom. You may not know about Wegman's but you should because it is the best place EVER. It's Trader Joe's meets Whole Foods meets Safeway. AND the prices are really great. I heart their sushi in a major way-- kind of the way I feel about Zack Morris.

Ok, enough oohing and ahhing-- this is not the purpose of my post. What I noticed is that, while people are getting better about bringing their own bags to the grocery store, they are still using all of those small plastic bags for their produce. I find those bags so annoying because a)they don't keep my produce fresh in the fridge for a long time, b) I am always awkwardly searching for them in the produce aisle and c) I can never figure out which side has the freaking opening so I stand there like an idiot trying to peel them open. This makes for an all around awkward and long shopping trip. SO, I recently bought my own produce bags and I love them. Amazon sells a number of varieties but I have the Flip and Tumble kind.  They are $10.95 for a pack of 5. They are super cute (SO important) and my husband even uses them for his lunches. I keep them in my purse and have found all sorts of uses for them.

Anyways, look into it! Say no to plastic.

I was once bitten by a snake

Yeah, I'm totally not kidding. The memory of it is flooding back to me since it happened a year ago here, at my parent's house in Devon, PA, where I am currently on holiday (read: unemployed).

Now, don't get the wrong idea about Devon. It's suburbia-- the Main Line of Philadelphia. The closest people get to reptiles here are the alligators on their Lilly Pulitzer dresses. But of course, all that changed on one summer day in 2009. . .

My parents and I were just returning from a lovely dinner out. We pull into the garage and I get out of the car. I begin walking to the side door when I step on something squishy. It all happened so FAST-- I felt a sting on my heel and yelled with great fervor and emotion "A SNAKE JUST BIT ME!" I saw it slither away from me, deeper into the garage.

My mother  (let's call her "Claudymom") reacted fast. She bolted back into the car and LOCKED THE DOORS. Thank God for power locks or she would have been taken by that snake that day. We can only thank the makers of my dad's SUV for having the foresight to protect women and children from two-foot water snakes that wander up from the pond into the garages of innocents.

While my mom was indulging the "flight" aspect of her reflexes, my father went into "fight" mode. He grabbed a shovel and proceeded to kill the snake. I think he was defending my honor. He was brave that day . . .

I, of course, had let myself into the house and was wriggling around trying to get rid of the heebie-jeebies (Claudymom's words, not mine) that damn snake had given me. I looked down at my foot and had the tiniest little cut from where the snake had pierced my skin. It was literally so tiny I started laughing hysterically. It didn't even hurt. Of course I would get bitten by a snake and have barely anything to show for it. I mean, it is really hard to brag about how hard core you are when you basically have a paper cut on your foot.

After the snake was properly dead, Claudymom unlocked the car doors and joined my father and me in the house.

We became much closer that day. . . Claudymom believed she had escaped death by mere seconds, my dad had stared into the face of a two foot snake and lived to tell about it and I was nursing my paper cut. The feeling of being alive was invigorating.

The scene of the attack.

My fear of flying

I am afraid of flying. I hate it. But obviously, see above list of interests and notice "travel" as one of them, I must do it. It's a necessary evil, I suppose.

This phobia of mine far supersedes both my fear of spiders and of birds accidentally flying into my face. You think I'm crazy? Well, just look at what happened to poor Fabio. I have no problem displaying my crazy when it comes to these two phobias. I will scream dramatically and with great affect when encountering an eight-legged demon and I will unabashedly "hit the deck" when winged creatures  are flying just a little too close to my head (my husband LOVES when I do this on our walks in the park). Yes-- I am not embarrassed nor shy about waving these freak flags of mine but when it comes to flying, I feel I need to keep it together. I won't even medicate or drink too much on a flight because I don't want my reflexes impaired in case we go down. Emergency-ready-position needs to be easy to get into and Valium or alcohol may inhibit me and I just don't want to take that chance. So I must stick to faking that I am OK. That I don't think I'm actually going to die. I smile and nod at the flight attendants as if I am just on a leisurely cruise about town.

Perhaps I don't want to incite panic among the other passengers thereby jeopardizing my chances of survival in the event of an emergency. Or maybe, just maybe, I have a little bit of shame for once? I think the former is more likely. As for me, I will keep my sweaty palms and  thoughts of imminent death to myself. If everyone actually realized that we are only protected by a thin metal casing that could be ripped apart by turbulence or forced to the ground by a stray bird in the engine (again with the BIRDS!), everyone would be as freaked out as I am. It's their ignorance that protects them. I wouldn't take that away, I'm just not that kind of person.

Lokah Samastah Sukhino Bhavantu

The above Sanskrit translates to "May all beings be happy and free."                                                

Last weekend, Labor day weekend, I went on a yoga retreat for three days. It was amazing! I had been dying to deepen my practice and looked into an opportunity at my studio, Yoga Tree (yogatreesf.com). I don't normally practice with her but I went with the lovely Chrisandra Fox on a "Heart of Renewal" retreat that she runs twice a year. It was basically a long weekend filled with lots of yoga, meditation, good food (from amazing organic, vegan food chef Meredith-- pranaful.com) and relaxation.

I was a little nervous to go. I'm not exactly a "typical" San Francisco yogi. I love meat. I am a somewhat practicing Catholic (albeit guilty and repressed-who isn't?). I'm sarcastic. I am not too experienced with chanting (unless you count "Yankees suck" as a yogic mantra . . . which well . . . maybe I do?).  I can't sit still long enough to do the horizontal portion of a crossword puzzle let alone meditate in some kind of pretzel position. I wasn't sure how it would all go but still, I was very excited. So I packed my bags and went, being careful to trade out my book Are You There Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea for something more "mature" and "yoga-ish."

I am so glad I went. The people were GREAT. Non-judgmental. Funny (sarcastic, even!) The food, though meatless, was excellent and fulfilling. I could totally be vegan if Meredith moved in with me and cooked for me. I felt very comfortable and very free to be who I am. I found out that I am NOT a "typical" yogi because there really isn't one. Again, yoga taught me to just accept myself and the people around me and let go of notions of "typical" or "normal." God knows I will never fit into any of them.

Oh, and that Sanskrit mantra above? Yeah, I chanted it. And I liked it.

A little pick me up. Maybe the best thing ever.

This girl is my hero. I am totally changing my morning routine after seeing this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qR3rK0kZFkg

My First Blog

It could just be undiagnosed ADD, but I have a lot of interests and refuse to decide on one genre about which to blog. So, at the genesis of this all, I am going to blog on whatever the hell I want to. If there is a fabulous “Real Housewives of New York City” episode on, I’ll write about that. If there is a new fashion trend I love or hate, that’s where I’ll go. If there is a justice issue that I feel needs attention, I will do my best to tell you about it. Yes—I am a reality show loving, trend-following yogini who also cares very deeply about the people in our world. Some might think these things don’t go together but I live within the paradoxes and love it.

Basically, I am not sure what this blog will be about everyday but I can tell you what it WON’T be about. I’ll tell you in list form because I really like lists (even though it’s not an “official” interest in my list of interests since I felt it was really implied).

1. Cooking. I don’t really cook. I want to be very clear that my interest in food lies solely in the eating. I mean, I have been known to defrost a chicken breast here and there but I am actually much better at dialing for takeout. Ask my husband.
2. Auto repair and/or maintenance. I have bad luck with cars and God knows you don’t want my advice about anything with four wheels. If this were live TV it would cut to my father who just shakes his head any time the words “Ally” and “driving” are in the same sentence.
3. Cleaning and/or home organization. I have a subscription to Real Simple and just love it. Too bad I’ve never actually put any of their ideas in to practice. I’ve thought about it, though.
4. Hot sauce. Yeah, I won’t be writing about that. There is a blog dedicated to hot sauce on the Internet somewhere. I found it in my search for “hot blogs to read.” Google obviously took me literally. Finding it was actually a good thing because it gave me something else to add to this list.
5. Sports. Like, organized sports on TV. I like them but this is just not where I see myself going. All you need to know is that I like the Red Sox and Boston College teams. Other than that, I’m all set.

Well, now that the parameters have been vaguely set, I will press on.