What (S)HE said!

I've become a bit of a yoga junkie in the past month or so, and suspect that it's the newfound, frequent pursuit of connection with my chusof that's diverted my attention from the political arena. In fact, all the deep breathing has left me a tad ditzy--I mean, dizzy: I'd been in class at least two weeks before I learned that the elusive chusof is in fact my true self. (Master Light is not a native English speaker and my aural antennae weren't aptly attuned yet.)

Fortunately, while I'm contorting I can count on my peeps in the blogosphere to stay on top of the teabagging, torture tattle tales, glad handing, bailouts, bailing out (eg., when Hamid Karzai dares say something against Israel at an anti-racism conference) and sundry other madness. This affords me the luxury of saying, "Yeah, What (S)he said!"

To wit:

The NewsWriter in Demented. Couldn't have made a better diagnosis myself!

Politics After 5o's Challenge to Rush Limbaugh (Read that one aloud, there's refreshing alliterations that'll set some aural antennae on edge!)

A Disgruntled Republican pleads with a talking dick to just shut up

The Bobo Files' Carnival of Politics clued me in to sundry other madness: assertions that the Obamas stole Bo. Lord, what will they think of next?!

When not in Downward Dog or focusing on my Dahn-jon in recent weeks, I've enjoyed some fine cultural fare in addition to the blogs above. Lynn Nottage's play Ruined is well worth the Pulitzer she won for it. It reminds me of the movie Life is Beautiful in its depiction of the persistence of love and humor in the midst of recurrent horrors; (the war in the Congo in the case of Ruined, the Holocaust in Life is Beautiful. Despite the brutes of war, and real life horror stories, there's great music, dancing, singing, and not a bad seat in the house at City Center where it's staged by the Manhattan Theatre Club. Get thee to the city quickly: this docudrama's currently scheduled to close May 2. I laughed, I cried...

While reading Parched, by Heather King, I often laughed aloud--that is, when I wasn't re-reading aloud, savoring some exquisitely eloquent construction, slowly rolling the words around in my mind like a yummy butterscotch candy. I picked this treasure up off the remaindered table at Borders; it wasn't on my To Read list--I'd never heard of it before! This. woman. can. write. She wrote more lucid, lyrical prose drunk off her ass than many write stone-cold sober. Her journal entries are prizeworthy! This is a memoir of her life as a drunk (alcoholics have to go to meetings). Before, during and after going to law school (graduating and passing the Bar), Heather King was usually well in her cups by 10 am, hanging out in dives midday in her 20s with "wet brains" two and three times her age. I know it sounds bleak, but it is hilarious--and amazing: It ends well (by the Grace of God she lived to write about it). It's the kind of book you can't wait to get back to, and hate to put down. Speaking of down, it is the wee hours of the morning and I do still have a day job...

Namaste.