Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Storm Yoga

Storm Yoga, who lives up to their motto of "Take Your Life by Storm!" by practicing yoga outside, rain or shine, is a Not for Profit organization based here, out of NYC, that just started up early this summer.  I have been with them from the beginning and like to think that I have helped a bit in the start up process.  I manage the idealist.org account, promote every chance I get, support students who are new to the practice and have even gotten some PR people involved (check out the Life Styles and Charity article about Storm Yoga here).
Storm Yoga is founded on the principle that yoga is an integral part of a broader movement to transform society, and, to that end, offer free classes in the city.  How can you get better than that?  Have I mentioned yet that we spend at least 50% of our classes focusing on partner yoga?  Or that we put on Yoga Flash Mobs around New York City?

                                      This is 'bird' in partner yoga, and you can totally do it too.
 
For those of you who do not know me, I have been practicing yoga, on and off, for 7 years now.  It was only this summer that yoga became like the food I eat and air I breath.  It is hard to define in words the transformation...but this short, and entertaining, video might explain it better than I can, and it will show you just exactly what kind of shenanigans I have been up to all summer long.


Here are a few questions my good friend, Laci, asked me while doing some PR work on behalf of the group.  (ps. Check her blog, La Femme FIT-alle, out!)

1. How did you discover Storm Yoga and what about it appealed to you?
I was sitting out in Sheeps Meadow in Central Park with Ian on a Saturday in May or June,  just when it started to get warm enough to go out again, and I noticed two people who looked like they were having a ton of fun doing acrobatic moves together.  I saw them doing what I thought of then as the 'superman' but now realize it was 'bird'.  I watched them for awhile, and just let their joy soak into me.  I loved how playful it looked, and was immediately hooked on the idea.  Whatever it was, I had to find people who did this and try it out for myself.  So, that night, I went home and did research.  I had no idea the art of 'Partner yoga' or 'Acro yoga' (the two are interchangeable) existed, so it took me awhile just to find the keys terms.  When I did, I typed them in to Meetup.com and viola!, there was Storm Yoga.

                                                                     (serene, huh?)


The aspect of community appealed to me, and Miles' openness and willingness to teach, and the location and timing all really appealed to me.  Miles is our fearless leader, who is leaving this autumn for a second round of yoga instruction in India.  He will return as an even more skilled yogi, and Storm Yoga will come out of hibernation this Spring.  As the classes take place primarily outside, during winter we are all taking a hiatus, snow blizzards, unfortunately, don't typically lend themselves to yoga practice ;)

2. What have you gained or learned from practicing with the organization?
I have gained self-confidence and a sense of community, as well as the more typical yoga benefits, such as stress relief and strengthening of the core.  I have never seen anything meld people together in a community quicker or more honestly than partner yoga.  The nature of the practice is such that you have to be trusting and constantly communicating, whether it be through words or touch, it kind of helps people to open up.

                                             (He looks like he is really enjoying this pose)

3. How did you feel participating in one of Storm Yoga's flash mob gatherings?
See above :)  Also, I felt like I was having an impact on a larger sphere, I was bringing awareness to yoga to people who had maybe never seen it before and didn't know what it was.  I think I was also transforming what yoga, itself, is.  Here, in the West, yoga is too often viewed as just another way to shed some pounds.  For me, through the Yoga Flash Mobs, it became a medium of self expression and a community building activity.

4. Please finish this sentence for me: "If everyone practiced yoga, <BLANK>". 
Personally, I'd say, "If everyone practiced yoga, there would be no war."
I know, kind of an idealistic outlook, but hey, I think it's probably not too far off the mark.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Juice Fast

Inspired by a documentary; I decided, in my usual “dive right in” fashion, to go on a juice fast.  The juice fast was propagated during the gritty and determined documentary by Australian native, Joe Cross, a onetime grossly overweight millionaire with a debilitating autoimmune disorder (called chronic urticarial, for those of you extra curious folks).  Basically, he could break out into ugly, painful hives at any moment and was on a ton of pills, steroids mostly, to try to combat this response.  The stirring film is entitled Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead, but don’t let title scare you off, it is much more uplifting than it sounds.  As a matter of fact, I think the bluntness of the title adds to the transparent and genuine format in which the film is produced.  In it, Joe goes on a cross country venture drinking juice, losing weight, talking to regular people about health, and ends up, well, I won’t spoil it for you.  But, if you have Net Flix, you can watch this movie right now for no charge.  If you happen not to have been stricken with the Net Flix addiction, here’s a link, to the promo site, which, be warned, has a bit too much of an infomercial feel for my taste, (I’m blaming this on the business minded piranhas that surely overtook Joe’s promotional duties as soon as they smelled money).

Juice comes in many forms.  One can garner juice from greens, root vegetables, fruits, etc.  I have found fruit juices, freshly pressed from the source, to be refreshing and mildly sweet.  Vegetable juices, however, have a rather different effect on the palate.  For example, a carrot, beet, and kale juice is not as palatable as say, a pineapple, melon, strawberry juice.  I’m not talking about bottled juice drinks here; I’m talking about all raw fruits, straight from the Whole Foods dirt layered organic section, with no added sugar, dyes or preservatives. There were many recipes that were offered up to followers of Joe’s signature ‘Reboot Your Life’ Juice Fast.  To take my shiny new Breville’s juice virginity, I selected the Great Greens Juice, from the long list of choices.  Its unpalatable mixture is made up of: 2 Green Apples, 2-3 cups Spinach, 6-8 leaves Swiss Chard, 1 Cucumber, 4 stalks Celery, 1/2 Fennel Bulb, and 1 bunch Basil.  This boils down to a sum total of 329 kcal of calories, 16 g of protein, 2 g of fiber, no fats and no preservatives, or, as it is revered by some juicers who have literally drunk the juice, as the elixir of life.  Unfortunately, rather than tasting like the ambrosia of the Gods, it made me puke.  And not just once, on three separate occasions during my first two days of juice fasting I ‘tossed my cookies’, as they say, while slurping on a mouthful of green drink. Wikipedia defines juice fasting as a type of fasting and detox diet in which a person consumes only freshly squeezed fruit and vegetable juices.  I define juice fasting as hell on earth.  When I first heard the term ‘juice fast’ I found it to be a bit oxymoronic.  I equated fasting with refraining from all food, even in juice form, for the duration.  I saw the use of the word ‘fast’ in ‘juice fast’ as kind of a cheat, a way to make things sound more dire than they actually were.  Five days on the juice fast readily changed my mind. 

The concept of fasting is not new to me, having been raised in a family saturated with religion, I was only too aware that my fasting could be, in some twisted way, associated with that old testament story about Jesus fasting for 40 days and nights.  I was careful to make sure my efforts weren't confused with non-secular purpose and inspiration as it was the month of August, the Islamic month of Ramadan, in which participating Muslims regrain from eating, drinking and intimacy with their partners during daylight hours. In the old testament, this was a test of Jesus' lotalty to god.  In the Muslim faith, its meaning, to teach Muslims about patience, spirituality, humility and submissiveness to god, has a similar ring to it.  I had no such pios motives in this fast.   
                                                   (Can I eat it if it looks like Jesus?)

On the second day, I passed out momentarily while lounging around my living room.  This is an opportune time to note that it may be a good idea to avoid having obligations for the first few days on the fast.  I, myself, felt sick enough to stay home from work during the first two days.  This was probably due to the fact that I wasn’t keeping enough food down.  There is a careful balance that one needs to strike between the fruit and veggie distribution in juices.  Fruit juices are faster burning, while vegetable juices are slower burning.  Therefore, in order to maintain energy throughout the day, it is necessary to implement vegetable juices in the diet.  I, however, was adding vegetables, like fennel bulb and collard greens, that had never before been introduced into my diet, and I was definitely suffering from the shock my system underwent.  I wised up on the third day and started adding more fruits to my juices.  As a matter of fact, I developed a new rule for myself, for every veggie that was put in the juicer, a fruit would follow it.  This way, I would always have a delightfully light and sweet tasting fruit to balance out the grassy dirt flavor of the green/root/veggie.  Unfortunately, this had more the effect of spraying a fraternity boy’s bathroom with flower scent to cover up the odor of urine, but it allowed me to ignore the overwhelmingly pungent flavor of the juice long enough to get it down and keep it down.  Another trick I used was holding my nose, one thing this fast taught me was just how large a role your nose plays in your sense of taste.  Incredibly, I could hardly taste anything at all if my nose was plugged up!  Unfortunately, as soon as the nose was free to smell again, my taste buds became livid with the repugnant taste of grass-dirt.
                                                    (Apparently, it's an acquired taste)
My favorite juice, the ‘All Fruits’ that contains a heaping double handful of blueberries, strawberries, 1 pear, 2 green apples, 2 handfuls of pineapple chunks, mango, cantaloupe and honeydew, was not enough to convince my body into fully functioning.  A small part of me was convinced that I had contracted spinach salmonella and these were the first manifestations of the illness.  A small swelling of my left and right neck lymph nodes, which I still do not know what to attribute to, was present in the fourth day and led to the credibility of the rather wild assertion of illness that was surely a manifestation of my hypochondrias.  I had had a full physical check up just a month prior to my juice fast, and was given a clean bill of health.  A larger, more rational and a bit more hopeful part of me thought that, perhaps, I just wasn’t taking in enough calories. 
My form of measurement was my hands and the level of juice that was mashed out into the smallish pitcher at the end of the juice dispenser tube.  Not all juicers are created equally, and the Breville is a superior animal even among top line juicers.  However, it is not without its imperfections.  While it does what it attests to in its advertisement slogan of “minimal effort, maximum vitality”, by turning a firm green apple to juice in no time with very little effort, it says nothing about the cleanup involved.  In order to clean the juicer, there are five parts that need to be separated and cleansed.  Two of the parts trap quite a lot of food particles, as for every ounce of juice there is a few inches of dry pulpy mass left over.   I haven’t found a use yet for this dry pulpy mass, although there were tempting links on the ‘reboot your life’ website that lead you to ‘vita-mix’ recipes which proclaimed to have a use for the fruit and veggie by-product.  For me, this dismantling, wiping and rinsing is something that needs to be done after every juice use, as I do not find the idea of leaving large pulpy masses of food sitting out appealing.  The upside to multiple washes a day is that the Breville is relatively easy to clean, as its smooth plastic curves lend themselves to being easily wiped.  It may even be Rachael-proof, as there are no sharp protruding blades on which one may easily be sluiced (this is not so for my blender, aptly named the “Ninja”; it is fully stocked with 10 blades, each seeming to project its knify-ness more than the last).

                                     (Not to be confused with the Blendersaurus)

Day four, I definitely felt the fatigue, deep, debilitating fatigue.  On the web site, which proffers up the catch phrase, “Reboot Your Life” in big bright bold letters and is associated with the Juice Fast in Fat Sick and Nearly Dead, there is a support community of people.  They have an open forum in which people write about their experiences with the fast.  Thanks to the twitter feed and Reboot Community, I’ve been privy to comments spanning from “Any advice on headaches? I don’t want to take any medicine during this reboot, but last night was pretty miserable …” to “I’m on Day 11 of RAW FOOD living. Feeling good 11 days has flown by!”  Which of these is a more accurate depiction of the juice fast is hard to guess; suffice it to say that everyone experiences the fast differently.
Most of these people, however, and the persons included in the documentary (Joe Cross recruited a few people to join him in the Juice Fast) were in agreement about one thing, the joys of getting past day 3.  Either these people had become happily deluded by day three, or I have a very different body composition to them, (which is a viable possibility) but day four did not lead to some great break through.  I was as hungry, tired and fuzzy headed as ever.  Actually, I was feeling a bit worse off.  I woke up feeling hung-over, as if I’d been on a five day drinking binge.  My throat was dry and sore, my head pounding, all of the muscles in my body ached and my mind refused to clear.  It was terrible.  The fog did not leave after the first juice of the morning, as I had counted on.  Although, on a positive note, I was finally keeping the juices down.
                                                  (Are lol catz still even funny?...yes.)

Lets talk about cravings.  According to Dr. Naomi Neufeld, an endocrinologist at UCLA, most adults need about 2,000 calories a day. Those calories make energy, or glycogen. Neufeld says it doesn't hurt — it might even help the body — to fast or stop eating for short periods of time, say 24 hours once a week, as long as you drink water.  That this actually allows you to “re-tune the body, suppress insulin secretion, reduce the taste for sugar, so sugar becomes something you're less fond of taking," Neufeld says.  Sugar was something I didn’t crave past the second day; however, my savory taste buds were a different story.  I’ve never been a big meat eater, but for some reason during this stint I could not stop dreaming about BBQ ribs.  Dripping in juice and BBQ sauce, this image was central to my night-time dreams as well as my food porn filled days.  While the idea of mastication, using my teeth to chew, had never been something I considered during meal-time, I distinctly missed the sensation of food between my teeth during this fast. 


My saliva glands also started working overtime.  At the very sight of food, my mouth would fill with the stuff.  I dreaded my walk to and from work, NYC may be the worst place to fast with its vast array of restaurants whose delectable smells leaked from their front doors like molasses oozing off pine trees.  Lunch at work with coworkers was torture.  Not only was I busily pretending to be very satisfied with my orange juice, I had to explain what a juice fast was and why I would choose to subject myself to something so socially unpropitious.  Also, the dirty looks and snide remarks I received from the overweight girl who sat next to me at work became more frequent.  I never got used to navigating social situations while on the all-juice diet and so did my best to avoid them. 

Originally, I had gone into this fast assuming it to last 7 days.  After a rigorous day one, my boyfriend (who was as eager as I was to give the fast a try after watching the documentary) and I decided to keep it at a resoundingly mediocre five days.  And really, it was more like 4.75 days as we celebrated our detox with a light dinner out the following Friday night (the fast began on Monday, Aug. 1st).  I have to admit, after passing out on the second day, I made the decision to supplement the juice with a red bell pepper or bread with pb/jelly once a day.  Ian, although not suffering from blackouts and chronic, um, upchucking, was suffering from migraine headaches and fatigue and made the decision to add peanut butter to his juice smoothies.  On my part, this supplementation was more to save my job than due to caving in to cravings.  Had I not had to move from my couch during the 5 days, I may have been just fine on juice alone, but in order to garner enough energy to make it through New York City streets (check out my  blog post on NYC streets to understand the need for energy) and into my place of work, my body would need a little more than 800 calories a day.  
A little note about weight; while many think losing weight is a mystical art that only dedicated dieters, on the level of Buddhist monks, are able to master, it really just boils down to your body expending more calories than it takes in.  I kept pretty close notes on the amount of calories I was taking in, but could only use my level of fatigue to measure my caloric output.  I assumed I was losing weight while on the fast, but did not see any visible changes in the way my clothes fit me etc.  While my intention was to detoxify my system, rather than to lose weight on this diet, I was curious as to the impact the juice fast would have on my body mass index.  The juice fast seemed to be a sort of crash diet for the documentary film maker and his faithful followers in the movie.  Each attested to losing many pounds during the fast, as did the tribe of people who were inspired enough to tweet their results online.  Thanks to my Wii fit, I was able to record at home my weight and BMI prior to and after the juice fast.  I lost 1.5lbs of weight during the fast, this is probably not water weight as I read that one typically retains water during the first week of a juice fast.  I am unsure how my decision to supplement my juices with a pb&j sandwich after 9PM may have altered the outcome.

While I am not wholly won over by the juice fast idea, (I think it may have been developed with an above healthy level BMI in mind) I have made the decision to implement juicing in to my daily life.  Mark Mattson, a scientist with the National Institute on Aging, says that when we convert food into energy, our bodies create a lot of byproducts we could do without, including free radicals.  He explains that, "These free radicals will attack proteins, DNA, the nucleus of cells, and the membranes of cells," Mattson says. And even if you don't fast, Mattson says that simply limiting the calories you consume may be beneficial. He points to studies where rats and mice were fed every other day. Compared with those fed normal daily diets, there was a reduction in disease among the rats that were severely restricted in their food intake. Mattson says those findings hold promise that humans could also benefit from partial fasting.  I would only recommend the extreme form of dieting known as juice fasting to fellow sadists.  Rather than fast to detox, in the future I plan on refraining from alcohol, uptaking my intake of water and cleansing my spirit with extra helpings of yoga.  A diet of healthy whole foods and juices to supplement my vegetable and fruit intake may just be the kind of balanced relationship with food I’ve been searching for.
3 Weeks later…
I had such an intense physical and emotional reaction to the juice fast experience that I wanted to wait a little while to let my mind and body take a breather before I posted this blog.  I am happy to say I am still an avid juicer, albeit juice is only a part of my diet now.  I am also happy to report that the past weeks have given me the opportunity to experiment with different types of juices, and I have found some types that I can tolerate much better, or even enjoy.  Such as the Spinach, Apple, Kale juice, which I am thirstily drinking down at this moment.  All in all, this fast was definitely worth the effort, and perhaps we will see another cleanse in my future :)

                                                                 (Don't judge me.)








Resources

Retune The Body With A Partial Fast by Patti Neighmond. www.npr.org/templates/story
/story.php?storyId=16513299




Thursday, July 28, 2011

Sidewalk

This morning, like all mornings, I prepared for my morning commute by locating the latest BBC World News podcast on my smart phone, shoving in my ear phones & putting on darkly tinted sun glasses. These are my weapons against the onslaught of solicitation, catcalls, jeers and the clamor of traffic that Manhattan offers its pedestrian commuters. As I stepped down the three flights of stairs to my apartment building's front entrance; I realized I was running late, very late, and the executive director was back from vacation today. It is possible that she, in her neurotic haze, could potentially notice my tardiness.

That possibility, compiled with the thought of having to wait in line to buy a new unlimited metro card (they cost $100 for 1 month and my month had just run out) led me to make a snap decision that is rather out of my character, I decided to fork over the $10 taxi fare and get a quick ride into work, shaving a good 25 minutes off of my commute. As a side note; to explain why this choice was out of character; had my metro card not been expired, I probably would have taken public transportation, regardless of how late I may have arrived at work. I attribute this apparent lack of consideration for timeliness to the fact that I get a bizarre enjoyment out of being economically efficient. Sometimes, on the weekends, I will use my monthly unlimited metro card to take me to a new place, merely because the more I use the card the more value I get from the money I spent on it.

I digress. Upon making the decision to take a cab, I took off my armor, as one needs all their faculties about them when hailing a cab. They don’t call New York City a concrete jungle for nothing. Everyday is a battle against the elements, and you are either going to fight or fail miserably at city life. Hailing a cab is just one of the many rites of passage. My face sans sunglasses and earphones felt open and vulnerable, but I held tight to the belief that no incident would occur in the short few yards between me and the corner where cabs can be hailed. All around me, there were people. High school kids clustered on stoops necking and aspirating smoke, laborers dumping and shoveling trash, busboys hosing down the sidewalk outside of their respective restaurants, yuppie types striding by in business suits, gay and straight couples picking up their miniature sized dogs’ poop in little plastic baggies. All this taking place within a couple of yards around me, I could practically reach out and touch any one of them at any given time.



It was while walking past one of the groups of high school students, the members of which were obviously enjoying their tardiness more than I was, that I heard a jarringly loud noise directly behind and to the right of me. It sounded like the word “BAT!” but it was not used in the context of, “Oh my, there is a rabid BAT flying towards your head.” Although, that would have been appropriate for the volume that the word was thrust out at me. Nor was it used in the less known, and more vulgar, acronym version of the word BAT, breaking down into the slang flattery of “Big Ass Titties”. No, it was born more in the form of an onomatopoeia, like those used in the original Super Man comics, 'BAM!’ ‘POW!’ and ‘WHAM!’. In this case, the word, used for the purpose of startling passer-bys, had a much less grandiose purpose than those in the comic, which were used to accentuate the fighting blows between villain and hero.

                            (An example of BAT's mulitple uses)

It did, however, work, and I was thoroughly startled, but not so much out of fright as out of annoyance bordering on anger. Can’t I walk ten paces down the street without being targeted for some petty assault? From my undergraduate psychology courses, I knew enough of the psychology of the bully to know that the only way to stop being targeted, would be to stand up to the bully. This would mean a further delay in my commute and an effort to identify the assailant. In order to get a better vantage point of who my attacker was, I moved aside from the main traffic path of the sidewalk, to the less used edge, and waited. It may seem obvious to you, reader, that the high school group was the culprit, as they were the group I had most recently walked past. I thought they might be also, but I try not to jump to conclusions, especially when the judgment would fall on someone(s) who remind me of a younger version of myself. So, I decided to wait for empirical proof before I made a judgment.

Thankful, for once, for the high rates of foot traffic on the city sidewalks, I didn’t have to wait long.  After a young Hispanic woman passed by me, a young Caucasian blond woman, dressed in a smart business skirt and blouse, breezed by. The wayward group of highschoolers sat silent, grinning on their stoop as the Hispanic woman passed; however, as soon as the blond was a footstep beyond the stoop, one of the high school grinners abruptly blurted, “BAT!” and, indeed, the blonde was startled enough by this outburst to take a mis-step and trip. The whole gang broke out in laughter, giving each other superior smiles and knowing looks. I stood for a moment, stunned into silence, which, if you know me, know, also, that this is a rare reaction.

It wasn’t so much the blatant disrespect directed at the blonde woman, and myself, which affected me. I could write that off as typical teenage revolt against an older generation and even to male posturing, as being the clown of the group can garner him status and upgrade his position in the adolescent pecking order of their social circle. What I could not accept, however, was the fact that this small outcropping of highschoolers, all who happened to be of Hispanic descent, let the Hispanic woman walk past unmolested. Racism, in any form, turns my stomach. While I am painfully aware of the fact the my “white” skin lends me all the white privilege that society presents me, and I am also aware that I do not appreciate this fact as often as I should, I was still astounded to see this apparent racism embedded in the hearts and minds of such a young group of individuals. For me, this explicit form of racism, in which white women are targeted but Hispanic women are not, turned an innocuous prank into the manifestation of a particularly abhorrent society-wide issue, racial tension. This mild stoop in my neighborhood was transformed into a festering pore on the indignant face of intolerance, a source of exit for the community’s infection of ignorance.

The fire within me at being targeted by a bully was suddenly cooled. Left in its place was a thick, heavy knot. This was turning into an issue too big for me to fix with one fell swoop of backbone. Still, I knew I had to approach my assailants, the high school is on the block that I live on, meaning I pass this same group of students everyday on my commute to work. Alas, this is a concrete jungle, and, so, like any other animal, I had to assert myself, or else be over-ridden by a stronger animal. I approached the group, straight backed and squinty eyed. Quickly, I stated what I had to impart on them, namely my opinion that what they were doing was rude. While the admonishments did include words like “inappropriate” and “don’t you have anything better to do?” I did not bring up the issue of race.


                                                 
The alpha male did his best to stare me down, maintaining his innocence and grinning at the other boys, but, in the end, he was first to break eye-contact.  However, this triumph was bitter tasting; I was too chicken to bring up the fact that they were targeting white women, and did not feel like it would be appropriate for a white woman to lecture them on why they should do their best to treat all races equally, (I am sensitive to the fact that they too, have had to live their lives in a world with white privilege, and for them, this means that they are given the short end of the stick more times than not).  Developing tolerance is going to be a life long endeavor, that I can do best through example, and cannot expect to fix in one rushed encounter on city streets.  I did, however, win a tiny victory for myself, as one lowly little animal standing up to a pack, on the sewage strewn streets of Manhattan this morning. 


Friday, July 8, 2011

Puppy

There is a pet store across the street from my job in Chelsea.  I walk past it on my way to java juice for lunch.   I nearly lose my appetite every time I see the squirmy little puppies smoldering in the hot window compartment that they are stored in to get passerbys attention.  Today, I was one of those passerbys that was so swayed by the puppies’ plight as to go in and see what this pet store was all about.  The first thing I noticed was the heat wave that hit me upon entering.  A large sign pleading in thick black letters to forgive them for the heat as the air conditioning is broken.  One look at the lethargic puppies sweltering in their 12 inch by 12 inch clear plastic boxes was enough to tell me that it’s the puppies who need an apology.  It was obvious by the dodgy answers of the pet shop clerks that they get their stock from puppy mills. 


Among the stacks of poorly ventilated puppy pods; there was one little Shiba Inu puppy.  Its appearance was that of sled dog with a dense double coat and beautiful white grey markings that looked particularly dejected and affected by the heat.  Hoping to give it a few minutes of freedom and exercise; I asked to see it.  The attendant hastily set up a metal cage for the puppy to be set in.  Puppies are usually hyper-active, but this puppy’s activity had a desperate edge to it.  His poor social skills (probably due to lack of socialization as he is locked in a box all day) and his constant chewing of my hands, feet and shirt led me to ask the attendant for a chew toy for him.  The attendant curtly explained to me, in broken English, that the puppies did not get chew toys.  When I asked why, he sneered, “we don’t want to spoil them.”  The attendant then hinted at the fact that the Shiba puppy, which looked no older than 3 months, had been there for 8 weeks and really needed a home.  He even offered up the bargain price of $695.00 if I took him home today.
I left the citipet shop with a nauseous feeling in my gut.  There is a seldom seen dark underbelly in the market of puppies.  The ones that aren’t sold are euthanized when they get "too old" and there tend to be a lot of 'rejects' (ones w/ genetic problems, physical defects, etc) because of the inbreeding that goes along with pure breeds.   I wish there was more I could for the little guys.  To be honest, the idea of buying a puppy from this place to save it crossed my mind, but doing that just tells the owners that there is a demand, and they will do anything to make a profit.  It is viewing the cruelty of merchants like this that keeps me from claiming ‘libertarianism’ as my political ideology.  Sometimes, regulation can save lives.


Thursday, June 30, 2011

My second work experience in NYC

One of the women in my office can't stop coughing.  I thought it was just an acute issue, but apparently its been going on for months...maybe years.  Don't worry, it isn't some life-threatening condition, it's psycho-somatic.  Whenever she starts to get nervous she sounds like she is coughing up a hairball; so it is especially present during office meetings and fund-raising events.  Everyone in the office feels compelled to play along and offers advice; everything from home remedies to pulmonoligists and acupuncture has been offered up.  She keeps a running commentary on her medical status.  She slurs her words too, which makes me think maybe her undiscovered anxiety disorder that manifests as nervous hairball coughs is due to a very real speach impediment.  It took her 15 minutes to get through 5 sentences today in the meeting, the imbedded inefficiency in this adds to the ridiculousness of my life and makes my day that much better.


Oh, and one day, something fell off of the roof from the building next door to us.  Everyone ran over to the window, I think they were all secretly hoping it was a body or something traumatic like that.  No one could see where it landed.  I think it was debris from the awesome party the Europeans are throwing at the hostel next door.  Those kids can party.

My first work experience in NYC

I've been wanting to tell you about Steven, my old boss back at CACC, where I taught financial literacy to women in shelters.  When Steven wasn't hopping around the office hollering 'CLINER', one of his pet names for me (the other was RC), he was hovering outside my office door, excitedly rambling about the newest breakthrough he had in psycho-therapy that week.  Every morning, he would yell for me to come sit in his office under the pretense of an 'office meeting.'  He would keep me prisoner there for hours, alternating between rants about the newest motorcycle part that he was using to fix his Ducati and his long-distance relationship with a girl he never failed to mention was two years my junior.  As if that wasn't creepy enough, every Wednesday we took an hour long subway trip to the Bronx together to do our outreach work.  These hours were typically filled with his innocuous chatter while I politely endured his halitosis.  Our "conversation" always included at least 20 ego-stroking minutes in which he explained how, one day, he would be a millionaire, like his brother.  Once, though, he really offended me.  He gestured to a women and her children sitting across from us and said under his breath, "Poor people shouldn't be allowed to have so many children."  ...she and her beautiful children happened to be of African American descent.  I quit two days later.
I find these memories somewhat amusing now that I don't deal with him every day.  This is a good rendition of how harried I looked on a day to day basis there. 

                     "CLINER!!"  ........................."um, did you want me?"

Assimilation

Am I becoming ‘one of them’  when I first moved to manhattan, I was appalled by the abrasive behavior, unnecessarily cold shoulders and completely odd-ball antics.  After decking my cat out in full matching harness and leash gear, and taking him for a walk in the patchy green ‘no dogs allowed’ territory alongside the Hudson River, I’m beginning to think I’m becoming one of them.  Perhaps I haven't completely embraced the "shove old women aside on subway" persona, but I may be getting scarily close to the "ride around on my 3 wheel in a pink leopard jumpsuit" one.