Bikram yoga or death by a thousand degrees

OK, only about 105 degrees. I have now attended two Bikram yoga classes - suggested to me by a couple of people who swear by the heat, humidity and regimented routine of 26 poses bracketed by terrifying breathing exercises. I think I like it, or at least at this distance (four hours out) I like it. The room smells bad. I suppose there really is nothing to be done when a space is used day in and day out to contain straining, sweating humanity. I knew it wouldn't be fresh, but it really is something to be reckoned with. Then there is the heat. I consider not having had to run out before the end of the 90 minutes a major triumph. Of course, I have to find my triumphs somewhere because the class is a very rude reminder that I am not one of the flexible members of the human race. It is kind of humbling to actually be in a room with 30 or so people and really be the worst one there. This is not hyperbole and I have no illusions about measuring myself against the lithe, agile, willow people in the front row or the solid, tattooed vegan types, but I have never actually been the worst at something in a group setting (except maybe ballroom dancing). I am absolutely the worst. There are whole poses that I cannot even begin. This is largely due to my back problems since the tubing incident of last spring, but having short hamstrings and other rigid bits doesn't help. So we are all lying on our tummies and we are supposed to grasp our ankles with our hands so that we are like boats. the teacher had to come over and suggest I just try to grasp one side and switch off. I could almost manage that.

Work funny

We had a departmental meeting a couple of weeks ago. Much dreaded because of a terrifying disconnect between the realities of global financial collapse and our faculty's view that this somehow shouldn't impact their mission to write esoteric things, teach boutique courses, and generally come and go as they please. Add to this the prospect of considering a temporary halt to recruiting PhD students (for reasons which will be exemplified below) in the face of some faculty who cling to the idea of being a doctoral granting department no matter what that looks like in practice. In the end the anticipated fireworks didn't go off; perhaps there had been enough preparatory small group conversations that people had begun to internalize the idea that it is, in fact, not possible to proceed with business as usual when you've just learned that 9-12% of your state appropriated funds will be permanently reappropriated by July 1st. But the really choice meeting moments had to do with our director of graduate studies reporting on the actuality of the PhD students we currently have. There was really not much to say when confronted with such facts as one post comps student who has been maintaining current registration (which you do by paying for 3 credits of tuition every semester) for SEVENTEEN years. As the DGS deadpannedly remarked, "Aside from the ethical question of how we let someone languish, but pony up cash, to such an extent?... four of the five committee members NO LONGER WORK HERE, and the course work is so far in the past that the discipline has surely moved on so what sort of dissertation would the person possibly be writing... The full DGS report was peppered by exclamations of "WHAT?" and the like from the faculty. Even the most staunch defenders of the PhD programs had the good sense to look dutifully troubled by the state of disarray.

new post from Russia

Just back from the provincial city of Vladimir, It is where we hope to deposit our students. A great small town. They will thrive there. Virtually no foreigners. I stayed in the nicest hotel -- my room had a mini bar and a tv with many channels but no clock. Why no clock?

Social life in Moscow

Quick update on the social events of Moscow. Saturday evening we had tickets to the show of one of the designers at Russian Fashion Week. Basically, a scene filled with impossibly skinny and tall girls flitting about. We availed ourselves of a free bar that spontaneously appeared near where we sat and waited for our show to begin. Cocktails with vodka, chamord and a slice of lime in plastic glasses shaped like an ice cream cone. You couldn't set them down, had to chug. Afterwards, the after party at a very nice restaurant where all the men were gay and the women still tall and skinny. The food consisted of glasses of chopped celery and cucumber with interesting spices. OK, I lie, they also gave us spoons with risotto and some kebabs. I saw a very skinny girl sneaking someone's discarded risotto spoon -- the personal shame.
Yesterday, pedicures. More on that in another post. Then on to Sunday lunch at an Australian diplomats place. As we return from pedicures, Liz breaks the news that it is "fancy dress". The horror. We dig out two Hawaiian dresses she has recently been gifted from a Korean-American friend's parents factory(...). Those with flip flops, a lei from the children's toy box and a birdcage salvaged from outside the fashion show hotel last night (the models in some show must have worn them as hats), we felt ready for anything. Of course we arrived to discover that no one else had taken the invitation seriously and were glad we had brought something to change into...

higgledy piggledy

Went to a charming place for lunch - again one of the big changes in Russia, that there are charming spots for a quick lunch. But our waitress was pure Soviet style. She didn't crack a smile and brought everything in random order. First we got our bruschetta, then came our drinks when those were almost done, finally the soup. Everything was delicious. Today it turns out is a work day. November 4th is the big holiday and since it falls on Tuesday and they want to give a long weekend they made Saturday a workday this week and people have Monday off.

Moscow bound

First blog about the trip to Russia and this is all about stuff prior to even hitting Russian soil. How do you know your flight is Moscow bound? Oh, maybe it could be the numerous carts of duty free groaning under the weight of bags and bags of alcohol being wheeled to the boarding gate. I mean, usually, there is some employee standing there with a few forlorn items, but this was like a Turkish bazaar (if I had ever seen a Turkish bazaar). Second item that differentiates your Moscow boarding lounge at JFK, from say, the one where the flight is going to Venice or Athens… the hulking great immigration officers with their deportees (similarly hulking, but much shorter). Then I get in line and I am at the end of the line and a Russian couple cuts in front of me!!! I mean how much did they gain? I was at the end of the line. Actually, I think they had no idea they had done it so ingrained is the need to cut in line. I am sitting next to a Russian woman who has been reading the duty free catalog for several hours now. I am not kidding. I guess she missed out on the free for all prior to boarding. Annoyingly I cannot fall asleep. I slept like a log from Salt Lake to JFK and now, wide awake.

would the super mom please stand up

I spent the weekend sewing a bunny suit for Sam. Yes, my 12 year old boy wants to be a 12 year old sized bunny rabbit for Halloween. The suit is white fleece with mittens, spats, and a hood with floppy ears. He intends to wear the suit part as pajamas after the big day. Catherine asked him if he was planning to cut off the bobbly tail and he said, no.