Bikram yoga is getting better! February 8, 2010

I made it back to Bikram Yoga yesterday, finally. I haven’t been taking as much advantage of the month-long special.Work is crazy right now, so if I’m at the office from 9 to 9, there really is no time for anything else but sleeping.

The class was super-crowded again. The instructor came in and informed us that since some people who had signed in on the internet showed up late, after their spots were given away, we now had 45 people in the class to accommodate them. (I showed up about 30 seconds before they gave my spot away. I really do hate the New York subway.)

I felt a little guilty because the Groupon people are the ones who are crowding the classes up. But my neighbors didn’t seem to mind, they seemed more interested in the concept of Groupon than in what it was doing to their yoga experience.

I made sure to grab a place close to the outside of the room, about four people over. The instructor had a different style of teaching. She was hard on me: “Lock your knees, Alden, you have to lock them more!” she said in her thick slavic(?) accent. I felt myself get angry at what felt like hectoring, but I calmed myself. You can’t get mad in yoga, it defeats the whole point!

At 45 minutes I did a quick self assessment. This was about the time in the last class when I started to feel nauseous and dizzy, something the Bikram literature assures me is quite normal. But this time I was still feeling strong and healthy.

It helped that later on the instructor cracked the door. You could literally see the cold air mixing with the humid air inside the room, creating a fog, and as I lay on the ground, stretching, it floated over me like a scene out of a graveyard. Oh, but it felt so good.

I was a much happier person at the end of my class yesterday. I had made it through just fine, and bounced out of the room without feeling like I had come close to drowning. It helped that I focused more on the proper breathing technique.

The best part? Today I can feel that delicious soreness that accompanies a good workout in my shoulders, butt, and hip flexors.

Unfortunately I have to fly down to North Carolina tonight for a funeral (I’ll write more about that later), so no yoga for a couple of days. I hope I can fit in a bunch of more classes before the month is up, so I can make an informed decision about whether I want to pay for it for the long-term.

A yearly package costs $1,525. That is $127 per month, (slightly lower than the $130 per unlimited month for a 6-month package and a lot lower than the flat $180 per unlimited month) and about $32 a week. Let’s say I go three times a week. That means I’m paying more than $10 a session. Is it worth it? I need to do more research and then I’ll get back to you on that…

Conversation with a Post Employee February 7, 2010

I was having a conversation with a friend after touch football this afternoon. We were at Popeye’s. Yeah, I know.

He insisted we go there to get a bite to eat, since we had been drinking. I succumbed and asked for a biscuit. Man, those things are tasty. Anyway, we got to talking, and he told me he works at Post. Here was the most interesting part: he said that the marketing division at post can say to the food scientists, “We want a cereal with this many calories, this much calcium, fat, and vitamins.” And the food scientists can go do it. They put together a food according to the specifications of the marketing division.

“I used to feel uncomfortable about it,” he said. “But we are really just giving people what they want. When we made fruity pebbles less sugary and a little bit healthier, people didn’t buy so much.”

Update: I forgot to add the most interesting part! He told me that ‘Nilla Wafers, which I fondly recall from my youth, don’t have any vanilla left in them. They’ve engineered it all out!!

The Gio Salon February 5, 2010

As I wandered the Union Square farmers market, looking for food and then Christmas presents oh so long ago, a girl in her twenties approached me. “Excuse me,” she said. “Who does your hair?”

I raised my hand self-consciously to my not-so-great bob. She actually liked my hair?

“Well, this salon in SoHo, but I don’t really like how they did it.”

“Oh that’s perfect,” she said. “Because I have this special offer…”

I considered running away, but I’m too nice to do that. (I guess I’m not a “real” New Yorker yet) I ended up buying a $60 offer from Gio Salon that gave me rights to a haircut, highlights, conditioning treatment, blow dry and finish, and neck and shoulder massage. (That last “service” is BS, but whatever.) That’s $20 less than what I was paying for just a haircut at my salon.

I was pretty skeptical. After all, if the salon felt the need to practically give away their product, it couldn’t be that good, right??

Well, I was pleasantly surprised.

Gio Salon is in a tiny little hole-in-the-wall at 21st and 8th Avenue. It couldn’t be much bigger than my bedroom. When I walked in it was abuzz with several hairdressers fluttering around their clients, and more girls sitting on a couch and reading with foils in their hair.

They quickly set me up with a shampoo and rinse, and gave me to a hairdresser that looked like he spends more time in the gym pumping iron that snipping women’s hair. But he was a sweetheart, and listened carefully to what I wanted, and soon I was flipping through a magazine while he snipped away.

Two seats down I watched a stylist do some final primping on a dark-haired girl with dark, silky, long hair and straight bangs. Love! And then another gorgeous girl walked past, her rich brown hair done in those perfect it-almost-could-be-natural curls of a lingerie model.

The end result of my haircut? Adorable! I’ve been through two haircuts in pursuit of the perfect bob, but here — this was it. I thanked him warmly, tipped him accordingly, and decided that I would refer anyone there who needs a haircut.

AND I still have this coupon that I can give to anyone who wants free highlights! None of my friends or coworkers highlight their hair… so who wants it?

I think – gasp – I’m going – gasp – to pass out! Bikram yoga February 2, 2010

Bikram yoga is supposed to have all sorts of benefits. According to BikramYoga.com (maintained by the practice’s namesake who pioneered the movement) it just about solves every problem. Do you have kidney disease? Bulging disk? Sinus infection? Dengue fever? Well, then pull on your Lululemon hot pants and get down to your local Bikram studio, because your problems will be solved!

Ok, maybe not. I’m not sure I believe in the magical healing powers of contorting your body while you drip sweat, even if the website does give long, heart-warming testimonials for each of their hundred listed ailments ailment from a client whose life has been changed . I mean, hardly scientific. But it really can’t hurt. You know how you work out in the gym and then get in the sauna? Well, just think of Bikram yoga as saving you some time by combining the two.

The main benefits for which people go are weight loss and detoxification. Lord knows I need some detoxifying, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to lose a couple!

I didn’t really know any of this before I showed up this evening to Bikram Yoga NYC. All I know is that I had gotten a Groupon for one month of yoga on the cheap, and I decided, “Why not?” I hoped it would motivate me to get my cubicle-bound, soft little butt into the classroom. I haven’t been to yoga in forever. Partly because of the new job, partly because of laziness, partly because of drinking on the weekends. So I packed a bag before work and put it on my priority list. With classes starting as late as 9:45 pm, I have no excuse not to go.

Bikram Yoga NYC is located on the second floor of a building on 72nd Street and Amsterdam. As soon as I pushed open the door to the studio, a wave of soggy, warm air hit me. I was a half hour early, but there was already a waiting list. (Once you are a member, you can reserve a spot ahead of time online.)

I fought my way through the overcrowded little locker room, trying to avoid touching the apologetically naked women who didn’t seem to realize I had a prize view of their cootchy when they bent over. Ew. As soon as I could, I stuffed my bags into a locker and went back into the lobby to discover I had gotten off the waiting list and into a class. Score!

When I got up to the classroom, I found it to be very long and thin, with two rows of twenty people each pressed together, mat to mat. It’s a good thing it’s not a flailing, power-type of yoga, or else there would be some bruises. The classroom already felt like a swamp, and everyone was wearing tiny little shorts and sports bras. I, in my misguided modesty, was wearing long pants and a tank. A decision I would later regret.

In front of me was a hairy, middle-aged guy with nothing on except short shorts. I would get disturbingly acquainted with that guy’s back and the v-neck design his back hair made during the class. Two people to my right was a beautiful girl in her twenties with ornate tattoos all over her arms. And a few over from her was a girl with an Astroturf haircut. “How do you give yourself an Astroturf haircut?” you might ask. Well, you buzz your hair into a strip from ear to ear, leaving bangs in the front and your hair long in the back, and then dye that strip neon green. Beautiful.

Not really.

Anyway, the little Asian instructor bounced in right on time. She was leanly muscled, the picture of a well-practiced yogi. She took the names of all the “new friends,” including me, and then exhorted us to move to the outside, where it wouldn’t be so hot. I stayed put. I could take it! I’m a 7-mile-jogging, regular-yoga-attending, weight-lifting, former athlete!

Oh, how wrong I was.

We started with deep breathing and stretching exercises and then moved into basic stretching poses. “Streeeeetch yor body out!” She would exhort us. “Puuuuuuuh [pull]  yor stomach uuuuuup!” Like she was on the toilet straining instead of trying to get us to stay upright. I couldn’t understand half the things she said, but at least she was enthusiastic.

The poses themselves weren’t that bad, nothing I didn’t do in all of my other yoga classes. But as the class progressed, the air became thicker and hotter, until I felt like I was drinking soup instead of breathing. At 4o minutes, I thought I would pass out, and I still had 50 more minutes to go.

I’ve only felt like this three times before. And every time it was August, during field hockey preseason, right after sprints, as the ground spun beneath me and a felt that either I would collapse or vomit. But here I was in a little box with 39 other people, voluntarily subjecting myself to what felt like water boarding. I kept going through that yoga class, occasionally dropping to the ground to suck in slightly cooler air, kind of like what you’re supposed to do if you are in a fire. Stop, drop, and breathe deep!

When the class mercifully ended, I stumbled out and down the stairs. I had to sit for a bit in the locker room and just get my energy back. I needed time to fill my lungs back up with regular air.

So will I go back?

Yes. I bought a whole month of yoga, and damn it, I’m gonna use it! Plus the athlete in side of me is telling myself to stop being such a wuss. All signs point to it getting better, including all the happy and energized women who milled around me in the locker room right after. There were some -ahem- chubby people in that yoga class, but they made it through. If they can do it, So. Can. I.

Update: This morning I weighed myself, and I’ve dropped 3 pounds since Sunday. It’s gotta be the yoga.

An Conscious Consumer’s Manifesto January 30, 2010

We, the eaters of the United States of America, hold the truths to be self evident (even if food producers think they aren’t):

That we have the right to know what is in our food.

We have the right to know what ingredients are in our food – whether it contains Genetically Modified Organisms (GMOs) or nature-made organisms, whether the ingredients were engineered by a lab technician or grown by a farmer, whether the meat we eat has hormones or antibiotics or just meat, and whether plants we consume are coated with pesticides or just rainwater.

We the eaters have the right to know how that food was made – whether it was made in a kitchen or in a factory, whether it was fertilized by synthetic fertilizer or manure and sunshine, whether it was raised in a Concentrated Animal Feeding Operation (CAFO) or on a green pasture.

We the eaters have the right to know from how far away that food came – whether it was shipped in a truck, train, the back of a trailer, or even in a horse and buggy. We have the right to know when the food was picked or slaughtered, when it was processed, and how long it sat in a warehouse, on a shelf, or in a truck before we get our hands on it.

We the eaters have a right to question, critique, and challenge outdated conventions about how and when food is served. We have a right to know all information, data, statistics, and findings on the health, safety, environmental and economic effects of the food we consume. We have the right to gather, learn, and disseminate this information free from interference by special interests and corporations.We have the right to rebel against unhealthy eating habits foisted upon us by others, or just politely say “No thank you.”

We the people have the right to understand all the ingredients that are on food labels. We have the right to be able to know what food ingredients are – without a degree in chemistry, or a constantly updated dictionary of food terms that are created by the food industry to mask its food engineering.

We the eaters of America, have a right to protect our children from misleading and manipulative food marketing, to not have to fight an uphill battles against the messages they see everyday, from the breakfast table, to the street, to the schools, to daily activities. We have the right to shape our childrens’ health without interference from those who seek to make a profit off of them.

Most importantly of all, we, the eaters of America, have the right to access fresh food from our own states, towns, neighborhoods, and neighbors, whether we are rich or poor, educated or laymen, liberal or conservative, urban or rural. We have the right to choose to buy food from our neighbors and our local farms, even if they do not conform to the safety standards designed with large scale food operations in mind.

All of these rights we hold to be self-evident, and the natural order of things.

Whether the food producers agree or not.

PS1: A zen moment in Long Island City January 22, 2010

The PS1 Contemporary Art Center is an offbeat offshoot of the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art. It’s housed in an old Public School (hence the name) in Long Island City, only a few stops away from the hubub of upscale commercial activity by 5th Avenue. But it seems to inhabit its own world of quiet thought.

Nothing is pretentious, everything is beautiful – or at least interesting. A couple weeks before Christmas, I found myself with a free day and a free ticket, and decided to venture over. The day was cold and overcast, like a wet blanket laid across the sky, so I bundled up before I set out.

Even as Manhattan teemed with gawking tourists and cranky Christmas shoppers, this industrial-ish area was empty and quiet. I picked my way around some workers putting up a new installation in PS1’s courtyard (something to do with felt) and up the steps. After I bought my ticket, I set off through the white-walled renovated classrooms, my footsteps echoing. So different from the main MoMA, where I had to elbow my way through the Tim Burton exhibit.

Downstairs were various student pieces (gorgeous). I took a couple pictures, until I got fussed at by a guard. There’s also a piece called “Swimming pool,” by Leandro Erlich, with a twist. That’s all I’m going to say because I don’t want to ruin the surprise!

The next floor took me through a several rooms filled with modern conceptual pieces from 1969. It was like taking a trip back in time and having a conversation with artists who were influenced and inspired by the Vietnam War, campus protests, and the Civil Rights movement.

But the top floor, oh, that was my favorite. Well, it’s a bit of a weird setup. Most of the rooms are just art classrooms or administrative offices. It seemed like I could have wandered right in and had a conversation with the curator.

The room that took my breath away – or rather, gave it back – was the open air room. As the door opened and another visitor came out, I was caressed by a breeze of cool air. I walked into the small, spare space and sat down on a teak wood bench that hugged the square wall. Others sat quietly as well. And we all stared up at the sky.

You see, there was a square hole in the ceiling. There was no molding or trim. For a moment I wondered if I was looking at a window, or a picture of the sky. But it was just the sky itself. The light was slowly fading, and I sat there, silently watching the sky turn blue and purple. Sometimes a seagull would wheel into the frame and I would contemplate it as it moved in and then out of my view.

I would never sit and watch this on a TV, or a computer monitor. But I was entranced by the sky. I thought back to my childhood, when I would lay on my bed and watch the clouds move past through my skylight. I lost track of time, and when I left, I felt peaceful and happy.

When I got outside, I checked my phone and saw a missed call from Ogilvy. They were calling to say I got the job.

To drink or not to drink? January 18, 2010

I have a confession. I was so bad yesterday. First I broke my new years resolution of no processed food by eating pita chips and hummus for breakfast. That’s not that bad, you might say. Oh, it gets worse. I ordered wings and waffle fries for lunch, and washed it down with plastic bottle of Gatorade. As I blearily sucked down the blue liquid, I looked at the label and saw that Gatorade’s second ingredient is high fructose corn syrup. The wings came in a styrofoam box, which had leaked spicy buffalo sauce all over the plastic bag. They also came with disposable napkins and plastic utensils. I held myself back from ordering a coke with it, but caved later and helped myself to Vicki’s ginger ale.

How did this happen? How did I go from extolling the virtues of the farmers market, from avowing to avoid processed foods and secretly judging anyone who didn’t follow my example, to paying money for such grossness? I feel like such a hypocrite. Well, I’ll tell you why.

Alcohol.

Ugh, I was so hung over. Somehow when your stomach is berating you for staying out until 3:30 in the morning, and asking you why you agreed to that tequila shot, it refuses to accept the idea of a fruit smoothie, peanut butter and apple slices, or basically anything from nature. All it wants are refined carbs that have been mixed with sugar and packaged up into bite size morsels. It wants grease, and with no bacon left in the house, and a rebellious tummy, I ordered in.

Why is it that when our stomach is this vulnerable, it demands stuff that isn’t good for it? I have no idea. What I do know is that yesterday made me rethink my whole stance on drinking.

It’s not like I set out to get toasted. I actually promised myself I would drink the beer slowly. But a birthday party at the bowling alley turned into a late night at the bar, and I found myself dancing and drinking and laughing and drinking some more. It used to be that after nights like this, I would stumble out of my dorm room in a perfect euphoria. A little light headed and loopy, but my stomach wouldn’t feel bad, and my head would be pain free. Not. Any. More. I’m an old lady now.

Alcohol seems to be the antithesis of organic anyway. Oh sure, they have organic vodka and wine and gin. But the whole point of eating organic is having faith that in the long run, your body will function at least slightly better than if you had sustained yourself on soda and microwave meals. As for alcohol, it can ruin your ability to function in less than an hour, much less years down the road. So how does that jive with my philosophy of treating my body well? And let’s face it, Turtle Bay was not serving organic alcohol. (I don’t care how nice Patrone is, it still makes me gag.)

So what do I do moving forward? I still don’t know. I love the fun that comes with drinking with friends. I like having wine with dinner, proposing a toast over shots, and clinking beer glasses with friends. In college, the best times were had over drinking Jenga and beer pong. But I hate the way it ruins my life for a day. In one 24 hour period, I missed touch football, I added a pound to my waistline, and I definitely didn’t make it to yoga. And now I have leftover wings sitting in my fridge I don’t want and a full trash can of unrecyclables.

Any thoughts? How do you solve the drinking problem if you are trying to be kind to your body and the earth? Is there a compromise? Or should I just give it up and join my boyfriend in No Alcohol Land?

Another up-cycled blanket. And this one is ROCKIN. January 18, 2010

Mom had made me a great up-cycled blanket, that definitely looked girly. But this one, full of old band t-shirts, is ridiculous. In a good way. She made it for my brother-in-law for Christmas.

Conscientous Carnivoring January 15, 2010

Credit: Apartment Therapy

This summer I heard the fact that if you wanted to make the most impact, you would be better off becoming a vegetarian than replacing your Hummer with a Prius.

Well, I immediately began cutting down on my meat consumption. But as with most eco-friendly tips that are thrown about these days, it wasn’t that simple.

You see, cutting down on the amount of meat you consume is a great thing to do. In a world where water and food resources are being strained, it makes sense to eat your calories in corn itself. It takes 16 pounds of grains to produce one pound of beef. Yikes!

Here’s the catch: the factoids above assume you are eating corn fed beef. Mmm, corn-fed beef. Sounds great, doesn’t it? If you go to the fancy steak house, Lewnes, in Annapolis, they tell you a beautiful story about the rich marbling of their corn-fed beef from Texas. But the best meat, the meat that is delicious and – more importantly – safe when it comes to food-born illness, is grass fed beef from your local farmer.

Yep, if you can ask the name of the cow or pig or chicken or turkey that provided your dinner, then you know that farmer took extra special care of that animal. Grass fed beef is more sustainable naturally, because the cows eat grass – not corn – which keeps corn from being taken out of the food chain. If everyone ate grass fed beef instead of corn-fed beef, that would reinsert 80% of the corn grown in the US back into the mouth of Americans.  Grass fed beef also doesn’t require a bunch of pesticides and hormones.

I learned all of this from Michael Pollan, and it changed my view of meat and food.

So that leads me to my new designation: Conscientious Carnivore. It’s a growing movement that is turning vegetarians back into carnivores. This article this morning from The Gothamist turned me onto the phrase, and I love it. It means that you can enjoy sizzling bacon, as long as you know that pig was free of hormones, was raised sustainably, and got to wiggle its little corkscrew tail in happiness, instead of shoved into disgusting pen with a bajillion other pigs.

It means you are still eating sustainably, and showing the meat industry that you have standards when it comes to meat. That you want safe food, delicious food, food that doesn’t take corn out of the mouths of those who need it.*

So be a conscientious carnivore! Head to the farmers market, or almost as good, Whole Foods, and grab yourself some grass fed beef, free-range chicken, or scrumptious bacon. And read this book. I will.

*The corn fed to cows is not edible by humans. But think of what the land used to grow it could be used for instead. Sweet corn! Orchards full of apples! More sustainable grown beef!

Being eco-friendly at work January 13, 2010

So, I’m in my second week of work. As I mentioned earlier, Ogilvy is well on its way to greendom. Though there’s some other things to be done. Let’s save that discussion for another time, yes?

Anyway, there’s a few things I’ve done to be a little bit greener, and you can do too!

• Bring in a plant

Plants are proven to improve your happiness at work, first off. Second, they are pretty. And third, they clean the air. That’s important, because in a new building like this, paints can emit harmful VOCs for up to 6 months! Try these ten plants that clean the air, and be happy and healthy.

• Have a “I’ll recycle this later” pile on the corner of my desk.

There aren’t recycling bins at every desk. Or even every area. So I put everything in one place to take away at the end of the day. My trashcan is so empty right now.

• Get a lunch bag, bento boxes, and reusable silverware.

The cafeteria here is pretty nice as far as cafeterias go. But at the end of every lunch, all 15oo or so employees dump their lunch leftovers, takeout boxes, and silverware in the waste containers. Plastic cups go in the bottle/can containers. It’s a start I guess.

Last night I hit up Whole Foods and bought  insulated lunch bag. And it’s already gotten two compliments! It’s the model you see above. Cute, right? I have matching Bento boxes that come in every size you could need, and a set of bamboo silverware. I also bought some food from the Whole Foods salad bar, and saved half for lunch today. That brings me to my next tip…

• Bring your own food

As good as the cafeteria food is, and as much as I enjoy the salad bar, I don’t think it’s organic. It’s definitely not local. Sadly, I haven’t made it to the farmers market since I got back to the city. But I do have all the ingredients for an organic 3-cheese polenta, which I will make tonight. The leftovers are going in the Bento Boxes. My cubemates will be jeaalooouuus.

• Get your own mug

It’s so much more luxurious to drink out of a pretty mug than a paper one, don’t you think? I haven’t gotten one yet, but I plan to stop by an antique store tonight and look for one.

• Bring your own water bottle.

I mean, duh.

• Rummage for supplies.

You could go to the assistant and say “Oh would you please order me some new supplies?” Or you could ask around to your neighbors. Chances are they have some extra stuff sitting in their drawers they never use anyway. I currently have a stapler/staple remover set, four folders, and four boxes of pens that I inherited from the last desk owner.

• Print doublesided
• Unplug your computer before you leave at night.

I’m pretty new to this office stuff. I think I’ll wait some time to get settled/entrenched in the office before I start making waves and requests for new recycling bins. But I would still like to know:

What else can I do to go green here?