People are cross-country skiing down the street in front of our house here in Portland. For my part, I have secured several pieces of flint. I am carving some into firestarters, the rest I'm flaking into spear-heads. I'll afix the spear-heads to long sticks in anticipation of hunting the wooly fucking mammoth and sabre-tooth tigers sure to be returning at this, the dawn of the new Ice Age.This is Portland, however, so rest assured I'll do my hunting from the saddle of a fixed-gear bicycle.
Sweet consolation, then, that we leave for SoCal December 25.
Naturally, we'll be going to see the Boss in Encinitas.
The other day, I told Tara, "Honey, we have to get on our A-game here, or else the B0ss is going to think we've been slacking!"
Tara has been fitting her legs behind her head and coming up from karandavasana. "I don't have anything to worry about," she said.
There's definitely something about practicing with the Boss that makes us step sharpish. Nothing like those tan legs hoving into the corner of one's vision to inspire a little extra English on a pose.
Perhaps my favorite strategy that Tim employs is the Sneak Attack, when he vanishes from your field of vision. Perhaps he's behind the pillar? You enter an asana — only he's been behind you the entire time! Shazam! Your feet are on your head! The only way to survive is to give up.
