Speaking of coconuts, how does one get the little bastards open?

Monkeys do it, and here I am with my opposable thumbs and giant, evolved forebrain, smashing the thing around the parking lot like an idiot, unable to get at the sweet, sweet meat inside.

I'm right fucked if I ever crash-land on a deserted island.

I've been using the DeWalt drill to bore two holes into the coconut, after which I insert a straw.

Even with the DeWalt, I still can't get it open as fast as Beg the Coconut Man of Mysore, who holds the coconut in one hand and swings a machete at it with the other---yet still has all his fingers!

My Electric Lady betrayed me the other day. Tim's been running Sunday classes in the Sandcastle Room much later in the day, so I've been practicing at 1 PM.

Like a true Western yoga student (read: "idiot"), I ate a banana and some almonds at about 8 AM, and immediately washed it down with my vaunted Electric Lady Hammerhead. And that was it.

Needless to say, by 1 PM I was a jittery, sugar over-loaded, dehydrated mess.

Back: not bending. Muscles: trembling. Demeanor: shaky.

After practice, Andrew and Jess told me they'd eaten pancakes for breakfast that morning. Pancakes! Doubtless covered in cream. Nothing like a bit of common sense to set one on an even keel.

As Jay-Z says, streets is talking, and the mean yoga streets of Encinitas is talking about the location of our new shala.

I don't want to say anything about the new spot just yet.

I'm fighting an immediate knee-jerk "Jesus-Christ-are-you-fucking-serious!" reaction. What I'm trying to say is that I'm still trying to process the information.

What else is yoga for, than to recognize our conditioned patterns of behavior?

Change is good, right? Things can't stay the same forever.

Right?

I'm trusting that regardless of where Tim hangs up his new shingle, he'll imbue it with the same degree of love and devotion as the last location.

I mean, we all gather because of The Big Guy (in this case, Tim. But through him, the Other Big Guy---Guruji).

We don't gather because of the studio space. The studio space will become a reflection of The Big Guy's personality.

So maybe the new spot is flash, but just like the last spot---which was funky, literally and figuratively---it's going to have the same vibe.

In New York City news, I've roughed out a practice spot for the next 10 days or so. And I am psyched!

So if you're in New York City and see a long-haired, string-bean guy with nut-hugger yoga shorts and characteristic tattoos (chief among them Hanuman, hence the blog name. Duh) at your studio---that's me.

I will not be lurking through the streets in the nut-hugger attire. Normallly I wear clothes. However, for a nominal fee, I will don my grape-smugglers and come to your house to perform a series of erotic dances for you and your friends.

I'm going to start an on-line poll: just how bummed do you think my work will be when I quit---again!---to go to India?

Since I've made up my mind to go again, the hardest part has been NOT going. Meaning, there's a tendency to make my target date earlier and earlier ...

Finally, in sartorial news, I have procured a new Morrisey shirt. It doesn't even say his name! It's just a picture of the young Mozzer! Thus far, it ranks as 05's hottest purchase. So so def.

Ladies! You can either form an orderly make-out line, or just tackle me en masse.