Curb Your Sadism

I've just joined a new gym. One that offers yoga classes every day. It's in a happening part of town - so negotiating one's way through it at 6.00pm can be hazardous.

I'd just made it through the sweat-pit of the weights area, holding my breath against the reek of steroid and testosterone (some big ole Marys in there); when I bumped into the yoga teacher:

"Hurry up, hurry up, no need to sightsee".

I looked away from the muscles and did a double-take - there he was, all skinny legs and inappropriately wide shorts; waggling his head at me. "He looks like someone I know" - I thought staring at him. "But who?"

"You must be new", he said.

"Not at all. In fact, I've been used a little."

"Very funny - now go sit down".

I worked my way around his little paunch, and obeyed, racking my brains.

I knew we were in for it when he instructed us: "Follow after me when chanting the OM". Usually we all chant together. And, man, did he have a whole bloody aria worked out around that one sound. I was rolling my third eye so hard I almost fell over: "New lady in the purple top - sit still or leave". That voice, those legs ... who? Then I got it - Larry David. Oh my God - it's Larry David. Larry David is teaching me yoga. I peeked at him and he frowned. I stayed put - this was going to be interesting.

After the divine formalities, Larry got straight down to business: "I'm the teacher here," he barked, ordering us to the wall, "so shut up and listen". Now, usually I like a bit of direction from my men ... but this was something else. The woman next to me broke out in a sweat and was visibly cowering.

Its fascinating to see what happens to 20 people in a room when they believe they are in the presence of an expert. They'll try and do anything. Regardless of ability. For the yogis among you - he taught us all - beginners included: downward dog for 20 minutes and then went right into full dolphin. For the rest of you - it was like moving from a crawl straight into a handstand. No-one questioned him - they all did as they were told: variously sweating, grunting, falling over, and, in one case - tearing up.

My neighbour told me later she's been in his class for three years and was terrified of him - "but he's a genius". No he is not, luv. He's that very worst of asanas - a yoga fascist.

So, Larry - my apologies. This guy might have looked like you - and even behaved a little like you do. But he had no sense of humour. This guy was just mean. Hey - it's yoga, dude. It's all about inner calm and peace. You should remember the first rule they ever teach us - and leave your ego at the door.

Oh - and wear more seemly shorts. Your iyengar was dangling.

When shopping IS cheaper than a psychiatrist**

My much-loved friend, Claude (aka Wah, aka 'The Accidental Chef" ... find her blog at claudiagiulia.wordpress.com/) is having a tough time of it at the moment.

She's been through eighteen months of "will we or won't we divorce" with her husband Eddie and all the self-doubt and anger that goes with it. Claude lives in LA, in one of the most beautiful spots in the world: with her lovely dog Ottie. And occasionally with Eddie. They're exploring a rapprochement. She sought refuge in her job these past months, cooking up a storm of glorious desserts and cakes. Leading to promotion and a raise.

On the face of it - these are positive developments - with potential to create happiness. So why are they making Claude so stressed and miserable?

In her latest blog she describes going to the WholeFoods Market in Brentwood (a rich and chi-chi part of LA) - and the mean-spirited, glum, whiney, unappreciative folks who shop there. WholeFoods Market is an organic supermarket chain in the US. And they are fabulous shops - able to sell you virtually anything foody that your heart desires. There's one in each of the ritziest neighbourhoods. Perfect positioning when you consider the average peach costs $6.00 (R60) , a pound of coffee $35 (R350). The shops are gorgeously laid out, warm, friendly, lots of free tastes. Upbeat, well-informed staff, glowing piles of perfect organic fruit and veg. Blissful destinations.

I used to walk past the one at Columbus Circle on my way home from work in NY, and pick myself up some dinner. $50 dollars later, I would be out of there with my brown bag of deliciousness. Smiling despite the day, feeling like someone had just told me they loved me. Claude walked away from her Brentfwood encounter feeling like she had been stamped on and spit at. Which got me thinking - what the hell is going on in Brentwood? Is it a LA thing - care less about people and more about money? Is this what's at the root of Claude's unhappiness?

Then I was at Pick'n'Pay the other day and I couldn't find limes. Or sage. Or chili-paste. Or ground almonds. I was annoyed and huffy. Even the poultry counter was blocked. A young woman was picking through the display. Looking at every damn packet. Oh, for God's sake! Was she planning on introducing herself to every piece of chicken? How inconsiderate. I stood there fuming until I realised that she was looking at the prices on each pack. Sorting through until she could find one she could afford.

When she did, she smiled at me in relief - "It's good", she said.

There I stood; all sweaty frustration because I couldn't find out-of-season products which would have had to been flown thousands of kilometers to make it to my table. Because my expectations were out of touch with reality. Because I had nothing else to worry about. And I realised - I was one of those shoppers in Brentwood!

Wah, its time for us to shop local.

(**Thanks to Tammy Faye Bakker for the quote)