Random Thursday: Random Accomplishments of Accomplished Accomplishing

Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s been sent by friends or has otherwise stumbled upon this week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as sitting down and creating actual content.

Nanonanonanonanonanonanonanonanonanonanonanonanonanonanonanonanonanonano . . .

Crap, that’s only one word.

Have a look at other people’s accomplishments (and one of mine in there, somewhere).

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Crochetgrounds!

Fiber artist Toshiko Horiuchi creates large, colorful, interactive installations and play environments out of yarn-based textiles.

In other words,
she crochets them.

By hand.

horiuchi Crochet Ground

It’s like the spiderwebs of Wonderland . . .

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Such a Time Saver!

(Thanks, honey!  Um . . . you don’t do this, do you? ‘Cause I noticed we’re out of hard root beer again?)

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 Nanopizza Zone

As part of my Nanowrimo output yesterday, I wrote a bit of dialogue spoken by a character that I can’t believe came out of my brain, except the thing is in my handwriting.

Then again, the POV character is a wereduck P.I., so I don’t have a lot of plausible deniability, here. . .

I investigated Joly’s Pizza personally, around lunchtime, and found Joly to be a dyed-in-the-metaphorical-wool Rhombeck supporter, for all he was human.

“He gave me my start-up money and got the health department off my back,” he said, busy scattering a double handful of dead crickets across a crust that had been spread with a greenish sauce I probably didn’t want to know more about.

The crickets looked good though.

“I figured I was making specialty pizzas for all my buddies, why not do it for a living?” he said.  “We can handle orders from carnivores, herbivores, insectivores, fruit-eaters,* even celiacs and those no-carb weirdos.  Some guy called up the other day and ordered for like twenty minutes, asking all these questions. Vegan ain’t a problem, I told him.  Organic ain’t a problem. Nut allergies ain’t a problem.  Raw food crusts ain’t a problem, if you don’t mind ordering a medium.  Dairy-free, gluten-free, garlic-free, low-salt—no problem.

“Then he asks for this tofu-pepperoni crap.  That, my friend, is a problem.” 

It’s also about 164 words.

I believe that’s what we call a priority shift.

Pizza!

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It’s Infinite on Both Sides

And flippin’ hilarious, too.

Amazing UniverseClick to check out More Abstruse Goose!

(Thanks, Watson!  Is it still a Captain Obvious moment if your audience doesn’t get it?)

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Whirled Beat II

Jonathan Carollo has a drum set.  But he doesn’t need one.

At all.

His father Dan  records Jonathan’s original compositions that can be purchased at Reverb!Nation.  If you buy them, a percentage (don’t know how much) of the money will go to the Half The Sky Foundation.

Pretty cool.

(Thanks, Dee!  You’re right—he’s giving the Piano Guys some competition!)

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*Sure, you and I know it’s “frugivore”, because we just looked it up, but Joly wouldn’t and the MC wouldn’t care.

Guest Post: Yoga–It’s not all Savasana

My friend firstmausi, who lives in Germany and runs races and paddles kayaks and raises great kids and fabulous gardens and reads everything and travels all over Europe and is basically amazing, decided to try something new last week and has graciously allowed me to share her account of it here.

She says she’s not a writer, but that’s obviously not true—if nothing else, she has spot-on foreshadowing skills:

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Hi, Sarah!

Friday morning I started a bold venture into—Yoga! P. was pestering me for some time now to join the yoga class in our sports club. Winter is approaching and outdoor sports will get cut back. Reluctantly I agreed to give it a try. Your yoga cookies seemed a bit strange, because yoga is a esoteric thing you do while lying down and concentrate on your breathing— right?

We went to the ninety minute lesson. The instructor is a mother of four and never uses a car; she does all the shopping by bicycle with a hanger.   Of course she is a vegetarian (nothing wrong with that).  A nice person with a very eccentric touch. She told us to breathe in and out through our noses and that the first goal of yoga is: Do not hurt yourself!

Hmm, how could I hurt myself while lying on my back and breathing through my nose?

She made a brief introduction about the lesson of the day. Something with autumn, metal, a lung mudra and the lung meridian (see, it helps to read about a Chinese prisoner in Tibet).* OK, that was the esoteric part and I did not pay much attention…

We started out lying flat on our backs, breathing in and out, and feeling different body parts. Then we started moving our arms in the rhythm of our breath.  Thirty minutes into the lesson I was bored. The only interesting thing was the fact that someone sounded like Darth Vader. No, I did not giggle!

Five minutes later I was wondering if it would be very rude to just get up and go home. Half an hour later, when only three more minutes had past, we started to do something called (my translation) downward looking dog. Ha, not so boring anymore. In fact when she corrected my position I started to understand the not hurting myself part. My legs stretched quite a lot.

We moved on to the dancer. I really feared I might fall on my face. We did some more things I don’t recall by name. At one point I had to think about which one was my right hand and where does it have to go and how do I do that… Not boring anymore!

Hours later, I could still feel all the muscles of my back (might have been the cobra) but not in an unpleasant way. I’m still not sure if this means I did it right or completely wrong…

The doubt is increasing, because this morning I woke up with a slight pain in my belly muscles, hip muscles that I only ever feel after 19km of running and the suspicious feeling that there must be something between my ribs and the skin that is capable of hurting while I lie flat on my back and breathe.

I’m intrigued and will definitely go back at least twice just to be sure. My assumption that yoga is not a sport and only for wimps might have been wrong.

Of course you can tell your husband and giggle all you want!

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So, of course, I did both.

My husband the yoga instructor said her experience was fairly common and he hopes she keeps going.  I hope so, too—I can’t wait to read her opinions about some of the more advanced poses:

 

“For wimps, huh?”

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* Sarah’s note:  A mudra is a yoga pose and the lungs are considered metal energy yin organs in some holistic Chinese breathing meditations.  It’s not part of my husband’s practice, so that’s all I know.

Random Thursday: Edible Yoga, Optical illusions, and Two Men Having Words

Random Thursday (ˈrandəm ˈTHərzdā): the day on which Sarah plunks down all the odd bits and pieces she’s acquired during the week in an effort to avoid writing a real post, the assembly of which usually ends up taking twice as much time as actually sitting down and creating genuine content.

Sorry if this post already showed up in your feeds—I decided to assemble the post last night, since today is gonna be hectic, and hit Publish when I meant to hit Preview.  

That’ll teach me to be efficient.

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Another Reason to Love the Savasana Position

Patti Page Baked Ideas has amazing cookies and is now selling yoga cookie cutters in their online store:

Unfortunately, my piping skills are gruesome non-existent, so I’ll just have to order the cookies instead.  Darn.

In related news, more or less, there are also Kama Sutra Cookie Cutters available in the UK, but you can tart up your own browser history searching ’em out—I’m still clinging to the idea that this is a family blog.

(thanks to Vicki for the yoga cutters . . . and the other ones, too)

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Optical Illusions sans Nausea

(YMSLMV**)

The Music isn’t bad, either.

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For Lyra—She Knows Why

It makes me feel better to think that Aslan has an Ineffable Plan for my family’s missing hosiery . . .

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Two Men Have Words

Jeff Somers and Sean Ferrell are two brilliant authors who, when combined, are actually weirder than the sum of their parts. Which sounds a lot more suggestive than I thought it would, but oh, well.

There are several other episodes, some with Dan Krokos, who is just as brilliant.

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*Your Motion Sickness Levels May Vary

Random Thursday: Grub Your Earphones and Clear Your Thoughts

No, I didn’t misspell “grab.” 

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“You Should Applaud . . . “

I was going to start by sharing some of the barrage of Daniel Craig photos I’ve been receiving lately from someone who really, really wants me to see his first two James Bond films so I’ll be prepared to see Skyfall later this year.

But instead, here’s a hilarious movie theme medley by one of my favorite a cappella groups.

Because it’s Random Thursday, that’s why:

As they say on their site, they take the music seriously, but not themselves.

like that in a group of good-looking male singers . . .

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Grabbing some Grub*

We were commuting home the other day and discussing the cleaning of rooms and other chores, when Janie said, in a thoughtful way, “Maybe I should just run away from home, instead.”

“Okay,” I said. “That means your room will stay clean and I don’t have to pack your lunch every day.”

“But where will I go?” she asked, putting a dramatic hand to her forehead. “Will I have to live on the street? What will I eat on the street?”

A little voice from behind me said, “You could eat grubs.”

“Hey!” I said. “That’s a great idea, Sunny. Your father is worried about all the moles tearing through our lawn. If Janie eats all the grubs, they’ll move away!”

“But (sniff), I don’t want to starve the moles (sob) ! “

I looked at Janie in the rearview mirror. “That’s what you got from that?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I was expecting more of a reaction to the grub thing. Do you know what a grub is?”

Long pause. “Not really, no.”

I told her.

EEEEEEEEEWWWWWwwwwwwwwwwww! Ugh, ugh, ugh, yuck, yucky!!!! Moooooo-ooooooom!! I can’t believe you want me to eat  those squishy—Ugh!”

“Honey, no one is going to force you to eat gru—”

“Nooooo!! Don’t even say it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down.  And lower the volume, please, ow.”

Small voice from the back. “Grub.”

“Eeewww!”

“Grub.”

“Eeewwww!”

“Grub.”

“Guh! Stop it, Sunny! And quit poking me!”

“Janie, calm down, please,” I said. “Sunny, quit torturing your sister . . . And keep your grubby hands to yourself.”

“Moooo-oooom!”

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Real Grub, Julia Style**

In honor of Julia Child’s birthday this month, the family saw Julie and Julia, which is based on a book I read a while ago.

The best parts of the book and the movie for me—and for Janie, who is addicted to Food Network, much to the bored exasperation of her little sister, who is addicted to Phineas and Ferb*** —are all about Julia:

I love melodysheep’s work . . .

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Okay, maybe one photo of Daniel Craig

This one—the first of several—arrived in an e-mail called, “Six reasons to see Casino Royale“:

No insult to Mr. Craig, but I’m not seeing six abs.

And believe me, I counted very, very carefully.

Several times.  With a magnifying glass.

But it still worked—I’m planning to see Casino Royale tonight.

Though Quantum of Solace might take a few more photos . . .

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And now, your moment of Savasana

Clear your mind of Daniel Craig all thoughts . . .

(courtesy of my husband, the yōgger, who has encountered the impatient woman before, but won’t admit anyone snores in his class)

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*See?  Told you.

**I know calling Julia Child’s lifework ‘grub’ is like calling Michelangelo’s work on the Sistine Chapel ‘kitschy ceiling art,’ but I’m trying to work a theme here, so . . .

***There was no mix-up at the hospital, folks.  They’re both mine.