I know. It's been a long time. Sorry to have deprived y'all of tinglingly and politically incorrect Sarcastic Yogi goodness.
The world has not been a particularly pretty place for quite some time. I know, we should all think the glass is half-full, blah blah blah... well, in this case, the glass might be broken and will cut your mouth... wait, yes, Sarcastic Yogi is not angry and will refrain from the use of fluffy and violent words... yeah, right.
Rewind a little...
Back in June there was the shooting incident... one of too many... in Moncton, New Brunswick. A despicable wacko decided to kill innocent people because he's angry with the world and that it's his right to bear arms. I'm not opposed to owning a small firearm for protection. But anyone who thinks it's his/her right to prance around with a loaded semi-automatic rifle is IMO a little fucked in the head. Unless you live in a war torn or zombie infested country, why do you think it's your right to own a semi-automatic rifle? To shoot beer cans at Thanksgiving dinner? To massage your prostate gland? To impregnate your stepmother?
Even wiping your ass with toilet paper is not a right. There are people in the world who have never sat on a ceramic American Delta Standard Kohler toilet to do number one or number two. How about we fix problems as such before you bitch about your right to bear arms? Thank you.
Then there's ongoing madness in the Middle East, while people are fighting for democracy in Hong Kong and Ebola is trying to eat everyone alive... Oh man, where do I begin?
Rewind 2.67 kilograms...
I cannot remember how or when exactly I met Nicki NotMinaj. I can only remember at some yoga workshop this woman with a strange accent started talking to me. At first I thought "hey, Sarcastic Yogi is gonna get some!", but then I realized A) I wasn't a vegetarian and B) Madam Donatella at Dionne Warwick and Psychic Friends had warned me to avoid any lesbianic encounter, unless it's with Ms. Dionne Warwick and we must both face the third ascension of rising
Obviously Nicki NotMinaj and I never got it on because that'd be gross... and getting it on with Ms. Dionne Warwick facing the third ascension of rising
We never crossed path again until the 3A Yoga Inc. meltdown in 2012. I still cannot remember how we re-started communicating, or even how we became "friends" on Facebook. At the time Nicki NotMinaj already went back to Germany (thus the accent) and had to deal with the aftershock of the meltdown in Germany. I guess it's fair to say yoga drama reintroduced us to each other. We tried to hook up a few times, in a non-lesbianic fashion, free of Ms. Dionne Warwick and her crotchless panties, after she moved back to Calgary. It never happened because somehow life always got in the way.
Then I found out Nicki NotMinaj had breast cancer, the night before her surgery. I was at a loss for words. What the fuck? How's that possible? Me with no eye-popping, life-saving, thigh-perspiring advice?
I felt useless and vulnerable... I hate it.
Rewind a whole bunch...
In case you aren't aware, my Aunt Miranda is very special and smart. You can read some of the pearls came out of her mouth and fell on her neck here. Both Aunt Miranda and her husband, Uncle Sam, are special in all kinds of right and wrong ways. They had it good for a very long time, and I mean like really good... like Donald Trump good and equally as tacky. It's always strange to trash talk Aunt Miranda and Uncle Sam because they aren't bad people. Tacky but not bad. In fact back when they had it so so so good, they would force people to borrow money from them without any kind of written proof. Yup, all on faith and trust and shit. They figured they had the solution to everyone's problem: cash.
Like I said, Aunt Miranda and Uncle Sam are tacky but not bad people. They sincerely thought they could save the world... until they realized they no longer had cash to throw away the way they had been. They became close friends with Black Jack and Poker in Vegas. They were so close that not only themselves, but also their guests had complimentary flights and hotels to the casinos in Vegas.
You can imagine how high rolling they were, and I don't need to tell you casinos are not charity. Bellagio and MGM are in the business of getting money from you.
At the end of the day, their money didn't solve anyone's problems. Nobody has anything tangible to prove the existence of such an obscene amount of cash. In fact their money became their problem, to the point where a payment to their debt was in the order of $250K. I don't even know anyone who has $250K in cash, let alone throwing it all away.
I know some of you cannot wait to eagerly turn on your Alcoholic Anonymous 10-step program mode, and cannot wait to stand on the soapbox to talk about addiction, something is missing in their lives, they need to face their demon... you cannot wait to give advice to the problems YOU think THEY have.
Fast forward a bit...
You must've all seen the ice bucket challenge on social media and other forms of bullshit. If not, congratulations! You are as rare and obtuse as a deaf unicorn... I joke! I joke!... not a deaf unicorn but a leprechaun with no fingers, but I digress again... The ice bucket challenge is basically some dude or dudette dumps a bucket of ice water on his/her head and then names someone else to do the same. The whole thing is filmed and posted on the internet. It's the thing to do and it's totally trending! Like seriously totally! It got to a point where even celebrities all over the world jumped on the ice bucket challenge wagon. It's cool to be tagged and even cooler to tag others, like you are literally passing the bucket. Sadly a lot of these cool people have no clue what the intention of the challenge is. Some starlet in Asia actually thought it's some fashionable, trendy thing to do like flashing their taco to the paparazzi, while others may have heard of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (or Lou Gehrig disease) but have no clue what it is or they are supposed to donate money to the ALS Association.
To them, pouring a bucket of ice water means being cool and saving lives... why not? Bring out your smart phones and start Like-ing and Retweet-ing and Pin-ing and Follow-ing and Masturbate-ing! You are solving someone's problem! Woo hoo!
Fast forward a smitch...
Mr. B. K. S. Iyengar passed away on August 20, 2014. He, and Mr. P. Jois, played the pivotal role in introducing yoga to the western world. Many looked to Mr. Iyengar for advice on anything from conception to constipation and everything related to and in between. His passing most certainly threw a curveball to many yogis, particularly to those who thought they had it all figured out.
Fast forward just a very gently slight smitch...
Things weren't great in the world of comedy in the last couple of months. Robin Williams' passing... not even two weeks before Mr. Iyengar's... was sad and showed the dark side of a brilliant, funny mind. He made millions laugh while his depression brought him to his knees. Only a few weeks after his death, Joan Rivers kicked the bucket unexpectedly. That momentarily brought me to my knees.
It's obvious Joan Rivers was Sarcastic Yogi's muse. Right about now many of you are ready to jump on the soap box again and say how nasty and mean she was... similar to how some of the so-called yogis calling me nasty and mean, though they all secretly read every single thing I dish out. This is exactly like how some priests would publicly condemn masturbation but secretly would bring a copy of California Muscle catalog and a large cucumber with vaseline to the confessional.
...... Ok, I gotta take some cleansing ujjayi breaths to calm down a little, or I'd be accused of being angry again by the petty hypocrite yogis...... the irony is petty hypocrite yogis make me angry, particularly when they think they are the model human specimen and they have the solutions to all life's problems and spew out crap like:
"Oh, you have a thing in your SI joint? You gotta like totally engage your Jalandhara Bandha while taking a shit, and like totally activate your ankle loop... and come to my class, I'll fix you right up."
"Oh, are you sad? You gotta like totally let go and open your heart and like totally do you Satya and non-clinging thing... and come to my class, I'll fix you right up."
"Oh, you have a migraine headache? You gotta like totally let me massage your urethra... and come to my class, I'll fix you right up."
I digress again... Joan Rivers the person, not Joan Rivers the act, is what inspires Sarcastic Yogi. Her husband committed suicide shortly after she got fired from her job and left her with a lot of debts. But she never gave up. She continued to work hard and remain relevant and spunky until she died. She touched and brought laughter to millions. To me, that's truly inspiring though not the point of this blog.
Joan Rivers "succeeded by saying what everyone else is thinking". She inspired me to point out the elephant in the room and speak the truth, like me calling some womanizing pretentious doughy manipulative abusive cult-loving lying cheating asshole guru... well, the asshole guru John Sans Testicles who has some Shitdaiva Sridaiva yoga thing going on. Y'all thought it, I said it.
I am thankful for having met my muse in person before she passed away.
Humour is how I deal with shit when multiple-personality no longer works. Look at it this way: there's a limit to how much my nice-personality can take before I want to poke my eyes out, especially when I see some self-proclaimed fitness buff who drinks a bottle of Grey Goose every night, or insecure middle-age men with jealousy and self-esteem issues being a dick. Sometimes you just have to laugh it off. Humour is the solution to many people's problems in life, similar to what yoga is to hundreds of thousands. When both my sources of clarity went poof, it really threw my train of thought off its track. Yes, it is a double whammy for Sarcastic Yogi... and I must admit the death of ( fill in the blank ) is a real reality check and...
I hate the feeling of being useless and vulnerable. It sucks.
I have many opinions and they may or may not mean anything to you.
I do not have all the answers but I am not sorry.
I cannot help you, although I really want to and I'm dying to try.
I do care... meanwhile, I cannot.
I cannot save you from your hormonal SI joint inflicted non-clinging migraine insecurity fat ugly leather-skin-condition-due-to-excessive-suntanning webbed toes problems.
I cannot save the world in 4 minutes, or 4 hours... or any amount of time... or can I?
I am not the messiah after all.
Sarcastic Yogi is extremely flustered at this time and will postpone these previously promised and imminently imminent publications:
*Yoga moves for people who are not slim, limber Caucasian women
*Yoga for a banging bikini body
*Top 10 tips for yoga fashion emergency
*Spanx, the latest yoga strap technology
*Eight easy steps to attract dates in a yoga class
*Yoga poses that will keep your man coming back for more, meow!
I still don't know what to do with some self-proclaimed fitness buff who drinks a bottle of Grey Goose every night, or those insecure middle-age men with jealousy and self-esteem issues being a dick. #WhatWouldJoanSay #WWJS
Man, life is hard, especially without yoga or humour!