Tragic news, my friends: this week I was BRUTALLY FRAPED.
This is how it happened:
I went to the studio early on Tuesday evening to do a bit of teacher timetabling work, and also because I wanted to practice the 6.30pm class before teaching the 8.15. So I got there and I do the scheduling (working so hard, I might add, that the tip of my tongue was poking out the corner of my mouth), which involves keeping an online schedule, an excel spreadsheet, and a wall chart up to date, as well as letting the other members of Team Bikram Yoga Surbiton know what's going on via Facebook.
At some point after finishing the work, however, I leave the office and mill about in reception before heading into class without, it turns out, LOGGING OFF FROM FACEBOOK.
So I practice the 6.30 (which was a lovely class to take part in) and teach the 8.15 (which was a lovely class to teach), meaning that I'm away from any form of contact for well over three hours. After seeing all my students out a little after 10pm I head into the changing rooms, shower, and it's then, as I'm sitting in my pants checking my email on my phone that I realise something is amiss.
Twenty-one emails.
Twenty-one emails - all saying '[whoever] left a comment on your status update.'
That's odd, I thought, as I hadn't updated my status update in a couple of days - why would so many people be commenting on an old status?
And it's then that I saw a comment from one of my teacher training pals that said 'are you coming out love?' that realisation dawned.
I literally threw on my trousers, threw open the door to the men's changing rooms and shouted out our lovely Tuesday night receptionist "WHO FRAPED ME!?"
"I'M NOT ALLOWED TO SAY!" she squeaked back while attempting to hide behind the front desk.
"WHO WAS IT?!" I demanded. "WAS IT-"
And then I realised I only had myself to blame.
Back in the summer our lovely manager Shiv had left her Facebook open and I'd changed her status to say something like 'Tim Leng is my favourite teacher. So masculine, such a strong voice. Sometimes I sit by the studio door with a wistful look on my face just listening to him teach.'
At the time she had vowed revenge, but I assured her it would never happen because I was always so careful about logging off of Facebook. The one time, months later, when I had slipped up and she'd pounced - like a frapey ninja.
'I think it is time to let the real Tim be free. I hope you can all accept it,' she had written.
And while it was a very ambiguous statement, everyone had decided it meant I was coming out.
My favourite comments included:
• 'I am ready for the real Tim.'
• The aforementioned 'Are you coming out love?'
• 'Hi Yogi, I hope this means what I think it does. [Smiley face] Exciting!!! Xoxo
• Be free Timothy! We love you. xx
Rather than be utterly incensed, I actually found the whole thing hilarious, and later congratulated Shiv on what I dubbed The Best Frape Ever. And what's really lovely is that everyone was so supportive of me coming out - but, boys, I'm sorry to say there will be no Timmy love for you other than the platonic kind. And girls? I'm sorry to say I'm still on the prowl looking to ensnare one of your kind as The Future Mrs Leng, however much you might all shudder at the thought.
That said, I was a little bit surprised at how everyone's attitude was all, like, 'oh, you're finally coming out? About time mate.'
WTF?!
Saturday, December 01, 2012
Tuesday, September 04, 2012
Things I like about America
Shamelessly stealing the title of one of my favourite books, Things I Like About America, I thought I'd reminisce about some of the things I, er, liked about America while I was off on training.
OK, so let's get this straight from the get-go: training was not a holiday and we didn't really have that much time to sashay around LA and be all touristy and shit. But I did get to see pretty much everything I wanted to see before I went out there, with the exception of The Griffith Park Observatory which apparently you really need a car to get to and I didn't have a car to get me to it. Of course, most people who have been to LA say you need a car to get pretty much anywhere which is maybe true, but I coped pretty well with the admittedly quite awful public transport network, in particular the Number 3 Big Blue Bus which I made use of quite a few times to take me to…
• Venice Beach. God, I love this place. A beautiful wide beach and some great little bo-ho-ey shops, one of which, Titanic, I bought an awesome hat in. Admittedly I think the more bo-ho-ey aspects of Venice might've got a little bit too much if I'd stayed there for longer than a few hours, but that's fine because to be honest it was the Santa Monica end of the beach that I really fell in love with.
• Santa Monica. Oh, Santa Monica. I want to live here. Such a nice vibe. And a massive shopping district (the 3rd Street Prom) just spitting distance away from the beach and the world-famous pier. Santa Monica is pretty much my idea of heaven. It had the most incredible Barnes and Noble bookstore too.
• I loved how everyone in LA was so polite too. I genuinely felt that everyone who served me in restaurants really deserved a tip, unlike some people over here who you begrudgingly give one to for fear they'll poo on your dinner next time you swing by. On one of my last days in the States I popped into the local Starbucks to buy a coffee and the barista had to ask me to repeat what I wanted because she was "mesmerised" by my accent. Bless. I'd been told Americans like a British accent, and between this and the dude in posture clinic who told me my voice was "sexy" I really think I could make it big in the U.S.
• Talking of restaurants: In 'N Out Burger and iHop. In 'N Out burgers are dirt cheap and without doubt the BEST burgers I've ever had. I pretty much ate two each week during training, and made sure I had my last meal in the States before heading home in this wonderful, wonderful burger joint. As for iHop: 24 hour pancake restaurant. Just think about that for a second.
• Cars. I love cars, and so do Americans. I was overjoyed to see loads of Minis out there (including an old-skool 60s Cooper), and I loved all the big muscle cars: Mustangs, Cameros, Dodge Challengers - all tastefully pimped up for added awesomeness. I also fulfilled a life-long ambition to ride in a Ford Crown Victoria yellow cab (on several occasions, actually). For such a big car they were tiny inside, wallowed round like jelly on wheels (they rocked back and forth for several seconds after coming to a stop) and were generally outclassed by everything else on the road, but I loved them all the same.
• Bearing in mind we'd been warned at the beginning of training to be careful in LA and never go off anywhere on our own, I actually felt really safe in the city - even on those times I defied orders and went off on my own. I know: such a rebel.
• Hershey's Cookies 'n Creme. Thanks to fellow trainee Dayna for introducing me to this which is IMPOSSIBLE TO GET HOLD OF HERE AND I'M STILL IN THE MIDST OF WITHDRAWAL SYMPTOMS.
• Manhattan Beach. If Santa Monica living gets a bit too much for me I'd like to retire to this brilliant little town just down the coast. Packed full of amazing restaurants (hello The Kettle), little touristy shops, and beautiful houses, I'm pretty sure I could slum it here. They even filmed The OC there so is it any wonder I felt at home?
• I got to do this:
And things I didn't like about America?
• LA, seriously, sort your public transport infrastructure out please.
• Beverly Hills and all the real touristy places. They felt a bit too … pristine?
• LA is so damn far away.
OK, so let's get this straight from the get-go: training was not a holiday and we didn't really have that much time to sashay around LA and be all touristy and shit. But I did get to see pretty much everything I wanted to see before I went out there, with the exception of The Griffith Park Observatory which apparently you really need a car to get to and I didn't have a car to get me to it. Of course, most people who have been to LA say you need a car to get pretty much anywhere which is maybe true, but I coped pretty well with the admittedly quite awful public transport network, in particular the Number 3 Big Blue Bus which I made use of quite a few times to take me to…
• Venice Beach. God, I love this place. A beautiful wide beach and some great little bo-ho-ey shops, one of which, Titanic, I bought an awesome hat in. Admittedly I think the more bo-ho-ey aspects of Venice might've got a little bit too much if I'd stayed there for longer than a few hours, but that's fine because to be honest it was the Santa Monica end of the beach that I really fell in love with.
 |
| Venice Beach. LOVE. |
 |
| AMAAAAAAZING hat shop. With added Transformers! |
 |
| Santa Monica's 3rd Street Promenade, home to an amazing Barnes and Noble. |
• Talking of restaurants: In 'N Out Burger and iHop. In 'N Out burgers are dirt cheap and without doubt the BEST burgers I've ever had. I pretty much ate two each week during training, and made sure I had my last meal in the States before heading home in this wonderful, wonderful burger joint. As for iHop: 24 hour pancake restaurant. Just think about that for a second.
 |
| iHop cinnamon stack. It was like having a massive cake for breakfast. |
 |
| In 'N Out Burger: BEST. BURGERS. EVAH. And note the cool Dodge Challenger in the car park. I mean parking lot. |
• Bearing in mind we'd been warned at the beginning of training to be careful in LA and never go off anywhere on our own, I actually felt really safe in the city - even on those times I defied orders and went off on my own. I know: such a rebel.
• Hershey's Cookies 'n Creme. Thanks to fellow trainee Dayna for introducing me to this which is IMPOSSIBLE TO GET HOLD OF HERE AND I'M STILL IN THE MIDST OF WITHDRAWAL SYMPTOMS.
 |
| NEED. |
 |
| Bliss. |
 |
| YES. THAT. |
• LA, seriously, sort your public transport infrastructure out please.
• Beverly Hills and all the real touristy places. They felt a bit too … pristine?
 |
| Bit too perfect, if you knows what I means. |
 |
| Could do with being closer. |
Sunday, September 02, 2012
The yoga bubble: Part 4
So when all's said and done, despite all the late nights and early mornings, the punishing schedule and the moments when I just wanted it to be over and done with, Bikram Yoga Teacher Training was without doubt the most incredible experience of my life, and as we neared the end of our nine week journey I wanted nothing more than for it to carry on indefinitely.
In those nine weeks I made friends whose company I have missed greatly in the time since we went our separate ways, was empowered with skills that have opened up an incredible new career for me (one which I love dearly), and discovered things about myself that I never could have imagined.
Our final class with Bikram was 90 minutes (or possibly two hours - he did like to stretch his classes out a bit) of hard work and joy. At its conclusion he sat on his orange chair (or throne, as I liked to call it) atop the podium and surveyed us as the song Love is Life - Pyar Karo from his album Bikram Lounge played loudly over the PA system and we went from 400 focused yogis to a bunch of sweaty, half-naked loons jumping and dancing around, crying, laughing, and hugging each other, relieved it was over yet saddened it was finished.
All that remained for us as Spring 2012's teacher trainees was graduation.
The graduation ceremony took place the next day in the very same ballroom that had been outfitted to serve as our yoga room, the heavy weave carpet on the floor still stained with the sweat and tears of nine weeks worth of hard work. The ceremony was to last several hours, split between speeches from Bikram and some of the other teachers who had shared their time and knowledge with us over the last couple of months, and the actual moment when all 411 graduating trainees got their moment on stage to collect their certificate (our license to kill, as Bikram would say!) and have our photo taken with the man himself.
Pretty much everyone made an effort to dress for the occasion and I was no different. I'd packed a whole outfit specially for this last day, which to be honest could've been seen as a bit stupid seeing as I only got to wear it once and I could've done with more room for shorts in my suitcase BUT on the plus side, it was nice to actually tart myself up for the first time in what felt like forever. In fact one of the staff teachers, a lovely chap named Balwan, said to me with a look of approval on his face "I think you are the sharpest dressed man here!" Such a nice compliment - and yet it nearly all went horribly wrong.
Let's not beat around the bush: basically, around the halfway point of graduation I noticed I'd split my trousers. Yes: split my trousers. Let's put it down to the fact that nine weeks of yoga had a remarkable effect on my thighs because they fitted fine before I left for LA. Whatever the reason, there I was, minutes away from receiving my certificate in front of 410 other trainees and loads of other assembled guests with a massive hole in my trousers. My dilemma was thus: leave it, get up on stage and hope no one noticed, or scurry back to my room and change my nice suit trousers for my black jeans, in the process ruining my carefully planned ensemble.
Just as I resolved to head back upstairs and change, however, a third option presented itself. Passing fellow trainee Jo as we all headed outside for a five minute break I hysterically babbled something along the lines of "LOOK! MY TROUSERS! MY TROUSERS!!" at which point she replied "I've got a sewing kit in my room - I can sort it out for you."
And that's how I ended up on the eighth floor of the Radisson with my trousers round my ankles, clasping my hands over my gentlemanly parts (I was wearing pants, don't be pervy, but even so…) while Jo stitched my trousers and two other trainees looked on with 'what-the-hell-is-going-on-here?!' expressions on their faces.
Panic over, we returned to the ballroom in time to receive our certificates and graduate as fully certified Bikram Yoga teachers.
As the ceremony ended I hung around by the stage taking in everything that had happened, not only in that moment but in the weeks preceding it. And it was then that I noticed Bikram himself standing just a few feet away, seemingly lost in the moment very much like I was. I'd spoken to him a few times during the nine weeks and on occasion flashed him a thumbs up if he walked past me; I don't know why, but it always raised a smile from him and a thumbs up in return, so given the opportunity I'd always do it; as an aside without doubt my most surprising memory of contact with him came in one of our final classes when he ran between us to get to the podium and loudly slapped me on the arse en route.
Anyway, here I was standing not so far away from the man who in such a relatively short period of time had had such a profound effect on my life, and then for some reason he turned to look at me and I decided one last time to give him a thumbs up (I'd come to the conclusion by this point that if he didn't know my actual name he probably referred to me as 'Mr. Thumbs Up). He smiled, a really big Bikram grin, and then did the last thing I expected him to do: he walked straight over to me, clapped me on the shoulder then shook my hand. We exchanged a few words, ending with me thanking him. I hope he realised that I didn't just mean for the certificate he'd given me minutes earlier, or even for the nine weeks of training. What I really meant was to thank him for helping me fulfil the potential that has always existed within me but which had, perhaps, gone unused for too long. He nodded, smiled again, and then was gone. It was the last time I was to speak to him.
Throughout training Bikram had always spoken about the 'power of self-realisation,' and for so long it made such little sense to me. But there, with my certificate in my hand and Bikram disappearing into the crowd, I finally got it. Because of him I had conquered my fear of flying just to get to LA to do the training, then put myself through nine weeks of killing myself in "Bikram's torture chamber" only to come out the other side a better and stronger person.
"You people," Bikram had said to us at the very beginning, "are the most intelligent people in the world. Ask me why!"
We had mumbled a collective "why?" in return, at which point he had smiled, opened his eyes wide and pointed a finger at us.
"Because you made the decision to come here to learn from me, THAT'S why."
He wasn't wrong. Going to LA, committing myself to this path, was the best decision I have ever made - the best thing I have ever done with my life.
 |
| Me and Boss, around the midway point, I think. |
Our final class with Bikram was 90 minutes (or possibly two hours - he did like to stretch his classes out a bit) of hard work and joy. At its conclusion he sat on his orange chair (or throne, as I liked to call it) atop the podium and surveyed us as the song Love is Life - Pyar Karo from his album Bikram Lounge played loudly over the PA system and we went from 400 focused yogis to a bunch of sweaty, half-naked loons jumping and dancing around, crying, laughing, and hugging each other, relieved it was over yet saddened it was finished.
 |
| The UK crew moments after our triumphant final class. |
The graduation ceremony took place the next day in the very same ballroom that had been outfitted to serve as our yoga room, the heavy weave carpet on the floor still stained with the sweat and tears of nine weeks worth of hard work. The ceremony was to last several hours, split between speeches from Bikram and some of the other teachers who had shared their time and knowledge with us over the last couple of months, and the actual moment when all 411 graduating trainees got their moment on stage to collect their certificate (our license to kill, as Bikram would say!) and have our photo taken with the man himself.
Pretty much everyone made an effort to dress for the occasion and I was no different. I'd packed a whole outfit specially for this last day, which to be honest could've been seen as a bit stupid seeing as I only got to wear it once and I could've done with more room for shorts in my suitcase BUT on the plus side, it was nice to actually tart myself up for the first time in what felt like forever. In fact one of the staff teachers, a lovely chap named Balwan, said to me with a look of approval on his face "I think you are the sharpest dressed man here!" Such a nice compliment - and yet it nearly all went horribly wrong.
Let's not beat around the bush: basically, around the halfway point of graduation I noticed I'd split my trousers. Yes: split my trousers. Let's put it down to the fact that nine weeks of yoga had a remarkable effect on my thighs because they fitted fine before I left for LA. Whatever the reason, there I was, minutes away from receiving my certificate in front of 410 other trainees and loads of other assembled guests with a massive hole in my trousers. My dilemma was thus: leave it, get up on stage and hope no one noticed, or scurry back to my room and change my nice suit trousers for my black jeans, in the process ruining my carefully planned ensemble.
Just as I resolved to head back upstairs and change, however, a third option presented itself. Passing fellow trainee Jo as we all headed outside for a five minute break I hysterically babbled something along the lines of "LOOK! MY TROUSERS! MY TROUSERS!!" at which point she replied "I've got a sewing kit in my room - I can sort it out for you."
And that's how I ended up on the eighth floor of the Radisson with my trousers round my ankles, clasping my hands over my gentlemanly parts (I was wearing pants, don't be pervy, but even so…) while Jo stitched my trousers and two other trainees looked on with 'what-the-hell-is-going-on-here?!' expressions on their faces.
Panic over, we returned to the ballroom in time to receive our certificates and graduate as fully certified Bikram Yoga teachers.
 |
| One of the proudest moments of my life. |
Anyway, here I was standing not so far away from the man who in such a relatively short period of time had had such a profound effect on my life, and then for some reason he turned to look at me and I decided one last time to give him a thumbs up (I'd come to the conclusion by this point that if he didn't know my actual name he probably referred to me as 'Mr. Thumbs Up). He smiled, a really big Bikram grin, and then did the last thing I expected him to do: he walked straight over to me, clapped me on the shoulder then shook my hand. We exchanged a few words, ending with me thanking him. I hope he realised that I didn't just mean for the certificate he'd given me minutes earlier, or even for the nine weeks of training. What I really meant was to thank him for helping me fulfil the potential that has always existed within me but which had, perhaps, gone unused for too long. He nodded, smiled again, and then was gone. It was the last time I was to speak to him.
 |
| Disco tits at the graduation party. Might've had a wee drink or, um … yeah. |
"You people," Bikram had said to us at the very beginning, "are the most intelligent people in the world. Ask me why!"
We had mumbled a collective "why?" in return, at which point he had smiled, opened his eyes wide and pointed a finger at us.
"Because you made the decision to come here to learn from me, THAT'S why."
He wasn't wrong. Going to LA, committing myself to this path, was the best decision I have ever made - the best thing I have ever done with my life.
Friday, August 17, 2012
The yoga bubble: Part 3
The Yoga bubble: Part 3
With the half moon presentations out of the way we found ourselves with exciting new challenges to get to grips with. First up were anatomy lectures. What could've been a really dry subject proved to be one of the highlights of teacher training in the hands of the legend that is Dr. P as he prepared us for two tests that we’d have to do just two weeks later - and score above 70% in order to pass. Dr. P kept anatomy classes light and enjoyable even when they ran late into the night. Every day we looked forward to reading the slogan on his t-shirt (ranging from ‘I’m not that kind of doctor’ to simply ‘no’) and laughed as he slipped us the answers to test questions (recollection of the way he conspiratorially said “the FEMUR is the longest bone in the human body” into a radio mike still has me in hysterics).
Anatomy was cool, even if the chairs in the lecture room were incredibly uncomfortable when you were stuck in them for four hours at a time. And yes, I breezed the tests, thankyouverymuch.
About three or four weeks in (I forget exactly when because seriously, the whole thing kind of blends into one long yoga experience) we began posture clinics. This was basically a continuation of the half moon stuff we did earlier where we’d stand up in front of our peers and present the dialogue for individual postures, but rather than do it in front of all 400 or so trainees we were spilt into groups of around 20. Two random groups would then gather together in the cabanas round by the pool (this sounds way sexier than it actually was) and a couple of teachers, either visiting volunteers or staff teachers, would give you feedback on your presentation.
I was part of Group 11, and if you went to training and you're reading this, I'm sorry but Group 11 was THE BEST GROUP. And if you're going to the next training and you're in the next Group 11, shiiiiiiiiiit … You've got a lot to live up to. Every member of my group was a star in their own right and we were universally supportive of each other whenever one of us jumped up to present a posture. I couldn't have asked for a better group of people.
Some memorable highlights from posture clinics:
• Thinking I'd cocked up a posture and talking to the lead teacher afterwards. She assured me I'd done a great job, told me she'd love to take my class, then much to my surprise invited me to teach at her studio in New York. I discovered later that she is Lady Gaga's yoga teacher and I fully intend to take her up on her offer.
• Presenting word-perfect dialogue for full locust pose one Friday evening with such gusto that my group were literally applauding me before I'd even finished. It was one of my personal defining moments from training where I thought ‘yeah, I can do this and I'm actually pretty good!’
• Finishing delivering dialogue for a posture (I forget which one) and turning to face the teachers, a married couple. The guy looks at me and he says “Wow. First of all you have a sexy accent…” I can't really remember what the rest of his feedback was, but it was definitely positive. Me and my sexy accent were well chuffed.
• Beginning dialogue delivery one evening by saying “my name's Tim and I'll be your yoga teacher tonight.” My feedback in that clinic was “you're not a yoga teacher tonight: you’re a yoga teacher.”
• A little dog running into the cabana and one member of my group who was in triangle posture shouting “Ah! A rat!”
• My stomach rumbling so loudly one evening while a fellow Group 11 trainee was presenting dialogue that she forgot her words. I'm *so* sorry, Christine.
• Being told by a teacher at the beginning of posture clinic one evening “you all need to look presentable. If you don’t, I won’t let you present your dialogue. Wear appropriate clothing, do your hair, make yourself look nice.” And that's how this happened.
There were some bad moments too, particularly when I was ill. I remember getting up to do dialogue late one night with a high temperature and literally going through the motions before stumbling over my words and coming to a juddering halt. I cocked up my dialogue for triangle pose as well, to the point that I almost asked if I could do it again the next day. I apologised to the lead teacher for a shitty presentation only for her to tell me that she wanted students to have a brain freeze in posture clinics because it made us realise that the same thing could happen in class and it would get us thinking about ways to deal with it. She then told me she was so pleased mine had happened in her clinic and I should be glad I’d experienced it. A good way to make a positive out of a negative, huh?
It had been my intention to learn all the dialogue before going to LA for training, but in the end I actually only learnt the first four. In hindsight I don't regret this. In the words of Bikram: “ask me why!” Well, I found learning dialogue under pressure to be far easier than when I had all the time in the world. Sometimes I literally only learnt postures an hour before I was due to present them, which sounds a bit unprofessional but it worked for me. And before anyone accuses me of being slapdash, I'm still going back to the dialogue now to strengthen my knowledge of it, and will continue to do so for as long as I'm teaching.
The suggested way of learning the dialogue was in small groups, either doing round robins where each person said a couple of lines or saying it out loud while other people performed the posture so you could get used to working with bodies. I was the opposite, and basically did what everyone said you shouldn't; I learnt my dialogue by sitting quietly in my room on my own and just reading it over and over and over, line by line. Occasionally I'd practice with other people just before going into posture clinics, but for the most part the first time I worked with actual bodies was when I jumped up to present. I know, I'm a rebel - what you gunna do about it? Anyway, if you're reading this and thinking about going to training my advice to you would be to listen to everyone’s advice then find what works for you, even if it flies in the face of what works for others.
So posture clinics were, for the most part, enjoyable, even if we all got a bit restless sitting on the hard floors of the cabanas. They gave us the tools that would set us up for teaching in the real world, and equally important, they put us with people who would become our support group and our closest friends. They were good times.
Anatomy was cool, even if the chairs in the lecture room were incredibly uncomfortable when you were stuck in them for four hours at a time. And yes, I breezed the tests, thankyouverymuch.
About three or four weeks in (I forget exactly when because seriously, the whole thing kind of blends into one long yoga experience) we began posture clinics. This was basically a continuation of the half moon stuff we did earlier where we’d stand up in front of our peers and present the dialogue for individual postures, but rather than do it in front of all 400 or so trainees we were spilt into groups of around 20. Two random groups would then gather together in the cabanas round by the pool (this sounds way sexier than it actually was) and a couple of teachers, either visiting volunteers or staff teachers, would give you feedback on your presentation.
I was part of Group 11, and if you went to training and you're reading this, I'm sorry but Group 11 was THE BEST GROUP. And if you're going to the next training and you're in the next Group 11, shiiiiiiiiiit … You've got a lot to live up to. Every member of my group was a star in their own right and we were universally supportive of each other whenever one of us jumped up to present a posture. I couldn't have asked for a better group of people.
 |
| The legendary Group 11. |
• Thinking I'd cocked up a posture and talking to the lead teacher afterwards. She assured me I'd done a great job, told me she'd love to take my class, then much to my surprise invited me to teach at her studio in New York. I discovered later that she is Lady Gaga's yoga teacher and I fully intend to take her up on her offer.
• Presenting word-perfect dialogue for full locust pose one Friday evening with such gusto that my group were literally applauding me before I'd even finished. It was one of my personal defining moments from training where I thought ‘yeah, I can do this and I'm actually pretty good!’
• Finishing delivering dialogue for a posture (I forget which one) and turning to face the teachers, a married couple. The guy looks at me and he says “Wow. First of all you have a sexy accent…” I can't really remember what the rest of his feedback was, but it was definitely positive. Me and my sexy accent were well chuffed.
• Beginning dialogue delivery one evening by saying “my name's Tim and I'll be your yoga teacher tonight.” My feedback in that clinic was “you're not a yoga teacher tonight: you’re a yoga teacher.”
• A little dog running into the cabana and one member of my group who was in triangle posture shouting “Ah! A rat!”
 |
| The darling little posture clinic infiltrating pooch. |
• Being told by a teacher at the beginning of posture clinic one evening “you all need to look presentable. If you don’t, I won’t let you present your dialogue. Wear appropriate clothing, do your hair, make yourself look nice.” And that's how this happened.
 |
| Well, at least I did my hair. |
It had been my intention to learn all the dialogue before going to LA for training, but in the end I actually only learnt the first four. In hindsight I don't regret this. In the words of Bikram: “ask me why!” Well, I found learning dialogue under pressure to be far easier than when I had all the time in the world. Sometimes I literally only learnt postures an hour before I was due to present them, which sounds a bit unprofessional but it worked for me. And before anyone accuses me of being slapdash, I'm still going back to the dialogue now to strengthen my knowledge of it, and will continue to do so for as long as I'm teaching.
The suggested way of learning the dialogue was in small groups, either doing round robins where each person said a couple of lines or saying it out loud while other people performed the posture so you could get used to working with bodies. I was the opposite, and basically did what everyone said you shouldn't; I learnt my dialogue by sitting quietly in my room on my own and just reading it over and over and over, line by line. Occasionally I'd practice with other people just before going into posture clinics, but for the most part the first time I worked with actual bodies was when I jumped up to present. I know, I'm a rebel - what you gunna do about it? Anyway, if you're reading this and thinking about going to training my advice to you would be to listen to everyone’s advice then find what works for you, even if it flies in the face of what works for others.
 |
| Practicing Standing Separate Leg Stretching dialogue just minutes before presenting it, ably assisted by the brilliant Dayna. |
Saturday, July 14, 2012
The yoga bubble: Part 2
The answer as to how I’d cope with two classes per day, along with lectures, posture clinics, and late-night Bollywood movies for the next nine weeks was, somewhat unexpectedly, remarkably well – which came as something of a pleasant surprise after my first class with Bikram pretty much tore me apart. As the days and weeks progressed it became apparent that there was something to be said for the rigorously scheduled days we were confronted with, most of which went something along the lines of:
• 08:00-08:25 - sign-in
• 08:30-10:00 - yoga class
• 10:00-12:00 - free, but basically shower/shovel as much food down your throat as you can/learn dialogue
• 12:00-12:25 - sign-in
• 1230-16:00 - lecture/posture clinic
• 16:00-16:30 - free time, but basically ‘get your shit together for…’
• 16:30-16:55 - sign-in
• 17:00-18:30 - yoga class
• 18:30-2100 - free time, but again: shower, eat, learn dialogue like your life depends on it (because it does)
• 21:00-21:25 - sign-in!
• 21:30-00:00 - lecture/posture clinic
• 00:00-stupid-o’clock - Sleep if you’re lucky, otherwise … Bollywood movie!
The lectures during the first two weeks of training actually consisted of us stepping up on stage and presenting half moon pose to Bikram while three other students practiced the pose. And yes, by that I mean all 400-odd students going up one by one.
My intention was to get up and get it done as quickly as possible because I thought that if I left it more than a few days nerves would start to set in. And anyway, I figured the sooner I got it done the quicker I could get on with learning the dialogue for the next posture in the sequence. Did I mention dialogue? In Bikram Yoga you have to learn a set dialogue for all 26 postures and two breathing exercises. I know - intense huh?
But intending to do something and actually doing it are two different things, because they would only accept students ready for half moon in batches of 20, which meant it was all a bit of trial and error looking over to see when a new batch of students was needed, and then basically legging it as quickly as possible to the special 20 seats set aside for those about to present. I can’t tell you how many times I pegged it across the room only to find myself the unfortunate number 21. It was like a really shit version of musical chairs without the music. Eventually my little core group (or the British Invasion as we were later dubbed) started strategically planning were to sit so we were as close as humanly possible to the pre-half moon seats.
And after a couple of days … BOOM, success!
Getting up and presenting half moon was one of the most nerve-wracking things I’ve ever done - not because I had to stand up in front of 400 people but because … well, it’s Bikram, isn’t it? You’re standing up in front of the man who created this yoga, who put his name to it, who knows it inside out and you’ve got to try and impress him. So, y’know, it’s a BIG DEAL.
Anyway, eventually my turn comes and I step-up onto the stage, take the microphone and say “hello Bikram, my name’s Tim and I’m from Bikram Yoga Chiswick.” He nods and says “begin please.” So I do as I'm told and begin. My biggest fear was that I would just go blank and the words I’d worked so hard to memorise - that I’d actually taught on several occasions back at my studio in preparation - would just go flying out of my head. We’d seen it already with a few other students where nerves had taken hold and their confidence fell away and I was petrified it would happen to me. But with no other choice I took a deep breath and began.
“Everybody together. Feet together at the line, heels and toes touching each other. Arms over the head sideways, palms together…”
And then I was off. The words just spilled out of my mouth like they’d been fighting to be released for so long and I’d finally said “oh go on then - get out” to them. And as they came I got more animated, gesturing with my free hand, changing the tone of my speech when saying words like “come down and push, and push, and push,” truly believing that I could get my three students to do the very best half moons imaginable with just the power of my voice.
Then before I knew it I was done. My students came back up, stopped in the middle and brought their arms down by their sides. I lowered the microphone and turned to face Bikram who sat in his chair with a look on his face that I simply could not read. Would he smile and say well done? Or would he wave his hand in the air to indicate it was OK, but could've been better? Worse still, had I completely misjudged how I thought I'd done and he would tell me I was awful?
The seconds that followed felt like an eternity … and then he said the following words, words I will never forget:
“Excellent. Faultless. I have no correction. Thank you, Boss. NEXT!”
The next thing I know I’m handing the microphone to someone else and taking my place ready to perform the posture for the next student. Obviously, I was deliriously happy for the rest of the day, and quite frankly the rest of the week if I’m truly honest.
Any time I felt l like I was struggling at training I’d always think back to Bikram’s words in the lecture room that day and take a little strength from what he said to me. Because when your guru, the man who started it all, tells you he has no corrections you know you’re doing something right, right?
• 08:00-08:25 - sign-in
• 08:30-10:00 - yoga class
• 10:00-12:00 - free, but basically shower/shovel as much food down your throat as you can/learn dialogue
• 12:00-12:25 - sign-in
• 1230-16:00 - lecture/posture clinic
• 16:00-16:30 - free time, but basically ‘get your shit together for…’
• 16:30-16:55 - sign-in
• 17:00-18:30 - yoga class
• 18:30-2100 - free time, but again: shower, eat, learn dialogue like your life depends on it (because it does)
• 21:00-21:25 - sign-in!
• 21:30-00:00 - lecture/posture clinic
• 00:00-stupid-o’clock - Sleep if you’re lucky, otherwise … Bollywood movie!
The lectures during the first two weeks of training actually consisted of us stepping up on stage and presenting half moon pose to Bikram while three other students practiced the pose. And yes, by that I mean all 400-odd students going up one by one.
My intention was to get up and get it done as quickly as possible because I thought that if I left it more than a few days nerves would start to set in. And anyway, I figured the sooner I got it done the quicker I could get on with learning the dialogue for the next posture in the sequence. Did I mention dialogue? In Bikram Yoga you have to learn a set dialogue for all 26 postures and two breathing exercises. I know - intense huh?
But intending to do something and actually doing it are two different things, because they would only accept students ready for half moon in batches of 20, which meant it was all a bit of trial and error looking over to see when a new batch of students was needed, and then basically legging it as quickly as possible to the special 20 seats set aside for those about to present. I can’t tell you how many times I pegged it across the room only to find myself the unfortunate number 21. It was like a really shit version of musical chairs without the music. Eventually my little core group (or the British Invasion as we were later dubbed) started strategically planning were to sit so we were as close as humanly possible to the pre-half moon seats.
And after a couple of days … BOOM, success!
Getting up and presenting half moon was one of the most nerve-wracking things I’ve ever done - not because I had to stand up in front of 400 people but because … well, it’s Bikram, isn’t it? You’re standing up in front of the man who created this yoga, who put his name to it, who knows it inside out and you’ve got to try and impress him. So, y’know, it’s a BIG DEAL.
Anyway, eventually my turn comes and I step-up onto the stage, take the microphone and say “hello Bikram, my name’s Tim and I’m from Bikram Yoga Chiswick.” He nods and says “begin please.” So I do as I'm told and begin. My biggest fear was that I would just go blank and the words I’d worked so hard to memorise - that I’d actually taught on several occasions back at my studio in preparation - would just go flying out of my head. We’d seen it already with a few other students where nerves had taken hold and their confidence fell away and I was petrified it would happen to me. But with no other choice I took a deep breath and began.
“Everybody together. Feet together at the line, heels and toes touching each other. Arms over the head sideways, palms together…”
And then I was off. The words just spilled out of my mouth like they’d been fighting to be released for so long and I’d finally said “oh go on then - get out” to them. And as they came I got more animated, gesturing with my free hand, changing the tone of my speech when saying words like “come down and push, and push, and push,” truly believing that I could get my three students to do the very best half moons imaginable with just the power of my voice.
Then before I knew it I was done. My students came back up, stopped in the middle and brought their arms down by their sides. I lowered the microphone and turned to face Bikram who sat in his chair with a look on his face that I simply could not read. Would he smile and say well done? Or would he wave his hand in the air to indicate it was OK, but could've been better? Worse still, had I completely misjudged how I thought I'd done and he would tell me I was awful?
The seconds that followed felt like an eternity … and then he said the following words, words I will never forget:
“Excellent. Faultless. I have no correction. Thank you, Boss. NEXT!”
The next thing I know I’m handing the microphone to someone else and taking my place ready to perform the posture for the next student. Obviously, I was deliriously happy for the rest of the day, and quite frankly the rest of the week if I’m truly honest.
Any time I felt l like I was struggling at training I’d always think back to Bikram’s words in the lecture room that day and take a little strength from what he said to me. Because when your guru, the man who started it all, tells you he has no corrections you know you’re doing something right, right?
Monday, July 09, 2012
The yoga bubble: Part 1
It’s been a little over three weeks since the end of Bikram Yoga Teacher Training Spring 2012 and I’ve yet to write about my nine week experience in Los Angeles because … well, it’s difficult to put into words, to be honest. Briar, my fellow trainee from Bikram Yoga Chiswick summed it up best with these words “… [I] feel like nobody in the real world understands what we've been through. It sounds trivial if I explain it in a way they understand; pretentious if I give it the justice it deserves.”
She’s right - but I’m going to give it a bash anyway.
Training was without doubt the hardest thing I’ve ever done. The days were long, grueling on both the body and the mind. I was left with aching knees and tight hamstrings, I went deaf in my left ear for almost three weeks due to the amount of sweat pouring into it. I fell ill for two weeks with a sore throat, temperature and a hacking cough that I could not shake.
And yet despite that it was the most brilliant, memorable, utterly bonkers and wonderful time of my life - a true life-changing experience. It sounds corny, but I honestly feel as if I returned from LA a different person from the one that had left almost 10 weeks earlier. Looking back, training wasn’t so much about learning to be a yoga teacher so much as it was about learning to be a better person and helping us to unlock the innate skills that all of us possess - allowing us, as Bikram would say, to grow “like a flower petal blooming.”
None of this was apparent from the word go, however.
The first day or so in LA was a bit weird, to be honest. I arrived on the Friday and registration wasn’t until the Sunday afternoon, so I had a bit of time to kill. I checked out Redondo Beach (where The OC was shot) and scouted out the local shops on the Saturday, before meeting a fellow UK trainee named Dave in the evening which, even if he’d turned out to be an absolute arsehole was lovely simply because I’d literally not spoken to anyone aside from the hotel staff since arriving; as it turned out Dave was utterly brilliant and one of the main reasons that I ended up having such a memorable experience at training.
By Sunday afternoon all the other 400-odd trainees had arrived and we set about registering and collecting our trainee binders and anatomy books (gulp!). The atmosphere in the Radisson hotel was genuinely electric because none of us knew what to expect.
The real beginning came the following day, however, when we were introduced to the man himself for the first time. I distinctly remember the moment Bikram came into the lecture room - the silence that descended as he strode in, donned a microphone headset and for the enthusiastically uttered the words that we would hear so many times and mimic so often in the weeks that followed: “Check, check! One, two, three, four … HI GUYS!”
Bikram is such a remarkable character, far more so than I thought he would be, and I’ll write more about him another time. What I remember from this first appearance though, was that he was very welcoming, inordinately proud of his new shoes, and wore a very sparkly, expensive-looking Rolex. And a few hours later we were all in the Radisson’s ballroom (converted to serve as a hot yoga room) taking our first class from Bikram.
What I remember most about this class is that at some point about halfway through I had to throw my hand up in the air to call for help; I was cramping up from a combination of too much effort, hyperventilating, and being too hot (not in a good way for a change). One of the staff teachers helped me out of the room and sat me down outside to recover. While I got myself together I couldn’t help but think how my teacher Mandy had told me that she’d walked out of her first class with Bikram years before and now here I was doing exactly the same … and then I inexplicably burst into tears.
At this point one of the other staff teachers came over and asked me what the matter was. Through my tears I tried to explain that I was so far from home, that I didn’t want to walk out of Bikram’s first class and felt as if I was letting myself down as well as my friends and teachers who’d encouraged me to come to training. I expected this teacher to put a reassuring arm around my shoulders and tell me it was OK; instead she looked down at me and said “if that’s all you’re worrying about you need to man-up and get back in the room.”
I had been *this* close to thinking I couldn’t cope with training and giving up before we’d even really started, but those words shocked me into doing exactly what I’d been told to do. This teacher’s name was Kat, and on graduation night I told her this story and thanked her for what she’d said to me; without that shock to the system it’s quite likely I would’ve been on the next plane home.
(The tears, by the way, were not me just being a wuss; we were later told that it was highly likely training would lead to us experiencing what was called an ‘emotional release’ - basically an unexpected emotional breakdown, for want of a better term. Some people had them halfway through, some right at the end; seems I got mine out of the way bright and early)
Anyway, I went back into the room, somehow finished the class, and then staggered out wondering exactly how the hell I was going to manage two classes per day, along with lectures, posture clinics, and late-night Bollywood movies for the next nine weeks.
She’s right - but I’m going to give it a bash anyway.
 |
| My home away from home for nearly 10 weeks. |
And yet despite that it was the most brilliant, memorable, utterly bonkers and wonderful time of my life - a true life-changing experience. It sounds corny, but I honestly feel as if I returned from LA a different person from the one that had left almost 10 weeks earlier. Looking back, training wasn’t so much about learning to be a yoga teacher so much as it was about learning to be a better person and helping us to unlock the innate skills that all of us possess - allowing us, as Bikram would say, to grow “like a flower petal blooming.”
None of this was apparent from the word go, however.
The first day or so in LA was a bit weird, to be honest. I arrived on the Friday and registration wasn’t until the Sunday afternoon, so I had a bit of time to kill. I checked out Redondo Beach (where The OC was shot) and scouted out the local shops on the Saturday, before meeting a fellow UK trainee named Dave in the evening which, even if he’d turned out to be an absolute arsehole was lovely simply because I’d literally not spoken to anyone aside from the hotel staff since arriving; as it turned out Dave was utterly brilliant and one of the main reasons that I ended up having such a memorable experience at training.
By Sunday afternoon all the other 400-odd trainees had arrived and we set about registering and collecting our trainee binders and anatomy books (gulp!). The atmosphere in the Radisson hotel was genuinely electric because none of us knew what to expect.
 |
| My folder of yoga knowledge and my baby dialogue; the latter was a constant companion throughout training and even as I write this it's sitting on my desk within easy grasp. |
Bikram is such a remarkable character, far more so than I thought he would be, and I’ll write more about him another time. What I remember from this first appearance though, was that he was very welcoming, inordinately proud of his new shoes, and wore a very sparkly, expensive-looking Rolex. And a few hours later we were all in the Radisson’s ballroom (converted to serve as a hot yoga room) taking our first class from Bikram.
What I remember most about this class is that at some point about halfway through I had to throw my hand up in the air to call for help; I was cramping up from a combination of too much effort, hyperventilating, and being too hot (not in a good way for a change). One of the staff teachers helped me out of the room and sat me down outside to recover. While I got myself together I couldn’t help but think how my teacher Mandy had told me that she’d walked out of her first class with Bikram years before and now here I was doing exactly the same … and then I inexplicably burst into tears.
At this point one of the other staff teachers came over and asked me what the matter was. Through my tears I tried to explain that I was so far from home, that I didn’t want to walk out of Bikram’s first class and felt as if I was letting myself down as well as my friends and teachers who’d encouraged me to come to training. I expected this teacher to put a reassuring arm around my shoulders and tell me it was OK; instead she looked down at me and said “if that’s all you’re worrying about you need to man-up and get back in the room.”
I had been *this* close to thinking I couldn’t cope with training and giving up before we’d even really started, but those words shocked me into doing exactly what I’d been told to do. This teacher’s name was Kat, and on graduation night I told her this story and thanked her for what she’d said to me; without that shock to the system it’s quite likely I would’ve been on the next plane home.
(The tears, by the way, were not me just being a wuss; we were later told that it was highly likely training would lead to us experiencing what was called an ‘emotional release’ - basically an unexpected emotional breakdown, for want of a better term. Some people had them halfway through, some right at the end; seems I got mine out of the way bright and early)
Anyway, I went back into the room, somehow finished the class, and then staggered out wondering exactly how the hell I was going to manage two classes per day, along with lectures, posture clinics, and late-night Bollywood movies for the next nine weeks.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
First class
I've been back from LA for five days now, and it's been 10 days since I graduated as a Bikram Yoga teacher after nine weeks in 'Bikram's torture chamber,' as he calls it. I'd planned on writing something about my experiences on training before now, but to be honest I'm still trying to process the whole thing so, y'know, just bear with me for a while.
In the meantime, I taught my first class today. It was at Bikram Yoga Surbiton, a new studio owned by my two lovely senior teachers Mandy and Helen, which opened while I was in the States. I'd previously seen BYS when it was a building site before going off on training, so on Sunday I headed over to practice a class there and get used to the studio now there's actually walls and stuff there. Sunday's class was great, but jet lag kicked in about halfway through and I just wanted to curl up on my mat and go to sleep. I went again on Monday to prove to myself that I could still practice OK and to support Briar, who was on training with me, as she taught her first class there. I'm pleased to report I experienced no waves of narcolepsy in this class, although Briar did give me some stick for not kicking my leg out in standing head to knee.
Tut.
Anyway, I was on the board for the 10am class this morning, and I'll be honest: things didn't exactly go to plan.
I don't live too far away from the Surbiton studio and my intention was to get there nice and early this morning to greet the happy smiling faces of all the students who would be taking my class. Sadly, traffic conspired against me. I left home at 8:40 and an hour later I'd gone just a handful of miles. Panic set in because a) I didn't want to be late (obviously), and b) what sort of an impression does missing your first class make? I won't lie - there were some choice swears being uttered in West London this morning, though perhaps not quite so many as were uttered in LA; seriously, I developed such a potty mouth during training. Can you believe it?
Eventually I managed to rat race around some side roads and head into Surby from the complete opposite direction, ultimately arriving at the studio with five minutes to spare. Helen, bless 'er, had already briefed the five newbies who'd turned up on what to expect so I just needed to pop my shorts on, grab a towel, and take a couple of minutes to compose myself.
Ironically, stressing out about the traffic actually made me stop worrying about teaching the class so I just walked in and got on with it.
So, teaching. Well, nothing really prepares you for getting up in front of a class full of hot sweaty people and encouraging them to contort their bodies into all manner of bizarre shapes - not even the stuff you do on training - but once those initial nerves passed I really got into it. No one died, I pretty much stuck to 90 minutes (I think I was one or two minutes over), and surprisingly a lot more of the dialogue spilled out of my brain then I thought would be the case. I was lucky to have a handful of familiar faces in the crowd too, so if I did find my dialogue faltering I could just look to them and their bodies would guide me towards what I needed to say next. Special shout out to my newbies too, who were awesome and really put, as Bikram would say, 110% effort in.
Afterwards Helen gave me some really helpful feedback as to how I could improve in a couple of areas, but unless she was outright lying to me she seemed pretty pleased with how things went. I was too, to be honest; I sometimes overanalyse things like this but against my own expectations, and with maybe a couple of minor exceptions, I don't think it could've gone much better for a first class.
Round two's over at Bikram Yoga Chiswick tomorrow - and this time I'm going to make sure I'm there with at least half an hour to spare.
In the meantime, I taught my first class today. It was at Bikram Yoga Surbiton, a new studio owned by my two lovely senior teachers Mandy and Helen, which opened while I was in the States. I'd previously seen BYS when it was a building site before going off on training, so on Sunday I headed over to practice a class there and get used to the studio now there's actually walls and stuff there. Sunday's class was great, but jet lag kicked in about halfway through and I just wanted to curl up on my mat and go to sleep. I went again on Monday to prove to myself that I could still practice OK and to support Briar, who was on training with me, as she taught her first class there. I'm pleased to report I experienced no waves of narcolepsy in this class, although Briar did give me some stick for not kicking my leg out in standing head to knee.
Tut.
Anyway, I was on the board for the 10am class this morning, and I'll be honest: things didn't exactly go to plan.
I don't live too far away from the Surbiton studio and my intention was to get there nice and early this morning to greet the happy smiling faces of all the students who would be taking my class. Sadly, traffic conspired against me. I left home at 8:40 and an hour later I'd gone just a handful of miles. Panic set in because a) I didn't want to be late (obviously), and b) what sort of an impression does missing your first class make? I won't lie - there were some choice swears being uttered in West London this morning, though perhaps not quite so many as were uttered in LA; seriously, I developed such a potty mouth during training. Can you believe it?
Eventually I managed to rat race around some side roads and head into Surby from the complete opposite direction, ultimately arriving at the studio with five minutes to spare. Helen, bless 'er, had already briefed the five newbies who'd turned up on what to expect so I just needed to pop my shorts on, grab a towel, and take a couple of minutes to compose myself.
Ironically, stressing out about the traffic actually made me stop worrying about teaching the class so I just walked in and got on with it.
So, teaching. Well, nothing really prepares you for getting up in front of a class full of hot sweaty people and encouraging them to contort their bodies into all manner of bizarre shapes - not even the stuff you do on training - but once those initial nerves passed I really got into it. No one died, I pretty much stuck to 90 minutes (I think I was one or two minutes over), and surprisingly a lot more of the dialogue spilled out of my brain then I thought would be the case. I was lucky to have a handful of familiar faces in the crowd too, so if I did find my dialogue faltering I could just look to them and their bodies would guide me towards what I needed to say next. Special shout out to my newbies too, who were awesome and really put, as Bikram would say, 110% effort in.
Afterwards Helen gave me some really helpful feedback as to how I could improve in a couple of areas, but unless she was outright lying to me she seemed pretty pleased with how things went. I was too, to be honest; I sometimes overanalyse things like this but against my own expectations, and with maybe a couple of minor exceptions, I don't think it could've gone much better for a first class.
Round two's over at Bikram Yoga Chiswick tomorrow - and this time I'm going to make sure I'm there with at least half an hour to spare.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Feet together at the line
So here I am, days away from hitting the halfway point of Bikram Yoga Teacher Training. It's a Sunday afternoon and I'm plonked on my hotel bed taking a little breather between learning the dialogue for Tree pose and Toe Stand.
We started posture clinics two weeks ago - the bit where you stand up and recite the dialogue for the postures while fellow trainees do the pose in front of you - and they're going well. I'll be honest, my heart does start beating pretty quickly when I jump up to take my turn, and there have been a couple of times where bits of the dialogue have escaped me, but when that happens I've just done my best to plough on regardless and I'm pleased to report that the feedback I've had so far has been overwhelmingly positive. Hooray for me!
Elsewhere we've had anatomy lectures with the brilliant and hilarious Dr. P (a man I could listen to endlessly, which is just as well bearing in mind that some of his lectures went on well past midnight), and one anatomy test (which I scored 28/30 on, so I'm going to say rather modestly: NAILED IT).
Two classes every day are taking their toll a bit; my back's been a bit sore and one of my ankles has been grumbling a bit, but on the whole I think I'm coping pretty well. That said, the detoxification of my body has led to an outbreak of zits the likes of which I've not experienced since the age of 14. On the plus side unlike when I was 14 at least I'm not fat; far from it, in fact - just today I nudged done a hole on my belt which leads me to the terrifying realisation that by the end of training I might need to start making my own holes in it or face the prospect of my trousers falling down to my ankles at the most inopportune time.
On the plus side, my serratus anterior muscles are really quite defined now (and that's a boast not only of how training has changed my body, but also of my newfound anatomical knowledge).
All in all then, this training thing is going pretty well. I'm sure there are still plenty of potentially horrific surprises ahead of us, but I'm glad I'm here and I'm glad I'm doing this, which is just as well bearing in mind how much it's costing.
Anyway, here's me in triangle on Venice Beach. Note my lovely new hat - isn't it nice?
We started posture clinics two weeks ago - the bit where you stand up and recite the dialogue for the postures while fellow trainees do the pose in front of you - and they're going well. I'll be honest, my heart does start beating pretty quickly when I jump up to take my turn, and there have been a couple of times where bits of the dialogue have escaped me, but when that happens I've just done my best to plough on regardless and I'm pleased to report that the feedback I've had so far has been overwhelmingly positive. Hooray for me!
Elsewhere we've had anatomy lectures with the brilliant and hilarious Dr. P (a man I could listen to endlessly, which is just as well bearing in mind that some of his lectures went on well past midnight), and one anatomy test (which I scored 28/30 on, so I'm going to say rather modestly: NAILED IT).
Two classes every day are taking their toll a bit; my back's been a bit sore and one of my ankles has been grumbling a bit, but on the whole I think I'm coping pretty well. That said, the detoxification of my body has led to an outbreak of zits the likes of which I've not experienced since the age of 14. On the plus side unlike when I was 14 at least I'm not fat; far from it, in fact - just today I nudged done a hole on my belt which leads me to the terrifying realisation that by the end of training I might need to start making my own holes in it or face the prospect of my trousers falling down to my ankles at the most inopportune time.
On the plus side, my serratus anterior muscles are really quite defined now (and that's a boast not only of how training has changed my body, but also of my newfound anatomical knowledge).
All in all then, this training thing is going pretty well. I'm sure there are still plenty of potentially horrific surprises ahead of us, but I'm glad I'm here and I'm glad I'm doing this, which is just as well bearing in mind how much it's costing.
Anyway, here's me in triangle on Venice Beach. Note my lovely new hat - isn't it nice?
Sunday, April 15, 2012
First flight and hello LA
So I did it - I bloody well flew for the first time.
And surprisingly it wasn't the white-knuckle scream-fest I expected it to be.
OK, so the emotionally charged farewell with Sparky Ma left me a bit of a teary mess, and then I had to surrender a lovely bottle of shower gel that smelt like macaroons because it was over 100ml, but I was remarkably chillaxed while waiting to board in departures.
What made it really brilliant though was the fact that after telling the cabin crew that it was my first flight and I was a wee bit nervous they took such amazing care of me. And if anyone from Virgin Atlantic reads this, please give Ash a massive bonus because he went above and beyond the sort of care I thought I'd get. How so? The dude came and sat next to me during takeoff so that he could reassure me and explain everything that was going on. Utterly amazing, and I owe him (as well as all the other crew members) a massive thank you for making my first time in the air so smooth and uneventful.
Plus he smuggled me some Hagen Daas ice cream when everyone else in economy had to go without.
So anyway I'm here in LA now and it's ... Well, a bit weird to be honest. I've only met (and even then only briefly) one other person who's doing the training, so I kind of feel like I'm in limbo a bit. Kind of like a very lonely holiday for one. I keep trying to engage the bar staff in conversation just so I can talk to someone.
But registration and orientation is on Sunday so everyone will be here by then and we can get on with the task of learning to be yoga teachers, which I know isn't going to be easy, but will, I'm sure, be a totally memorable life changing experience.
In the meantime, I've made good use of my one full day to be foot loose and fancy free in LA (until mid-June) by scouting out the local shops for supplies, grabbing my first stateside Grande Misto, and jumping on the bus to go to Redondo Beach, where as a massive fan of The OC I made a pilgrimage to the location that was used as the Bait Shop club venue.
I also saw a seal in the bay (I think it actually stuck its tongue out at me - RUDE) and woke a lovely old lady up when she nodded off at the bus stop. Oh, and I've started on my much needed tan (the last thing I want is to get a reputation as London's pastiest yoga teacher).
A couple of other things: everyone here is *so* polite, and the city (at least what I've seen of it) is remarkably litter free; London take note please. That said, the frequency of the buses is bloody awful. I'm never going to complain about having to wait five minutes for a bus in London again (not that I actually use them that much, but still...).
Anyway, I'm not totally convinced I'm actually going to get used to being in this place, but we'll see. I just want to get going with the yoga please!
And surprisingly it wasn't the white-knuckle scream-fest I expected it to be.
OK, so the emotionally charged farewell with Sparky Ma left me a bit of a teary mess, and then I had to surrender a lovely bottle of shower gel that smelt like macaroons because it was over 100ml, but I was remarkably chillaxed while waiting to board in departures.
What made it really brilliant though was the fact that after telling the cabin crew that it was my first flight and I was a wee bit nervous they took such amazing care of me. And if anyone from Virgin Atlantic reads this, please give Ash a massive bonus because he went above and beyond the sort of care I thought I'd get. How so? The dude came and sat next to me during takeoff so that he could reassure me and explain everything that was going on. Utterly amazing, and I owe him (as well as all the other crew members) a massive thank you for making my first time in the air so smooth and uneventful.
Plus he smuggled me some Hagen Daas ice cream when everyone else in economy had to go without.
So anyway I'm here in LA now and it's ... Well, a bit weird to be honest. I've only met (and even then only briefly) one other person who's doing the training, so I kind of feel like I'm in limbo a bit. Kind of like a very lonely holiday for one. I keep trying to engage the bar staff in conversation just so I can talk to someone.
But registration and orientation is on Sunday so everyone will be here by then and we can get on with the task of learning to be yoga teachers, which I know isn't going to be easy, but will, I'm sure, be a totally memorable life changing experience.
In the meantime, I've made good use of my one full day to be foot loose and fancy free in LA (until mid-June) by scouting out the local shops for supplies, grabbing my first stateside Grande Misto, and jumping on the bus to go to Redondo Beach, where as a massive fan of The OC I made a pilgrimage to the location that was used as the Bait Shop club venue.
I also saw a seal in the bay (I think it actually stuck its tongue out at me - RUDE) and woke a lovely old lady up when she nodded off at the bus stop. Oh, and I've started on my much needed tan (the last thing I want is to get a reputation as London's pastiest yoga teacher).
A couple of other things: everyone here is *so* polite, and the city (at least what I've seen of it) is remarkably litter free; London take note please. That said, the frequency of the buses is bloody awful. I'm never going to complain about having to wait five minutes for a bus in London again (not that I actually use them that much, but still...).
Anyway, I'm not totally convinced I'm actually going to get used to being in this place, but we'll see. I just want to get going with the yoga please!
Friday, April 13, 2012
Leaving on a jet plane
That title? Unbelievably not a joke.
I'm writing this post sitting in my Mini dealer on a chilly Thursday morning while Clubbie's getting an MOT. By the time you read it, I'll be on my way to Los Angeles.
Why? Well, it all comes back to something that happened around this time last year when we did a charity class at yoga and one of my teachers let me teach a posture - y'know, just for a giggle. It was a giggle, but then when I mentioned it to another of my teachers he said 'well why don't you think about doing it for real? I think you'd be great.'
I don’t know about you, but when someone says they think you’ll be great at something it tends to stick in your mind. So, almost exactly a year down the line from that moment and I'm doing it. I'm going to LA to train as a Bikram yoga teacher.
Obviously there's a bit more to it than having a bit of a laugh at a class last year and being given a nice compliment - losing my job certainly made me think about it more seriously because what better time is there to think about such a massive life changing event than when you find yourself at a crossroads in your career?
I won't lie, it's not been an easy decision to make because first and foremost it's not the cheapest thing in the world to do. But perhaps more than that, as I've mentioned before, I'm utterly petrified of flying and you have to do the training in LA. So I have to fly. I did look into other methods of getting there, but even I have to concede that 11 hours of screaming on a plane is preferable to five days on a cargo ship followed by a couple of days on a train.
What's brilliant about all this is that it's not a complete career change and I'll be able to carry on with editorial work as well as teaching yoga. In fact, I think they'll compliment each other rather well, and it means I can actually be a bit picky about exactly what editorial work I choose to take on. I've been working on a couple of books for a London-based publisher these last few months which has been an utterly delightful experience, and so far removed from the stresses I experienced in the last few months of my job before it spectacularly imploded. The chap I've been working for has told me he’d like me to help out on some other stuff when I'm back, which is great; quite frankly, if the only publishing work I ever did again was for him I'd be a happy bunny.
As for yoga, well, for someone who writes for a living I'm finding it difficult to put into words just how supportive and brilliant everyone at the studio - staff and fellow yogi alike - has been since I told them I wanted to go on training. They've given me advice, let me teach postures to get used to standing in front of a class, and generally just made me feel like I've made absolutely the right decision. The studio owner wrote me a lovely letter of recommendation. They're throwing a party on Saturday to send us off (another lovely fellow student is also going to training) in proper BYC style.
So I'm off for a bit. Training is an intensive nine-week course, plus I've got a couple of days either side just to hang out in LA which incredibly, and very conveniently, is the one place in the world I've actually always wanted to visit, so that's nice. I've already used Google maps to find the nearest Starbucks and a bookshop so large it'll probably make me cry. I'd like to say I'll try to blog while I'm out there, but the truth is I honestly don't think I'll get the chance. That being the case, expect a couple of epic posts sometime around the end of June when I'm back and my tiny brain has had time to process the whole experience. In the meantime, if you're missing your occasional hit of Tim over the next couple of months and want to know how things are going, feel free to follow me on Twitter (what do you mean you're not already?) or Facebook me, as I'm more likely to tweet or fire off short status updates reassuring everyone that I'm not dead. Or why not check out the Bikram Yoga Surbiton website? It's a new studio being opened by two of my favourite teachers, and I'm honoured to be writing the official studio blog for them. I've cued up a few posts to go live while I'm away and I won't lie, I think they're pretty damn good (modest much?).
Anyway, I think that's about it for the moment. Behave yourselves while I'm gone and I'll see you on the other side.
Namaste.
I'm writing this post sitting in my Mini dealer on a chilly Thursday morning while Clubbie's getting an MOT. By the time you read it, I'll be on my way to Los Angeles.
Why? Well, it all comes back to something that happened around this time last year when we did a charity class at yoga and one of my teachers let me teach a posture - y'know, just for a giggle. It was a giggle, but then when I mentioned it to another of my teachers he said 'well why don't you think about doing it for real? I think you'd be great.'
I don’t know about you, but when someone says they think you’ll be great at something it tends to stick in your mind. So, almost exactly a year down the line from that moment and I'm doing it. I'm going to LA to train as a Bikram yoga teacher.
Obviously there's a bit more to it than having a bit of a laugh at a class last year and being given a nice compliment - losing my job certainly made me think about it more seriously because what better time is there to think about such a massive life changing event than when you find yourself at a crossroads in your career?
I won't lie, it's not been an easy decision to make because first and foremost it's not the cheapest thing in the world to do. But perhaps more than that, as I've mentioned before, I'm utterly petrified of flying and you have to do the training in LA. So I have to fly. I did look into other methods of getting there, but even I have to concede that 11 hours of screaming on a plane is preferable to five days on a cargo ship followed by a couple of days on a train.
What's brilliant about all this is that it's not a complete career change and I'll be able to carry on with editorial work as well as teaching yoga. In fact, I think they'll compliment each other rather well, and it means I can actually be a bit picky about exactly what editorial work I choose to take on. I've been working on a couple of books for a London-based publisher these last few months which has been an utterly delightful experience, and so far removed from the stresses I experienced in the last few months of my job before it spectacularly imploded. The chap I've been working for has told me he’d like me to help out on some other stuff when I'm back, which is great; quite frankly, if the only publishing work I ever did again was for him I'd be a happy bunny.
As for yoga, well, for someone who writes for a living I'm finding it difficult to put into words just how supportive and brilliant everyone at the studio - staff and fellow yogi alike - has been since I told them I wanted to go on training. They've given me advice, let me teach postures to get used to standing in front of a class, and generally just made me feel like I've made absolutely the right decision. The studio owner wrote me a lovely letter of recommendation. They're throwing a party on Saturday to send us off (another lovely fellow student is also going to training) in proper BYC style.
So I'm off for a bit. Training is an intensive nine-week course, plus I've got a couple of days either side just to hang out in LA which incredibly, and very conveniently, is the one place in the world I've actually always wanted to visit, so that's nice. I've already used Google maps to find the nearest Starbucks and a bookshop so large it'll probably make me cry. I'd like to say I'll try to blog while I'm out there, but the truth is I honestly don't think I'll get the chance. That being the case, expect a couple of epic posts sometime around the end of June when I'm back and my tiny brain has had time to process the whole experience. In the meantime, if you're missing your occasional hit of Tim over the next couple of months and want to know how things are going, feel free to follow me on Twitter (what do you mean you're not already?) or Facebook me, as I'm more likely to tweet or fire off short status updates reassuring everyone that I'm not dead. Or why not check out the Bikram Yoga Surbiton website? It's a new studio being opened by two of my favourite teachers, and I'm honoured to be writing the official studio blog for them. I've cued up a few posts to go live while I'm away and I won't lie, I think they're pretty damn good (modest much?).
Anyway, I think that's about it for the moment. Behave yourselves while I'm gone and I'll see you on the other side.
Namaste.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Get Carter: Part II
So I'm still banging on to everyone I encounter about how much I enjoyed John Carter, and yes, I do plan on seeing it again, and yes I still think you should go and see it for the first time.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I enjoyed the movie enough that I want to explore Edgar Rice Burroughs' Barsoom universe further, which obviously means jumping into the original novels. The problem is that there's so many different versions of the books that I really don't know where to start. I was tempted by Disney's new omnibus editions, but as I said before they've inexplicably cut Burroughs' forewords from each story, which apparently are quite important, so that rules them out; I mean, it would be like going to Pizza Express and not ordering dough balls for a starter - i.e. WRONG and BAD.
Ultimately I settled for this edition:
The interesting thing about this book is that it's a novelisation - yes, it's a novel based on a movie that is itself based on a book (WTF?!) - but it also includes Burroughs' original version of A Princess of Mars too. So that's too versions of the same (-ish) story for a fiver. Seems like a bargain, I think you'll agree, and it'll no doubt be fascinating to compare the two versions to see what changes the filmmakers made.
Now, this isn't perfect but it gives you an idea of what I was getting at. What isn't perfect about this is that I wanted the type to fill out every part of the grey, but as Mick Jagger once sang, you can't always get what you want, and in this instance I was foiled by the lack of depth in the font, which ultimately gives rise to an inch or so of grey area between the title and ERB's name. Still, better than some of the other covers above, eh?
I also liked the idea of the sun rising over Mars just to give a little added something.
That's a really crappy, cheap-looking lens flare going on there, but it let me convey the general idea of what I was thinking without actually bothering to put too much effort in.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I enjoyed the movie enough that I want to explore Edgar Rice Burroughs' Barsoom universe further, which obviously means jumping into the original novels. The problem is that there's so many different versions of the books that I really don't know where to start. I was tempted by Disney's new omnibus editions, but as I said before they've inexplicably cut Burroughs' forewords from each story, which apparently are quite important, so that rules them out; I mean, it would be like going to Pizza Express and not ordering dough balls for a starter - i.e. WRONG and BAD.
 |
| Lovely looking book; missing some text, apparently. |
Ultimately I settled for this edition:
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| Yes, the cover uses one of those woeful posters I ranted about in my last post. |
Before settling on this version I looked at a few other copies too. Basically, because the John Carter series is out of copyright various publishers have released their own version, and while I know they say you should never judge a book by its cover I'll let you into a little secret: I DO. ALWAYS. I hate - and I mean *HATE* - shitty looking book covers.
Like these.
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| Actually, this one is sort of OK in a pulpy kind of way. Not 100% my cup of tea, but I could live with it if push came to shove. |
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| This, in contrast, is just HIDEOUS. |
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| I actually had this one in my hand in Waterstones in Chiswick the other day but couldn't bring myself to buy it based purely on the horrible cover. I am such a snob. |
Anyway, I got to thinking, as I very occasionally do, and that led to a realisation that I should, just for shits and giggles, put my money where my mouth is (not that this is actually costing me anything) and have a bash at designing my own covers for the John Carter series. The thought stuck with me for a few days, until today when I had a little bit of time to kill and caved into the notion.
The idea behind this is pretty much twofold:
1. Because I think someone somewhere should've seized the idea of running out some really beautiful versions of these books to cater to people like me who discovered the Barsoom series as a result of the movie (I refuse to believe I'm the only one).
2. That you can do something clean, contemporary and eye-catching that would really stand out on a bookstore shelf and actually sell a few copies.
Now, let's not get carried away here - remember, what follows were literally done in about an hour and a half and are by no means perfect, but I think they give a general idea of what I mean. I'm imagining a nice compact hardcover edition; big hardbacks get on my nerves, but I've always liked chunky little ones - they seem a bit different, somewhat unusual, and collectable, which is important when you're dealing with a series of 11 books. Also, don't get it into your mind that I was throwing my little-used artistic talents into play here - I certainly wasn't going to whip out some oil paints and throw together a John Carter portrait. No, instead the ideas I had were based solely on typography rather than an image, because I think you can do some lovely striking things with words alone.
My first idea was basically a massive rip-off of a hardcover edition I've got of the Dave Eggers novel You Shall Know Our Velocity, which I was drawn to several years ago because the story actually starts on the front cover:
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| Look at that - the story starts on the front! CRAZY! But really quite cool. |
I've always liked the grey and black colours on that cover, so my first thought for my John Carter was something like that with the name of the book literally plastered across the cover in, if you'll excuse my French, massive fuck-off letters.
Like this:
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| Leng edition, version 01 |
(ooo, bitch)
Here's another go:
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| Leng edition, version 02 |
I'm not totally sold on the massive 'OF' here, but all the space seems to be filled OK.
And then I thought I'd try something a bit different:
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| Leng edition, version 03 |
I'm not usually a fan of replacing letters with spherical objects, but I decided to make an exception here. That said, I do think it kind of needs a bit of the missing 'O' fading in around the curvature of the planet - a bit like how the 'D' appears in the Dreamworks logo:
I also liked the idea of the sun rising over Mars just to give a little added something.
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| Leng edition, version 04 |
And it's around about there that I got bored of the whole idea and decided to put my crayons away. But do you get what I was aiming for? That you can do something that's not a hideously awful drawing to put on the front of these classic tales? What I've done is by no means perfect, but it could be - certainly if there was some financial incentive there (HINT, HINT, publishers). If I was going to go back to it I'd certainly try to find a way of tightening up the gaps between the lines just so there was less empty space, and the end result would, I'm pretty sure, be rather nice.
It certainly seems to work for Cormac McCarthy.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Get Carter
I haven't gone off on a mad rant in what seems like forever so I'm going to seize the opportunity and get the old blood boiling right here, right now.
And the subject of my vitriol? The new blockbuster movie John Carter. And, yes, I'm using the word blockbuster in the loosest possible sense because the interwebs are currently filled with reports that JC is bombing, and bombing hard.
But I'm not going to rant about the movie itself because, y'know what? I really enjoyed it. Yes, there were a few moments here and there where I thought it dragged a bit, but on the whole it ticked most of my boxes (oo-er) and kept me entertained for well over two hours.
No, what I'm going to rant about is the way this film has been presented to us, the dumb public. First, a little history lesson.
You may or may not already know that John Carter is based on a 100 year old book called John Carter of Mars: A Princess of Mars that was written by Edgar Rice Burroughs, the very same chap who also gave us our favourite king of the swingers, Tarzan. To be honest, I wasn't actually aware of the John Carter books (there are … lord knows how many in the series – 11? Something like that anyway) despite the fact that I'm a bit of a nerd and they've apparently influenced hordes of science fiction movies over the years. That bit in Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones where Anakin, Obi-Wan, and wotserface are made to fight huge CGI beasts in an arena? Pure John Carter, it turns out.
That being the case, my first exposure to the series has come about as a result of this new movie. Which comes as something of a mild shock because Disney have done a piss-poor job in actually marketing the film. Case in point? I didn't actually know the release date until a couple of weeks back. And this is supposed to be a massive tentpole movie experience.
Probably the first sign that Disney didn't really know what they were dealing with came when they changed the title from John Carter of Mars: A Princess of Mars to John Carter of Mars. To be honest, I actually prefer the shorter title - it's less cumbersome, and pretty much says all you need to know. And if they end up making further John Carter films (admittedly something that's looking somewhat unlikely now) there's no reason why we can't just tack the 'A Princess' bit back on in the same way George Lucas retitled Star Wars as Star Wars Episode 4: A New Hope.
What I didn't agree with was Disney's justification for the truncating of the title. Basically, they said something along the lines of 'boys won't go see a movie with the word princess in the title.'
Okaaaaaay…
And then a short time later they lopped the 'of Mars' bit off the title too. The reason this time? Girls won't go see a movie with the word 'Mars' in the title. Of course.
What The House of Mouse seems to forget is that audiences aren't really that dense, and at some point the boys are going to discover there's a princess in the movie, and the girls are going to find out that most of the film is set on Mars. That being the case, as far as I'm concerned you might as well be upfront about it from the word GO.
Failing that, why not call it John Carter of Barsoom (Barsoom being what the inhabitants of Mars call their home planet in the books and movie)? It's nebulous enough and has an air of mystery about it.
Anyway, what we ended up with is a movie which, if you were a fan of hit US medical drama ER, is just going to make you think of this:
If this was a character that was firmly planted in the public's subconscious – like Batman, or Superman, or even Dick Tracy – I could understand this. But this film was always going to be about introducing this 100 year old character to the general public. Although obviously we would all have just called it John Carter out of sheer convenience anyway - BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT.
Next up they released some hideous posters. I mean, really hideous and actually downright boring posters. Don't believe me? How about this:
And the subject of my vitriol? The new blockbuster movie John Carter. And, yes, I'm using the word blockbuster in the loosest possible sense because the interwebs are currently filled with reports that JC is bombing, and bombing hard.
But I'm not going to rant about the movie itself because, y'know what? I really enjoyed it. Yes, there were a few moments here and there where I thought it dragged a bit, but on the whole it ticked most of my boxes (oo-er) and kept me entertained for well over two hours.
No, what I'm going to rant about is the way this film has been presented to us, the dumb public. First, a little history lesson.
You may or may not already know that John Carter is based on a 100 year old book called John Carter of Mars: A Princess of Mars that was written by Edgar Rice Burroughs, the very same chap who also gave us our favourite king of the swingers, Tarzan. To be honest, I wasn't actually aware of the John Carter books (there are … lord knows how many in the series – 11? Something like that anyway) despite the fact that I'm a bit of a nerd and they've apparently influenced hordes of science fiction movies over the years. That bit in Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones where Anakin, Obi-Wan, and wotserface are made to fight huge CGI beasts in an arena? Pure John Carter, it turns out.
That being the case, my first exposure to the series has come about as a result of this new movie. Which comes as something of a mild shock because Disney have done a piss-poor job in actually marketing the film. Case in point? I didn't actually know the release date until a couple of weeks back. And this is supposed to be a massive tentpole movie experience.
Probably the first sign that Disney didn't really know what they were dealing with came when they changed the title from John Carter of Mars: A Princess of Mars to John Carter of Mars. To be honest, I actually prefer the shorter title - it's less cumbersome, and pretty much says all you need to know. And if they end up making further John Carter films (admittedly something that's looking somewhat unlikely now) there's no reason why we can't just tack the 'A Princess' bit back on in the same way George Lucas retitled Star Wars as Star Wars Episode 4: A New Hope.
What I didn't agree with was Disney's justification for the truncating of the title. Basically, they said something along the lines of 'boys won't go see a movie with the word princess in the title.'
Okaaaaaay…
And then a short time later they lopped the 'of Mars' bit off the title too. The reason this time? Girls won't go see a movie with the word 'Mars' in the title. Of course.
What The House of Mouse seems to forget is that audiences aren't really that dense, and at some point the boys are going to discover there's a princess in the movie, and the girls are going to find out that most of the film is set on Mars. That being the case, as far as I'm concerned you might as well be upfront about it from the word GO.
Failing that, why not call it John Carter of Barsoom (Barsoom being what the inhabitants of Mars call their home planet in the books and movie)? It's nebulous enough and has an air of mystery about it.
Anyway, what we ended up with is a movie which, if you were a fan of hit US medical drama ER, is just going to make you think of this:
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| John Carter of County General, not of Mars. |
Next up they released some hideous posters. I mean, really hideous and actually downright boring posters. Don't believe me? How about this:
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| A boring poster. |
Why don't I like this? Well, it says NOTHING. Carter himself is almost in silhouette so we glean nothing about him, while the background is just … red. Erm, can I see some Martian-type people in there? Possibly, but they're red too. It's all red. RED. And that font they used is boring. About the most interesting thing here is the Martian JC symbol, but that's squirrelled away in the bottom righthand corner, probably because it's a bit to Marsy and girls wouldn't approve of that sort of thing.
Oh, but don't worry - they had another bash at it!
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| Another shitty poster. |
Look this one is … oh. Well, the one thing you could say about the red poster is that at least red relates to Mars being the red planet. Where is Carter now - Arizona? My chief complaint here, though, is that they're just riding. This is a man who can leap great distances across the Martian landscape, who finds himself in epic battles against those who would seek to control Mars, and what's the most dramatic thing Disney could find to put on this poster? John and his pals out on what looks like a leisurely Sunday afternoon horse ride (if horses were large six-legged beasties). It's just an incredibly dull, poorly photoshopped image. Do you remember a time when movie posters were beautiful works of art that actually told a story? (Oh, and Disney? Han's about to kiss a princess in that poster. Just sayin')
But wait! They did some banner posters to hang in cinemas and surely they…
Oh I give up.
But wait! They did some banner posters to hang in cinemas and surely they…
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| Riding? Again? |
What's funny is that Disney's first teaser poster was actually pretty good. Look:
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| Tease me, tease me, tease me, tease me baby, till I lose contro-ol. Never let it be said that I won't quote the geniuses that are Chaka Demus and Pliers. |
So what do I like about this? Well, There's John Carter for one, looking all mysterious and Grrr. And it uses that enigmatic Martian typography that was later reduced to the size of a postage stamp, but which looks really quite cool here. It's an understated, almost iconic approach that I think works well. Or at the very least better than the infantile offerings that followed it. It's nothing if not eye-catching.
Looking beyond the posters, Disney subsequently completed their trifecta of cock-ups by releasing a couple of underwhelming trailers. Even I was bored by them, and I like pulpy big-budget sci-fi. I won't do a blow-by-blow account of how they messed up here because we'll be here forever, and to be fair the third and most recent trailer actually was a lot better, but it seems like it was too little, too late; by all accounts audiences really couldn't care less about the film.
Which is a shame, because as I said at the start of this post, I really quite enjoyed it. Certainly enough to consider seeing it again (though not in 3D; that aspect of it is pretty pointless), or to pick it up on DVD in a few months time. And certainly enough that I felt compelled to write a 2000 word rant about how it should've been marketed better. I'm also sufficiently intrigued by the character and the universe he inhabits to think that I'd quite like to read the book(s) on which the film is based. But, quelle surprise, that notion has been scuppered as well because it seems that no bookshops are actually bothering to stock them. You'd think as part of their promotional blitz (another term I use loosely) Disney would have tried to get Burrough's novels back into stores, particularly as they've gone to the trouble of publishing some lovely looking new omnibus editions. Oh, but wait; apparently they've ballsed those up as well by cutting vital forewords (according to the review here).
All in all then, I reckon you should give John Carter a go. It's not perfect, but it's a good movie, and without your support I doubt we'll get to see another instalment in what was supposed to be a long-running franchise. And I'd quite like to see another instalment. So go on - do it for me. And with those seven little words I've marketed that movie far more competently than Disney did.
Can I have $150 million please, Mickey?
-----
Rant over. What a way to celebrate the sixth anniversary of my anarchic little corner of the interwebs?
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Shake it like a polaroid picture
Let's make no bones about it: I was a fat kid. I can hide behind terminology such as 'cuddly,' 'somewhat rotund,' and 'big-boned' (snigger) all I like, but at the end of the day I was a fatty.
It was only when I hit the age of about 16 or so and discovered badminton that I really began to enjoy any activity that got the ol' heart beating; before then, any raised heartbeat was probably indicative of an impending coronary.
Anyway, badminton served as a something of a gateway drug, leading as it did to joining a gym, then taking up cycling, then quitting the gym and starting running, followed by, as you probably know, my current obsession of the last few years, Bikram yoga.
And today, yoga led to something new: Zumba.
I've known about Zumba for a while now purely because I have a few gal pals who've done it and subsequently raved about it, but I've never really thought it was my sort of thing. Mainly because despite being told a few years back that I "dance very well for a straight man" (one of the nicest compliments I've ever received), I'm very conscious of dancing anywhere where a) people are sober, and b) all the lights are on.
Despite this, today I did my first Zumba class, ironically as a result of going to yoga. The reasons for this are twofold: firstly because one of the girls who works at yoga runs the Zumba class, and secondly because I was harassed into attending via the medium of Twitter because apparently it was 'rude' that I'd not gone along to support her efforts before.
So there I am in a lovely little studio in Chiswick at 10:30 this morning, awkwardly limbering up and wondering what the hell I've let myself in for. As it turns out, I'd let myself in for a bloody good time. Basically, while I consider myself quite severely deficient in the coordination stakes, I can pretty much shake it with the best of them, especially when I've got a professional showing me the ropes. Quite frankly the hour flew by far too quickly, fortunately without me smacking anyone in the face as a result of an overly excited arm shape, and by the time class finished I was drenched from my t-shirt right through to my undercrackers. I had to whip the t-shirt off and wring it out in the bathroom; unfortunately I couldn't do the same with my pants.
So what did I learn today? Well, first of all that Zumba is AWESOME, and I'll definitely be going back for some more next week. Secondly, I shall do so wearing clothes emboldened with sweat-wicking properties, because looking and feeling like I'd just passed through a carwash was pretty gross. On the plus side, it's nice to know that I do have them moves like Jagger and no, my hips don't lie.
That said, I do really need to work on my titty shimmies.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Hate o'clock
"Oh no," you say. "It's one of those posts about yoga."
Yes it is, but I promise if you bear with me I'll reward you with a kitten video or something at the end.
So I've been doing Bikram yoga now for just over two and a half years which in itself is pretty remarkable seeing as I only really planned on doing it for a month or so to sort out my neck after that ditzy girl went all smashy-smashy with her car into the back of my car. In that time I've had yoga highs and yoga lows; no two classes are ever the same, and my practice is constantly evolving.
By far my greatest yoga achievement was when I did a 30 day challenge back in 2010; it was epic, and in preparation for writing this post I've just read back through what I wrote back then (I blogged the whole thing like a complete loon). If you want to relive it, start here, although I apologise in advance for the horrific spelling in places as the 30 days progress. Clearly 30 days of yoga took their toll in ways that were not readily apparent to me at the time.
Anyway, since then I've continued to toil away with my regular practice, popping into the hot box around four times a week. I've thought about doing another 30 day challenge, but last year was just a weird old time with the incredibly busy first half of the year followed by the whole job imploding thing so I never got around to it. And to be honest, I was kind of thinking of new challenges. Some people at the studio have done 101 day challenges but, y'know, you say that to me and I'm like all kinds of WTF?!
So that left two options:
• A double class (i.e. doing one class immediately after another)
• A stupidly early class
Now, the idea of a double is interesting because, y'know, three hours of yoga would practically make you superhuman. On a purely practical level, though, it's quite difficult to work out exactly when you're up for the challenge as you can walk into a class thinking you're going to have an awesome time and then 10 minutes later just die on your mat. Tragically, the few times where I've actually thought I could quite happily do a double have conveniently coincided with occasions where I've got other plans such as meeting someone for coffee straight after class. Shame that.
So that left me with the early morning thing.
Anyone who has seen me early in the morning knows that I barely function at the best of times, let alone having to do a strenuous yoga class; I'm basically like a heavily-tranquillised sloth until around 10am or until I eat something that's packed full of sugar. I still find it quite remarkable that I manage to haul myself out of bed for a nine o'clock class on a Saturday morning. That being the case, a stupidly early class obviously presented me with a what I would call A WORTHY CHALLENGE.
The stupidly early classes at the Chiswick studio are 6:30 in the morning. You might be forgiven for thinking that's not really too bad until you realise that I've got a half hour drive to get there, so basically I have to get up at five to eat and drink something, manage to get dressed without putting my shorts on my head backwards in an adorably dazed fashion, and get over to West London's finest yoga studio for some stretchy stretchy. All in all a terrifying prospect. And yet one I let myself get talked into because I am a SHEEP.
And so last Monday I did my first stupidly early class and it was … well, just brilliant thankyouverymuch. Maybe my expectations were set ridiculously low, but I ended up having a brilliant class (although I'll admit I was a little tighter in the old hammies than I usually am, which is saying something). By the time we finished at eight I felt properly energised, and even by the time I picked up a coffee, narrowly avoided an encounter with a former colleague and got stuck in some traffic I was still home and at my desk ready for the day by just after 10.
Eager to see if last week's amazing experience was just some sort of incredibly cruel trick the universe had decided to play on me I resolved to give another stupidly early Monday morning class a whirl today. Perhaps out of sheer excitement I actually woke up a little before three and didn't really get back to sleep properly, yet I had another awesome class. As a result I'm coming to the slightly terrifying conclusion that 6:30am might just be a good time for me.
And I won't lie to you: I do feel incredibly smug afterwards.
Now, well done for making it through. Here's the kittens I promised you.
Yes it is, but I promise if you bear with me I'll reward you with a kitten video or something at the end.
So I've been doing Bikram yoga now for just over two and a half years which in itself is pretty remarkable seeing as I only really planned on doing it for a month or so to sort out my neck after that ditzy girl went all smashy-smashy with her car into the back of my car. In that time I've had yoga highs and yoga lows; no two classes are ever the same, and my practice is constantly evolving.
By far my greatest yoga achievement was when I did a 30 day challenge back in 2010; it was epic, and in preparation for writing this post I've just read back through what I wrote back then (I blogged the whole thing like a complete loon). If you want to relive it, start here, although I apologise in advance for the horrific spelling in places as the 30 days progress. Clearly 30 days of yoga took their toll in ways that were not readily apparent to me at the time.
Anyway, since then I've continued to toil away with my regular practice, popping into the hot box around four times a week. I've thought about doing another 30 day challenge, but last year was just a weird old time with the incredibly busy first half of the year followed by the whole job imploding thing so I never got around to it. And to be honest, I was kind of thinking of new challenges. Some people at the studio have done 101 day challenges but, y'know, you say that to me and I'm like all kinds of WTF?!
So that left two options:
• A double class (i.e. doing one class immediately after another)
• A stupidly early class
Now, the idea of a double is interesting because, y'know, three hours of yoga would practically make you superhuman. On a purely practical level, though, it's quite difficult to work out exactly when you're up for the challenge as you can walk into a class thinking you're going to have an awesome time and then 10 minutes later just die on your mat. Tragically, the few times where I've actually thought I could quite happily do a double have conveniently coincided with occasions where I've got other plans such as meeting someone for coffee straight after class. Shame that.
So that left me with the early morning thing.
Anyone who has seen me early in the morning knows that I barely function at the best of times, let alone having to do a strenuous yoga class; I'm basically like a heavily-tranquillised sloth until around 10am or until I eat something that's packed full of sugar. I still find it quite remarkable that I manage to haul myself out of bed for a nine o'clock class on a Saturday morning. That being the case, a stupidly early class obviously presented me with a what I would call A WORTHY CHALLENGE.
The stupidly early classes at the Chiswick studio are 6:30 in the morning. You might be forgiven for thinking that's not really too bad until you realise that I've got a half hour drive to get there, so basically I have to get up at five to eat and drink something, manage to get dressed without putting my shorts on my head backwards in an adorably dazed fashion, and get over to West London's finest yoga studio for some stretchy stretchy. All in all a terrifying prospect. And yet one I let myself get talked into because I am a SHEEP.
And so last Monday I did my first stupidly early class and it was … well, just brilliant thankyouverymuch. Maybe my expectations were set ridiculously low, but I ended up having a brilliant class (although I'll admit I was a little tighter in the old hammies than I usually am, which is saying something). By the time we finished at eight I felt properly energised, and even by the time I picked up a coffee, narrowly avoided an encounter with a former colleague and got stuck in some traffic I was still home and at my desk ready for the day by just after 10.
Eager to see if last week's amazing experience was just some sort of incredibly cruel trick the universe had decided to play on me I resolved to give another stupidly early Monday morning class a whirl today. Perhaps out of sheer excitement I actually woke up a little before three and didn't really get back to sleep properly, yet I had another awesome class. As a result I'm coming to the slightly terrifying conclusion that 6:30am might just be a good time for me.
And I won't lie to you: I do feel incredibly smug afterwards.
Now, well done for making it through. Here's the kittens I promised you.
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