Fuzzy Ears, Elongated Necks

LeezyB, in traditional "girlfriend who is in touch with herself" style, invited me out today to a workshop. Leezy and I oftentimes end up discussing the value of being in tune with our bodies. We are both athletes and acquire a great sense of satisfaction from "moving and shaking," as it were. When the opportunity arose for her to share the Alexander Technique with me, I eagerly accepted. She had met a newly-certified instructor at jury duty who was giving free lessons to get some clients, so we were both enthusiastic about the idea.

I have spent many an hour listening to the merits of the technique. MLCIII's sister, who is a phenomenal opera singer, has been a longtime fan. Once she learned that I was into things like yoga and pilates, she filled me in. After awhile, I got the idea that most people who enjoy this shit are new-agey, crystal-wearing fuckers who like linen pants and quantum physics, and only a couple normal folks have infiltrated the group to learn some useful skills. I have to admit that most of it sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher talking. It's full of self-awareness ideas and touchy feely shit like that.

Regardless, I thought that the benefits were undeniable and it sounded interesting if nothing else. If it made me sit up straighter, then I was all in. We all know that sitting up straight takes off 10 pounds! So bring it! Plus, I figured that I could silently judge the fucking hippies if I got bored.

Fast forward to this afternoon. I'm sitting in this room in Culver City, curiosity piqued. I smelled a scent vaguely similar to patchouli, but decided to ignore it unless it was accompanied by the smell of either hemp oil or corn chips (at which point some punches would fly). The floors were sturdy, beautiful wood, and the faces of the other people in the group were calm and inviting. I was trying to unwind, but I felt mildly uncomfortable. "How do I convey that I am open to this idea?" I queried in my head. "Certainly not by taking out the joint in my pocket and lighting it up." I decided to instead mimick the Mona Lisa's smile and focus on NOT looking like a hunchbacked freak.

Apparently, Mister Alexander was an orator who kept losing his voice. It dawned on him that if he kept losing the power to speak even after resting his vocal chords, then he was doing something wrong. He researched and studied, and came up with the idea that humans have contorted themselves into walking train wrecks, and if they were to change their habits of movement then they would engage their bodies in an entirely different way.

We learned that Mister Alexander discovered that if you even just THINK about elongating your torso and keeping everything straight and extended that you are on your way to teaching the fucking classes yourself, therefore earning thousands upon thousands of dollars from bored housewives. We spent the next 20 minutes walking around the room, backs straight and necks lengthened. We looked like zombies trapped in a small space who didn't have a taste for blood, just a taste for walking. I felt it appropriate to try and make the instructor's living room a sacred space, free of swear words or guffaws. I only half succeeded, once I thought of the zombie image.

As much as I would love to entirely discount what the technique addresses, it is immediately wonderful and freeing. So freeing, in fact, that I ran into trouble. We were asked to stand in front of a wall. We were to then purposely feel the presence of the other walls behind us and on both sides of us. I did okay with the back wall and the left wall, but I suddenly felt very warm when I turned my attention to being "sun-kissed" by the right wall. I was picturing it shining its heavenly light all over my right side, and I became acutely aware of the sound of the room disappearing from my senses.

At first I thought I was acheiving a state of otherworldliness. My distaste for yoga mats subsided, and I no longer wanted men wearing tye-dyed Grateful Dead shirts beaten in public. I was proud of the warm sensation in my limbs and figured I was one step away from becoming, like, Buddha himself.

My core temperature soared, and I felt like someone had shoved cotton in my ears. I couldn't breathe anymore. M eyes closed and my legs buckled. From far away I heard four hard steps on the wooden floor being made by a six-foot tall female's backpedaling heels, and then there was a loud THUNK as that same woman fell on her ass.

That woman was me.

I heard exclamations like, "Holy Unicorn wings!" and "Someone get the lavender spray to revive her!" I was put on the couch, sitting propped against an arm of the chair, and my words came back to me.

"I am fine, thank you. I am going to sit here and listen to the sound of your voice to soothe myself." I was barely conscious but somehow making sounds with my mouth. "No, I'm great. I don't know what that was. Can someone get me some tea kettle? I think I just swallowed a beetle." I had no idea what words I was using. Just like that time in the biker bar when I asked the bartender for a Fresca--it's like my mouth was moving independently of my cloudy head and clammy body.

"I'll be fine, thank you. I'd love to hear more about the technique." I was really just trying not to throw up. I was pale, according to Leezy. Everyone was shaken up and was staring at me uncomfortably from their peripheral vision. Far away, in the recesses of my skull, the thought occurred to me that this was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to any of those people in months.

One of them, the older one named Martha, would go home to her husband and say, "Honey! You know that Alexander technique class I went to today? Well, a girl passed out and knocked her bandanna clean off her head!" and then her husband Archie says, "Is this Salisbury Steak or Potatoes auGratin?" and then they would watch their episode of Matlock in silence. It would only be brought up again one more time at the family reunion when Martha would have to find something interesting to say to take attention away from that old drunk Uncle Edgar who was attempting to put a Yorkshire Terrier in a headlock and feed it some funnel cake.

Anyway, I got some juice and a cookie and the color returned to my face. I was told by one of the instructors that sometimes changing your posture expands your capacity to take in oxygen, and your blood pressure can even change, causing fainting. So now I'm a card-carrying member of the "I Fainted Because I Stood Up Straight" club. Yeah, I can see myself getting laid because of that one. I felt like a DOUCHEBAG and couldn't wait to get out of there.

Of course, I had to wait to escape after the drawing for free lessons, which I won. Now I can relive my embarassment three more times for no extra charge! Hooray!

The worst/best part is that I can see the benefits of learning this information. I already feel different. I mean, besides the throbbing bruise on my ass. So don't let my story deter you from checking this stuff out...just make sure to wear a helmet.

stupid right wall. g