Big Trouble For Moose And Squirrel

My ancesters were from a little town near Kiev and fled the Cossacks like every other Jew from that region, but I don't speak or read a word of Russian. Still, for some reason I'm getting a boatload of Russian spam.

Maybe they know that my last name is really an "Ellis Island Special." Or maybe they know that both my mother and my grandmother always had a gallon of nasty-looking borscht fermenting in the refrigerator. And my grandmother was born in Russia, but we had to practically bribe the rabbi to keep that on the down low at the funeral. She didn't want anyone to know, and made us promise to let her take it to her grave.

So, I hate to tell you, Boris and Natasha, but you're two generations too late. Your cryptic Russian messages don't mean a thing to me, and I can't imagine that your erectile dysfunction drugs are any better than the ones I hear about in English eight million times a day. Now maybe if you offered them in Yiddish. . .

Reaching Nude-Vana

I practice Bikram yoga between four and five times a week. For the uninitiated, Bikram yoga is also known as "hot yoga" because the classes are held in really hot rooms - like 105 degrees. My studio likes to keep their thermostat hovering around the 115 degree mark, and the best part of the workout is peeling off my sweaty clothes when it's over.

But if I were to take naked yoga, I wouldn't have to worry about my sweaty clothes, or anybody else's for that matter. I'd heard rumors of naked yoga classes popping up here and there, but a friend recently sent me an article that was published in the San Francisco Chronicle two years ago about one such class in the Bay Area.

It's not what you think. You won't find an orgy of writhing bodies tangled up with yoga mats. It's about experiencing yoga in the buff, which apparently helps you to hold the postures better because you can see all your parts. And it's also about learning to feel good about your body.

To be honest, I don't want to see all the parts of the people in my yoga class, especially when we're all bending forward, legs spread apart with our hands grasping our ankles. There's only so much I can take at 6:30 in the morning.

I Feel the Earth Move

Today is one of my favorite days of the year because at 12:07 am GMT, or sometime tonight in San Diego (don’t make me count backwards from GMT. I’m confused enough with this year’s over-eager Daylight Savings Time) the Vernal Equinox will occur.

Vernal Equinox, a Latin term meaning “equal night of spring,” marks the date when Earth rotates on its axis giving those of us in the northern hemisphere more direct exposure to the sun and longer days, and the rest of the world in the southern hemisphere the start of fall. Pretty cool, huh?

And if you’re a big geek like me, this stuff is fascinating. I also get a daily report on the moon’s size and position so I can track it in relation to each season. Yeah, I know – nerd-o-rama.

During my days as a baby dyke, I hung out with a group of women who celebrated the Vernal Equinox by dancing naked under the stars (it’s a new moon so there’s only a sliver up there tonight). As much as that sounds like a really fun thing to do, I live in a fairly urban area, and there’s nothing worse than sitting in the back of a police car with nothing on but handcuffs and a smile.

So Shoe Me

These shoes look like the spawn of my grandmother's orthopedic clunkers and hookerwear. Trust me, I'd love to be a few inches taller but I'm afraid if I put these on I'd be walking around at a 45-degree angle, if I could walk at all. And they're not exactly flattering.

But these tres hautes souliers are being featured at Fashion Week in Paris. It seems that really, really high heels are de rigeur if you want to keep up with the latest trends.

So I guess this means if you want to wear shoes like this you'll need to have someone carry you to your destination, prop you up near a wall, bring you drinks all night, and then carry you home.

Hmmmm. I wonder if I can find a pair at DSW.