The Schtick Newsletter

“It’s so big,” she said.

I had met her a month earlier at a bar in Amsterdam and after some romantic phone calls, she decided to visit me in Phoenix…all the way from Barcelona. Unfortunately, her comment on size was in reference to the airport parking structure

As Americans, we sometimes fail to recognize that our culture is supersized. Everything is big. Our meals, our buildings, our ambitions. It’s not all bad. But not all good.

The other night I watched a piece on Jose Andres who has pioneered the art of molecular gastronomy. He creates food in a way that defies the senses and the imagination. For instance, his version of a mojito is a tiny ball of jello which explodes in the mouth. His message: it’s less about size and more about flavor.
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Many years ago, my friend was on a long plane flight reading a yoga book. A man with an Indian accent said to him, “You should come try my yoga.” The Indian man told him the location of his Beverly Hills studio and went on to explain that most yoga is “like masturbating” but his style of yoga “is like making love.” Guess who this man with the Indian accent was. Bikram. The actual Bikram.

I believe Bikram and Jose Andres are on the same page.  Why masturbate when you can make love!  Less about size, more about flavor! In other words, would you rather 100 bland bites of an orange or one deliciously amazing bite? Would you rather live for 80 years of so-so happiness or 57 years of ecstatic joy? Would you exchange 50 less than average yoga classes for 1 yoga class you’d remember forever?
Stop stroking yourself with promises about what may or may not happen tomorrow. Pack all of your flavor and all of your love into one tiny little moment. This one. As goes the proverb, “Enjoy yourself. It’s later than than you think.”

Over the past year, I’ve lost some weight and coincidentally, the size of my local yoga classes has shrunk. Like these classes, my body shape has changed from that of a plump macaroon to something more like a banana. Hmmmm. While we might think that slender bodies are considered more attractive, the research shows that in our most natural state, human beings are actually drawn to plumper body types.

A recent NY Times article reported on the Matsigenka people (see photo) who lead a primitive, hunter-gatherer life in a remote part of Peru.  The Matsigenka population which was isolated from modern influences showed no preference for skinnier body types. While the Matsigenka population with exposure to modern society did in fact prefer the hard-bodied physique.  In other words, advertising and entertainment impress upon everyone the importance of hourglass shaped bodies…while in truth, our most primal self longs to squeeze another’s flesh.

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A wise one said, “The soul is placed in the body like a rough diamond, and must be polished, or the luster of it will never appear.” We spend countless resources attending to the body, while the soul cries for attention.  So if you really want to be authentic, next time you’re in yoga class, say to your teacher, “Hey, you look fat.” While on the surface it might be confusing and even cause a rift in your teacher-student relationship, deep down, their soul will thank you. Just trust me.

God knows a day governed by the soul is a day of heartfelt, honest communication; day of chocolate, sunshine, and Negro Modelo;  a day celebrating belly rolls and manboobs.  God knows a day governed by the soul is a rare day indeed.

I was reading recently that humans are the only mammals who hide their private parts. Obviously, we are also the only mammals to wear clothes. But what if we walked around with our privates exposed? Would you think differently of a good friend you discovered had a tiny wanker? Would an Amazon rainforest sprouting just south of one’s equator make you opt out of lunch? Would you be able to keep a straight face if your 1:30pm meeting had, er, ah, um…something reminding you of a droopy elephant?

Why are we so embarrassed about our privates? The chimpanzees certainly aren’t. Nor are the whales, monkeys, dolphins, or fishies. But us humans wouldn’t dare walk into a public park naked without being arrested. I don’t get it.

12 years ago I attended a naked hot spring retreat called Esalen. At first, I found it extremely awkward to be naked around strangers and went so far as to cover myself before entering the hot springs. But by the end of the weekend, it actually seemed normal and we even called each other by affectionate nicknames like FurryFrieda, DroopyDon, MohawkMaggie, and FreckleDick (short for Richard).

It wasn’t too long ago that I ran into FurryFrieda in the lobby of the Exhale Center for Sacred Movement yoga studio in Venice. Let’s just say when I screamed “Oh My God FurryFrieda how the hell are ya?! I haven’t seen you in years!” that she was less than thrilled to see me and the 73 people waiting in the lobby for Saul David Raye’s morning yoga class were very, very, very curious.

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We (or at least “I”) spend so much time and energy covering up our fears, neuroses, issues, and privates that we have little time and energy left over to enjoy life. A 2004 survey by Dove Soap found that only 2% of women consider themselves beautiful.* Can you stand naked in front of the mirror, if not in front of DroopyDon and MohawkMaggie, and love yourself and all your imperfections?

Kahlil Gibran once wrote, “For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun!”  For what is it to, in this very moment, stop what you’re doing, and realize: your life is perfect, you’re right where you’re supposed to be, and even if you have a tiny wanker, the people who really, truly, deeply love you won’t care in the slightest. At least I don’t think they will.

I rolled out my green Spiritual Gangster Guru Mat the other day for a home practice. As I settled into my first down dog, over comes my 4 month old rescue puppy Gibson. Still too young to lift his leg, he stood still and in super slow mo I watched him pee all over my mat. I couldn’t help but laugh. Anything little Gibson does is just adorable. But puddles of foreign liquid on the yoga mat, 9 times out of 10, are just awful.

Tell me if you’ve endured the following. You are practicing yoga in a sweaty yoga class, and the teacher says, “Warrior 3.” That smelly man in front of you sticks his foot in the air. You watch drops of sweat leave his ankle hairs and fall down on your mat. Coming out of Warrior 3 to place your hands on the mat for standing splits, you navigate to avoid touching that foreign liquid as ferociously as you’d steer clear of a drunk man in a speedo.

One drop of the wrong person’s sweat on my mat could drive me crazy. But I would gladly let my dog kiss me on the lips even though he licks his dog berries after lunch. Is something wrong here?

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In March 2002, eleven people abandoned a 260 foot ship about 800 miles south of Hawaii. They left the captain’s dog, a terrier named Hokget, adrift at sea. People caught wind of this story. Money started pouring into the Hawaiian Humane Society which paid $48,000 to a private company called American Marine to look for the ship. Air, sea, and high-tech surveillance equipment were all pressed into service. No luck. Finally, 6 weeks later, after the Coast Guard agreed to access $250,000 US taxpayer dollars, the dog was found…shaken, scared, but still alive hiding under a pile of tires. (See above picture of Hokget, with sun-burned nose, upon his safe arrival in Honolulu on May 2, 2002) When $300,000 is spent to rescue a dog but nearly 1 in 4 children across America are struggling with hunger, does that seem weird?

There’s one thing that us humans are suckers for. Receiving unconditional love. And humans, barring saints or nuns, don’t love unconditionally. We just don’t. Piss off your husband and he won’t jump in your arms and lick your face. Punish your teenager and chances are slim she’ll cuddle you one second later. Being this is my first dog since early youth, I’m realizing what a gift it is to have a bad day and look to Gibson for a good, slobbering smooch. Everytime we’re kissing I can practically hear him say, “It doesn’t bother me one bit that in most of your Facebook pictures you have a double chin. I just wanna love you and love you and love you some more.”

Is it me or is that worth over $300,000?