I like Greenwich Village. The arts, creativity, rich people and an abundance of cafes where people sip cafe lattes all day while thumbing through obscure arty magazines…or yoga meditation magazines like this one – Yoga Vendanta Magazine. At first glance I assumed it was a gay bear sex magazine, but at closer inspection, the frumpy pale man on the cover was actually called a Lord. No doubt some sort of Star Wars fanzine? Nope. Not Yoda. Yoga. Which is why I don’t do it.
Now, anytime I see anyone with one of those purple mats folded under their arms leaving work, chatting about releasing energy and tension – I’ll know exactly the freak show they’re on their way to. It’s like a cult. I personally wouldn’t need to stretch during this yoga class, I’d be too busy laughing my ass off at this “Lord” doing the downward dog.