Krewe of Helios-Arizona IX, 03.05.11

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Yes, you’re still our friends… and no, you didn’t offend us when you threw up in the gumbo pot… and honestly, you didn’t get blacklisted when you sparked our first-ever police visit for your awesome (illegal) parking job… and it’s OK, really, our friend the paramedic didn’t mind resuscitating you after you licked the hottest substance known to mankind – and hey, at least you didn’t have to go to the emergency room.

So, no, don’t worry: you didn’t miss THE NINTH ANNUAL KREWE OF HELIOS-ARIZONA MARDI GRAS PARADE AND PARTY.

Mardi Gras is late this year – Fat Tuesday is March 8 – which means our annual parade of Louisiana goodness and gluttony rolls at 4 PM on Saturday, March 5, 2011.

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A Hot Mess of Hot Yoga

carnage

In my enduring effort to liberate my rock-hard abs from their buttery prison of fried chicken and waffles, I decided to take up yoga.

Having experienced Zen Yoga and the art of Pavana Muktasana (the Wind-Removing Pose – which in my case can be called upward-facing flatulence), I decided to kick it up a notch and try my hand at Hot Yoga, especially since my two special introductory offers with Urban Yoga and At One Yoga had expired, and I’d just scored one month of unlimited hot yoga at Sumit’s Yoga through Deal Chicken.

Serious yogis practice yoga in ways that speak to their heart – I, on the other hand, try to practice as cheaply as possible. What that says about my heart is uncertain, but knowing my competitive nature, I thought the words “dynamic, challenging workout” spoke to my soul more than “contemplative, calming meditation.” So the unsuspecting (and imminently game) Laura and I trotted over to Sumit’s after work one day for an invigorating round of Hot Yoga: 90 minutes of dynamic, strengthening yoga poses in a room heated to 115 degrees.

Or, basically hiking in Arizona in July at 3 PM, I thought. How hard can it be?

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Zen (Yoga) and the Art of Telling Left from Right

carnage

In my enduring effort to free my pure physical specimen from its accumulated coat of beer and bacon grease, I decided to take up yoga.

I see women like Jennifer Anniston and Madonna and Wendie Malick and Gwyneth Paltrow – strong, lithe, supple – and I think to myself: What do they have that I’m lacking? Basic coordination, genetic superiority and good posture, for sure… along with an innate ability to avoid that second donut. Must be the yoga: It builds balance and flexibility (important in a 39-year-old body) and I’m told it helps settle the mind so you can focus on more important things than beer and donuts and olives and cheese.

I signed up for a gentle / zen / yen yoga class with my friend Laura (who had no idea what she was getting herself into). It’s an hour-and-a-half of stretching – for an admittedly inflexible person, the benefits seemed self-evident, and really, how hard could it be?

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Epic Barbecue Awesomeness

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You can lick the screen - I won't tell.

The best part about the New Orleans Saints losing in the first round of the playoffs is that we can turn away from our Sunday television sets and turn our attention to more meaningful pursuits, namely, making the most epically awesome ribs in the universe.

And this is not an intergalactic understatement. Pat, Ross and I have achieved saucy pork-bone nirvana – and we did it by employing the scientific method, some chemistry and a little bit of patience.

And beer.

And spicy potato salad (with bacon).

And ice cream.

And it was good. It was REAL good.

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