The Yoga-Boob Conundrum

I love yoga. I’m not great at it, but that doesn't stop me from doing it as often as possible. Sometimes at a cool, gently scented studio, surrounded by lululemon zombies and other times when I’m drunk at a friend's apartment.

Sample scenario:

Friend: Hey there, buddy. You, uh. You bustin’ out a little tree pose there?

Tree- Erin: Yup.

Just call me TreeBeer'd. TREEBEER'D, geddit? Nevermind. Gah.

Sample scenario #2:

Me: Hey, you guys, I’m gonna teach y’all how to do shoulder stand! It’s like a headstand, but with your shoulders! Just—hey, will you just hold my skirt? Will you hold my skirt so it doesn't fall down? Hold my skirt. Cause I’m gonna put my legs over my head now and I don't want you to see my panties. Am I wearing panties? Lemme check. Okay, yes I am, but I still don't want everybody to see them. Are you holding it? Are you holding my skirt? Okay. 

Yeah...they saw my panties, didn't they?

               

Shoulder stand is actually one of my favorite poses, because you have to go through plow pose to get there, and if you have never had this happen before, getting mascara on your inner thigh is a thrill, let me tell you.

Yoga is great. It is great for relaxation, for strength, for fighting depression. One thing yoga is not good for? 

Boobs. 

Yeah. Titties. Jugs. Melons. Bazoombas. Yoga turns these guys into assassins, constantly trying to suffocate their host bodies with themselves. Gravity is their accomplice, particularly when you're doing an inversion (an upside-down pose). They basically try and race each other to the floor.

 Many a time, a yoga instructor has exhorted me to “let your head drop,” when I’m in Downward Facing Dog and I don’t say anything because I’m concentrating on breathing like Darth Vader, but I want to say “Look, honey, I want to release the tension from my neck, but if I do that, I’m going to be motorboating myself.” This is why actual dogs keep their breasts a safe distance from their breathing apparatus.

These bitches have it made.

The other big one is Child’s pose, meant to be a calming, comfortable pose you take when you just can’t make another Chaturanga happen and you need a minute to breathe. Except PSYCH! Not with big boobs. With these not-so-funbags attached to my chest, I’m not chilling out and reconnecting with my breath, I’m like “haaaughhrrglle…I can’t breathe!” Also, your face is covered in boob sweat. You’re welcome for that visual.

Hey, what do you call a pair of sweaty boobs?

Beeeeeewwwwwwwwbs!

...I'll show myself out.

In addition to being dicks about breathing, boobs have another drawback in yoga. A usual flow class involves many vinyasas, when you lower yourself to the floor and then slide forward with your chest opening to the ceiling. A delicious back bend for sinewy yoga types, for me it’s time for my twins to make a VALIANT ESCAPE ATTEMPT. They sense freedom is close and they LEAP. So I’m constantly having to shimmy them back into my traumatized sports bra, and look furtively around the room to make sure no one saw any nip. At this point, my yoga bra has just given up on life and boob restraint. I’ve had people suggest that I double up on the brassieres, but do I look like I am made of sports bras people?

I highly suggest you do a Google Image Search for "dogs doing yoga" it is worth your time.

So friends, if you are a member of the itty bitty titty committee, you should def give yoga a shot. You were born for it. And also for most of the mass-produced clothing in the world. And my curvier ladies...you should also come to a yoga class with me, but bring a tank of oxygen. In case of boob suffocation.

Authoress's note: I am only an amateur yogi, so please excuse any misspellings/capitalization errors. If you point one out, all it'll do is make you look like a pedant. 

And nobody is a pedant-phile.

So I Went To See The Avengers

So, I just saw The Avengers: Age of Ultron and I was a little upset about something. If you know me and you saw the movie, you probably have an idea of what it was.
The black widow tells Bruce Banner that they are perfect for each other because neither of them can have children. Because she was ritually sterilized as part of her assassin training.

Because bebbehs slowly you down. NO SERIOUSLY.

I find the whole sterilization trope to be just as annoying as its inverse, the magical pregnancy trope. Both are thematically pretty rapey.

They did a similar thing on Doctor Who, which is the love of my life, but I didn't mind it (clearly I'm biased). I thought (as a woman with fertility issues) that the infertile character's reaction was valid: she (Amy Pond) felt that her femininity was invalidated and by no longer having a viable uterus she was no longer good enough for her husband. Is it lazy writing, somewhat. Does it accurately represent a possible emotional reaction? Yes. It is hard to express to men how many factors there are constantly waiting to tell you that you're not a "real woman" and infertility is a biggie. If you can't bake a bun in your oven, why even call yourself a woman? In the Who storyline, there was a positive message to be taken from a shitty situation (one that many women find themselves in) when Amy's husband declares that he knew she was infertile and he didn't care. She was worth more to him as a person than just a baby making oven. And we women need to believe that those men exist in order to ever stop drinking.

I honestly don't know why they thought this tripe (this was a typo, I meant to say "trope," but you know, it holds up so I'm leaving it was necessary for the Black Widow. But more importantly, they missed an opportunity to make that moment about a woman's agency and not about something that was done to her. You mean to tell me Natasha Romanoff would ever be happy settling down with Banner and a little green-skinned, Crimson haired brood (tiny baby Christmas hulks do sound adorable)? That is definitely not how I read that character.

Would it have killed noted ambivalent pseudo-feminist Joss Whedon to actually give his strong female character a mind of her own beyond MUST HAVE BABBY. OH NO I CANT. BETTER BANG BANNER. The one man she can't disappoint with her barrenness.

I find it much more ick than the boneheaded comments made by frat boys Chris Evans and Jeremy Renner that got lots of tongues wagging during the press tour. Though Renner's casual implication that differently-abled women are laughably unfit for the touch of a man (fuck you, dude) deserved more noise and a better apology.

I'm certainly not suggesting that anybody not go see The Avengers, hell, I'm probably going to see it twice. But damn, I am bored with this trope. Not all women have the exact same uterus feels, and if brave, smart writers would let their characters actually make choices, I think those characters could take us to amazing places.

The Folklorist Goes To Hollywood!

As many of you may know if you follow my Instagram (Kissonthewind), I spent this weekend schmoozing in LA with some of my former London crew. The whole getaway was a delicious break from the constant snow of Brooklyn (seriously, it was the first time in two months that I could feel the tip of my nose), but the highlight of the weekend was the Shorts HD party at the Paley Center for the Media.

Palm trees everywhere! #defrost2015

 

Just getting to go to the Paley Center itself was a treat; you hear so much about Paleyfest, it seems like somewhere that a TV and Film devotee like myself just needs to visit. It looks good when you check in there on Facebook. Don’t pretend you don’t give yourself a prestige check in once in a while.

I went to the Ladies’ just before the shindig got started and imagine my surprise when I nearly walked into two people wearing gold paint and not a lot else. They were still in the process of turning each other into very flexible human Oscar statues. Eventually, they left to delight the crowd with their incredible strength and ability to pose for hours of pictures, but they left a fine veil of gold glitter over the restroom. Not that the women at this party didn’t shine enough on their own!

Just some light yoga to set the mood.

 

As Shorts HD CEO Carter Pilcher pointed out, there were a notable amount of female directors and producers nominated across the three Oscar Short Film categories (animated, live action, and documentary). Three of these women (Ellen Goosenberg Kent and Dana Perry for Crisis Hotline: Veterans Press 1 and Kristina Reed for Feast) got up to accept an Academy Award the next night, along with three men. Women are making progress in Hollywood, but is there anywhere else they are being recognized in literally equal numbers to male filmmakers?

With all of the compelling actresses in front of the camera, many casual film fans may not realize that there is an appalling lack of women behind the cameras, especially in positions of creative and financial power. But short film is an important site for emerging talents to launch themselves into a wider spotlight, so I personally hope that the success of these women presages even greater achievements from female filmmakers.

I was also excited to meet Mat Kirkby and James Lucas, who won Best Short Film Live Action for The Phone Call, which stars my favorite Anne Elliot, Sally Hawkins (if you don’t know who Anne Elliot is, I’m not sure we can be friends). Kirkby was wearing a plaid suit that can only be described as “fly as hell.” He definitely gets my vote for Best Dressed. When I complimented him on his pocket square, he lamented that it wasn’t folded with enough flair for the occasion and gave it a fluffing.

Then he was ready to party.

I think we all know who the Best Dressed Blogger was. Mmmhmm.

As the Prohibition-inspired cocktails flowed around the room, born aloft by attractive servers, the love and passion in the room was palpable, along with the nervousness of the nominees. I couldn’t help noticing that the people deftly whisking glasses of moonshine or champagne around the room were wearing two distinct costumes: classic tuxs for the boys and a rainbow of modish wigs for the women. The contrast wordlessly articulated a great fact about the Oscars and the weekend of revels preceding them. No one can resist the lure of Old Hollywood, that aesthetic of winking diamonds and a silk sleeve falling over a delicate shoulder, and that keeps us looking back to the grand tradition of the Academy Awards. But the film world is also looking forward, for new stories, techniques, and talents. Progess in art, technology, and social issues.

One of the great beauties of short film is that they can arguably push more boundaries and be a more effective vehicle for innovation than features that are more encumbered by financial expectation. So I will end by echoing a sentiment held by more than a few of the short film luminaries that descended upon Beverly Hills this weekend: these shorts deserve to be seen on the big screen, like any other great works of film. If you have the chance to see them at your local theater, they are worth your time.