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Today’s practice was greatly influenced by the fact that I developed a sudden craving for a salty dog yesterday. A salty dog is a vodka and grapefruit juice in a glass with a salted rim. YUM!

This morning I found out that a salty dog stays in your system in much the same way a margarita does. Basically, it feels fine until you get to a really hard or stressful pose, and then suddenly your stomach feels like you drank a cup of straight lime juice before practice.

I am a little worried because my hankerings for salty dogs does not seem to have been satisfied by the one I had last night. If you asked me if I wanted one now, I’d say no. (‘Cause I just finished practice and am vividly conscious of the effects. Well, also ’cause it’s 9 AM on a work day.) But if you ask me later, I’m afraid I’m gonna fall for it.

We’ll see. But it’s looking like one of the hard lessons I’m going to have to learn by experience.

***

Mayurasana. Okay, I have to pull out the Freeman intermediate DVD and watch the transition from karandavasana to mayurasana, then out of mayurasana. And maybe into and out of nakrasana for good measure.

Anyhow, this morning it felt like an enormous victory to get my head up and my toes hovering a few centimeters off the mat. I was laughing inside to be so excited about SUCH a teeny triumph. But then I figured I shouldn’t look ANY small triumph in the mouth. Yay, me!

No jump into bakasana today, though. Sniffle. Oh well. Maybe another day.

***

The Cop and I watched “Gran Torino” last night. What a strange movie. I think it was really popular? I love Clint Eastwood, in part because he was kind of a marginalized actor who came up through spaghetti westerns and vigilante dramas, and here he is — closing in on 80 and now this highly respected director and actor.

He’s pretty much just done his own thing for decades and he didn’t whine or pander, and now he’s enjoying a ton of success, but still pretty much sticking to his own perspective.

Gran Torino interested me and interested The Cop in different ways, I’m sure. I LOVE stories about immigrants and how they interact — even though Walt (Eastwood’s character) is the last “American” left on his block, which has been taken over by Hmong immigrants, he still identifies as a “polack” and his interactions with his Italian barber and his Irish construction boss buddy are full of ethnic consciousness.

Watching his relationship with his traditional Hmong neighbors develop was delightful.

I think The Cop probably loved how the movie looked at manhood and responsibility. A critic called the film, “a muscle car of a movie,” and I imagine that also appealed.

And that look at manhood was complicated by the fact of Eastwood’s age. I see my dad dealing with aging and how it can feel like one’s power is being robbed. This movie is really a revenge tale of man against aging. Fascinating.

Lots going on in the movie, so much, in fact, that some of it gets kind of caricaturized, and some of it feels a little like a fairy tale. Truth be told, you could probably tear it apart from any number of angles. But if you suspend your disbelief a bit and give it the benefit of the doubt, it makes for a pretty complex new bit of American mythology.