Congrats to Mr Clegg. I learned so much from him and others and it was all fun, even the beatings. I also approve his choice of prize as that was the book that introduced me to Ms Berlinski.
I too do yoga, though only so I can eat with gay and unhealthy abandon.
I especially like the description of the yogi so thin you could view her spine from the front. And Jonas thinking so hard his head grew warm. I am dying to know if Jonas scored but it’s probably best left unanswered.
Thanks to the Cosmopolitan Globalists for this much-appreciated kudo. As for my prize, really there is no alternative—I'd like a signed copy of Claire's Thatcher biography.
I suspect by Monday morning in Europe Belarus is going to be the subject on everyone's mind here at the Cosmopolitan Globalist? I guess the question I would have for Toomas, Monique, and Claire is what is your justification that the way to fix all of these problems with Belarus and Russia is to crackdown on tax havens which I am already hearing as of Sunday night in North America?
Years ago, I decided to take advantage of some newly acquired singlehood and take in a bit of Los Angeles. Besides a few sights, I decided to visit a few of the West Coast versions of places I'd typically visit at home: ethnic food, jiu jitsu, museums, and a yoga class.
I arrived early and introduced myself. I tried to enter the practice area humble. I tried to be quiet, and conduct myself in a manner appropriate as a guest. But after I told this tower of a woman my name, every statement she made was personalized catalog of my faults. I seemed to have earned her undivided attention.
"Matt! Fingers pointed towards the front of the room."
"Matt! Slide your foot forward."
"Matt! Weight into the palms of your hands."
I had become completely accustomed to a vague sense of yoga common to my East Coast instructors. Apparently I had been brought up tender of heart, unfamiliar with yoga of this ferocity.
"Just, like, reach to where your body feels comfortable today. That's good."
"You guys are, like, so good at breathing."
"Thanks for coming and playing yoga with me today. Remember, it's a practice."
I think I'm still scared of the West Coast and prefer the vague intentions of my Atlantic practice.
Congrats to Mr Clegg. I learned so much from him and others and it was all fun, even the beatings. I also approve his choice of prize as that was the book that introduced me to Ms Berlinski.
I too do yoga, though only so I can eat with gay and unhealthy abandon.
I especially like the description of the yogi so thin you could view her spine from the front. And Jonas thinking so hard his head grew warm. I am dying to know if Jonas scored but it’s probably best left unanswered.
Thanks to the Cosmopolitan Globalists for this much-appreciated kudo. As for my prize, really there is no alternative—I'd like a signed copy of Claire's Thatcher biography.
I suspect by Monday morning in Europe Belarus is going to be the subject on everyone's mind here at the Cosmopolitan Globalist? I guess the question I would have for Toomas, Monique, and Claire is what is your justification that the way to fix all of these problems with Belarus and Russia is to crackdown on tax havens which I am already hearing as of Sunday night in North America?
Years ago, I decided to take advantage of some newly acquired singlehood and take in a bit of Los Angeles. Besides a few sights, I decided to visit a few of the West Coast versions of places I'd typically visit at home: ethnic food, jiu jitsu, museums, and a yoga class.
I arrived early and introduced myself. I tried to enter the practice area humble. I tried to be quiet, and conduct myself in a manner appropriate as a guest. But after I told this tower of a woman my name, every statement she made was personalized catalog of my faults. I seemed to have earned her undivided attention.
"Matt! Fingers pointed towards the front of the room."
"Matt! Slide your foot forward."
"Matt! Weight into the palms of your hands."
I had become completely accustomed to a vague sense of yoga common to my East Coast instructors. Apparently I had been brought up tender of heart, unfamiliar with yoga of this ferocity.
"Just, like, reach to where your body feels comfortable today. That's good."
"You guys are, like, so good at breathing."
"Thanks for coming and playing yoga with me today. Remember, it's a practice."
I think I'm still scared of the West Coast and prefer the vague intentions of my Atlantic practice.
Claire, any good reading material on Morocco and the migrant crisis?