Yoga Pose

All right. It has to be said.
Would everyone just stop it with the yoga posturing already? Not the actual practice of yoga, if indeed you do it at home where you don’t have to pretend to be not competing with the even more flexible, even more Madonna-esque pretzel to your left in her flowy garments and silver toe ring. No, not the actual yoga itself, but the bullshit talk about yoga, fabricated to let the rest of the world know that you, too, are In and Fabulous and Hip.
I’ve been wanting to say this for quite some time, but Meryl Streep’s “yoga” reference last night on the Golden Globes made me want to dump her in a Bikram studio somewhere and watch her plastic face melt down into her shirt, so she could then try to retrieve it from between those runaway breasts.
She stood on stage, feigning shock at having won her award, saying all the “I haven’t won anything in so long” garbage that was expected of her, and the audience drooled over it and her with all the unabashed hunger of Pavlov’s dog. She was apparently incapable of breathing properly, such was the magnitude of her excitement and shock.
“Yoga,” she said, closing her eyes and slightly bowing her head, inhaling deeply as if to calm her soul and the carefully posed quivering of her hands and fluttering of her eyelids. And the Other Stars applauded and laughed, for they too are In and Fabulous and Hip.
Enough already.
And enough of the “Namaste” while we’re at it, too.
Ohm.