The One in Which YUD Is Invited to a Party Full of Highly Successful People and Tries to Think of Witty Things to Say Beforehand So She Doesn’t Have to Fake Choking on a Shrimp to Spur Conversation About the Origins of the Heimlich Maneuver
Posted on Saturday, November 21st, 2009 at 3:50 pm
Tonight I am going to a smart people’s party. There will be successful folks there from every successful walk of life: energetic activists, generous patrons of the arts, brilliant journalists, fantastic editors, good breeders, medical professionals who have saved lives. I am a little nervous.
After all, I work part-time trying to convince diabetics to eat more processed foods. I piggyback off of Dan Brown’s ill-written novels with companion magazines the sole purpose of which is to make fans of the books feel smart. I have spoken with Paula Abdul’s manager on more than one occasion. I have an unemployment blog.
None of this must be revealed.
Fortunately, I have other things to discuss over methodically selected wine and fancy imported cheese:
I think that someone should invent a hungover yoga class. This class would not cause dizziness during one’s down dogs, or a sense of needing to vomit immediately on one’s or one’s companion’s yoga mat. One’s tree pose would cease to wobble as this class would detox the liver of the 8 to 12 wines consumed the night before, purge the stomach of its barfy bloat, and refresh yogi from head to toe. Without one even realizing it.
Upon completion of said class, yogi would not need to go home and order a turkey burger with fries, or down several aspirins and an economy-sized Gatorade. Yogi would be a new person, ready for her party with successful people, full of vim and vinegar (or is it piss and vigor?)—even without brushing up on her History of the English Speaking Peoples as a conversational go-to.
This is a thrilling idea that could change drinking forever, no? And with the finest minds of our generation set to convene on Brooklyn Heights tonight, I dare say it might even happen.
Next topic: In Eastern Europe, yoga mats are round, not rectangular. Talk amongst yourselves.
[...] The party was good. Conversation flowed like the fine wine we quaffed, and I didn’t even need to mention yoga. I woke up with a matted tangle of hair on the back of my head rivaling the teasing in Olivia Newton-John’s mane after she went all bad-Sandy: “Tell me about it, stud.” [...]