Meantime, as things will, they're getting back to normal. In particular the yoga center which was flooded out by some event or other back in November finally got through drying out and making enough repairs that it could re-open. So we're no longer having classes in the spare rooms of a Lutheran church. Getting back to the normal studio has its benefits, the main one being that the studio is on the second and third floors whereas the church's rooms were on a concrete slab set into the ground so as to make sure no trace of heat was allowed to stay in our bodies. It's also got its drawbacks, in that actually the church was a slightly more convenient place for me, a couple minutes shorter driving both to it from work and back home from it. Too bad.
The floor where we usually have sessions apparently wasn't affected by the water. If it's been altered it's changed in the details fine enough that I didn't notice them. The office has clearly been emptied out and is only gradually getting all its furniture put back in place. And I don't know what the third floor looks like. The coat room, though, is stocked full of cans of paint and spackle and there've been sheets of drywall all over. This suggested to me that it'd be the perfect time for my father to try a class, as he'd feel right at home. He's having none of that.
Trivia: The flying saucers in the game Asteroids were known within Atari as Mister Bill and Sluggo, from the Saturday Night Live sketch. When the nicknames were mentioned in an interview NBC lawyers sent a cease-and-desist order. Source: The Ultimate History of Video Games, Steven L Kent.
Currently Reading: Another End, Vincent King. So the setting is several brazillian years in the future and the main character is a star-explorer who's lived through godzillions of them through endless disassembly and reconstruction in the wellstone plates, and needs to make reference to tragedies that linger in the memory, and what's summoned is ... Biafra. It feels a little obscene but maybe it's necessary to wait and see if a catastrophe has pop-cultural legs before writing references to it into a deep future setting.
[ Side note: OK, so in the time of Elvis Presley's Yoga Is As Yoga Does it was such a freaky and exotic and alien practice you could make fun of the very idea of a real American doing anything yoga. Man, was there anything interesting to do or eat before about 1988? ]