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Takes beautiful photos. Go see them now, they are more interesting than whatever you are finding here.
It’s been awhile, been busy lately doing all sorts of regular and some sorts of inspired things. But I felt like checking in to report on three things:
1) I hung out with my parents last night. They continually make me wonder if it’s always like that between people who have been married for 40 years. I hope to find out first-hand someday. You know, just as an experiment, to see if it’s always like that…
2) M. Ward is still my favorite singer/songwriter type. “To Go Home” (which is actually a Daniel Johnston song) just played on my Soothing-because-I-Am-Growing-Older-and-At-Work Pandora station.
3) Damon Wayans is not funny. Unless you like base humor that pokes fun at failed politician’s disabilities, genitalia, fecal matter, and racial differences, and you especially like it when a 48-year-old man is the one spewing it. Yes, I am being critical, and I had an idea going into the situation that it probably wasn’t for me. But after all, the evening wasn’t for me, it was for somebody else. And was great fun to watch him laugh and snicker profusely over the course of 1.5 hours because that doesn’t happen very frequently, and it is so dang beautiful when it does. So on that level, mission accomplished. But geezus it’s frustrating to watch somebody sell themselves, and his audience short like that.
I am fortunate enough to work for a company that understands the long-term benefits of healthy, relaxed, happy employees. So every other week, every employee receives a one-hour full-body massage on-site, in the middle of the day.
Which brings me to Clara.
Clara was born in Hungary, emigrated to the United States many years ago, lives on a sailboat, and gives the most thorought, most ass-kicking (literally) massage I have ever experienced.
Most days, Clara can be found in the Spa at the Hyatt Union Square, although she makes house-calls on her days off.
How many times in the past have I felt compelled to write about a massage? Zero.
Clara is really, really good– if you like deep tissue, climb-all-over-me-on-your-elbows-and-your-knees-please, relentless, merciless massage that leaves your body feeling remarkably, noticeably, lastingly better than it did before she took hold of it.
This is not far eastern, not new age, not about light tough energy healing, or pure relaxation. This is old-school, Eastern European style massage. And it is glorious.
Somehow I doubt the Spa at Hyatt Union Square isn’t one of those popular, constantly reviewed sorts of places. Then again, I haven’t researched it, nor have I ever been there. But it’s not Bliss at the W on Third. And it doesn’t matter, because this isn’t about pineapple/geranium foot masques or cucumber/whatever-infused water.
Just track Clara down. You will absolutely not regret it.
I love thee enough to brave these torrential rains tonight to see you play… yet again.
The Secret Machines play The Independent tonight and tickets are for some reason still available!
