I apologize for the not-sharp writing this night. I'm tired (stupid insomina).

I've been down the yoga thing lately and have been going to a place around the corner from me. The space is beautiful (great view of the Mission, especially during night class when you can watch the sunset while downward facing dogging it) and I like the classes, but all of the classes I've been to have been a bit sparsely attended. Saturday's class was so sparsely attended that I was the only one who showed up. Yep, I was a class of one.

Yeah, it sounds kind of cool because it basically meant I got a personal yoga tutorial, but it wasn't. Who was I supposed to watch during class to make sure I was doing the right move? Who could keep the class going if I wanted to take a little rest for a minute? Who was going to keep the teacher from watching every move I make? I mean, it's hard for the class to have "flow" if I'm the class. I'm not very flow-y.

The teacher was as weirded out as me, probably because she was doing the class the whole time a little pissed off that she could have had the morning off if it wasn't for shclubby, not very bendy me. Factor in the fact I paid about $9 for the class and we're looking at a teacher who was basically getting paid bupkus for still teaching a class. She wound up ending the class really early and while I would have preferred a normal class-time, was okay with.

The main reason why I was kind of wiggy about the whole thing, though, is because of Baba Bhatt, from "Seinfeld." See, if the people who run the yoga place don't get people to show up, then they'll have to close down. If I keep on going there, I'll start really liking the classes and I'll start the teachers and I'll start liking the people who go there and that would be bad. Never, never, never get attached to a place of business. It's bad news.

When I was in college, there was some guy who opened up a sausage place in the town we all lived in, the gloriously named Isla Sausage. Because I kind of dug the idea of getting fat, greasy sausages in health-conscious, beach-laden, sunny California, I started going there. The sausage was kind of good but the chili-fries were to die for. It was a small place and never really busy so by going there on a semi-regular basis, I started to know the guy who ran the place. He was from the East Coast and sunk all of his money into moving to California and opening up the sausage place. As I got to know him, I also began to see that he was also a little bit of a loser, one of those guys who always had bad things happen to him. In fact, one of the reasons for the big move to California was in fact because he was trying to get away from something. So now I'm going to the place, getting to know the guy, and feeling sorry for him and the place just ain't happening. Nobody was going there- partly due to bad location and partly due to the fact there wasn't really a crying need for a sausage place in I.V- and I started to feel really bad for the guy. I started dragging friends over there, all of whom liked it and started eating there fairly regularly (those chili fries were goooooood) but it still wasn't enough. The place was dying a slow death. After a month or so, I stopped going there because I just felt so bad for the guy I couldn't deal with it.

And that's what I felt like in that yoga class on Saturday. I don't like it when that happens