summer, cont.

I grew up in Arizona, but I've never seen the Grand Canyon. It wasn't going anywhere, I figured, and I'd get around to it eventually. It's still on my list of things to do.

Similarly, the closest I'd been to Lake Havasu was watching Bill Bellamy, Eric Nies, et al. grind away my teenage afternoons on MTV's Spring Break. Thanks to last weekend's Fight Crew retreat, courtesy of Broadzilla (a Havasu homeowner), all of that has changed. I can now say that I have piloted a waverunner over Lake Havasu's glassy surface, red rocks looming large and martian in the distance. I held on for dear life as my inflatable Bonzai raft was towed and tossed by a boat. I rode a wakeboard. I drank a frozen margarita from a green plastic container fashioned after a naked woman. I cruised under the London Bridge as the Beastie Boys' "Root Down" blasted from the boat's speakers. I peed in that lake.

Fight Crew wins at wakeboarding.

Unrelated, more yoga wisdom from Clio: In class a couple of weeks ago, we practiced upward facing bow while squeezing blocks between our thighs. When a classmate's block dropped to her mat with a thud, Clio announced, "We all shit bricks sometimes."