Korean Scrub a Dub Dub

As a native of Florida I know a thing or two about saunas. In fact, I used to get under a velour blanket in the back seat of our huge Mercury Marque, in the dead of summer just to have the cooling experience when I came out coming out. Maybe I was just trying to detox from all of those hand fulls of whipped cream I sneaked while everyone else was doing yard work. Or maybe it was some kind of masochistic experiment akin to the practice of trying to see how long you can go without scratching an itch.
I didn't know a real sauna though until I went to a Russian bath house in N.Y.C. The idea that you are cleaning from the inside out was incredible not to mention the absolute relaxation possible when you surrender to the heat.
Since moving to L.A. I've wanted to try the Korean saunas but hadn't been able to justify it yet. So, when my little sister came for a visit I decided to schedule the full treatment for us.
We arrived about an hour early to soak and soften as the people at the spa had suggested. It was a dark peaceful place with several rooms and pools to "process" your body in. We melted into the red colored hot tea pool. Then tiptoed into the freezing green tea pool our eyes bulging and personal bits standing at attention. There was even a "jade room" to relax in on grass rugs. This room actually has huge nets full of jade hanging in each corner.
Before we had time to do another round our numbers were called and we proceeded to the massage center. This is when I realized we were not getting private massages. Like a scene from the movie "Coma", there were supine bodies from wall to wall with bikini clad women scrubbing and rubbing every part of them.
My sister and I looked at each other and almost reluctantly went to our respective tables. The massause was very instructive in her broken English. One word commands can be confusing though. For example, I almost didn't fit on the table so she kept telling me "up" which I figured out meant move up on the table not sit up. She also knew how to say "ober", which I realized meant turn over not that the massage is over.
The service began with a scrub. My god was it a scrub. I felt like an old piece of furniture being sandpapered by a professional. When she came to certain imperfections on my skin it was as if she became Lady McBeth trying to get rid of the blood she hath spilled.
Then came the private spots. As she swooped in with the loofah, I thought to myself no she is not scrubbing there! But I let it all happen. Just surrender, right?
There were spots however that were just too ticklish. I let out a giggle as she loofahed my stomach. Then I heard my sister giggling from across the room. I started to laugh even more. My therapist reprimanded me with a curt "SSShhht". I laughed again. "Ssshht" and then "First time?", she asked, trying to show sympathy I suppose.
Once the massage was over and we were worked over, I went home and compared notes, and got the best nights sleep I've gotten in a long time.

Car Culture Part 1

I knew before I moved to L.A. that I would be spending a lot of time in the car. A lot....Hmmm maybe that's not quit the right word. In any case, I have made a point of not indulging in truly complaining about the traffic since let's face it.. it doesn't help.
So I've taken to looking at all of the maudlin challenges of being in the car as little lessons. Up until recently the only thing I had really learned was how to drive like a South Indian... This can be loosely condensed into a few guildlines. 1. Pay close attention 2. Do not react emotionally to the asshole in the S.U.V. Mercedes who is running you of the road while talking to his banker on his cell phone....(as Darell Allen once said.."He can't hep it") 3. Think about all of the things that really matter to you. 4. Swerve baby swerve.
Everything changed last week when I learned a new very helpful skill. If you are easily grossed out stop reading now! (that means you Aarron). Working through several days of a sour stomach, the drive home had become the worst part. I thought if I could just get home I would be o.k.
On one particular day the stop and go had pushed me toooo far. I couldn't believe it! I had to vomit and through that sweaty pre vomit phase I couldn't manage to bully anyone into letting me pull over. The talk radio that was so interesting a few minutes before had become like a wet wool blanket smothering and scratching me. I realized I would have to get this thing done in the car. I turned off the radio, quickly positioned a plastic bag over the steering wheel and waited for the launch. Now that is some multitasking! Yes, I know this is gross, but I was amazed that this feet was even possible!
When it was done I simply tied the bag up and continued my journey home. Now I always carry a bag in the car and listen to talk radio a little less.

Self Serve Please...Car Culture Part 2

Gas is not cheap in Los Angeles, so it is important to pay attention to prices and make sure you don't run out in a pricey part of town. As I have mentioned, I was having a run of yucky stomach a few weeks ago and had taken to keeping plastic bags in the car. On this day however my stomach had rebelled even before I got in the car. I was thankful I was not in the car and yet the interior of the car is a little more private than the down stairs restroom of Whole Foods. Needless to say I got the deed done, and since I didn't feel much better I bought a Ginger Brew hoping it would stave off a repeat performance. After all, it's tough to keep your eyes open while your giving up your lunch.
As I drove down Wilshire, through Beverly Hills, I realized I was on empty. By this time I was shaky again and didn't know if I had it in me to pump the gas myself. So, I pulled into a full service station. Now, I haven't been to one of these since I was a kid. I remember habitually giving the service guy a thumbs up the entire time he pumped the gas as if it was some well known ritual.
Today things were different. I pulled up in my dirty, year 2000 Toyota, Corolla. I could hardly look at the service guy, which I felt guilty about. "Fill er up", I said through a pre vomit haze. He did as I instructed. I took a few sips of my ginger brew, opened the car door, and rested on the steering wheel. After he pumped the gas he went on to put air in my tires, and wash my windows. "O.k. O.k. I just want to get home. I don't need all that.", I said punctuating each o.k. with my ginger brew. "But you just paid $3.50 a gallon. Don't you want the full service?", he asked eyeing my brew. "NO. I don't feel good. I gotta get home.", I said mopping my brow. "What's in the bottle? That a NewCastle?", he asked suspiciously. "NO!! It's Ginger Brew..like ginger ale. I'm sick." "Ahuh.", he replied.
I could see his point. Why would someone in a Toyota Corolla spend the money on full service. Once I felt that I had convinced him of my innocence, I opened up my stash of crystalized ginger and nibbled while driving. I even made it home with out needing that plastic bag.