It had been about two months since my last Pilates class after all of the traveling and moving. I was really beginning to feel it so I made a point to attend the 6:30 yoga class at my gym. I was one of three guys there and when the instructor asked if we were in the mood to relax and flow or work I shot up from my child’s pose and politely demanded that we work; luckily that was the consensus, or at least seemed to be.

After the class began the usual stragglers made their way around the dimly lit room and joined the group. I usually find the start of these classes to be a little unsettling because I am ready to start doing some crazy poses and the instructor wants to warm us up with breath work and smooth salutations. I tend to be, in these situations, one or two steps ahead of everybody and am in down dog when they are still on their feet. This usually is my indication that it may be a good idea to slow down and follow the rules. I wish that everybody felt this way, but they don’t as the frizzy haired, rotten smelling, inconsiderate chump next to me so incredibly demonstrated.

He came in late, of course, and set up camp next to me, but he didn’t just set up next to me. He was so close that when we both extended our arms, we overlapped. Aside from just being rude, it’s also against the rules of yoga. It wasn’t as if this twit were coming to his first class because the look of his mat and bag indicated that he had been to this rodeo before many times. He made no move to correct his positioning which left me to readjust mine. In with light and love and out with dumb fucks.

By mid-class we were on some pretty intense stuff. While we all were in plank, this dipstick was on his feet doing something that I have never seen before. OK, not only is this rude, but it’s incredibly distracting for the actual participants. I understand that some poses may be too difficult for some, but if you can’t do something you are supposed to just lie there, quietly and wait until something comes up that you CAN do. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on my practice. “Why are you here?” I felt like asking. Instead I tried to extend my left leg out while standing upright. In with light and love and out with idiots.

As you might know, yoga poses require deep attention to breath and one has to exhale and inhale deeply to achieve the proper result. Of course, my neighbor didn’t just exhale like the other 10 people in the class, he had to expel his breath like a TB patient. Then while we were on the floor, gazing to the right, he was looking left, at me, with his Fraggle Rock mop on his head and the stench of rotten peet moss wafting in my direction. If the class wasn’t over at that point I would’ve left anyway. As everybody was still in final pose, beginning to utter the final “Namaste” I was half way through rolling up my mat and shoving it into my patchwork bag.

I bypassed the pleasantries, which I sort of regret now, and walked out into the most beautiful light I have yet seen. I’m telling you the light in Palm Springs is like no other and sometimes on the right hill, like last night, it looks as if Mr. Bob Ross himself were just here. It was at that point that I forgot what it was that I was walking away from so fast. In with light and love and out with it all.

At the gym the other day I over heard one of the guys talking about “Whitewater” and how his dog slipped on a rock, cut her foot and fell into the river. Wait a minute? River? Was he talking about some state park up north? I didn’t know so in between presses I casually asked him what Whitewater was only to find out that 20 minutes from my condo is a preserve in Whitewater Canyon. All this time and I never knew an actual river flowed through this area from the mountains. Needless to say, I canceled my plans for the next day and told Petey we were going to see some water.

I was stoked to find how close this thing was to me. The drive east into the mountains became cooler and greener; always a good indication at this time of year. The road took us to a Ranger Station. All around the log cabin were warnings of mountain lions, rattlesnakes, black bears and bighorn sheep. It was nearly 100 degrees out so the only thing I really had to worry about was the rattlers and since my plan was to be in or around the river I wasn’t that concerned. Besides, those guys are pretty considerate when it comes to letting you know that you or your dog is too close for their liking.

A short walk along a very primitive stone-lined path led us west to a beautiful oasis-like scene. It was a river, not a creek, but a wide, flowing river that moved so fast in some spaces that it became “white water” from the small waves that crested over the rocks and such. I felt like it was Christmas morning! I unleashed Petey and jumped down the small dirt cliff, slid all the way down to the river and ran into the water. As I sat on a rock and felt the water creep up my legs and soak my shorts, I looked down and schools of tadpoles in all sorts of development were wiggling all around my feet. The water was so clear that I was tempted to dunk my head and have a drink, but for obvious reasons, I did not. About an hour into the walk we came upon a rugged shelter made of sticks, twine and brush. This is the shit that you see on that Discovery Channel show about the guy who is in the Outback or somewhere completely remote and drinks his piss and eats worms.

Being here has not been easy, but having this jewel in my backyard makes it a little better for sure.

I had heard some rumblings about recession this and deflation that, but it seemed like something distant from my life. The bars seemed just as crowded as ever and at work the dining room was packed every night. I just didn’t see it and seeing is believing. Then I was faced with the harsh reality that I would have to move back to Palm Springs. I tried to make the best of a bad situation and the full horror didn’t seep in until I was knee-deep in harsh and sticky reality: Palm Springs in the off season in the middle of an anemic economy. Maybe I should back up a little bit.

A few months ago I lost my renter and that left me paying for two residences – something far beyond my financial reach so far. Unable to find someone to rent my condo I realized I had to suck it up and return to the desert. It’s July here and it’s crazy hot, not the best place to be if you hate AC. Petey and I lay in front of the box fans patiently panting, waiting for the sun to go down so the poor dog can get out and get some running in; right now, after 10 mins in the sun he begins to over heat and runs for the nearest shady spot.

Some of you might be asking yourselves “Did you quit Channel1?” No, but porn does not pay everything. Petey still needs to go to dog camp and daddy needs his East Coast fixes. So much like the rest of you I need to work to keep this family in the life to which we are accustomed. Dance gigs and appearances are slim these days. I saw this coming though. About 6 months ago there was a huge influx of gigs, I theorized that this was the clubs’ last attempt at bringing in some bodies and once they saw that people just weren’t coming in no matter what they did or who they had, they stopped booking.

Palm Springs and I have a past, but I didn’t think we’d have a future. This is a place where I am, as BW so eloquently put, a prisoner of my property, I can’t find work here and to be honest, there is a surplus of really strange people here. I think it’s the heat, and yet I walk outside in the morning or will be driving somewhere and the light will catch one of the 4 mountain ranges and I will be speechless at the raw, unadulterated splendor of it all. “Fuck, that is so god damned pretty!” and I forget that I’m almost running on empty.