Patch Blog: Haskell, Cheney and YogaHop

So I wasn’t always the super-nice guy I am today. Remember, my boyhood hero was Eddie Haskell, for cryin’ out loud.

And I’ve never shared this before, but some of the credit goes to former Vice-President Cheney.

Every Thanksgiving I watch “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and with each viewing, I’m struck by the emotional, mental and physical similarities of ole' man Potter and the former VP. The payoff is a refresher in identifying fictional and non-fictional turkeys.

When I see Potter and Cheney, it just makes me wanna be a nicer guy.

And what about Haskell, Cheney and YogaHop?

A couple of weeks ago, I walked down the hall and through the door into a peaceful, contemplative place I’d never been before. If Rod Serling was still around we’re talkin’ maybe a “sixth dimension, beyond that which is known to man…”

The journey that opened the door to yoga has been long. And with or without Cheney, it’s the ladies who merit almost all the kudos.

Even though maybe it isn’t totally true, I’ve always marketed myself as the “foremost elite athlete, scribe and DDS” in the San Gabriel valley. Shucks, I’ve even published stuff like that for the last 15 years or so. And when Dental Assistant Extraordinaire Dani hears it, she screws up her face, mumbling, “And you wonder why no one has come along and snatched you up.”

It all started with aerobics right here at the Arcadia All-Pro. Back in the 80s, I couldn’t believe women jumping around to disco could pass as exercise. Then, one fateful day, I shared my aerobics views with my mixed-doubles tennis partner, a confirmed Jane Fonda disciple.

Soon I found myself in a roomful of mirrors and great looking fit women wearing what fit women wear to exercise. And even though I was “done” by the end of the warm-up, I signed a one-year contract just before the door hit my butt steering me in the direction of the nearest urgent care facility.

During that first session, I’d wondered what Eddie Haskell would have done (it’s cool having a mentor who’s not Cheney.)

Haskell was sort of like Jerry Lacy’s Bogart in "Play it again, Sam." I could see and hear him coaching me to "stay cool, don’t be a fool, and wear a jock strap." He said I needed to develop a non-threatening compliment, but he knew I wasn’t ready.

I struggled for years, searching for the compliment Holy Grail. It seemed like my authentic clueless approach to mastering the “grapevine” somehow gained trust. Who knew it would take Eddie Haskell and disco to finally produce the social life I’d never imagined?

When high impact gave way to step class and finally spin class evolved, I really began to enjoy the best of all worlds: a social life and no blown-out knees, ankles, or hips.

The year 2000 was the worst of times and the best of times, respectively, as Cheney was sworn in and I had at last crafted the perfect Haskellian gym compliment, “nice arms.”

And I think it was Einstein, Tommy LaSorda or maybe Bill, the bartender at Gale’s who once said that after one hundred failures all that really matters is the first success.

So these days, women comprise 50 percent of each dental school class. And it’s impressive how many DDS types walk around with “nice arms” these days. One of ‘em is my friend, Doc Maria Kim of Arcadia.

My fear is sooner or later Maria’s gonna start up a blog and start calling herself the foremost elite athlete, scribe and DDS in the San Gabriel valley. And since she would be telling the truth, I’d probably have to consult Cheney to find a way around it.

Maria invited me to YogaHop in Old Town Pasadena and I knew I was in trouble. She got me all set up, introduced me to the instructor, and then pulled me aside warning, “This is the most challenging class.”

Maria’s happily married but with all the other “nice arms” and all the flexibility on display and all the inner focus required, I was hoping my inner Eddie Haskell wouldn’t let me down.

Turns out, Maria is a cute little Gumby show-off and she wasn’t alone. And I wasn’t hearin’ Inner Eddie so well either. I couldn’t tell if it was the excruciating pain of muscle cramps or the agony of low blood sugar and dehydration. I used to laugh about the woman who broke her nose taking yoga over at my gym; I wasn’t laughing now.

After what seemed like an eternity (at least 45 minutes), we all got to lie down on our backs, close our eyes, and find our happy, relaxed, peaceful place.

That’s when Inner Eddie finally appeared and came to the rescue.

He thoughtfully added, “Wake up knucklehead and move your lame, inflexible, molar jockey butt! Another ten seconds and I’m gonna call 911.”

But the voice sounded eerily like that of Cheney.

I opened my eyes and Maria was there, still slapping my face (probably still not over her Bruins losing 50-0 to USC.)

All I could say was, "Thanks," and “Nice arms.”