Max-stravaganza

With sincere apologies to Garrison Keillor: ***** It's been a quiet week in Lake Brobegon, Minnesota, my home town.  Out there on the edge of the prairie, the town has begun its transition into the post-Yule Tide, post-BCS portion of winter.  Now that the distraction of religious obligation and bowl games is past us, the Bros can wholly focus their attention on raging hard.  Dudes band together in the winter, their hearts full of youthful cheer and their CamelBaks full of Canadian malt liquor. Winter is a joyous time in Lake Brobegon, particularly since the word "snow" is so conducive to puns.  Bro-boarding.  Bro White and the Seven Dwarfs.  Stopping by Woods on a Bro-wy Evening.  Icy precipitation is pun efficient and indisputable visual evidence that Bro-bal warming needs to be stopped at any cost, if only for the wordplay. On Sunday afternoon at the Our Lady of Perpetual Methodism church, Pastor Ingqvist gave his annual winter serm...

There are two struggles in practicing yoga. The first is the actual class. The second is the perpetual, losing battle of attempting to explain to outsiders just how strenuous 90 minutes of stretching can be. Because to most, yoga is the athletic equivalent of cranberry juice; good on occasion, but normally reserved for women on their periods. Stretching and standing, holding your own body weight, keeping your arms in the air, deep breathing. Doesn't seem that difficult. Three year olds can do it. Let me tell you, when done correctly, it feels like your soul was sucked out through your pores . Some alleged "restorative" poses are tantamount to having your hips wrung through a medieval torture device...and you're doing it to yourself. But Yoga isn't just for spiritual masochists and flexible deviants. There is another contingent who accepts Yoga as a strenuous exercise. A group that prides themselves on good posture...and firmed glamour muscles . ...