Category: Inside Lane

Opinions. I have them. Lots of them. Good ones, bad ones, ridiculous ones, wrong-headed ones, light-hearted ones, even some moonbat ones–I have opinions. So, imagine the unrest in my soul, when 24-hours after the fact, I am still unable to formulate a solid opinion about sensory deprivation floatation therapy.

A good friend has had great results doing floatation therapy. It is meant to be restorative and stress relieving.

A therapeutic session in a flotation tank typically lasts between an hour to an hour and a half. For the first forty minutes, it is reportedly possible to experience itching in various parts of the body (a phenomenon also reported to be common during the early stages of meditation). The last twenty minutes often end with a transition from beta or alpha brainwaves to theta, which typically occurs briefly before sleep and again at waking. In a float tank, the theta state can last indefinitely without the subject losing consciousness. Many use the extended theta state as a tool for enhanced creativity and problem solving or for super learning. The more often the tank is used the longer the theta period becomes.[7]

Spas sometimes provide commercial float tanks for use in relaxation. Flotation therapy has been academically studied in the USA and in Sweden with published results showing reduction of both pain and stress.[8] The relaxed state also involves lowered blood pressure and maximum blood flow.

Floating can be passive or active, depending on the purpose. For relaxation, one simply floats and ‘clears the mind.’ Active floating has many different techniques. One may perform meditation, mantras, self-hypnosis, utilize educational programs, etc. The idea of active floating is that, when the body is relaxed, the mind becomes highly suggestible and any action taken during these states will enter the information into the sub-conscious. Flotation therapy may be used to complement other body work and healing methods.

—Wikipedia

I like stress relief! I like restoration! I like baths! It sounded ideal.

So, yesterday, after 4 days in Las Vegas, running around, pushing a wheelchair through 2 airports, twice, lugging baggage, a nearly 70lb child, and everything else that goes with the territory of travel, I headed over to the spa.

The first step to floatation therapy is a nice, long shower. You have to wash off as much of yourself as possible, so that the magnesium in the water can invade your pores. It’s a very More of You, Less of Me prospect. Ear plugs are provided, and I popped them in.

After your shower, you slip into your salt bath and start to float. When you’re ready, you turn off the lights. And that’s it. You just hang out there for an hour, or so and let the salt do it’s trick while you meditate, or whatever it is you like to do when you are floating around in the dark.

I do not meditate easily, as you may recall. Once I got the lights turned out and adjusted to the fact that it was, indeed, pitch black, and once I got over the initial, “Wow! I’m basically a seal!” factor, I was…bored.

I splished a little. I splashed a little. I made finger patterns on the water. I stretched and rolled, and found ways to make very interesting shapes out of myself, but I was bored. Bored and disoriented.

I floated and splished, floated and splashed, floated and sighed. Then, just when I’d started to wonder if the time would ever run out, the lights came on automatically and I realized I’d fallen asleep.

I have no way of knowing for how long I slept, but I had lost consciousness at some point.

Awake, blinking, and truly disoriented, I made my way out of my float bath and back into the shower to wash away the salt. I was groggy and gross–slimy from the salt water–but once I’d finished my shower I felt pretty okay. My skin looked amazing. AMAZING.

Where I’d had serious soreness and pain in my calves and knees from the wheelchair pushing, I was (and am now) only aware of a little strain. My back felt good and flexible. My neck felt really good. And I realized I hadn’t coughed the whole time I’d been humidifying myself–nice, considering I’ve had a nagging cough since last month.

The physical benefits were apparent and very real. The mental benefits? Like I said, I was bored and disoriented (a weird combination), and when I got out I can’t say that I had any kind of mental clarity. In fact, I felt kind of cranky.

I’m still trying to decide what I really thought. I know my body was relaxed to a ridiculous degree, given that I came out talking like I’d been possessed by Lana Del Ray. Eeeeeeverythiiiiing was slooooow aaaaaaaand deeeeeeep and lacooooooooooonic. I souuunded liiiiike a sleeeeeepy oooouuutboard moooootooooor.

I truly liked what it did for my body. I did not like at all what it did to my brain.

I guess I’ll have to go do it again.

Opinions. I have them. Lots of them. Good ones, bad ones, ridiculous ones, wrong-headed ones, light-hearted ones, even some moonbat ones–I have opinions. So, imagine the unrest in my soul, when 24-hours after the fact, I am still unable to formulate a solid opinion about sensory deprivation floatation therapy.

A good friend has had great results doing floatation therapy. It is meant to be restorative and stress relieving.

A therapeutic session in a flotation tank typically lasts between an hour to an hour and a half. For the first forty minutes, it is reportedly possible to experience itching in various parts of the body (a phenomenon also reported to be common during the early stages of meditation). The last twenty minutes often end with a transition from beta or alpha brainwaves to theta, which typically occurs briefly before sleep and again at waking. In a float tank, the theta state can last indefinitely without the subject losing consciousness. Many use the extended theta state as a tool for enhanced creativity and problem solving or for super learning. The more often the tank is used the longer the theta period becomes.[7]

Spas sometimes provide commercial float tanks for use in relaxation. Flotation therapy has been academically studied in the USA and in Sweden with published results showing reduction of both pain and stress.[8] The relaxed state also involves lowered blood pressure and maximum blood flow.

Floating can be passive or active, depending on the purpose. For relaxation, one simply floats and ‘clears the mind.’ Active floating has many different techniques. One may perform meditation, mantras, self-hypnosis, utilize educational programs, etc. The idea of active floating is that, when the body is relaxed, the mind becomes highly suggestible and any action taken during these states will enter the information into the sub-conscious. Flotation therapy may be used to complement other body work and healing methods.

—Wikipedia

I like stress relief! I like restoration! I like baths! It sounded ideal.

So, yesterday, after 4 days in Las Vegas, running around, pushing a wheelchair through 2 airports, twice, lugging baggage, a nearly 70lb child, and everything else that goes with the territory of travel, I headed over to the spa.

The first step to floatation therapy is a nice, long shower. You have to wash off as much of yourself as possible, so that the magnesium in the water can invade your pores. It’s a very More of You, Less of Me prospect. Ear plugs are provided, and I popped them in.

After your shower, you slip into your salt bath and start to float. When you’re ready, you turn off the lights. And that’s it. You just hang out there for an hour, or so and let the salt do it’s trick while you meditate, or whatever it is you like to do when you are floating around in the dark.

I do not meditate easily, as you may recall. Once I got the lights turned out and adjusted to the fact that it was, indeed, pitch black, and once I got over the initial, “Wow! I’m basically a seal!” factor, I was…bored.

I splished a little. I splashed a little. I made finger patterns on the water. I stretched and rolled, and found ways to make very interesting shapes out of myself, but I was bored. Bored and disoriented.

I floated and splished, floated and splashed, floated and sighed. Then, just when I’d started to wonder if the time would ever run out, the lights came on automatically and I realized I’d fallen asleep.

I have no way of knowing for how long I slept, but I had lost consciousness at some point.

Awake, blinking, and truly disoriented, I made my way out of my float bath and back into the shower to wash away the salt. I was groggy and gross–slimy from the salt water–but once I’d finished my shower I felt pretty okay. My skin looked amazing. AMAZING.

Where I’d had serious soreness and pain in my calves and knees from the wheelchair pushing, I was (and am now) only aware of a little strain. My back felt good and flexible. My neck felt really good. And I realized I hadn’t coughed the whole time I’d been humidifying myself–nice, considering I’ve had a nagging cough since last month.

The physical benefits were apparent and very real. The mental benefits? Like I said, I was bored and disoriented (a weird combination), and when I got out I can’t say that I had any kind of mental clarity. In fact, I felt kind of cranky.

I’m still trying to decide what I really thought. I know my body was relaxed to a ridiculous degree, given that I came out talking like I’d been possessed by Lana Del Ray. Eeeeeeverythiiiiing was slooooow aaaaaaaand deeeeeeep and lacooooooooooonic. I souuunded liiiiike a sleeeeeepy oooouuutboard moooootooooor.

I truly liked what it did for my body. I did not like at all what it did to my brain.

I guess I’ll have to go do it again.

Vow renewal accomplished! B is stuck with me for another 10 years, at least.

I could not have had a better time if Real Elvis had been at our vow renewal. I think I probably frightened our Elvis by launching myself at him when I saw he was the 70s Elvis I had hoped for. He recovered.

I may never recover from the amount of swaggering adorability in this photo, though.

Thor worked diligently to maintain that expression throughout the goings on, only breaking character for posed pictures where he was asked to smile. He was certain that if he held himself together like that, people would mistake him for an adult and let him play casino games. He is wiser to the ways of the world now.

We had a fantastic time in Vegas, made better by the company of our friends. Leslieann (who upped her bridesmaid game to Maid of Honor for me!) and Jeff, Andi and Matt, thanks so much for coming out. I don’t think we’d have had nearly as much fun without people to witness the hilarity.

And now, for a run down of the happenings:

1/23: The Arrival
We flew Spirit Airlines because when I bought our package a year ago, they were the least expensive way to travel. By the time we finished paying for luggage and seat reservations (Yes, you must pay to reserve an actual seat) we’d only saved $80. Their staff was terrific, and their service was very good, so I wouldn’t mind traveling with them again if the price and flight pattern matched what I wanted.

It was a little bit of an adventure getting 4 bags, a child, and a wheelchair (Mom still isn’t too steady on her feet) on and off three shuttle buses, through two airports, and into a rental car, but people were accommodating and when I was yelling, “I’m sorry! Excuse me! I can’t steer this thing!” as I rolled through pedestrian traffic with one hand wheeling Mom, and another trying to keep a bag upright.

We drove down the strip to the Stratosphere, where we stayed, and I considered it a good omen that the first song we heard blaring out of a casino was Our Song–Buffalo Soldier*. Thor was impressed with the sights, and very excited to get into our hotel.

Leslieann and Jeff came in a few hours later, and we spent a nice bit of time checking out the observation deck of the Stratosphere tower, the buffet, and whatever else we could find. The buffet was terrible. The observation deck was pretty nifty.

1/24: The Renewal
12 years to the day of our first date, and 10 years to the day of our wedding date, B and I headed down to the Wee Kirk to renew our vows. I wanted to go to the Wee Kirk because I fell in love with it back in 1992, when it was still called Wee Kirk O’ the Heather. Somewhere in the past decade, they dropped the O’ the Heather and pretty much all necessary upkeep.

Now, I could not have had more fun. I could not have had a better time. It was a blast. But in Las Vegas, you know that it has to be either stellar, or totally busted. There isn’t much in between. If I were a different woman, or if I’d had maybe 2 hours less sleep, this whole event would have gone very differently.

Our limo arrived around 1:30, and we were met by a portly driver, wearing a stained tuxedo shirt and dress pants. He ushered us into the limo like we were getting into a clown car. I had to squeeze in on a side where the door didn’t even open all the way because of how he was parked. Now, when you load a limo, you put people on the back facing bench first. You explain that they should get in butt first, swing their legs in, then swing across to the other bench and get settled. When that seat is full, you load the front facing bench.

Our driver loaded us in front facing bench first. It was comical. It was confusing. It was cramped.

As we drove, I noticed that part of the board separating the driver from the passengers was held together by clear packing tape. There were missing bits and bobs all over the back, and I felt like we were one pothole away from being towed to the chapel. I had thought $45 seemed inexpensive. I had thought right! Still, the driver was friendly and kind, and he led us up the stairs into the tiny waiting room of the chapel, where we would meet the wedding coordinator–also friendly and kind.

The chapel itself was badly in need of painting, weeding, and honestly, maybe an unattended unity candle. Mom read aloud from a sign that said, “…since 1940,” and Jeff looked around and nodded. The carpet needed cleaning, the display cases needed dusting, and the furniture needed updating.

We got a peek into the chapel which was so small I squealed a little. It was like seeing miniature furniture in a dollhouse. It was so tiny! And wee! And tiny! And the wee, little, tiny pews wouldn’t seat more than two people! And the little aisle was so skinny, it would barely fit one Elvis and one Bride.

But the flowers were beautiful. The flowers were more beautiful than what I had the first time around.

I was noticing this while the coordinator was stalling for time. Elvis was late. She seemed a little frantic, telling us that Elvis was stuck in traffic, so we were shifting things around and doing posed photography first. Off B, Thor and I went to a back room set up as a photography studio, where we posed and preened for the camera until the photographer (also friendly and kind) seemed to get bored. He called out to ask if Elvis was there yet. He was. The show could go on.

When I saw him, I cried, “It’s 70s Elvis! Yay!” And I threw my arms around his neck because if any Elvis belonged in this chapel, it was 70s Elvis. But after meeting him (also friendly and kind), I started to wonder if “Elvis is stuck in traffic,” was code for something else. I mean, I felt like our Elvis was very committed to the act. Very. Maybe his mojo was off because he was running late, or maybe his mojo was off because brides don’t usually try to put him in their pockets to carry home, but he was slightly confused for the duration.

As impersonators go, he was… Please keep in mind that I loved this. I loved it. It was perfect for me. I am an Elvis fan. I am an Elvis fan from way back. I was loving on Elvis (weirdly, I never had a romantic crush, I just loved him like he might be my awesome uncle) when I was in pre-school, and pretending the vacuum cleaner was my mic stand to do my own impersonations of him. I know Elvis. I can do a mean Elvis for a girl. Our Elvis needed a nap.

Our Elvis slipped in and out of an accent, really only hitting it right on when he said, “Thank you very much,” and “Priscilla.”

This Elvis didn’t do rock ‘n roll songs, so our set list was changed from C’Mon Everybody, The Wonder of You, and All Shook Up, to (I Can’t Help) Falling in Love With You, The Wonder of You, and It’s Now or Never. I told the coordinator to just tell Elvis to sing what he loved, since he didn’t do the numbers I wanted. I figured if Elvis sang what he loved, we’d get a better show.

What we got a show of was Elvis’ backside every time he bent down to change the track on his karaoke boom box. No lie. Elvis had a karaoke boom box, which sat off the side of the pulpit, and every time he was going to sing, he had to bend over and find the right track. You know I found that more than amusing.

His singing was–His ceremony was a lot of fun. He seemed to be enjoying himself, and I know I was. When it was over, he posed gamely for pictures, then disappeared like he’d never been there at all.

We took some more photos, I paid, then Jeff taught the limo driver how to load his limousine. And we went back to the hotel for naps.

Matt and Andi joined us for dinner with their son, and it was pretty much the perfect capstone to an already perfect day.

1/25: All Dam Day
The boys took off for the Hoover Dam, leaving me to sleep in, shop with Leslieann, and nap. We took Thor casino hopping down the strip that evening, then headed downtown for dinner and a gander at the shark tank at the Golden Nugget. It was just good, easy fun. Fortunately, Thor did not see the bare-breasted nuns two paces away from us on Fremont, so I did not have to explain those to him. Unlike the poor mother who was telling her children, “Uh, those are just…church ladies.”

1/26: Home Again
I did seriously consider clothes-lining a woman in security at the McCarran airport (and actively hoped she would miss her flight, regardless of the karma), I did get ugly sick on the flight home, and I did have to wait an extra half hour for one bag because the conveyor belt broke, but all in all, I am telling you it was one of the best vacations I’ve ever had in my life. My boys were happy. My friends were happy. I was happy. It was all good.

*All of our friends had really romantic, sweet Songs. We had no song. So, somewhere around 6 months into our dating relationship, we said that whatever song came on when we got into the car would be our song. Buffalo Soldier it is. Neither romantic, nor sweet, but I’ll bet you a hundie no one else requests this for a slow dance in honor of their love.

This time tomorrow, I fully expect to be sitting on the tarmac waiting for takeoff, while being shown how to use coin-operated oxygen masks. Never again will I book flights on [airline name redacted–FOR NOW.] Those fools will nickel and dime you to death!

Thor is very excited at the prospect of riding in a limousine. B and I have driven in Strip traffic before, and it seemed like less stress, less hassle, and less trying to cram wedding dress, four adults, and one child into a rented Kia Rio, so we popped for the extra $45 limo ride to and from the chapel.

When I said something about it to my mother, Thor overheard and his eyes went big as saucers. “A whole limousine? We’re going to rent a whole limousine? I did not even KNOW you COULD rent a WHOLE LIMOUSINE!” Since then it’s been, “Do limos have televisions?” “Do limos have snacks?” “Do limos have satellites?”

Last night, he drew us his idea of what it would be like to take such a posh ride. Please note the confetti cannon being shot off by a passenger. That’s our family waving from the sunroof, and a giant satellite dish for his TV reception. I was more impressed by his Vegas sign. I didn’t know he was aware of that landmark.

He asked me when we would see it, and if we could take photos of him near it. But of course, little man.

So Viva Las Vegas, everyone. Here’s hoping our luggage arrives with us.

I read Hamlet for the first time in 6th grade. Being a dramatic little girl, I thought I would die for love of it. It was the most MOST thing I’d ever read. Most beautiful. Most meaningful. Most wonderful. Most confusing–I’ll be honest. I didn’t get a lot of it at 12, but what I got was enough to make me fall in love with Shakespeare for the rest of my born days. (This was the same year I had the meltdown that ended with me screaming lines from The Merchant of Venice. Moral of the story: Be sure your children are ready to handle The Bard before you hand them a copy of his unabridged works.)

For some reason, I was thinking about that today. I was telling my friend, Rob, that I’d remembered how I had projected my crush for Hamlet onto my Lit teacher, Mr. Cargyle*. I could not love Hamlet in the flesh, so I loved this 50-something-year-old Confirmed Bachelor instead. In fact, he was the first person I heard use that term. Little girls would ask him why he wasn’t married, and he would say, “Darlings, I am a confirmed bachelor.” I thought it meant he hadn’t met the right woman, yet. i.e., I wasn’t old enough to date properly.

This was at a private school, and for some reason the teacher’s phone numbers were published in a directory sent home with the students. Y’all…I called that poor man. You know, just to talk. He was so kind. So was that other nice man who answered his phone.

That made me start remembering the teachers I had at that school. A few years after I’d left there, I would end up in an acting class with the teacher who had replaced my drama teacher (a woman who was fired for saying inappropriate things to little girls**.) Not knowing I had been a student there, he went off on a rant about all those “little rich bitches and their c-nting parents.” He did not like Shakespeare. He liked Chekhov. He wanted me to learn a monologue from The Seagull. I wanted me to learn a monologue from The Tempest. We butted heads, he and I. I wasn’t rich, but I’m sure he’d have categorized me right along with the rest of those little bitches.

Kenneth Branagh is the authority for Shakespeare, in my book. His Hamlet was transcendent. Karen and I went to see that at the Inwood, and I remember us sitting there and the noises coming out of us were not even human. His Henry V is perfection, and I was obsessed with his Othello for about a year. I pretend he never did Much Ado because…Keanu Reeves***? Really?

And to sum up, here is one of the most romantic scenes in all of Shakespeare. I could watch this scene a thousand times and still grin like a monkey.

I know. I know. It’s no great love scene, but I love it! I do wonder how hard it is to kiss Kenneth Branagh, though, as he has no discernible lips.

*Voice-to-Text translated this to Argyle Argyle, making my story very confusing.

**Things like, “Have you ever considered the possibility that you are insane?” Something she asked me when I was describing the colored balls I would see floating in the air just before my head would explode in pain, or one of those debilitating stomach aches would start. I had not ever considered that possibility, but you’d better believe my Gothic Romance Loving Self did after that! Would I end up like Mr. Rochester’s first wife? Or like Cathy Earnshaw? Or like poor, poor Ophelia? *flail* Years later I would realize those were the warning bells for migraines, not that I was getting headaches because I was afraid of the colored balls.

***Although, Tom Hiddleston credits that production as being what drew him in to Shakespeare because it starred Denzel Washington and Reeves–action stars in a Shakespeare movie! So, I forgive AND forget.