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Check out this interview I did with Ben Spillman of the Reno Gazette-Journal!I had to go all the way up to Reno to get some love from the press….paper down here in Vegas is a joke.Ever since I realized I could make money off it last fall, I’ve been focusing more on vlogging than blogging.It was somewhat of a bummer to realize that most people prefer watching video to reading scathingly well-crafted diatribes….that’s the reality, and I needs to pay my bills!Re-reading the fine print on my lemon-ginger herbal tea bag for the 1,000th time, it occurred to me that there’s a fine line between glum and pious…and that though we were all here voluntarily, this meditation retreat was basically just a minimum-security New Age Prison for White People. Of course, I’m being facetious — my fellow glop-gobblers weren’t white; there were a few east Indians among us, an Asian or two, and at least one Mexican.But the overwhelming majority of those seeking peace at this silent Buddhist meditation retreat were whiter than almond milk, and the irony was not lost on me.I am definitely still around, but I’ve been having SO MANY ADVENTURES lately that I haven’t had time to write about them!I went on a 3-week cross-country road trip, hiked to a plane crash site in Death Valley for a Canadian scavenger hunt, played a nagging pregnant yoga wife in a porn movie, went to Disneyland and am now working on a new performance of my Electric Vagina at the BEquinox festival in Joshua Tree next week. Additionally, I am working on a sort of quirky, NSFW web series with my photographer friends Mike and Kit, who have already posted a bunch of stuff on their Vimeo page. The official web series episodes aren’t up yet, but will be soon — and they wrote a REALLY bad ass theme song about me for it 😀 But really, what I’ve been spending most of my time on is my You Tube channel!

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” With all when Noble Silence finally descended like a cozy, knitted fair-trade ethnic pair of earmuffs; I pulled my cap even lower, and prepared to enjoy the silence.

I loaded up on cozy knitted ethnic ponchos, jammed a fair-trade kombucha-hemp suppository up my ass and carpooled the 10 hours from Vegas in the Mini Cooper of an NPR journalist friend who was taking the course for his second time.

We blew through the desert and the red-state part of California, up into the misty, majestic vineyards of Napa Valley; nothing but moss-covered faux chateaux and the smell of Enlightenment wafting from the quaint stone chimney of every Michelin-starred restaurant we passed. To stifle my inner cynic, from pretty much the moment I set foot on the retreat property I pulled my aforementioned watchman’s cap down low over my eyes — as low as I could while still being able to see where I was going, but low enough to where I wouldn’t be tempted to peek at the other students’ faces and make cynical judgments based on their appearances.

And of course even Anyway, I enrolled in the course hoping it would help me chill out; as you know I lead a very high-octane life, and as a result have problems sleeping.

My sister had taken a course before, so I had an idea of what I was in for and wasn’t fostering any unrealistic expectations — but I did go in with a positive mindset, thinking to give Vipassana a fair shot.

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