I'm so glad you point out the nauseating trope of memoirists everywhere: that they're too special to hold down a regular job. That's because it's hard to show up at the same place every day, year in and year out, and the people who do don't usually have time to write amusing yarns about their struggles with tedium.

Maybe the forthcoming demise of the publishing industry will give us more Harvey Pekars and fewer Neal Pollacks.

I am so glad I read this review instead of picking up this asshole-gazing memoir.

A 'friend' sent me this book for my birthday two weeks late, after he threw up red wine in my car when I got stuck driving him home from my own party because he did not have money for a cab. I can only assume that it was the kind of last-minute gift that came up as a 'recommendation' based on my friend's past purchases on Amazon.

Pollack strikes me as the kind of guy, the friend of the friend, that I dread seeing at parties and social gatherings. When you meet him the first time you think 'godammit, what an asshole!' and take comfort that you will never see him again. Then, over time, he has managed to work his way into your larger social network. You start to see him every time you see your other friends. He is always there making every event, dinner party, or weekend camping trip about himself. He talks stupid crap non-stop, eats all of the appetizers, and then complains about the dinner you worked all day to prepare. Being the very self-important prick he is, he expects a lot and offers nothing...ever. He is the guy that shows up late to the potluck empty-handed and demands that you reheat the fried chicken. Nobody really likes him, but they all seem to pretend he belongs to the group, even though nobody can say why and nobody ever admits to inviting him. He just seems to show up.

This book embodies everything I hate about that friend of a friend and I highly recommend reading it if you want to spend several hours with a person you hate without actually having to deal with the person for real.

Yuck. Humorless & mean-spirited much? I read "Stretch" & greatly enjoyed it -- no doubt there are many legitimate criticisms to be made of the book, but not by a writer who rejects the very concept of using yoga to find your "best self." Or perhaps you feel the need to reject the idea of earnest self-exploration itself, out of knee-jerk snarkiness? Wouldn't be unheard of, in an alternative-weekly writer.

Anyway, the book is humorous and self-deprecating, not filled with bragging about his spiritual prowess. For instance in the sentence you quote about "flouncy names, like laughing daisy, or bejeweled vagina," he's poking fun at his beginner mentality, and his irrational fear that yoga would somehow imperial his masculinity. He's being honest about his flaws, something most memoir readers probably want in a memoirist. Do you have a personal beef with Pollack or something? Not sure what's up with the deliberate misreading.

I think it's time the critic got in touch with his "best self," rather than seething with envy and lashing out at the successes of other (far more talented) writers. Stretch is a fantastic book. A fun, funny, and candid look at one man's personal transformation via yoga.

Here's to hoping we have mercy on Paul Constant when he sells his miserable memoir about life as a low level character assassin.

Constant's review was far more honest and helpful than those on Amazon and other sites where you're feed an echo chamber of praise from the same cadre of people who personally know the author and do damage control on any website where the book receives anything but a glowing review. This is called being a shill, folks. A simple google search proved my suspicions correct. How sad. "Stretch" looks to be the latest foray into preening self-indulgence which I hope our current economic situation quickly puts to rest as a literary trend. He's worried about looking foolish doing yoga, I'm worried about keeping my job and making rent each month.

Couldn't have said it better myself, Scott. This review reeks of jealousy and hate. I am enjoying this humorous book so far, especially since I am just starting to get into yoga/meditation and 'bettering myself'. I think Paul could use some yoga!

Couldn't have said it better myself, Scott. This review reeks of jealousy and hate. I am enjoying this humorous book so far, especially since I am just starting to get into yoga/meditation and 'bettering myself'. I think Paul could use some yoga!

#5
I think the first sentence of your comment would be the best blurb ever.