Recently, I began engaging in a practice that makes me almost entirely “Hollywood.”

Acupuncture.

I took my friend to her appointment and decided to ask whether these folks could ease my headaches with some ancient needology. Sure enough, they can!

Sign me up!

So, now twice a week, I lie on a table wearing nothing but a blue paper ass-exposing robe thing while three Asians put needles into my head, neck, arms, stomach, legs, and feet. Then, they connect the needles to some sort of electromagnetic generator (SO not an ancient eastern medicine technique) and turn out the lights.

Within a few moments, I am filled with sharp pulses of energy. A woman has entered the room to put a heat lamp near my skin and burn marijuana-scented sage over my toes. And so my treatment begins.

I know I’m supposed to be at peace. I know I am supposed to breathe deeply and fall into a meditative state. I am supposed to let the energy flow through me and feel stronger, renewed.

Here’s what I’m doing instead: envisioning experiencing an earthquake during a treatment. I imagine the ten of us, each in private rooms, emerging to evacuate the building. We are mostly naked, filled with needles, and attached to battery chargers. Can you imagine the sight of the street below – filled with human pincushions?

When the clinicians come in to remove my needles, they always say, “Wow. You’re not afraid of needles?” I guess this is an indication of the fact that I let the doctor put dozens of needles in at once, whereas many patients will only endure a few per treatment. As the clinicians remove needles one after the other, they marvel at my willingness to have so many needles inserted at once.

No. I’m not afraid of needles. The scariest part of acupuncture is the San Andreas Fault.