This weekend Charlie and his wife, Kerry, came down from Buffalo to see the Gates and even more importantly, to have dinner with Toby Joe and me^ Many people reading this might know him as “GotJesus”. I’m not even sure where that name came from originally, but he’s been posting as GotJesus since as long as I can remember. It was excellent meeting him and his wife. Not only do the two of them have a biting sense of humor, but they’re excellent conversationalists as well. We had a great time.

On Sunday, Nico and George came back into town to see the final day for The Gates in Central Park. While kicking through the park, we saw numerous small children fall to the ground, screaming as they slipped on the black ice that was strewn all over Central Park. One little girl, wearing all pink, fell into a huge mud puddle. Toby Joe compared the act to something one might see from the movie Cary. It was disturbing and horrific and kinda funny, too.

We saw Martha Plimpton. We saw Christo drive by in some 400 thousand dollar car. (The dude so ain’t hurtin’ for money. I guess that’s not much of a surprise.) We saw the telescope people looking for Pale Male. Actually, this is almost this is almost exactly what we saw. (You may read more about the Pale Male situation here and here.)

We saw way too many fur coats. By the end of the day I was passive-aggressively muttering the words “You’re so disgusting.” to women everywhere. I truly find that practice appalling and can not believe it’s still legal. We can be thrown in jail for smoking marijuana. In New York, you can get arrested for sitting on a milk crate or smoking in a bar. Yet slaughtering fuzzy animals and then draping ourselves in their fur is deemed totally O.K. Seriously, it saddens me to no end. I wish I could make it go away.

I have veered off track again.

We saw The Gates and hundreds of SLRs. I took some pictures as well.

After The Gates, we headed to First Avenue for some Indian food. We picked the restaurant who used the most lights for their decor. It was a lovely day.

Today, there is work to finish and loose ends to tighten. Tonight, we get snow. Yay snow!

Sometimes, life is weird. Last year, I was dreaming about moving back to New York. Now, I actually live in New York, after having moved from DC to San Francisco and then back to New York again. Who would have placed money down on that scenario? Not me. No way.

First of all, I’d like to thank a number of individuals who sent Toby and me feedback regarding the SPD site. (We’ve even already made changes because of it!)

For example, we now have a link beneath each photograph on the site as it wasn’t fair to assume that folks knew to click on the images to launch into the new site. Now, there is a link that reads “Visit my site” so it’s perfectly clear.

We have received a number of comments asking for a “target=_ blank” request. Toby Joe still feels that this isn’t a good idea. I’m still open to suggestions. Do folks LIKE it when their sites open a new browser window? Or would you rather it open in the same window? Let us know if you care at all.

Also, we are still trying to work out how many and how often. We have a number of new sign ups after yesterday’s launch. Which is really exciting, but I need to figure out if we should up the number of times the site updates. I am wary of upping the number of people, I already think that 21 is a bit much considering, for some, you could toast a bagel, smother it with cream cheese, eat it and poop it out in the time it takes for the page to load. I’m still not sure what we’re going to do about this.

That’s all for now. Sometimes, it helps if I spell it out on here. I’m “taking notes out loud”, if you will.

The other day while I was on my way to work at the bar, the most peculiar thing happen. It seems that after 31 long years, my superpowers have finally begun to kick in. While Toby Joe and I were walking under the BQE, a bit of road-rage broke out above. We could hear the squealing of tires and the pursuit of revenge hung in the air like a thick oily cloud. Suddenly, a car came crashing to the ground. It landed on top of a mini-van, driven by an innocent family of four who had just left a Wednesday evening charity event. They were singing “Day-Dream Believer” while snacking on Little Debbie’s and Yoo-Hoo. The crashing car landed smack dab on top of the mini-van, thereby trapping all those within. I could hear them crying out through their muffled, chocolate-covered lips. Miraculously, the inhabitants had survived the impact. There was little time to think. I handed Toby Joe my bag. I was left with no choice.

After I saved the bottom car from the pending inferno, I quickly left the scene to find the car guilty of causing these nearly tragic events. I took care of that car with on swift punch to the back of the head.

It’s a good thing Toby Joe carries a camera everywhere, otherwise, folks may have never seen what I am actually capable of. My superpowers know no bounds^

Next week: mihow takes on a lifeless turd.

Hey Nikki, you’re so fine, you’re so fine you blow my mind. HEY Nikki! HEY Nikki! (Bet you never had that sung to you before.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NIKKI FROM OHIO.

There is this guy, he’s a friend of yours. His name is Navin (or something like that). Anyway, he wants to send you birthday wishes via mihow.com. (It ain’t no Chi-Chi’s “Happy Happy Birthday” dance, but he’s a cheap bastard^ Whataya gonna do?)

Happy birthday, Ohio Lurker.

How is it a gal who has several tattoos, has had her nose, ear and bellybutton pierced (at least once), nearly faints every time someone draws her blood?

I have serious fear issues. My palms were dripping and I nearly fell from the stirrups^

Issues.

Well, Self-Portrait Day was pushed live last night. The “Submit” section and the “Archive” section are still under construction. We hope to have them up and running entirely by next week. Also, please please please, email (or comment) here about any errors. There was only so much we could catch while designing and building the site locally. Plus, we’re both on Macs, so who knows if it works in every browser right now. And we do make errors. For example, I had entered the wrong information last night for some of this week’s faces. I am a bad person, but it was caught and all is well in the world again. :] (Sorry, Sarah! Sorry, Sherri! Sorry, Ashley!)

I have to go to the Vagina Doctor today for a check up. I hate visiting the Vagina Doctor.

Recently, many of you have asked me about my new moonlighting job. I have gotten questions like, “Michele, what’s up with the bartending gig? Aren’t you a graphic designer?” And I really don’t have a direct answer for you. I think I actually enjoy it, to some degree. I actually enjoy being around people. I actually enjoy taking orders. And the stories I come home with are wonderful.

On Saturday, a couple walked into the bar for brunch. The male-unit of the couple had a word written on his forehead.

TEMPER

His female counterpart had a word written on there as well.

MENTAL

Together, they were perfect. But I couldn’t help but wonder why such a perfect couple would come out into such and imperfect world. Surely, they were bound to always feel left down. And I guess my job was making that come a little easier.

I sat them at the lover’s booth. This was the name given to me for that particular table by one CCLB. Immediately, she began to complain.

Where is that draft? Is there a draft? I feel a draft.

Well, you both just walked in. I think it’s from the door. Once it closes all the way, it will warm up.

I am cold. Are you sure?

Knowing that this wouldn’t get any better and that she would pull out her “I WAS RIGHT” card later, I decided to change it.

I’ll tell you what, let’s move you two near the kitchen where it’s warmer.

They agreed and were settled. I handed them both menus and went to get them some water.

Excuse me? Can I get some coffee with 2% milk? No half-and-half. I don’t like that stuff. And I want my water with no ice.

“Anything to keep you less frigid.” I thought.

TEMPER wanted his water with ice. I went to retrieve one glass of water, neat, a glass of water on the rocks, one coffee and some 2% milk. They were content.

I let them look over the menu while I took care of the 8 other tables I had. After a short while, I returned.

What can I get you two?

I think I will have the special. And I want free-range eggs with that. I’ll pay extra if I have to. Also, is your salmon farm-raised or is it wild?

I found out that our salmon was wild. We didn’t waste time any pussy-bred, farm-raised salmon. I guess that was a good thing, because MENTAL actually smiled.

Fine. Great. I’ll have the special with wild salmon and some free-range eggs.

I was finished with her and moved on to TEMPER.

I can’t decide if I want the special or some pancakes. What kind of fruit do you have?

Today, we have blueberries, strawberries, bananas, and raspberries. We also have candied walnuts and chocolate chips.

I’ll have two pancakes with everything.

Everything?

Yes, everything.

His girlfriend must have nudged him, because he suddenly began to rethink this near pancake blasphemy.

Am I overdoing it again? I am, aren’t I? I’ll just have blueberries and strawberries.

His girlfriend giggled and sipped her iceless water.

What kind of meat would you like with that?

Are your sausages patties or links?

They’re patties. We make them ourselves.

I mashed my hands together as if preparing Silly-Puddy for a homemade newspaper photo-copy.

I’ll have the sausage.

I put in their order and began to take care of the other tables again.

After a short while, the bell rang letting me know that their food was ready and I walked back to retrieve it. I placed it before them and watched them rub their hands together in unison in search of something, ANYTHING, wrong. They found nothing. But I knew it was only a matter of time before their other sense, the sense of taste, stepped in to make sight’s failed point.

I went to give table 3 their check, turn over some mimosas to table 6 and serve food to table 10. TEMPER then called me over.

Yeah, is there any way I can get grits instead of this sausage? It’s too hard and chewy and dry. I don’t like it.

I went back to the kitchen to check. They agreed because they knew exactly whom I was dealing with. I went back to share the good news.

Yes, we’ll do that for you.

MENTAL began to speak again.

Can you take this away? We don’t want it here.

I looked down at her napkin. There, sitting like a lifeless turd, was the slab of sausage.

O.K.

Yeah, just get rid of it.

He handed me the turd-sausage and I tossed it into the trashcan.

After I served them their grits, I totaled up their bill and left them be for a while. Why bother making sure they were all right when I knew that NOTHING would make them feel all right? Plus, I had seen larger tips inside hidden Easter eggs.

The bartender on duty called me over to make sure everything was O.K.

What’s going on with those two?

I told her about the draft, the free-range eggs, the free-swimming fishes, and then the freeing of the meat-turd. The bartender rolled her eyes.

Why even bother coming out?

My thoughts exactly.

Finally, I was finished with their table. I put down the bill and walked into the kitchen to check on other things. As I walked back from the kitchen, I noticed that MENTAL was hand-rolling a cigarette. Silently, I judged.

You see, apparently, in Mental’s world, fishes need to swim freely and in iceless water. Chickens need to give birth on expansive land surrounded by cows that gave off nothing but 2% milk. Imperfect sausage patties are sent flying though the air on a white napkin into a trashcan. Drafts due in from Mother Nature aren’t welcome at all. But she can pollute the world with her second hand smoke and her cigarette butts just as long as her tobacco was raised free-range.

Seriously. I absolutely do not see the need for mid-sized spoons that aren’t big enough to be deemed as “Serving Spoons” and at the same time are way too bulky and wide to be considered face-feeding spoons. Why bother? Aren’t the average sized feeding spoons good enough?

I told Toby Joe I plan on throwing these oversized spoons out today. I’m sick of their unnecessary girth. I don’t want the metal to touch both my inner cheeks at the same time while I’m desperately trying to kill my low blood-sugar induced shakes by shoveling as much yogurt into my fat face as quickly as possible.

I hate them. But he has requested I hide them instead. Where does one hide big spoons?

Toby Joe and I have been pretty busy lately. It’s a good kind of busy, but it’s a busy nonetheless. Between the paying jobs we have had to complete, Toby’s full-time job and my half-assed bartending/waitressing attempt, we’re diligently working to complete Self-Portrait Day, which will be pushed live this Thursday, February 24th at 9 a.m. Today, I feel compelled to give some updates on SPD’s (which sounds a little like a venereal disease) development. (For those of you who missed the first day, it can be seen by clicking here.)

Toby Joe has been working on the backend/database design since last Wednesday when we realized how many people were interested in this little monster. Within the first two hours of its semi-launch, I had received nearly a hundred requests to be featured on launch day this Thursday. Even after that day filled up entirely, the emails and requests kept rolling in. At first, I was manually sending email in response. Later, I began an auto-reply letting people know what day they would be featured and what it was we were trying to accomplish with the site. Basically, we pulled out the roll of Internet duct-tape and went to town on our idea in order to hold it together long enough to figure out what it was we needed to do.

As spots began to fill up, Heather Champ, creator of The Mirror Project, emailed me with suggestions and to personally congratulate us. I thanked her as much as one can through an email (I’m not even close to finished yet, however. Heather hasn’t heard the last of my praises.) While she was giving me suggestions, Brandon put a link up over on photoblogs. Countless others added a link to their Web site as well. And still others linked to our SPD banner which has been so helpful. (I am still trying to personally thank each and every one one of you. If I can find you and if the time holds up.) Before we knew what was happening, the email I had been receiving doubled. It was then we realized we had a bit of a situation.

It became pretty clear to me right away that if we were to take subscriptions (for lack of a better word) via email, before you knew it, we’d be booked up solid through the rest of year. After all, 21 people isn’t a lot of people per week, and given the response we were receiving, filling up for at least half a year wasn’t necessarily that hard to imagine. Both Toby and I went back to thinking. I emailed Amanda B. over at VeryZen asking for her opinion. After all, she was the catalyst for SPD’s creation. Our biggest question was about submissions. Should we close the submission process until we’re live? Should we begin to handpick people based on their images? Should we open a window each week enabling a first-come, first-serve situation? Or should we up the number of people? (Which I have been vehemently against because I feel that not only will it make the homepage way too large, but who really wants to sift through more than about 25 faces at one time? Though, I am still open to suggestions. How many is too many? Someone on a dial-up might have different ideas than someone on a T1 or DSL.) Our other option, should the interest continue like this, is to update the site twice a week instead of once a week. That way, we enable more folks to be seen but still keeping faces there for at least three days at a time. (This is the option I am leaning more towards. Especially since EVERYONE’S portrait remains on the site until I drop dead, or the site does. Our archive section has been tediously designed and structured to make it readily available and easily navigated. Hopefully, it too will push live on Thursday.)

But before everything became too unruly and therefore out of our reach, we were forced to shut down email submissions as long as Toby Joe continued building the back-end. The system (which I have seen working as of last night.) enables people to answer all five questions and captures the data they themselves input. It ALSO lets them make edits to their answers should they wish to.

PHP and my husband are two of the most amazing things on earth. It’s no wonder how he wrote a book on it. (That’s my personal addition to this rather tedious post.)

While he was building out the brains, I was trying hard to design something that would work well using CSS and XHTML. This has been quite the learning experience for me. Let me tell you.

We’re still very open to taking suggestions. We have received numerous thoughtful ideas already and are trying to include them in our build as we continue on after it launches. For now, we’re trying to get the basics completed: Build the back-end so it actually works, design the site so it doesn’t annoy people, write copy without having errors and grammar mistakes all over the page, and thank those who have helped us through this whirlwind of a week. I will tell you one thing. This is the absolute last time I try and design a Web site, get sick and start a bartending job all in the same week.

I would like to take a moment to publicly thank Toby Joe. While he might know how much I adore him through the praise I sing him daily about how thankful I am for having him take this on so quickly (and for FREE, mind you) I need to say it on here as well. Thank you, Toby Joe, for doing this. You are a wizard. Or, as Amanda B. might say, “You are Spiderman.” I hope that it becomes something we’re proud of. I hope that it enables folks to discover new faces and help them to have their voices heard and images seen.

We are both really excited about this adventure and I hope others are as well. Please, if anyone has anymore suggestions, feel free to drop me a line at michele at this domain dot com or (if it’s tech-related) give Toby Joe a shout at SPD at Toby Joe dot com. Or, feel free to leave a comment here as well. Thank you.

My husband, Toby Joe, has joined Ian over at Fifty Millimeter. He’s off to a most excellent start regarding the subject matter, wouldn’t you agree?

Just kidding.

Toby thinks it’s entirely too funny that I have to tend bar tomorrow and I have no idea how to pour anything but a beer, a vodka orange, and a glass of wine.

My experience in bartending took place in sunny Manchester, England over 10 years ago. While I attended a class on how to hand-pull a pint of beer, I never made more than one mixed drink while I worked there. The drink I did mix was a simple vodka orange and I served it to none other than Richard Ashcroft of the Verve. (Who, at that point in time, I was obsessed with in that Nicole Kidman sort of way.)

Serving booze in Manchester was really simple. First of all, no one really ordered it. Manchunians liked their beer, snakebite, snakebite and black, and black and tan. If someone did order a shot of booze, the government made it impossible to screw up (at least where I worked). Every bottle was hung upside down behind the bar. There were plastic serving nozzles attached to each bottle neck. When someone ordered a shot, you took the glass, put it beneath the plastic server and then lightly pushed the glass upward. The regulated amount of booze dropped into the glass below. And it cost a bloody fortune, which is probably why no one really ordered it.

I think I served a few ignorant American tourists shots of Jagermeister and maybe one or two shots of vodka in all the time I worked there. It just didn’t happen very often.

Last night, while we were seeing Gerry into 34, Toby kept quizzing me on drinks.

Manhattan!

Ummmm, Makers and a cherry?

You’re so dead. Margarita? How about a Cosmo? You know how to make a Cosmo, right?

I don’t want to play this game any longer.

You’re dead.

I can hand pull a wicked pint of beer, but I haven’t the slightest idea what goes into a Fuzzy Navel.

What’s your poison?

For those of you looking for the first Self-Portrait Day go here. Over the next week, what you see there will move to here. The response has been wonderful. Thank you. I hope this will enable more people to be seen and see. That is our goal.

(This will remain up top until the site is pushed live and the friendly faces found there move to their proper home.)

Front:

Back:

I have issues. Must. Work.

The first time I ever heard of the band Soundgarden, I was 15 and dating a boy who was way too old for me. He was sort of a moron. But I only figured that out in retrospect. Skinny 15 year old girls aren’t the sharpest breed. He used to play me music. And while he introduced me to some of the absolute foundations of rock ‘n roll, he also managed to squeeze out some crap.

I won’t go in to naming all the crap because I am sure that someone reading this will happen to ADORE one of the bands I call “crap” and I don’t make it a habit out of consciously hurting people’s feelings especially by referring to their taste as “crap”. Just take my word for it, it was crap.

One day, we were in his room and he put in a new c.d. he had been listening to on repeat. It was called “Louder than Love” by a band called Soundgarden. He wanted me to hear one very important song called Big Dumb Sex.

The lyrics went like this:

• Hey I know what to do
• I’m gonna fck fck fck fck you
• Fck you
• Ya I know what to do
• I’m gonna fck fck fck fck you
• Fck you I’m gonna

Charming, I know.

After the man on the c.d. stopped jumping the shark, he asked me what I thought of this most excellent, modest tune. I was appalled. I won’t lie. I thought it was by far one of the dumbest songs I have ever had to sit through. How could anyone choose to listen to this song over and over and over again? And so I sat through it a few more times. And I told him what I thought about it.

This song is rad!

I know! I love it!

And that was the first time I had ever heard Soundgarden.

Tomorrow, I start working at a local bar here in Brooklyn. While I’m excited about the adventure, I’m sick and am hoping for some kind of miracle to happen in the next couple of hours so I don’t have to deal with feeling this way while serving waffles to hungover, fuzzy-teethed, Williamsburg hipsters.

I have to be there by 10 a.m. tomorrow morning where I will follow Chris Cornell’s little brother around asking questions (should I have any) and taking orders (should he have any).

When we were there the other night touching base with the owner about some design work I’ve been working on, she introduced me to Chris Cornell’s little brother (who I will now refer to as CCLB because I’d rather not use his real name). Only she didn’t tell me he was CCLB. Instead she just introduced me to him as “This is the guy you’re going to work with on Saturday.” CCLB was wearing a red shirt that read:

CHICK MAGNET

Just when I was about to display the word ARROGANT onto the inside of my skull, the owner whispered something to me.

I made him wear that shirt, isn’t that funny?

It really was funny.

Later, she told me that he was CCLB and that he doesn’t really like it when people bring it up so it’s best NOT to say things like “Hey, you look familiar. Are you Chris Cornell’s little brother?” It’s best not to taunt CCLB. It’s not his fault his brother writes presumptuous songs about copulation.

It’s a good thing my tourettes doesn’t recognize Soundgarden lyrics. Because I can only imagine how tomorrow would play out for us both. Now, if only I can shake my Jesus Christ pose so I don’t outshine him. And I really need to do something about this cold and all the runny face pollution. And perhaps I’ll let him deal with all the spoons.

For those of you looking for the first Self-Portrait Day go here. Over the next week, what you see there will move to here. The response has been wonderful. Thank you. I hope this will enable more people to be seen and see. That is our goal.

(This will remain up top until the site is pushed live and the friendly faces found there move to their proper home.)

Ticketmaster emails me to tell me things like:

Don’t miss Kelly Clarkson!

And I’m left wondering if Ticketmaster actually knows me at all. Although, there was that one time Sir Ticketmaster wrote and said:

Don’t miss Nick Cave!

And I was all, “Holy shit! Nick Cave is playing!?” And I purchased two tickets. Sometimes, the master is dead-on.

(Deep thoughts from an evening mihow.)

If there is a God, he’s either heartless or he has a sick sense of humor (literally). About two weeks ago, Toby and I decided to dump an excessive amount of red wine into our trash chutes, right after consuming a meal made up of entirely mac and cheese and crab cakes. We were out with friends of ours, Jon and Lindsay. It was one of those evenings where as long as the conversation was good, the wine was its chaser.

After we finished our meal at Dumont we headed over to Daddy’s to meet a couple of other friends for a few more drinks. Because, what we needed were more drinks at 10:30 at night on a Saturday^

There, we drank more wine and beer and booze. By midnight, I could barely walk. Not only was I drunk, but I was also dead-tired from walking around Manhattan all day with Toby Joe. I wanted to go home. We pulled a French exit from the bar just after midnight and stumbled under the BQE towards our house. Daddy’s is only about 5 or 6 blocks from home. It was the longest trek I have ever made.

Just like any good gal drunk, I made time for a few phone calls that I don’t remember. You know, the type of call where at some point during the following day you get a message from someone and it goes something like this:

HEY MICHELE! Oh my goodness! It was so nice to hear your voice! I’m still in LA and I still date Jonathan. He’s a professional bowler now and we have three pugs and a cactus. I still drive that car! It’s really warm here. Call me back!

It was just that kind of a night, a night that held those kind of calls.

By the next morning, I could barely move. (Surprise, surprise, I know.) I was sick. I threw up a few times. I crawled back to bed where I stayed until Monday, basically. It was the worst weekend ever. Even Desperate Housewives was a rerun.

That Sunday evening, while making hot tea and moping around the kitchen, I told Toby that I was tired of feeling sick and sick of feeling tired. I told him I no longer wanted to sway home at night beneath the underbelly of the BQE making phone calls to people I haven’t spoken to in 5+ years. Most importantly, I was tired of wasting my time. I was tired of wasting our time.

I have gone through something like this before. (I even wrote about it.) I have gotten to that point where I just throw in the towel. Usually it’s right after realizing that I just can’t seem to stop once I get started on the stuff. It’s not that I can’t get by without it, that’s just not the case. It’s that once I’m with it, I don’t want to stop being with it. That is, up until it sucker-punches me the following day. (Bitch.)

And I do this with simply everything. I do it with people, certain foods (which are either new to me entirely, or are new to me because enough time has passed), hobbies, writing, blogging; I do it with everything. Even booze.

So, we stopped drinking (again). Basically, I replaced the phrase “going-out” with “gym-time”. And the changes have been interesting. (This is the point in the story where my actual reason for writing begins.)

Several months ago, while we were still living in San Francisco, I wrote about a skin problem I was having. It tore my shins up for months. Some days, the pain and itch was so awful I couldn’t stop scratching them. As a result, they would turn red and bleed. It was horrible. I kept thinking that it was because I turned 30 and I had too many neuroses growing up. I thought there had to be some cream that would help. DonaldEugene even sent me a replacement box of Buttpaste because I basically inhaled the first one. It was an ugly time. My legs were ugly. I was ugly. I couldn’t shave. And I was living someplace I didn’t know. Things weren’t going very well for me back then, not well at all.

I tried everything. I talked to people about the problem. I even left messages on internet message boards in search of answers. (If you know me at all, you’ll know that this pretty much sums up just how desperate I was.) My friend, Dee, helped me to feel more normal again. And a lot of regulars from here were helpful as well. But nothing worked. My legs just kept on erupting.

Last Friday, almost a week after we had stopped drinking booze, I was sitting around watching yet another Law and Order, when I noticed something. Rather, I noticed the lack of something. My legs hadn’t itched in days. I pulled up my pajama pants and began to taunt them a little bit. Usually, if I even so much as touched them lightly, they would start to itch. But they didn’t this time. Were they finally, after a year of severe annoyance, getting better?

Yes, they were. My shins no longer itched. But what I don’t know yet is why? Is it because now that I’m going to the gym every day, I shower twice a day and moisturize excessively, more so than I ever had in the past? Is it because I am drinking more water? Or, is it that I’m allergic to sulfites in red wine? Am I allergic to alcohol in general? Because that possibility scares me a little bit.

Either way, up until I got sick, I hadn’t felt this good in ages. (I guess that was the incentive I was looking for.) I run at least 3 miles a day and the pace in which I accomplish my daily goal gets faster every day. I lift for a little bit, but I am weak, so that doesn’t last very long. And I bike for 7 – 10 miles a day. But just when I thought I was out in the clear, I get the worst cold I have had in years. And that is why God is laughing.

I’m writing today for a few reasons. First, I needed to be reminded about how good I have felt recently especially since I am so very sick today. And the mountain of used tissues currently sitting on my desk gets taller and taller by the minute, adding to the daunting climb I must make in order to get out the door. I’m also writing because sometimes it helps to say things out loud if even on here, even if no one made it this far. Most importantly, I am hoping that I won’t look back on this post in a month, three months, a year from now and say, “Why did you stop taking care of yourself?” (Again.)

I wish I could be one of those people who enjoys something just a little bit. Even when I’m sick I take it to an extreme. I need to work with this word, reservation. I need to work on my pace. And I needed to tell you this. (Again.)

For those of you looking for the first Self-Portrait Day go here. Over the next week, what you see there will move to here. The response has been wonderful. Thank you. I hope this will enable more people to be seen and see. That is our goal.

Next week’s version of Self-Portrait Day will fall on a Thursday. And unless something remarkable happens, that day will remain on a Thursday. The reason is, is because yours truly picked up a Tuesday night bartending/ waitressing shift here in good old Williamsburg, Brooklyn. That’s right, I’m designer by day, waitress/bartender by night. And while I’d like to think I have it in me to upload 20 photos everyday after waiting on people, I know that’s just not the case. That said, it will move to Thursday mornings at 9 a.m.

Also, a few people didn’t send me their photographs in time which is why there are only 15 featured above. But that’s O.K. because 15 took me long enough to prepare. Next week, I will have all the kinks worked out. (I hope).

Please, feel free to send me feedback and/or comments. I am more than happy to take any suggestions.

Hello! Welcome to the first ever Self-Portrait Day! The portraits below are featured in the order in which I received them. The individuals featured below had to answer the following five questions.

• 1). What is your first name?
• 2). Where do you live?
• 3). Where were you when you first discovered the Internet and how old were you at the time?
• 4).What is your favorite sandwich.
• 5). “On a Sunday I can be found ____.”

(Click at your own risk.)

• 1. Lana
• 2. Ottawa, Ontario
• 3. Charlottetown, Holland College computer camp (stop laughing). We sent “email” from one side of the classroom to the other. I must have been about 11… it’s a little foggy.
• 4. Sandwich: Fresh brie, tomato and basil on a baguette. Delicious.
• 5. On a Sunday evening, I’m likely cooking dinner and pretending that Monday doesn’t exist.

• 1). Dave
• 2). Minneapolis
• 3). At work, I was 27.
• 4). Greek chicken sandwich at Champps.
• 5). On a Sunday evening I can be found on the couch, watching Extreme Makeover Home Edition.

• 1. Danielle
• 2. In a lovely home with my hubby and cat, half-way between Boston, MA and Providence, RI.
• 3.In a computer lab at my high school; I was 17.
• 4. I have so many that I love, but I guess my favorite is a spicy sausage with yellow mustard (Hot Links by Johnsonville).
• 5. On Sunday evening I am sitting on my corner of the couch (see photo), watching 60 Minutes and American Dreams and looking at blogs during the muted commercials.

• 1). Colleen
• 2). NJ
• 3). I was 16 or 17, in my friend’s basement, where her 14-year-old genius brother was basically chatting on-line. It was 1985 or thereabouts. I was amazed. (I dated him when he turned 21; he was a student at Stevens. It’s all true.)
• 4). Prosciuitto, sundried tomato, fresh basil and fresh mozzarella on a nice crusty bread. Maybe a bit of balsalmic vinegar in there, too.
• 5). On a Sunday evening I can be found in the bathroom, bathing three small boys.

• 1). Sharlene
• 2). Calgary, Alberta, Canada
• 3). Way back in 1991 on the ground floor of the library at the University of Calgary. I would have been 20 at the time. I have known of its existance for much longer because I grew up in a computer savvy environment.
• 4). It’s a toss up between Lox and Cream Cheese and an Italian Meat Sandwich. I am very much a meat sandwich person.
• 5). On a Sunday evening I can be found changing diapers.

• 1). Megan
• 2). Minneapolis, MN
• 3). I discovered the internet when I was 17 and in high school. I had a computer teacher who taught me and the rest of my classmates the ropes.
• 4). BLT
• 5). On a Sunday I can be found either driving around being the home detention lady, OR relaxing with my kittens in front of the TV, probably with a book nearby. It depends on the Sunday.

• 1). Spoonleg
• 2). Tejas
• 3). When I was thirteen years old my best friend’s parents bought a new computer and we convinced them to let us get on the internet. The first place we ended up was a Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual/Transvestite chatroom.
• 4). Orphans.
• 5). On a Sunday evening I can be found pistol-whipping my defenseless elderly patients into submission.

• 1). Amanda
• 2). Mississippi
• 3).I discovered the internet in my dad’s office when I was about 10. I played some game…maybe Infidel, with a group from my home town. It was cool.
• 4).My favorite sandwhich is a Sting, Stewart Copeland, Andy Summers sandwhich. It’s called The Police. (get with it Sting)
• 5). On Sunday evening I can be found on the couch watching t.v. with Husbando.

• 1) Carol
• 2) Georgia
• 3) I was working as an art director in Boston. I guess I was about 26?
• 4) Peanut Butter and Jelly
• 5) On Sunday evening I can be found sitting by the fire with my husband on our bearskin rug feeding each other cheese grits. Or, ignoring my husband and two kids so I can read blogs.

• 1). robyn
• 2). Ottawa, Ontario
• 3). I was 14 and in high school. My computer studies teacher decided that instead of word processing, we were going to do something WAY more cool and learn how to make “web pages” for the “World Wide Web”. At the time, I thought he was crazy, but now I probably owe that man a drink.
• 4). Avocado, turkey, tzatziki, sprouts, cucumber and monterey jack on pumpernickel.
• 5). On a Sunday evening I can be found working. Curled up reading. At my parents. In my studio being crafty. Playing my bass.

• 1). Parajo Loco
• 2). mostly in my nest
• 3). in a dorm room- 18
• 4). grilled muenster cheese
• 5). On a Sunday evening I can be found sitting on the couch, rubbing my sweeties feet and eating dinner in front of the television (when I’m not fighting crime or practicing my wrestling moves)

• 1. Missy. Or in some circles, “Misdemeanor”.
• 2. Washington, DC
• 3. 1994. I was 22, and the only people I knew who used email were one of my econ professors & another economics student. My brother later introduced me to the ISCA BBS, where I would spend many hours (years) discussing nothing (which is to say, movies, tv, politics, and other stuff) with a bunch of strangers. I also worked for another professor doing research on baseball salaries. After countless hours in the dungeon of King Library looking at years of back-issues of Sports Illustrated and Baseball Digest on microfilm, another professor suggested I try finding data on “the internet”. Needless to say, in 1994, I was not successful. (I would also like to add that the shirt I am wearing in this photo dates back nearly to the days of my introduction to Mosaic & the world wide web. See how I managed to tie everything together? If only I had a sandwich in my free hand.)
• 4. I love sandwiches and to choose one would do a disservice to all other sandwiches. But, I have been known to regularly visit a simple turkey w/ fresh mozzarella & spicy mustard on a (fatty) croissant. I like saying “cwuh-SENH”. Cheesesteaks are also good. If they stop the heart, then I will eat them. Often.
• 5. On Sunday evenings I can be found finishing (or cheating on) the Sunday NYT crossword.

My name is Robert Evans. I am a bigtime hollwood filmmaker. I am also a pole dancer. My picture was taken by a crappy camera phone. My favorite sandwich is really good.

(“Robert” cheated. He will be publicly flogged for doing so, while hanging from that pole.)

• 1). Cathy
• 2). San Francisco
• 3). In Atlanta Georgia, at my then-boyfriend, now husband’s apartment. I think I was 23 at the time.
• 4). Ooh this is hard… I like veggie burgers from the Burgermeister but then I also like making tomato, sprout, avocado, Havarti cheese and mustard sandwiches. Then in my pre-vegetarian days, I lived for Reuben sandwiches.
• 5). On a Sunday evening I can be found doing anything but my homework for the next day’s class.

• 1).Dagny
• 2). Mifflinburg, PA
• 3). 1992, 28 y.o.
• 4). Turkey with brie, cranberry chutney and sage mayo on panini
• 5). On a Sunday evening I can be found blogging, or doing pottery .

• 1). Erin (aka Ern)
• 2). Southern California
• 3). Before I went to college in ‘96, I asked my only friend with internet access to show me the ropes. (Her dad is a rocket scientist, so they had all the hookups!)
• 4). Leftover turkey with cream cheese and cranberry sauce and sprouts. MMM.
• 5). Usually sacked out in the living room with my husband and the animals. Watching TV, studying, or on the ‘net!

If you want to be a part of future Self-Portrait Days, please visit us at www.selfportraitday.com and let us know! The site will launch entirely next Thursday at 9 a.m. EST.

This Wednesday will mark the first ever Self Portrait Day at mihow.com. Due to the overwhelming response, Toby Joe and I have decided to launch a new sit called

::drum roll::

www.selfportraitday.com!

Tomorrow, I will be launching this week’s self-portraits here. Considering the idea came about on Friday of last week over at Amanda B’s Web site, www.selfportraitday.com won’t be ready until next week’s launch. At that time, everything (including this week’s submissions) will move over to the new url.

HOW IT WORKS.

Every week up to 20 people can submit self-portraits of themselves and answer five pre-determined questions. I will post each one of them each Thursday morning by 9 a.m. EST. There will be one image (medium is up to the person’s discretion) as well as link to each person’s site (should they have one) and the answer to each of the five questions we will send to you if you’re interested.

INTERESTED?

For those of you who wish to be a part of the next Self Portrait Day, please send me an email (michele at this domain dot com) that includes your name and your url (if you have one, they are by no means required). I will then reply with the five questions you must answer as well as a list of size requirements. It is capped at 20 people, I have received several since yesterday’s announcement, so don’t delay!

Thank you! I hope this ends up becoming an excellent way for people to discover new faces.

YOU CAN HELP!

If you like what you see and you’d like to help get the word out, please download the following GIF banner and put it somewhere on your site (if even just for a day) and have it link to the URL below.

http://www.mihow.com/?post_id=3334

(The above link will change once the site parks. In other words, geek speak for “turns on already.”)

In loving memory of Rachel Galler.

This Wednesday will mark the first ever Self Portrait Day at mihow.com.

20 people will be submitting self-portraits of themselves and answering five questions. I will post each one of them this Wednesday morning by 9 a.m. EST as well as link to each person’s site (should they have one).

For those of you who wish to be a part of the next Self Portrait Day, please send me an email (michele at this domain dot com) that includes your name and your url (if you have one, but, by no means, are required). It is capped at 20 people, so don’t delay!

Thank you! I hope this ends up being an excellent way for people to discover new faces.

On Saturday, after checking out The Gates and having brunch at Vera Drake at the Second Avenue movie theater in Manhattan. I have always been a fan of Mike Leigh movies. As a matter of fact, for a long time during college the movie SCREAMING at one another, while I try and figure out what it is they’re saying. Leigh manages to depress you a little bit, and then a little bit more, until finally, he hurls you into a brick wall leaving you feeling sweaty, tired, alive and totally dead.

But Vera Drake was different.

All of my life I have had a fondness to films about “fallen heros”. (That’s a term I came up with years ago after falling in love with Luke. I have no idea if it even makes any sense.) From Cool Hand Luke to ;fc=1;ft=20;fm=1” target=”_blank”>The Pledge all the way to Jennifer Jason Leigh’s character in Last Exit to Brooklyn, I have always had a fondness for the guy (or gal) down on their luck. They’re guilty, yet in the end they are a hero in their own, albeit small, world.

Vera Drake was another one of the fallen hero’s. While she is a mother and a loving wife, she secretly performs illegal abortions on women who are in trouble. Yet somehow, in the end, you find yourself empathizing with her. Mike Leigh parallels the “legal” abortion (that which uses metal objects, and given by men who charge women a very large amount of money) with that of Vera Drake’s soapy water and a syringe to which she is giving for free. There is the struggle between classes and personal beliefs. And in the end, while you’re not scraping your remains from a brick wall with spatula, you’re still left feeling kind of wasted.

I can’t do this film justice. I can’t find the words to explain just how powerful of a performance Imelda Staunton gives but I will say that the movie has haunted me for numerous seconds within every hour since the credits stopped.

The back-beat of the film makes a statement in comparing what went on in the 1950s to what could happen present day should abortion become illegal. One is haunted with the knowledge that in all likelihood said abortions will not be given by a kind woman who uses a fairly painless and safe method to do so.

In a nutshell, it’s not uplifting, but it is sure worth seeing.

This weekend marked the opening of The Gates in Central Park. On Saturday, Toby Joe and I got up early to see Christo and Jeanne Claude’s staff let their fabric down. We arrived just after 9 a.m., just in time to find them at the southwestern tip of the park. It was cold and windy but unbelievably sunny. We stepped in with all the cameras, the scarves, the coats, mittens, hats and children and took out our cameras and joined them.

Below, are a few of the photographs I took while there.

(Captions, if any, are below each photograph.)

(Click on each thumbnail to enlarge.)

Walking below them as we entered the park.

A woman poses as her husband takes a picture.

This is what the structures look like before they let the fabric down. One of the staff members uses a tall hook of sorts. Attached to the Gate above, there is an orange string. (Seen ever so slightly in the upper right-hand corner.) They pull the string using the hook and run along beneath the fixture until the fabric unravels and the tub falls to the ground. (The act is sort of like one of those cans of Pilsbury biscuits that scare the shit out of me every time they POP! open. I jump in fright every time.)

Here is one of the staff members getting ready to let one down. (I’ll explain how it works a little bit better a few photos down.)

One of The Gates let down for the very first time.

Here is one falling. The cardboard tube falls to the ground once the fabric is entirely free.

After the fabric falls, another staff member comes by to claim the cardboard roll which falls the ground with a huge “THONK!” It’s best to watch out for any falling cardboard tubes. I hear our lovely Mayor was hit in the head by one. I can’t imagine it feels very nice.

I turned around to get some reactions. This guy was looking at something entirely different. As a matter of fact, he looked kind of lost. Had he not been sharing the moment with a smoke, I may have asked him if he was O.K.

This picture makes me tear up every time I look at it. I’m not sure if it just makes me happy, or if I want to go back to that very moment and give her a HUGE hug. She was alone, standing there smiling. I love this woman.

Here are some of The Gates from afar.

Another onlooker’s reaction. It’s kind of funny how many reactions I caught on camera where the person is looking away from what it is that pulled us from our beds so early on Saturday morning.

A Gate from below. Like I said, it was windy.

For those of you who wish to see a fairly uneventful (nearly) 360º view, I put one together. It can be found here. That’s all I have worth showing right now. I’d love to see/hear from others.

The Gates fabulously documented elsewhere:

Rion.nu | Flickr

Oh, one more thing, HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

Inspired by today’s comments:

Buy your t-shirt today. Hell, buy TWO and throw a Twin Day!

Damn these things are good.

Many years ago, when I was in the 6th grade, I started a trend. I was in the 6th grade. Which would make me about 12. That would make the year 1986.

Our southern middle school was always coming up with “Idea Days”. These days were designed to help make kids come together as one. (It was either that, or to amuse the teachers. I never figured it out.) For example, there may have been “Wear Purple Day” or “Famous Person Day”. Idea Days were invented to keep the playing field level. In reality they made the playing field more like a minefield. Kids all throughout the school were being nailed to the wall and stuck to the ceiling with words like “Loser” and “Freak” and “What were you thinking, Retard?”

Given I answered to those words everyday, I never partook in any Idea Days. That is, up until Twin Day. Twin Day was the day where you were to grab a friend and dress alike. I approached Kerry just after second period and asked her if she wanted to join me as my twin on Twin Day. She agreed and the creative brain wheels were thrust into motion.

But time was of the essence! And I pretty much always wait to the last minute to hop onto any bandwagon. (It’s best to make sure you’re not its only passenger.) I rarely give myself time to plan. I’m just not a planner. I design Halloween costumes the day of. I come up with logos while I’m on the subway. I write posts the moment I get up in the morning, usually without any idea as to what I’m going to say. (Take right now, for example. I have no idea where it is I’ll be taking you. You have no idea where it is I’m taking you. Isn’t it fun? Don’t you feel dirty?)

First, we had to quickly figure out what it was we owned that was similar. Knowing full well our parents wouldn’t agree to invest in our endeavor, we knew we had to use existing apparel. Easy. We had the same pink and white striped shorts made by Esprit. (Actually, I think every girl back then had the same pink and white striped shorts made by Esprit.) But it was the dead of winter, who could possibly be dumb enough to wear shorts to school in the dead of winter?

Next up, came our Jon Bon Jovi T-shirts from the “WE CAME, WE SAW, WE KICKED YOUR ASS” tour. (Incidentally, I would have asked Caryn to join us as well, but her shirt was destroyed by her mother who made her change it to read “WE CAME WE SAW WE KICKED YOUR A88” using a bottle of White Out. Poor girl. I imagine she had to go over it several times given how diluted it was from the tears.) But Kerry and my parents were heathens so our t-shrits remained in tact.

And it absolutely had to have pink socks. Pink socks to match the pink and white striped shorts made my Esprit. I think I actually purchased said pink socks the same day I purchased the pink and white shorts made by Esprit.

Kerry had the pink socks, too. We added the pink socks to the ensemble, the same pink socks, which, if pulled all the way up, would reach one’s thigh. At least our shins and feet would be warm.

There is myth about the south and its winters. Some might say that wintertime in North Carolina isn’t cold. I might say that those people are slightly mad. While it doesn’t get nearly as cold as it does up north, it still gets cold. Sometimes, it even snows. Yes, it snows. And then they shut the southern world down.

On the eve of Twin Day, we tried on our outfits after school. That’s when Kerry decided there was a problem.

You know, I wonder if we’ll be too cold. I mean, I like the shorts and the pink shocks and all, but I just think we’ll be cold.

I hadn’t thought about that.

Oh. Yeah. Good point. You think people will make fun of us for wearing shorts in the dead of winter? I mean, Adam, from down the street does it every day. He wears them to the bus stop and I always think, ‘man, he must be cold.’

Yeah. They’re going to make fun of us.

I heard the wheels kick on again. What to do now? Everything was falling apart right before my eyes. And then I had an idea.

Growing up as a skier has its benefits. Besides the number of Dickie Turtle Necks I was forced to wear throughout childhood, I was also forced to wear long underwear. All the time. I wore long underwear to school. I wore it skiing, sledding, to bed, camping, in the van, in the station wagon, at grandma’s house. My brothers and I wore long underwear pretty much everywhere. We wore underwhere everywear. And it always smelled like cedar. And they were usually only new for my oldest brother, Rob.

LONG UNDERWEAR!!!!

I screamed this a bit too excitedly. It’s rare someone gets excited over long underwear. But I was excited.

In the end, Kerry and I wore long underwear under pink and white striped shorts made by Esprit. The long underwear was then tucked into pink socks. We wore black converse on our feet. We wore them to accentuate the Bon Jovi, “WE CAME, WE SAW, WE KICKED YOUR ASS” tour t-shirt (which was black as well.) Under the t-shirt came some more long underwear. We looked like absolutely nothing but weird. We did pull of weird well. And if that wasn’t strange enough, we topped the outfit with a cherry by putting our into two pigtails.

And we went to school. And everyone stared.

What is it you’re supposed to be? Exactly?

Twins. Ummm like, no dur.

Prior Twin Day, I hadn’t ever seen anyone wear long underwear under much of anything (including ripped jeans which became like all the rage a few years later). That said, I fueled the nation’s hippies and enabled folks to wear shorts all year round. I started a fad for hippies everywhere. I started the long underwear fad. I was that cool.

I have told this story numerous times to Toby. Well, the second, third and fourth time was more like a summary. And each time he sort of looks at me funny. And he’ll either laugh or shake his head and continue with whatever it was he was doing before the interruption.

Remember the time I invented that fad of wearing long underwear under one’s clothing? I never got credit for that.

Last night, Toby looked up from his computer and instead of looking right back down again by screwing his head back in place with a shake, it looked as if he was finally going to give me the recognition I have always deserved. For a split second, I was elated.

You know, usually when people have delusions of grandeur at least it’s something good.

Maybe I should telling people about the time I came up with that dance.

Images de la TobyJoe. This is print, baby. Ain’t none of that digital shit I usually subject everyone to. (Tho, I’d like to think I taught him everything he knows about print. Yeah, right.)

Me. Probably looking over a menu.

A snow dog!

The following were taken on our drive back east.

Our very own Missy has an interview today in Manhattan. Oh, how I selfishly want her to move here.

I called her last night to wish her the best of luck and to ask her if she was nervous. (After all, she has an 8 hour meeting with like 400 people. O.K., I’m exaggerating a bit.) She told me that she was but that she was excited as well.

In honor of her, I am posting the above photograph (which I love) that Toby took while she was visiting us a few weeks back. (Knock ‘em dead, Missy!)

A week ago I wrote about a show I went to at South Paw in Brooklyn. There, Kevin Devine played an acoustic set. He played songs from hew new C.D. (due to hit stores in May) as well as some older songs. At times it was just him, at times Margaret White joined him, and for a few songs, a woman (whose name escapes me) sang back-up. I absolutely love his music. He’s even better live. And quite honestly, I’m curious to hear what others will have to say.

Today, I want to share a few of his songs with you. As mentioned earlier, the C.D. I’m pulling them from isn’t out until May, so you can all feel special that you’re hearing it before everyone else. And though this first one isn’t my absolute favorite (maybe second) off of the new C.D. it has single written all over it.

Without further ado, I give you a taste of Kevin (Mac users: “Control click/Download Linked File As” to download. PC users, I can’t help you. But maybe someone else can.)

And for those of you who want something political here is another one. And that one is probably my favorite. But maybe that’s because of the live performance.

I really hope I don’t get arrested for this. And let’s hope my bandwidth can handle it as well.

(P.S. I will be removing these end of the day tomorrow.)

The cupcakes have been baked.

They await icing.

I love cupcakes.

I love the Wizard of Oz.

I get email from from folks I haven’t ever met. I get some from folks I have met. And I get some from folks I have known all of my life. For some reason, some people don’t like to post comments. I can totally understand that. Up until I had this stupid blog of my own I was terrified of writing anything on line. (Not that anyone is particularly terrified, I’m just saying, I understand wanting to remind a lurker.) I’m all for you lurkers—you silly, dirty lurkers.

But sometimes I get email and stuff from people who actually have something informative to say. So I am forced to post their comment in hopes that other lurkers and folks who comment might benefit from their knowledge as I tend to vomit up emotional gibberish much of the time.

That said, without further ado, I give you an email from anonymous person 1,452.

---

I was going to post this in the comments, but it’s too long…

Hey I actually know a little about this. I had a personal trainer a few years ago for about 3 months and he explained this to me. I did a recent brush up because _ and I are both back at the gym trying to get into shape. So here’s the deal:

Heart Rates vary by age and fitness level and from formula to formula, but here’s a link to one that is pretty accurate. (Tip – use the average 72 for “Resting HR”)

There are 3 heart rate zones based on your max heart rate:

• a) 60-75% of your max is the FAT BURNING ZONE that targets losing fat/weight (your 151 rate) because you can work longer and more efficiently work those muscles and lose the fat. There is plenty of oxygen getting to those muscles and it allows for the extra energy to metabolize the fat.
• b) 75-85% of your max is the CARDIO ZONE that focuses on keeping your heart rate high for a shorter period of time, but increases overall fitness and endurance.
• c) 90% and above is the ANAEROBIC ZONE and this not where you want to be because your muscles can’t get enough oxygen and you are actually doing more harm than good. Although some tout this as being the way to figure out how fit you are, it’s not something you do on a regular basis unless you’re an athlete in training.

I think that pretty much explains what I’ve been taught and read about. I, of course, am not an expert, so trust your own judgement. I honestly don’t think that the “fat burning zone” does anything more than the “cardio zone” because it probably evens out. If you only burn 150 calories versus 300 calories, then I would think that any gain from allowing more oxygen to process the fat will be lost in the fact that you are using more energy in a higher intensity workout. I mean it all comes down to 3500 calories = 1lb of fat and how you get there is doesn’t really matter.

So you can see why I didn’t post this – I write too much :)

---

Clearly, this person is much more qualified to leave comments than I am.

Clean your screen for free. click here This is up there with the cutest thing I’ve ever seen on the internet.

Francisco kicked my ass and it only took him 40 minutes to do so. Last night, I went to NYSC for my first (and maybe last, just kidding!) personal training session. His name is Francisco; he is tall, dark, and training to be a fireperson. He’s also one semester away from graduating with a major in psychology.

First, he asked me a number of questions about myself.

What is it you wish to achieve?

How old are you?

How many days a week do you currently work out?

How much water do you drink? Do you drink alcohol? If so, how much and how often?

What is your diet like? Do you eat enough protein?

Are you on any medications? Do you have any injuries?

And I answered every one of them with more honesty than I use with a doctor.

After he was finished with the questions, he took my blood pressure and my heart rate. Everything seemed pretty O.K. He said it was slow and low. (I think that’s O.K., right? I have been told before, “You have a morning heart rate.” Which I guess translates to, “You have a heart rate of someone who hasn’t been annoyed and stressed out by the perils of commuting and work, yet.” So, yeah. Slow.)

After the numbers were all in, he calculated my ideal hearth rate for burning fat and achieving my best overall cardiovascular workout. And that number was 151. Lately, I have been overdoing it. When I finish jogging and moving slow enough to use the sensors (When one puts ones hands on the sensors while running faster than 3.5 mph, it screams at you: “NOT RECOMMENDED FOR THOSE USING A PACE ABOVE 4 MPH.) the machine spits back something in the area of 170. Francisco asked, “Does this happen immediately? How long does it take to rise that fast?” It takes a half an hour at least. I was told this, too, was O.K.

Basically, if you’re 31 and working your heart at 151, you’re burning fat. If you’re working your heart at 170, you’re working your heart. Or something.

Right now, you’re trying to lose weight so 151 is perfectly fine. When you’re 40, you’ll need to start working your heart more, so you’ll want to work your heart rate higher. What you’re doing is fine, but feel free to slow it down some in order to lose the weight you wish to lose.

After we got all the numbers and answers out of the way (25. 31. 4. Not enough. Not anymore. 0. I eat well. Yes. No. Not really. 71. 151.) I began my training.

Most of the time, the machine a person least likely wants to use, is the one they should use.

I began to think about all the machines and the fact that for the longest time I avoided running. Now, I love it. Well, I love to hate it. I couldn’t think of a machine I might try and avoid.

You might not find that with me, Francisco. I am somewhat masochistic. I enjoy beating myself to shit.

Oh yeah? That’s great!

And then we walked towards the back room. O.K., so I lied. There is actually ONE machine I avoid. And I had totally forgotten about it when I went on and on about how much I enjoy beating myself up. It’s the moving stair machine. NOT the stair master, the OTHER stair machine. The one I see people on and think, “Oh surely they will die soon. Either they’ll have a heart attack or they’ll slip on all that sweat and fall to their death.”

It’s your lucky day!

One of the machines was in use the other was out of order. Francisco told me about it instead.

Then we moved on to the bikes. I rode one for 10 minutes using a program that made sure my heart rate was up to 151 for most of the workout. Five minutes in, I was sweating. It felt wonderful.

We did lunges next. I have seen people do lunges and I have often thought, “That doesn’t look very hard, but I imagine it must be if folks are doing it all the time.” I am here to tell you, they’re really friggin hard. My thighs were singing punk rock songs.

We worked on abs next. I did curls and sit-ups on the mat while he said encouraging things to me.

I KNOW YOU CAN DO SIX MORE! I JUST KNOW IT! OK NOW SIX MORE! SLOWER! COME ON! YOU CAN DO IT!

I thought the vein on the side of my head was going to explode with each lift. And I contemplated kicking Francisco in the face a few times.

I LEFT FRANCISCO! GET AWAY FROM ME, FRANCISCO! FUCKTHISFRANCISCO!

But this man could talk me into anything. (Way to use that degree, Francisco.)

Anyone who has EVER made fun of Pilates is a total ass and can go straight to hell. That said feel free to correct me for any misinformation I am spewing out. Because, there is only so much someone can take in while their doing crunches and contemplating violence.

I have the second half of my training session next week. Then, we’re going to work on upper body strength (which I have little to none of). This whole thing is a ploy so I can guiltlessly consume all the brownies and cupcakes I want.

I’d like to thank all those who wrote and/or left comments on here regarding private health insurance. I think I have better ground to stand on. We’re looking into small business and/or group rates. Someone should be calling me back today to discuss our future options.

Anyway, thanks. The information was much needed and I will try and write all those who emailed thanking them individually.

We saw Fat Pig last night. For those of you who care to read a review, you may do so by clicking here or here.

Overall, they play was as I expected, which is to say wonderful. Helen could win over any man. Throughout the better half of the play, both Toby and I thought to ourselves “She’s not a very big girl.” And I’m guessing the director/playwright did this on purpose. In the last scene, when she’s vulnerable and in her bathing suit, the viewer is forced to figure out just how shallow they really are. It’s not every day a play talks to you.

(Ashlie Atkinson as Helen aka Margaret Thrasher on the Gotham Girls Roller-derby team)

The acting was spot on. But I think Steven Pasquale stole the show. Considering he (from what I have read) had some pretty big shoes to fill. He did a superb job. There were times, while he was on stage, that I forgot I was surrounded by people and in a dark theater on Christopher Street.

That doesn’t mean everyone else wasn’t great, too. Andrew McCarthy (Less than Zero and a dozen of other important 80s films) played Carter. His character reminded me a bit of the (more) male chauvinistic character in In the Company of Men

Jessica Capshaw (The Practice) was pretty good, too. Especially considering it was her first theater performance.

(I wonder how long it will be before the theater gets annoyed that I’m snaking their bandwidth.)

I won’t go into the plot too much on the off chance others reading this will venture out to see it. Instead, I will talk about Lebute. This play took the more (to implement Toby’s word) graceful route compared to Lebute’s other plays. Granted, I haven’t seen them all, but it seemed as that this time around he was trying to actually teach us all something about ourselves. In the past, while watching his movies/plays, I have felt like a voyeur watching one person totally manipulate and (at times) destroy someone else’s life for personal gain of some kind. This time the story wasn’t like that. Instead, you’re left feeling kind of angry with yourself for passing judgment of any kind.

If you’re in the area, go see it before it ends on the 26th.

After we left, we headed around the corner to eat at a swank vegan restaurant called Gobo. There, I had a shot of wheat grass and we consumed a large number of deep fried vegan dumplings, setan nuggets, and tofu chicken. For desert, we had chocolate cake, an excellent way to call it a sweet night.

Tonight (having nothing to do with the play we just saw as I made this appointment prior), I have a date with a personal trainer at the NYSC. And I’m actually nervous about it. I am acting like it’s an interview or that I won’t be able to perform. I asked Toby what it is I should wear, and how long it will take and whether the trainer will abuse me. That said, I’m sure I’ll have a story or two to tell tomorrow.

I really, really must reread what I write on here before pushing it live. Holy errors, mihow.

Independents, students, people who own a business, people who are independently wealthy and therefore need not work, people who freelance, people who contract, how do you pay for and what do you use for health insurance.

I priced health insurance with Blue Cross on Thursday and nearly fell off my chair. The woman actually said to me, “Are you still there? Most people hang up when I say that.”

I now totally understand why there are so many people in this great nation without healthcare. We have healthcare currently, so it’s not a rush, necessarily, but I am curious. Any insightful information would be great because paying 1,015.00 a month on health insurance is totally unfathomable.

P.S. If you’re terrified to leave comments for some reason, you can email me as well. (michele at this domain dot com.)

This weekend, Toby and I went shopping for a much needed desk and a much needed entertainment center. Today, we are without both, but that’s fine because it was beautiful out and we got a lot of exercise. Here are a few images from our weekend.

(Apparently, this sign really has seen a lot of action.)

One of my “not looking through the viewfinder shots” (Ahhhh, those were the old mihow.com days.)

The scariest window display ever. If this doesn’t totally scream “I Do Not.” then I know nothing.

Urant Supplies, indeed.

On Houston, just before Broadway.

After wandering around for hours looking for affordable, non-shaky desks, we met Jon and Lindsay at Dumont for dinner.

Lately, I’ve playing with the manual/RAW setting on my camera. Of course a shutter that remains open for nearly a second will capture an image such as this one.

And this one:

But there they are anyway. Ahhhh, nothing like two really yellow shots.

Later that night, we headed to Daddy’s on Graham avenue and met up with some other friends. Many of us had January birthdays, so we gathered together to celebrate. Here are two images taken right before someone nearly kicked my ass for the flash-usage. :]

Tonight, we’re finally going to see Fat Pig. I ordered the tickets over a month ago and nearly forgot about it. I’m sure I’ll ramble on tomorrow about how good it is. And wouldn’t you know, but the lead is on our friend, Anna’s, roller-derby team. (Which I nearly joined and later chickened out. Maybe next year.)

Our fantabulous friend, Mike Cobra, finished making this video for a couple of blokes out west. Here is the guy behind the beats. And the gent singing is Blake Weirs (aka: Thee Professor aka: the Skullet).

Have you ever looked at something someone you know created and said something like, “holy crap, that is just absolutely amazing?” I’m doing that right now. Damn, he’s good. GO THERE now.

While becoming totally immersed in all the naked magazine ladies, I totally forgot about all the internet ladies.

I give you Sal T. Peter.

And If anyone happens to know what “Straining at Gnats” means, I’ll totally buy you a present. Wager even a guess? Because I have no clue.

It’s not every day a client gives you artwork like this:

and tells you to run with it. I’m designing a valentine’s day invitation advertising a romantic meal for two for a local bar/restaurant here in Brooklyn.

The owner is going to be serving erotic food and sexy deserts. It should be a pretty cool night, actually. (Should any locals wish to attend, send me an email at mihow at this domain dot com and I’ll sign your asses up for some of this:)

I just went ahead and started scanning all of it. Some of it has nothing to do with what the project. Take this one, for example.

And she gave me hundreds of items to work with.

And what is this woman doing to this tiger?

Artwork from the past occasionally blows my mind. One of the things I am working with is a calendar from 1968. It features photo manipulation (obviously done in the darkroom) like I have never seen before. Here, you will see woman with three boobs, boobs that are hanging below their waste, boobs that come from the back, boobs on their butts, boobs with four nipples, boobs all over the place.

I’m trying to figure out what, if anything, we are creating now that people will one day look at and say, “Ummm, what the hell?” Or “That’s totally mind-blowingly kick ass!” Because I can’t think of anything. Maybe I can arrange a photo-shoot with her hot waitstaff and sexy bartenders. Maybe we could hit up the Staten Island construction crew and borrow some of their gear.

I’m in love with this stuff. Next up, we’re creating menus. I might take something from an old TOC like this:

Oh, are the creative juices ever flowing. (That’s not a euphemism.)

Anyway, if you’re out there today and bored, I’d love to hear what others have seen, present day, that might one day be considered as intriguing as what was being created 40+ years ago. I am totally digging this stuff. Introduce me to exciting new artwork. Introduce me to the bizarre, the overlooked, the weird. I’m all eyes today.

I love this. I love the song. I love the Postal Service. I love the video. I love.

(Directed by Jared Hess of Napoleon Dynamite).

Yesterday, as I was drifting off to sleep, I came up with what I deemed at the time as the most brilliant idea I have had ever. If this idea were being graded, I would have received an A.

A few days ago, I was a part of yet another internet disturbance. It wasn’t that I instigated it, quite the contrary. But either way I was left feeling kinda bad yet again. (There should really be a new word surrounding this phenomenon. But I need to keep my priorities in order. And today, it’s all about The Mark.) Basically, someone said something, I said something back and then someone else said something written entirely in ALL CAPS. It was harsh, but sarcastic nonetheless. And while I know that sarcasm does not an attack make, my skin is about as thin and transparent as Paris Hilton when it comes to online bruising; I don’t take to it too well.

On that same day, I was chatting with Toby on AIM and I wrote something sarcastic. He took it as an attack and the next thing you know we’re on the phone apologizing for absolutely nothing. This happens often, I have found. It’s even more annoying now that a lot of human interaction is moving to this thing called the Internet.

Yesterday, I came up with an idea; and that idea spawned the birth of SARCASMARK.

You see, SARCASMARK is a mark one must add to the end of the sentence much like a period (shown here: .), an exclamation point (shown here: !), and a question mark (shown here: ?). It’s a new punctuation mark. I think we’re about due for a new one. At least that’s the state of my Union.

Instantly, I faced a few parameters:

• 1). SARCASMARK must be found on the keyboard.
• 2). SARCASMARK MUST be used anytime something is said in a sarcastic tone while on the internet. There are NO excuses.
• 3). SARCASMARK must be used sparingly. (In other words, none of this !!!!!! LOL!!!!! OMG!!!!!! WTF????? bullshit. Practice some punctuation conservation. I’m trying to kick my comma habit, I ask the same for all you !!!!! lovers out there. Pretend your punctuation resources are limited.)
• 4). SARCASMARK is to be used with no other punctuation. One mark per sentence (see above.)

I hope we’re all on the same page now. So, without further ado, I give you SARCASMARK^

Toby mentioned something about having to say that something is to the somethingth power and then what do you do? But, I mean, really. How often does that happen on the Internet? Maybe somewhere tucked between conversations about your mother’s vagina, the Nikon D70, farting, your very own penis, and how gay people are ruining the world there is room for something like this, but I highly doubt it.

I seriously think this could change the world

I discovered a new blog. It’s called Girl Sets Fire.

I love discovering new blogs written by seemingly sweet people.

This morning, Toby called as he was getting out of the subway.

I was just farted on.

Laughter.