Everyone, go wish Heather a Happy Birthday. To put it simply, I adore Heather Champ. She lives up to her last name. I am glad she kept it.

Today, I must tell one job I am going to stick to another job instead. I went from having little to no options, to having three (if you include the bartending gig as well). Now, I must decide what to do.

The place I started working yesterday was awesome. They’re professional, they’re nice, they’re happy, it’s organized, and I have a view from the 21st floor. What more can one ask for really? Sure, it would be nice to design advertisements for Puma, posters for new movies, brochures for Apple and Adobe, and logos for large corporations. But I’m starting to realize - yes, at age 31 - certain dreams aren’t ever gonna come true. And so I have decided the second best thing to designing what I consider to be the most creative and invigorating of projects is to be happy. And I think this place will make me happy.

I’m going to stick it out and hope there is a fulltime job at the end of this rainbow. They work on a contract basis with everyone at first. The VP told me the percentage of people who aren’t hired after that initial contract is up, is less than 5%. That gives me hope. I might be employed, sweet Internet. And that’s probably the last you’ll hear me talk about this job. It’s unprofessional for me to discuss it.

Today, after I get off, a bunch of us are heading over to FINALLY see the Tim Hawkinson exhibit at the Whitney. When Nico was in town a couple of months ago, she saw it and told us we must go. Finally, we’re going to do that. After that, I think it’s dinner and then (if I can convince him to) Toby joe and I might see a movie. We’ll see. I only just now decided that.

We saw The Interpreter on Sunday and loved it. I highly recommend seeing it before the TV ads totally take away from everything that’s suspenseful and wonderful about it.

This weekend is picture-taking weekend. Come Monday, Toby and i will have numerous new pictures to post all over the Internet. I can’t hardly wait.

From where I am looking, life is pretty damn wonderful. The last time I said that, something horrible happen. Please, just let it be good for a while.

Office windows in New York City open. The office windows in Washington, DC do not. I have noticed this and I’m curious as to why this might be. During the time I spent working in DC, I did not work at one place that had windows which opened. I like knowing I can open windows.

From mine, right now, I can see the Library on Bryant Park as well as the afternoon drinkers at the cafe. I can see construction and blowing tarps. I can see sky. It’s really nice up here. I am so happy to be back in NYC.

I just had to share.

I start a new job today. It’s a temporary situation at first. But I’m really excited about the possibilities. I have my apple ready, my bagged lunch, my trapper keeper and my new outfit. It’s just after 8 a.m. and I’m dousing myself with coffee. I will talk more about the job situation after I figure it out for myself. It was sudden (interviewed yesterday, started today) and my head is still spinning. I’ll say this much, you can’t beat the commute!

More in a few. I do promise this much. In the meantime, check out my flickr account. I finally uploaded images, albeit old images but they’re images nonetheless.

Tonight, we’re seeing Kevin Devine play with Stars at North Sixth.

Again, sorry for the hasty update. I will explain later.

I finally started using my flickr account. I signed up almost a year ago and hadn’t spent more than about 5 minutes there until yesterday. It’s not that I didn’t want to embrace it, it’s that for some reason the management of the site and the way it uses flash turned me off a bit. Now that I’ve spent a little more time getting to know it, I can see the attraction. Yet another thing to become totally addicted to. Man, the internet is evil. :]

I got the contacts/friends thing down. Now, if I could just upload some photos.

Tonight, we’re going to see Damien Jurado at South Paw in Park Slope. I hear the opening act is incredible as well.

And then on Tuesday we see Kevin Devine again with Stars. It’s our week of music it seems, great music, I might add.

Edited to add: I won’t have images of a New York City neighborhood this week because I have several design position interviews lined up and have been working on my portfolio, etc. I had one on last Thursday which went really well and I have one today for a job that I really, really want. That being said, I won’t be able to upload any new pictures until next week. I do apologize and hope that everyone understands. :]

Last week, while bartending, I hooked up my iPod and turned away from the typical angry girl-power stuff and put on a massive Will Oldham compilation instead.

A little while later, two woman stopped in to catch up with one another over a glass of wine. They were my only customers at the time, so I turned the music down so they would not have to scream their stories to one another. About an hour later, one of them walked over to me and asked me what we were listening to. Actually, what she said was, “What is this we’re listening to? It’s absolutely haunting!” (Yes, oh yes it is.)

I knew the answer to her question deserved more than one word. Will Oldham deserves more than that and so did she. So I grabbed my notepad and made a list for her. I told her every project (that I know of) he’s ever been in. I wrote down my favorite albums as well as the one she had just listened to. And I told her about Superwolf a colaboration between Bonne “Prince” Billy and Matt Sweeney and how we were to see them soon. She listened and when I was finished she took the paper from my hand. And I believed her when she said she’d pick some up.

A couple of years ago, while we were still living in DC, we had tickets to see Bonnie Prince Billy at the Black Cat. After all, we missed them the year before while living in New York. I love Will Oldham. I remember first discovering Will Oldham and feeling as if someone let me in on the most wonderful secret.

In spite of the fact I purchased tickets to this sold out show months prior its arrival, we never made it to the Black Cat that night. And Toby and I have both regretted that ever since.

Yesterday, at around 5 p.m. I laid down for a nap. I knew it was the only way I would make it out again for a midnight show at the Bowery Ballroom. I felt like I was in college again. Back then, we would venture out at 10:30 p.m. or later.

At 11 p.m., Toby Joe and I left our apartment and headed into the city to wrap up some two-year old unfinished business with Will Oldham and Matt Sweeney. Today, I am tired but I have the most elegant and memorable alibi.

I started going to the gym again. It’s been a while, as about two months ago I got sick. And then Katrina died. After that, my energy for anything was pretty much zapped. But we started going again. This was after a bike ride that nearly kicked me to the ground, a short one, even.

Every time I go to the gym, I enter armed with incentives. Sometimes, my incentive(s) are simple and other times, they are more complex. (And by complex I mean all over the place, randomly set up just so I can muster the strength to complete my goal.) Some girls come in with bridal magazines. Others think about the Cheetos they had for lunch and how they washed them down with some cake.

On Monday, I went to the gym thinking of Katrina. It’s been months since I’ve really had my heart rate up and considering it was her weak heart that claimed her life; I figured I would run for her, that she would be my incentive. Katrina loved going to the gym. And in my head, since she can no longer do this, I would try and do my best and do it for her. Katrina would become my drive—her heart would. So I ran. I ran and ran and ran for her and then I ran and ran to spite my breasts, my stupid breasts.

It would appear that I forgot my sports bra at home. And I figured it would be OK considering I had a very supportive regular bra on. I was so wrong.

The first half of my run was wonderful. I didn’t become tired. My knee was holding up. When Toby Joe came over to talk to me, I could actually carry on a conversation without panting. It was a great run. (Thank you, Katrina.) About half way through my run, things started to go south. As I sweated more, the fabric became “looser” (that’s really the only way I can describe it). As the fabric became looser, my boobs became freer. They began to bust free (yeah, bust) and that’s when things became ugly.

Instead of stopping the charade, I continued on all the while CURSING at them. (Please excuse my language.)

You stupid fuckers. I hate you. Stop bouncing. I will cut you.

It was as if the twins became human and I was their keeper. I spoke to them as if they were visitors to my body forgetting entirely about the fact that these wicked things really do own me. They make my life a bit harder and I often have no choice but to succumb to them entirely.

And that’s when I entered the ugly cycle of wanting to hate myself. I went from feeling elated that I was equipped with such a positive incentive, to feeling ashamed that I could turn from good thoughts to horrible thoughts so quickly. What an ugly mind.

(Insert more swearing and a lot more personal body hatred.)

I completed my goal and then went to talk to Toby. He was doing some upper body exercises when I interrupted him.

I hate my breasts. I really do. I hate them. I want them gone. Screw shooting up abortion clinics, I am going to gun down women who have breasts enlargements. I hate them, too. Why would a girl add this to herself?

You’re insane. Don’t talk to me, I don’t want people to think I know you.

I laughed.

I’m going to go shower.

And that’s when I realized what I had done to myself.

In the shower, the open blister-like wound was born. As the hot water hit my chest, a blood-curdling scream hit the inside of my head. The pain was so intense, I became a little weak in the knees and for a second, I thought I might pass out. It would seem that the under wire rubbed my chest raw. But that wasn’t the worst part, no. The worst part was where the front clasp once sat. Right in the center of my breasts was an open sore. This is where the plastic piece rubbed me raw. I started to cry. But it’s OK because in the shower no one can tell.

Once out and toweled off, I took a few tissues and folded them up. I put one beneath the clasp and a few more beneath the under wire. As I sat there, I couldn’t help but laugh at the possible conclusion one might come to at the glimpse of my stuffing tissues down my shirt. Oh, would one assumption be the furthest from the truth.

Maybe if I run really fast next time, I can leave them behind entirely. Or maybe if I run for a really long time, they will chafe them down, chiseling them away to nothing.

(From now on, all money made by google ads will be spent on my future breast reduction.)

On Friday, I spent 3 hours in Greenwich Village (the lower West side). I didn’t capture anything too exciting and there is still another roll to develop but here is what I have thus far. I would like to point out one thing, the black and white images are a perfect example of what happens if you agitate too much while developing. They are really high in contrast, plus, the negatives themselves are super flimsy. If you develop negatives at home, don’t do that.

Anyway, enjoy The Village!

I shot two rolls of film using my Pentax K1000. The color film is Fuji NPS (160) and the black and white is TMAX (400). I had the color negatives developed and later scanned them in using our new Konica Minolta 5400 II Negative Scanner. I developed the black and white negatives in our bathroom and scanned them as well. All of the images can be enlarged by clicking on the thumbnail. (Captions, if any, are below each image.)

The world famous Bleeker Bobs Records. (I think this record store has been in movies as well as a Seinfeld episode.)

Abandoned hotel on the West Side Highway.

Bleeker and Grove street signage. (See what I mean about the contrast?)

This woman was SO pissed that I took this picture. Oops.

West Fourth Street subway stop. (Near the park).

Again.

Greenwich Village even has its own McDonald’s.

At the park watching people play basketball.

Again with the contrast. Holy crap.

Jekyil and Hyde’s (Been here once and it was before I lived here. I think that’s pretty typical. Not sure.)

Overlooking Jersey City. (I have to admit, I had no idea Christopher Street touched the river. I learned something. heh)

A building on Christopher Street.

Looking up into The Village from the West Side Highway.

There are a lot of sex shops in The Village, too. I am not really sure why but they seem to have clientele as they are all still in business.

I am actually writing this and every 30 seconds agitating the black and white roll film I took on Friday of the Greenwich Village. I should have images up later today. Oh, and Mystic was lovely. We purchased cheap antiques and ate too much.

Well, it appears Adobe has merged with Macromedia. This has to be a good thing. (Read a more detailed account here.)

Now, if only we could get the Mozilla group to buy Microsoft.

Begin note to self: The folks in the West Village do not take well to having their pictures taken. Hot dam, somehow I made it out alive. /End note to self.

I will post them come Monday.

I think I’m going to hit the Battery Park City. But I’m flexible if there are any last minute requests.

When I was in college, I grew to despise fraternity boys and everything they represented. I hated their attire, their haircuts, their way of life, their drinking, the way they treated their waitress (i.e. me), the way they treated their friends, their girlfriends, the way the acted on the streets after the bars let out and I tried to walk home after a long shift at the Diner. Through the years, I grew to dislike them and avoided them like the plague. The geeks became the boys I wanted to be around.

After all, it’s impossible to ignore the boy who, after seeing the same girl park her bike outside The Creamery every Tuesday and Thursday, finally leaves a daisy and a $1.99 (in exact change) in the basket of a girl’s bike with a note attached that reads:

Buy yourself an ice cream cone.

How can you make fun of something like that? How can you ignore it? Pick-up lines that include ice cream are impossible to ignore.

It’s impossible to not enjoy a party thrown by a bunch of people who tell you to pick a character from an episode of Star Trek and should the cut out of a paper mustache, attached randomly to a TV screen, land on your character, you have to drink. (But if it landed on Marina Sirtis it was considered a social as she already sort of had her own.)

I have hundreds of stories and memories surrounding these people. They made up my college life. They gave it color and meaning. They gave me somewhere to go and ears to complain to. They set the standard I would carry for the rest of my days. And they made me understand my brothers more, who happen to be two of the biggest geeks around.

Yesterday, Toby’s boss called him from the Boston office. Toby was on another call at the time discussing a job with a client. His boss left a message. The following message made me cherish the people Toby Joe now work for and left me feeling secure in knowing that I married the right person.

Hey, uh, Toby? This is Brad. Hey. So… I… uh… I had a dream last night and there was a software program in the dream. I want to discuss it with you. I want you to build it. OK? Give me a call back.

I no longer hate fraternity boys. It was the college thing to do during one of those “Us Against Them” eras. But there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t rediscover how thankful I am for all the geeky people, the ones on the sidelines, pulling the curtains, mixing the tracks, making it all work. I love the quiet ones who make things tick, the ones who were teased just enough in life to give them the most amazing sense of humor and deliver them a level of compassion necessary to make this planet better. Just thinking about them all makes me smile.

Today is Tax Day for the mihow and the toby joe. (Yes, we waited until the last minute. No, I don’t want to hear it.) We have a meeting this evening with some guy in Brooklyn. We’re a little concerned as we freelance. We’re not sure what to expect especially since we were married in 2004 and I Toby has basically been supporting the both of us for the past 5 months. I anticipate our leaving his office feeling one of two ways. We’ll either feel ecstatic or completely screwed.

Won’t someone please tell me that Bush’s whole family value thing will help us out as newly weds. I’m not sure how or why, but I have heard rumors.

This was taken that one time Elvis played the guitar for me and I danced while Elvis looked at my underpants and I then I think I flicked him off.

P.S. I’m an excitable little beast, aren’t I?

We just launched another week over at SPD. I think I might be driving Toby Joe a little nuts with it. Right now, he’s laying on his side on the couch next to me wearing every article of clothing he had on this morning when he left for work. (Oh boy, do I love him.)

Toby Joe’s been really busy lately. And the (albeit small) time change that took place a few weeks ago has sort of confused all of us. Before you know it it’s 9 p.m. and you’re eating dinner and then getting ready for bed. Over the years, I have read numerous reasons behind why we have daylight saving time, but I have decided it was created for kids with summer vacations. Daylight saving time meant more time for catching lightning bugs and playing Kick the Can. (My goodness, were those ever good times.) It was either that, or it was by the man in order to keep the man working, man.

I’m rambling because it’s late, it’s quiet, and I don’t want to go to bed just yet.

(P.S. I hear I am to appear as Elvis tomorrow. Must. Do. This.)

In the news: Millions of Roaches Forced to Evacuate.

I sound insensitive. I know this. But no one was hurt, so that’s good. And I can assure you, the Dorchester House (aka The Dork) holds a special place in my heart as we were once its inhabitants.

It’s true. Toby and I once lived in that same building. And had we not been bombarded by roaches, if the walls hadn’t crumbled and mildewed around us, it would have been a fine place to live. Sure, we lived on the first floor and had a backyard. Plus, it was a block from the greatest yoga studio in the world, the greatest pottery studio in the world, as well as the the greatest pool hall in the world but man, was that building ever unkempt and bug-infested.

I am happy no one was hurt. And I’d like to go on the record as saying that I think this might be the final straw for the Dorchester House. I can’t see that place existing much longer. There would have to be hundreds of changes made and renovations completed.

Should we go to Pheonicia, Ny:

or Mystic, Connecticut. We can’t decide.

We want to take a short trip on Saturday (2 hour drive or less) and we can’t decide where to go. Oh, the difficulty.

In the movie The Indian Runner the character played by Sean Penn has his girlfriend (Patricia Arquette) hang upside down against a wall for a rather lengthy amount of time. Initially, she has no idea why he’s demanded that she do this. And all the while she’s hanging there, her feet hovering above her head, he smokes cigarette after cigarette, watching. After some time passes, he calmly explains to her that they are now man and wife.

In the movie, Secretary Lee Holloway (Maggie Gyllenhaal) sits at a desk for days in a wedding dress trying to prove her commitment to E. Edward Grey (James Spader). Eventually, he comes to collect her and the two are married.

I find some of these rites of passage romantic. I know the few I mentioned above are fantasy and I realize some might find it all a bit silly. Hell, I find the Electric Slide a little silly—to each their own. But for whatever reason, I find these original acts of proving one’s dedication to another romantic. If someone wants to get their husband’s name tattooed on their arm, so be it. A tattoo can be removed or altered. Sometimes, I think it’s kind of cute. If someone wishes to pierce their gonads as a sign of of true love, again, do whatever you want with your balls, anything done down there is reversible. But there are some (moronic) lines even I feel shouldn’t be crossed.

Yesterday, someone sent me an interview with Calvin and Gillian about their alleged bizzarre wedding ritual. (PLEASE NOTE: DO NOT CLICK that link if you are easily disgusted.) I believed it at first, I think because I wanted to feel irritated. After all, what’s a week spent on the internet without spending at least one hour feeling irritated. Now, I’m beginning to think that it’s merely an act of publicity for this online ‘zine or whatever it is. (I spent no time investigating this, which is why I initially wasn’t going to link to it. If it is a publicity stunt, I have done my part in helping them. And I loathe feeling baited.) Either way, these two allegedly tied, and then slowly bit one another’s ring finger off as a way of saying, “Hey, I really love you.” (Which I think works just fine).

Tell me, what does one do in 10 years should they want their finger back? These two aren’t intriguing or romantic at all, unless, of course, you consider high levels of stupidity romantic. I kind of feel sorry for them, should they want my pity at all. Has our generation learned nothing from Mr. Depp?

For those of you who have emailed me asking what you need to develop black and white film at home, Toby and I have made a list for you. Please feel free to ask any questions here or send an email. I hope this helps!

• changing bag or tent
• bottle of Agfa Rodinal
• 500ml (or larger) graduated cylinder
• 100ml skinny little test tube graduated
• thermometer
• 1 jobo plastic tank (or metal ones if you’re a traditionalist)
• 1 jobo plastic reel (or metal)
• scissors
• bottle opener
• 1 bottle of Photo-Flo (Kodak)
• a gallon of a rapid, hardening fixer

This should run you about 60 bucks. You can check out B and H for prices and Adorama. I think That’s it! We’re around if you have questions!

I spent 3 hours in Nolita on Friday afternoon. I wandered its streets and ate lunch in the park on Spring Street. I got there just after 1 p.m. just in time to find people enjoying their lunch hour.

Nolita starts at Lafayette Street and ends at the Bowery. It runs from Spring up to Houston. It lies just north of Little Italy — hence the name “Nolita”. I’d say Nolita is a pretty fashionable area. It’s really safe, too. There are many cafes and bars and you’re bound to find people out at all hours of the day and night. As we sat in the park eating pizza and watching construction take place across the way, the question was asked, “How much do you think those apartments are going to sell for once they’re finished?” Toby guessed around a million or more; Nolita isn’t cheap.

I shot two rolls of film using my Pentax K100. The color film is Fuji NPS (160) and the black and white is TMAX (400). I had the color negatives developed and later scanned them in using our new Konica Minolta 5400 II Negative Scanner. I developed the black and white negatives in our bathroom and scanned them as well. All of the images can be enlarged by clicking on the thumbnail. (Captions, if any, are below each image.)

I actually edited this down. However, there are still 33 images here. Clearly, I need some assistance in the editing department. As I push this live, I can’t help but think I’ve shown too many. Either way, I hope that you enjoy Nolita!

A family crosses the street.

The men play dominos in the park on Spring Street.

Spring Street Lounge. (I used to go here years ago for happy hour with coworkers when I worked in SoHo.)

Contractors argue outside of a construction site.

This very large building is being erected on the Bowery. It’s kinda weird looking.

Lombardi’s entrance.

The park on Spring Street.

A dog sits in the window of a small pub.

Fire escapes. on Mulberry street.

Looking north towards the Empire State Building. I believe this is looking up Mott Street. But I am not certain.

A window display.

A pregnant woman warms her belly in the park.

A cafe on Prince Street.

Another shot of Lombardi’s. One would think I would have eaten here, too. But instead, I ate at another pizza place down the street.

A fire hydrant gives up. I really wanted to give this fella a cane or a kick-stand. Poor guy.

A woman exits a cab near Mulberry.

A couple sucks down a quick lunch in the park.

A cafe on the corner of Mulberry and (I think) Prince.

A bike on Mott Street. Me thinks someone might need a new seat.

A store front. (The guy was grooming himself using the door’s reflection. I found it endearing.)

A woman and her dog.

An abandoned building on the Bowery.

A man plays on the jungle gym in the park.

“Trust Fund Baby.” A woman eats her lunch outside of a store on Elizabeth Street.

Post more bills.

Near Jersey Street.

Corner of Spring and Mulberry.

Another abandoned building begging for attention.

A woman and a boy.

Cinema Nolita and a couple heading away from me.

I just got back from a three-hour excursion around Nolita. I had a most excellent time and was only yelled at once by someone eating at a restaurant. I have a picture of her hiding right before scolding me.

I should have them up by Monday. What a blast! And it’s beautiful out. I couldn’t have asked for a more attractive day.

Toby Joe and I have decided to start a new project. Well, I have decided to start a new project and I’m going to bring him along, kicking and screaming. Every week, we’ll venture out into a neighborhood of one of New York City’s five boroughs and capture whatever it is we see. Last Friday, I spent 4 hours at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral., Today, I’m going to spend several hours in Nolita. While we’re visiting, we’ll take several rolls of film which we will post come Monday. I plan on using black and white and color for this. Hopefully, I’ll end up with some visual stories to share with everyone.

I’ve wanted to do this for a long, long time. Ever since mihow.com was conceived I have wanted to do this. And we did for a while. We took pictures of everywhere we went on bike, foot, subway. And they all still exist here somewhere. But we’re going to start anew. Because back then, we didn’t really set any parameters. This time, I feel that we must.

New York City has always inspired me. It’s the only place I can think of where one could spend a lifetime investigating and never run out of new discoveries. To put it simply, I love that. I have three goals. First, I want to get to know the city a little more. Second, I want to learn something more about street photography and the people around me. Lastly, I’d like to pass on what I find to anyone interested in New York City.

If you have ideas or suggestions please send me an email (mihow at this domain dot com) or leave a comment.

One year ago today (Pictures!) and two years ago today.

Ah to be throwing pots again.

Hey photographers, Heather Champ (sweetest gal on the Internet) and her husband, Derek, (luckiest guy on the Internet) have announced their latest call for entries. Go there and submit a Fabulous photograph of your choice. The latest magazine should be out soon, too. That one features images with the theme “Lost”. (The magazines are really very cool and totally worth the money. They make a most excellent collector’s item. I have the first edition and love it.)

I forgot to mention a souvenir I found while I was visiting Saint Patrick’s Cathedral last week. I was in the church at the time. I had just sat down in a pew to warm up and take in the sights. That’s when I saw this out of the corner of my eye:

Except it wasn’t showing straight up as I’ve shown above. Instead, it was on its side like this:

Now, I know I never made a very good Catholic. I was constantly trying to push negative/dirty/wrong/weird thoughts out of my head so that on days where I had to attend confession, I didn’t take up ALL the priest’s time. I was way too claustrophobic to sit in that small confessional for that long anyway. But I refuse to believe that I am the only pottyhead who sees what seems perfectly clear in this logo.

Is it just me? I ask you. Is it really just me?

Today, we launched another 21 faces at SPD. And here is an image of yours truly. This is exactly how I feel given my sickness and all.

Should I offend any Elephant Man Sympathizers, I’d like to take this moment and invite you over to tell me exactly how you feel. I’ll be sure to unveil my attractive torso rash and let you rub lotion all over me. We can sip tea and have peanut butter.

I fear that I am currently a force not to be reckoned with. Last night, over a meal of comfort, right after I snapped something fierce all over my lovely and sweet husband, Toby joe looked at me and said, “Best be gittin’ well soon there, my girl.” His patience is a virtue.

Google advertisements about Eczema and Scabies really pay off.

Toby posted a pretty funny/cute picture today over at 50mm. Gave me a chuckle. Go there now.

Two days ago, I woke up a seven year old. It was either that, or I woke up in the year 1953. I woke up with a rash. Later, I would be told I woke up with the measles. (But that bit of information doesn’t come until the end of this very long story.)

MY SYMPTOMS

I had a sore throat on Sunday. A bitty one, which gave me this tiny cough, that took place nearly every time I swallowed. It bugged me. It sucked. But I dealt with it. Sunday night, my upper arms started to show small bumps. You couldn’t see the rash, but you could feel it. But we thought nothing much of it at the time as I am allergic to everything.

On Monday, the rash had spread to my lower back. The bumps there were a little bit itchy. But it wasn’t too annoying. I thought nothing of it, still.

On Monday night, the rash was ALL OVER my torso. It had spread to my tummy as well. I began to think something of it.

On Tuesday, I felt like a leper. And so a doctor visit was in order.

MY TUESDAY

I must have called 15 doctors in our area. Either I was ignored and sent into some phone ringing cyber space, or I left messages never to be returned. Finally, some clinic in East Williamsburg said they could see me at 2. I headed over there and am still wishing that I hadn’t.

(I’ll try and give you a condensed version.) I walked into the clinic. Pregnant women surrounded me. They tossed the word “fuck” around like the cigarette butts they had just discarded outside. There were kids running up and down the hallways. There was a teenage girl wearing an all pink sweat suit. She had stepped up to the counter at the same time I had. She was probably 13 and about 100 pounds overweight. She was there for her physical, which was scheduled for 2:45. It was 1:45. My appointment was scheduled for 2. But the front desk checked her in first anyway.

I waited. Finally, it was my turn. I told the woman my name, age, address, social, etc. At no point did she ask me what was wrong with me. There was a sign behind her on the wall. It was written in all caps, like this:

IF YOU HAVE ANY OR ALL OF THE FOLLOWING PLEASE REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO THE FRONT DESK:

• A COUGH.
• A BLOODY STOOL.
• A RASH.
• TUBERCULOSES.
• NIGHT SWEATS.

I told them about my rash. The woman laughed, LAUGHED AT ME, and shook her head.

No, you’re fine, honey. Sounds like you have Scarlet Fever.

Scarlet fever? Don’t kids get that? Don’t kids get that like 20 years ago?

She printed out a blue card and told me to keep it on me at all times. She handed me a folder and said that I owed her 45 dollars and I’d be billed for anything more they do while I was upstairs. (“Upstairs?” I thought? “You mean there is more to this that meets the eye?”) I gave her my credit card, signed the slip and headed upstairs.

Upstairs was SWARMING with people. There were four thugs who took it upon themselves to blast their boombox. There were babies, sick mothers, sick older people, sick younger people, sick middle-aged people and then there were people who looked perfectly healthy but who had nothing better to do and wanted some attention like Ally Sheedy’s character in The Breakfast Club. I wanted to murder the Ally Sheedy’s. There were groups of people who seemed to know each other. There were other groups there who were given lollies because “they were diabetic” (or something). There was me, and there was 2:45 Pink Sweat Suit Girl. The TV blasted a show about corns and what to do with you feet. There was a sign on the TV stand that read: “CAN’T HEAR ME? TURN ME UP!”

A kid kept running by holding an open bottle filled with some florescent colored juice. (Please note: When I have kids of my own someday they will NEVER drink juice this color. Ever.) His nose was dripping liquid snot. I imagined the sweet juice against the salty taste of his mucous and I began to gag. He kept trying to drink from the bottle and the juice kept falling onto his shirt, staining it the color of blood. I gagged a bit more. I thought to myself, “This day could go down as the worst day of my adult life.” (It did not, but I was feeling dramatic and sick at the time.)

Michele Howley?

That’s me!

I hopped up from the chair. There were about 25 people in the upstairs waiting room. How was I going in already?

I wasn’t. That was merely the check your weight, what are your symptoms, how old are you, and has anyone beaten you in the past 24 hours, a spouse, a family member, a son? part of the process. I passed and was sent back to the waiting room. Where I waited. I waited an hour. Then the natives became restless.

A nurse who magically would enter one door and then somehow appear from another one two seconds later was asked, “How long before I go?” by one of the Ally Sheedy characters.

What’s your name?

(Name said.)

And what is your name?

(Name said.) I had to get in on this.

Can you find out when I go, too?

I called Toby. I was so annoyed. The thugs kept looking at me and laughing. They spoke some version of Spanish I could not decipher. I was very annoyed with them.

On the T.V. near us, the show had turned to one about Fast Food and how it will kill you. The nurse returned from one of the doors. She was shaking her head in my direction.

You are 13th in line.

13th? Does that mean hours? Two, three? Any idea?

At least 2

I can’t stay here that long. I have to work at the bar tonight.

Oh, I’m sorry. You can go back downstairs and get your money back.

For all she knew, I had the Ebola virus and she just sent someone with a really contagious flesh-eating disease BACK onto the street to go serve the fine people of Williamsburg beer.

I left, crying tears of absolute rage. I was so angry. ALL I WANTED WAS FOR SOMEONE TO PITY ME! I wanted someone to tell me why I had a rash all over my body. I wanted to be normal again. Instead, I headed to work.

MY DATE WITH A DOCTOR

How I managed to see a doctor at 6:30 p.m. on a Tuesday while I was supposed to be bartending is too long and boring of a story to tell. (Not that the one I told thus far has been life changing.) All anyone needs to know is that I was able to see a doctor. A doctor who ran ZERO tests, but instead merely LOOKED at my rash under a super sonic microscope and a light. He checked my temperature, took my blood pressure and checked my throat and ears. His diagnosis: The Measles. I was vaccinated for the measles, like, I don’t know one maybe three times. But still, the doctor told me they have been known “to slip on by” a vaccination from time to time. My cure: Benadryl and some Calamine Lotion and lots of sleep and water.

MY END OF HELL

I was supposed to see another doctor this morning for a second opinion. I woke up feeling like I have a cold. I do still have a minor rash, but it seems to be fading. I don’t have a fever (I haven’t ever had a temperature, all of my life, I haven’t had a temperature. I even wrote about it before. It sucks being a kid who doesn’t ever have fevers, too, because school nurses fail to send kids home who don’t have temperatures, that is up until they throw up all over the gym floor during Parachute Day.)

What’s wrong with me? I still have no idea. Should I die from some flesh-eating disease, I’d like to leave mihow.com to all the Brooklyn medical clinics that are clearly in need of whatever funds I collect from my Google Ads.

Over the past 24 hours I have been asked ALL of the following at least once:

• Does it hurt on one side?
• Have you been near any 18 month old babies?
• Are you allergic to your fabric softener?
• Did you eat anything weird?
• Have you eaten yogurt?
• Did you ever have the chicken pox?
• Are you stressed out?
• Does it itch?
• Does your throat hurt, like REALLY bad?
• Does the light hurt your eyes?
• Are you around babies a lot?
• Have you eaten raw meat?
• Do you have a temperature?
• Have you visited Africa lately?
• Are you gay? (Naw, I just threw that in to see if you’re still paying attention.)

Some of those, are a big fat YES. Others made me think, ummmm no? And why? In the end, Toby and are pretty sure that I do not have the measles. The doctor I saw did NOTHING to test for anything at all. So my diagnosis is still very much up in the air.

Today, however, I am not going to leave the house. I want to avoid people as much as possible. Yesterday, nearly sent me over the edge. (Oh sweet, Internet, please do no spill your florescent snot juice on me. Go easy on me today. I am sick, after all.)

On Friday night, right after I spent the day up at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in Mid-town, I met Lindsay, Jon and Toby for sushi. After we finished eating, Jon headed home and the rest of us headed to the Bronx to see the first Gotham Girls Roller Derby bout between the Manhattan Mayhem and the Brooklyn Bombshells.

(All images taken with a Pentax K1000. Images taken using Fuji NPS and then scanned with a Konica Minolta 5400 II Negative Scanner. Images can be enlarged by clicking on the thumbnail. Captions are below each image.)

A friend of ours, Anna, is a member of the Brooklyn Bombshells. Her REAL name is Leggs Luther (shown in the picture below). She’s amazing. Some of you might remember her from the very first Self-Portrait Day. I’m hoping I can get her to stop by today or tomorrow and correct everything I am wrong about regarding Roller Derby. In the meantime, here is a bit about the history of the game, etc.

When I arrived to the venue, I had no idea how roller derby worked. I’m still a little unsure about the scoring, but I’m working on it. I hope to have that bit figured out by their next bout on the 22nd of April. All I know is that many of these fine ladies were sporting the biggest bruises I have ever seen in person. And, holy crap, did the crowd ever laugh and cheer and holler and boo! I haven’t been that into a sporting event since my brother took me to see DC United.

Another thing I hope to have figured out by the next bout is how to take decent action shots under such low light. I know I will need some faster film. I also know that I might need a flash. Angry, fast-moving females on roller skates is perhaps the hardest subject matter I have ever tried to capture. Nevertheless, below are some of those pictures. (I think Toby’s will be better. If he scans his, I’ll post them as well.)

Ariel Assault gets ready to jam.

Here she is, right before the whistle blows. GO!

In between periods, the girls play these little games with one another. I hope someone will correct me if I’m wrong, but the referees choose two of the girls (the ones who were “baddest” from each team) and they are forced to take on a half-time spectacle of sorts.

A heated game of Red Rover Red Rover…

which ended up in a wrestling match.

Take notice of the woman wearing pink. She’s coming in from the middle…. here she comes… here she comes…. here she comes.

OH BUSTED!

Lil Red Terror making faces at a Manhattan Mayhem team member.

Here is Lil Red Terror in full force during her jam.

We had the best time. Really, if you live in the area, this is one of the best things to do on a Friday night. We’re heading back that way on the 22nd. All interested parties, let me know.

Girls really do rule. I love women. We are by far the superior sex. haha!

What constitutes a “photoblog”? If one writes commentary and stories and takes pictures, does that instantly mean it’s a blog rather than a photoblog? I’m not sure I understand the difference, really.

(Either way, I still hate the word.)

(Friday’s post was an April Fool’s prank. Toby Joe and I are NOT moving to Los Angeles. I was pulling your leg. And apparently, for some of you, I may have pulled a little too hard. Oops!)

On Friday, a little after 1:30 p.m. word got out that Pope John Paul II had died. I turned on the news when I realized that many of the major t.v. stations were reporting live from Saint Patricks Cathedral on 54th street in Manhattan. Why bother watching them on TV when they’re directly across the river from me? So I packed up my camera, put on my coat and headed to midtown to join them. After all, this was history in the making and certain things could wait till today to finish.

When I arrived, I learned that the Pope had not actually died. But people were setting up camp as if someone had given us all a countdown. I decided to stick around and watch.

Below are images taken during my spectator time. (All images taken with a Pentax K1000. Black and white images are shot in TRI-X, color images Kodak Gold. All images are scanned using a Konica Minolta 5400 II Negative Scanner. All images can be enlarged by clicking on the thumbnail.)

ABC news (I think. There were so many of them there, I am not sure who was who.)

Inside the Cathedral. I sat down for a bit to thaw out. The guy in front of me was brought to tears while sitting there.

They had candles set up at the front of the church specifically for the Pope. After we found out he was indeed still alive, people came in from the street to light a candle for him. (I have to say, while I’m no longer catholic, the smells and sounds of a church are still, many times, overwhelmingly beautiful. I enjoyed wandering through the cathedral. No matter what one might believe, it really is a site to see.)

Here is a side alcove filled with more candles. I remember these from when I was a kid. My mother and grandmother used to light one each time we went to church. I always found it rather beautiful, though I had no idea what it really stood for at the time.

A newscaster waiting for feed.

A pacing priest. (Correction: A Knights of Columbus member? Thanks, bryan!)

Another newscaster waiting for information.

There were several cops there. Over the course of the day, as we neared the 5:30 mass, more and more showed up. I sat there, trying to blend in as much as possible so they wouldn’t kick me away.

A priest(?) from the cathedral.

A cop and one of the ushers.

A newscaster mid-broadcast. The guy on the left looks to be silently judging him.

This guy worked for CNN. They had rockstar parking.

A family paying their respects. The father kept quizzing the small boy on facts about the Pope. As I eavesdropped on more and more conversations, I realized I know very little about the Pope.

Another newscaster.

Some more cops.

A radio tower and Saint Patrick’s steeples.

A cop.

A conversation between one of the police officers and an usher. This is when I found out that someone during the 1:30 mass at Saint Patricks had made the announcement that the Pope had already died. That’s why there was an urgency to get everyone up there. The cop was not pleased by this as everyone on the squad (on call, etc) was called into work. Errors like this can prove to be really expensive for the city.

This guy stood outside holding this metal briefcase for nearly an hour. I finally left and he was still there.

Cops and news crews.

Another reporter gearing up to go live.

Friday was a surprising wonderful day. I really enjoyed just sitting there taking it all in. Inside the church, there were mourners. On the outside, there were reporters, police officers and tourists. There were also people like me; individuals just there to watch. I love to watch.

.......................................

Yet to come:

Our night with the Gotham Girls.

Put your name into Ian’s Internet hat and should you be picked, he’ll send you his vintage Leica!

Yeah. I think it might be best to not leave the house today. People and their trickery.

Well, just when you thought our lives couldn’t get any more insane, Toby Joe is offered a transfer to the Los Angeles office for the company he works for. I’m besides myself with freak.

We would have to be there in May. And the project would begin then, too. They would pay for ABSOLUTELY everything this time, so that’s why I didn’t shut down the idea entirely. And the pay is good, too. Plus, we’d only need to be there for about 8 months. They have an apartment picked out (corporate apartment in North Hollywood, which is really close to two wonderful friends) and a company car we can use as well.

But I’m worried about the cats. I don’t think they can take another cross-country move. But I am not sure I can live without them for 8 months either. The company says that they will fly them there and take care of any vet bills should they need check ups. I’m just not sure Schmitty can handle it. I mean, he’s getting older every minute.

This has been brewing here for about a week now, and it’s caused much tummy stress and heavy discussions between the two of us. I love New York and, this time, I wasn’t ready to EVER leave again. I guess LA has much better weather than San Francisco does. And we do have really great friends who live there.

Are we crazy? Will someone please tell me why this kind of thing ALWAYS happens to us? My dreams last night turned to nightmares of flying over mountain roads while in a helicopter. We were barely above ground most of the time, and kept bumping into objects along the way.

Man, I am tired. Man, I don’t want to deal with this again.