I joined face book this past week, coerced by a friend who I've know for 18 years. I talk to her at least once a week, what could we accomplish on face book. She wants me to view her pictures. After 3 days of face-booking I have 15 friends. I am so popular... Wee!
I can see why face book is so popular:it's easy, simple, and clean. The little blurb at the top is like sending a text message to all of your 567 close personal friends. It's design makes the most mundane of tasks seem special. "Heather is watching Smallville and popping a zit, while petting her dog." Go me!
I just don't get the appeal. Facebook tells me I can search for old high-school classmates, or in my case, the small few who knew I existed. "Reconnect with old friends", they say. Well there is a reason I de-connected with them. "But don't you want to see who is doing what and who married who?" That makes reunions obsolete which is probably a good thing. Marriot hotels around the country will now be spared the former high school jocks slugging on Vodka tonics while hitting on divorced cheerleaders as they gyrate to Debbie Gibson. No, I really don't care that Doug, my first crush, married Pam, head cheerleader and had three kids and now live in suburban bliss. Or that Ian, the wrestler who called me names is a fat depressed lawyer.( Ok, that was satisfying when I ran into him back in West Palm Beach)
Some of my new 'friends' on F-book, I've met once or twice and it easy to stay updated. And that's the issue for me- in the old days communication was hard: hand written letters, paid phone calls, and road trips. If the person is worth keeping, I'll do the work. I keep the page for now and keep my new aquaintances abrest of my business. My close circle, I'll call on the phone and fly a plane to see them. That's why I can count my true friends on one hand. And they are friends forever.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Friday, November 28, 2008
If I win the lotto tonight I will never ask to
To win the Lottery again. I hold two tickets in my hand for the 111 million jackpot. The last time I played was... three years ago in North Carolina. On my way home from a summer camping week, I stopped at a gas station. The man in front of me bought a ticket for the 120 million. I saw it as a sign. I spent the next six hours drive dreaming of how I spend the money. In my Days Inn room I watched the news. I lost.
Do you know the story of the guy who prayed to god every week to win the lottery. After years of prayer. God spoke... "Ok, Ok...stop nagging, at least buy a ticket."
I told this joke to my friend this week and tonight I had to run out to buy my last diet soda. (Tomorrow I am starting a juice fast). My bodega man was running tickets into the machine. It was a sign. The convo:
Heather: "Is the lotto tomorrow?"
Bodega Man: "Mega Million tonight"
Heather: "How much is it worth?"
BM: "one to eleven million"
Heather: "that's all, huh...what about tomorrow"
BM: "only 5 million"
Heather: "Did somebody win the 96 million from last week?"
BM: "Mami, nobody won, ess tonight. one hundred eleven million."
He showed me how to fill out the ticket. I bought two using my and my friends B-days. Now I am dreaming of what I will do.
The wish list:--Pay off Debts--Buy modest two bedroom Central Park West apt near Fairway.--Get my mother the best in hearing treatment.--Quit job and do medical mission trips. --Donate time and money to animals.--Take lots of singing and dancing classes. --Go to for masters in nursing and writing so I can teach nursing and be a better writer. --Audition and make short films.
Put the money in the bank and have my father manage it so I don't become one of those lotto winners who end up worse that they started off.
--Support mad scientist so my father can live forever.
Do you know the story of the guy who prayed to god every week to win the lottery. After years of prayer. God spoke... "Ok, Ok...stop nagging, at least buy a ticket."
I told this joke to my friend this week and tonight I had to run out to buy my last diet soda. (Tomorrow I am starting a juice fast). My bodega man was running tickets into the machine. It was a sign. The convo:
Heather: "Is the lotto tomorrow?"
Bodega Man: "Mega Million tonight"
Heather: "How much is it worth?"
BM: "one to eleven million"
Heather: "that's all, huh...what about tomorrow"
BM: "only 5 million"
Heather: "Did somebody win the 96 million from last week?"
BM: "Mami, nobody won, ess tonight. one hundred eleven million."
He showed me how to fill out the ticket. I bought two using my and my friends B-days. Now I am dreaming of what I will do.
The wish list:--Pay off Debts--Buy modest two bedroom Central Park West apt near Fairway.--Get my mother the best in hearing treatment.--Quit job and do medical mission trips. --Donate time and money to animals.--Take lots of singing and dancing classes. --Go to for masters in nursing and writing so I can teach nursing and be a better writer. --Audition and make short films.
Put the money in the bank and have my father manage it so I don't become one of those lotto winners who end up worse that they started off.
--Support mad scientist so my father can live forever.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
A Chef, I'm a Chef
What is it about Thanksgiving, or any major holiday, that turns the average take-out fiend into a master chef. Or someone who thinks they are a master chef. There's something about the smell of cooking meat that makes one feel accomplished. In my case it was garlic and sun dried tomato. I created a veggie lasagna that won everyone over. Layers of yellow squash, zucchini, and eggplant nestled in between Fontina and Parmesan cheese. I took about two hours and I made my own pesto for the sauce.... Yummy! That's Chopped Broccoli and Sun dried tomatoes on the top. 
Beware of Over-cheesing, You'll pay in the morning.
Beware of Over-cheesing, You'll pay in the morning.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Barry Manilow-Always the Punchline
Noise Violators Sentenced to Listen to Barry Manilow
A friend sent this to me, she knows I love Barry. One first glance at the Headline, I thought that he was the sole auditory punishment. In case of noise pollution, the judge forces the dammed into a room to here any music they don't like: Barry, Barney the Dinosaur, and the Platters.
Would rousing choruses of "I love you, you love me, were a happy family...." or "Oooh Mandy, well you came and you gave...." bring out the quiet lover in you?
Looks like it works for this small Colorado town.
Would rousing choruses of "I love you, you love me, were a happy family...." or "Oooh Mandy, well you came and you gave...." bring out the quiet lover in you?
Looks like it works for this small Colorado town.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Why Fireworks Should be Outlawed in New York City and other Random Thoughts
While stopped at a traffic light on my way to work last night, I heard a bang and jumped for cover ala Joey on Friends. You just never know in Harlem. Driver must of thought he had a tourist in his Cab.
Sitting up in my Harlem faschizzle,
booms and bangs crack the sky,
and colored sparks fizzle.
Someone just got shot or maimed, oh my!
The end is nigh,
Oh, right, it's the day after,
The Fourth of July.
Happy Belated Independence Day.
A dachshund and a Pit Bull can be best friends.
In the News recently
Twin brothers in a paternity battle:
Does this woman have a twin fetish? The article states that the brothers were unaware of the other's affair and that she had sex with both men on the same day. Why then, does one of them have to pay for this woman's complete irresponsibility. Did she know they were twins or did she only scream "oh god, oh god" during the second act? Was she trying to perfect her technique? Did she find the first so unbelievably attractive she just had to have the second one when she saw him.
The court named one, since DNA evidence shows that both men have a 99.9 percent probability of being the child's father, as legal father with all financial responsibility. That's just sad; either both pay or neither pay. I vote for the latter. Women are the ones who get pregnant and, in the case of a casual sex encounter, should be held solely responsible for their bodies. I really feel bad for the poor guys.
This ultra-feminist slant on sex and pregnancy brought to you by the readings of Camille Paglia from college.
booms and bangs crack the sky,
and colored sparks fizzle.
Someone just got shot or maimed, oh my!
The end is nigh,
Oh, right, it's the day after,
The Fourth of July.
Happy Belated Independence Day.
In the News recently
Twin brothers in a paternity battle:
Does this woman have a twin fetish? The article states that the brothers were unaware of the other's affair and that she had sex with both men on the same day. Why then, does one of them have to pay for this woman's complete irresponsibility. Did she know they were twins or did she only scream "oh god, oh god" during the second act? Was she trying to perfect her technique? Did she find the first so unbelievably attractive she just had to have the second one when she saw him.
The court named one, since DNA evidence shows that both men have a 99.9 percent probability of being the child's father, as legal father with all financial responsibility. That's just sad; either both pay or neither pay. I vote for the latter. Women are the ones who get pregnant and, in the case of a casual sex encounter, should be held solely responsible for their bodies. I really feel bad for the poor guys.
This ultra-feminist slant on sex and pregnancy brought to you by the readings of Camille Paglia from college.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Just One Garlic Knot Please: Part 2
Just One Garlic Knot Please: Part 1
I opened the foil package and saw the extra garlic knot. I know I could have thrown it out or given it to the dog or even eaten it. I also could have given it to a homeless person, but, in my experience, they only want money. But, by now, this foray for fountain soda had become an exercise of principle and an exploration into societal norms.
New York City hosts a cultural cornucopia of food;each block provides and opportunity to consume more calories than needed. Plus, it's much easier to pull your feet up to a vendor than park the car and head in to a restaurant.(Fast-food is unappealing to me in any circumstance and therefore will not figure into this discussion. We know their portions are Ginormous anyway) We don't have many chains here and most mood is freshly prepared by independent owners. Though, freshly prepared does not always translate into healthy or lower calorie.
Most of the independents in this city are foreign born, from countries without the obesity epidemic in this country. And we know from books like, "French Women do not get fat" and "The Mediterranean diet" that lower portions are the key to enjoying higher fat food without major consequences. Which begs the question: Why do these purveyor's insist on larger portions? Are they ingrained into the American Way of food? Are they just giving consumers what they demand? Or are they part of the grand conspiracy to keep Americans fat and sick reaping billion dollar balance sheets for the pharmaceutical and medical industry? Let's not forget the corporate farms and genetically modified food. (that's an entry for another day)
You may be thinking, chill out Shiny, it's just one Garlic Knot. The Garlic Knot incident is just one symptom of the many little things that add up to a large problem.
A few examples in support:
A fresh fruit cart offering cut pineapple, mango, and papaya plus blended shakes, made only from fruit and ice, parks near my hospital each morning. They know me pretty well-I get a shake for breakfast three times a week-, yet he still asks me if I want a large. At McDonald's we were trained to size up it the customer neglected to include a size, but at the fruit cart for a regular customer who always gets a small? My favorite is banana, pineapple, and strawberry and I wish I had a website for you. For New Yorkers seeking a lower calorie alternative to Jamba Juice-you have to beg them to nix the yogurt- head to the southwest corner of 168th street and Broadway.
Across the street from my other hospital sits an upscale deli complete with brick pizza oven, cold-deli case and 20 item salad bar for the lazy New Yorker. Yes, in New York we don't make our own Salad Bar salad's. After choosing the base, either Romaine, Spinach, or Mesclun, you hand the container to the counter person who then empties the greens into a large, steel bowl. Using chef style tongs, they toss the add ins you choose which can be as simple as croutons and exotic as marinated peppers, finishing up with dressing. The resulting combination is thrown together, Iron Chef style. We New Yorkers like it fancy. In eating these salads I've noticed a trend:When asking for an item perceived as "healthy", and therefore less flavorful, I get much less than a serving. Like he doing me a favor. "Sir, I promise you I really love broccoli; In fact, I'll pay for a double serving. When asking for an item that is perceived as tasty but not necessarily good for you, I have to stop them before the tongs clang on the bowl. "Sir, please that's way too much." Oh, the looks I garner.
Before moving to New York, coffee provided enjoyment and relaxation, but did not hold the same priority as my morning pee. Enter the coffee cart. The Coffee Cart, a New York institution, serves coffee, bagels, donuts, and fried egg sandwiches on just about every street corner in Manhattan. I frequent the cart next to the fruit man. They know me as well and I ask for the same thing each time: Large coffee, two sweet and lows with a little bit of half and half. Emphasis on the little, although they always give me something that looks like milk. Yes, I could head into the hospital and make on myself but where's the fun in that. I need New York Moment #852: getting a scalding coffee in the "Law and Order" cup from a foreigner while dodging blows and profanity from other desperate New Yorkers in search of morning fuel.
The best 60 cent cup of coffee in the world
So the question remains, Why, with all we know about how one becomes obese and it's emotional, physical, and financial effects do we continue to demand, expect or accept unnecessarily large portions. The man who served me two Garlic Knots when I asked for just one probably thought he was being nice. At the time, I laughed thinking he couldn't wrap his brain around the idea of one. ONE is not such a bad number. The points I've made are small things, the things most don't notice, and over time they become excess we don't need and never recall we had or enjoyed.
I opened the foil package and saw the extra garlic knot. I know I could have thrown it out or given it to the dog or even eaten it. I also could have given it to a homeless person, but, in my experience, they only want money. But, by now, this foray for fountain soda had become an exercise of principle and an exploration into societal norms.
New York City hosts a cultural cornucopia of food;each block provides and opportunity to consume more calories than needed. Plus, it's much easier to pull your feet up to a vendor than park the car and head in to a restaurant.(Fast-food is unappealing to me in any circumstance and therefore will not figure into this discussion. We know their portions are Ginormous anyway) We don't have many chains here and most mood is freshly prepared by independent owners. Though, freshly prepared does not always translate into healthy or lower calorie.
Most of the independents in this city are foreign born, from countries without the obesity epidemic in this country. And we know from books like, "French Women do not get fat" and "The Mediterranean diet" that lower portions are the key to enjoying higher fat food without major consequences. Which begs the question: Why do these purveyor's insist on larger portions? Are they ingrained into the American Way of food? Are they just giving consumers what they demand? Or are they part of the grand conspiracy to keep Americans fat and sick reaping billion dollar balance sheets for the pharmaceutical and medical industry? Let's not forget the corporate farms and genetically modified food. (that's an entry for another day)
You may be thinking, chill out Shiny, it's just one Garlic Knot. The Garlic Knot incident is just one symptom of the many little things that add up to a large problem.
A few examples in support:
A fresh fruit cart offering cut pineapple, mango, and papaya plus blended shakes, made only from fruit and ice, parks near my hospital each morning. They know me pretty well-I get a shake for breakfast three times a week-, yet he still asks me if I want a large. At McDonald's we were trained to size up it the customer neglected to include a size, but at the fruit cart for a regular customer who always gets a small? My favorite is banana, pineapple, and strawberry and I wish I had a website for you. For New Yorkers seeking a lower calorie alternative to Jamba Juice-you have to beg them to nix the yogurt- head to the southwest corner of 168th street and Broadway.
Across the street from my other hospital sits an upscale deli complete with brick pizza oven, cold-deli case and 20 item salad bar for the lazy New Yorker. Yes, in New York we don't make our own Salad Bar salad's. After choosing the base, either Romaine, Spinach, or Mesclun, you hand the container to the counter person who then empties the greens into a large, steel bowl. Using chef style tongs, they toss the add ins you choose which can be as simple as croutons and exotic as marinated peppers, finishing up with dressing. The resulting combination is thrown together, Iron Chef style. We New Yorkers like it fancy. In eating these salads I've noticed a trend:When asking for an item perceived as "healthy", and therefore less flavorful, I get much less than a serving. Like he doing me a favor. "Sir, I promise you I really love broccoli; In fact, I'll pay for a double serving. When asking for an item that is perceived as tasty but not necessarily good for you, I have to stop them before the tongs clang on the bowl. "Sir, please that's way too much." Oh, the looks I garner.
Before moving to New York, coffee provided enjoyment and relaxation, but did not hold the same priority as my morning pee. Enter the coffee cart. The Coffee Cart, a New York institution, serves coffee, bagels, donuts, and fried egg sandwiches on just about every street corner in Manhattan. I frequent the cart next to the fruit man. They know me as well and I ask for the same thing each time: Large coffee, two sweet and lows with a little bit of half and half. Emphasis on the little, although they always give me something that looks like milk. Yes, I could head into the hospital and make on myself but where's the fun in that. I need New York Moment #852: getting a scalding coffee in the "Law and Order" cup from a foreigner while dodging blows and profanity from other desperate New Yorkers in search of morning fuel.
So the question remains, Why, with all we know about how one becomes obese and it's emotional, physical, and financial effects do we continue to demand, expect or accept unnecessarily large portions. The man who served me two Garlic Knots when I asked for just one probably thought he was being nice. At the time, I laughed thinking he couldn't wrap his brain around the idea of one. ONE is not such a bad number. The points I've made are small things, the things most don't notice, and over time they become excess we don't need and never recall we had or enjoyed.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
The Ageist, Sexist and Vertically Biased Heart-Rate Monitor
The heart-rate monitor I ordered from newegg arrived today. I've used one before and find it helpful to my workouts. The sensor encircles the chest and the signal transmits wirelessly to the watch. Mine is a simple model. It tells you your workout time, average heart-rate, and calories burned, though it does not GPS my location in Central Park or prepare a post-workout protein shake. Which is a good thing-I do not want big brother taking satellite images of me running for the special bus or picking up dog poop. Plus, protein shakes taste like sand. 
The Ageist, Sexist and Vertically Biased Heart Rate Monitor
In order to take advantage of the calories burned readings, I needed to enter personal data: age, height, and weight. After pressing the 'mode' button ten times I landed on birth year; the snarky little monitor offered 1985. I scrolled up to 2050 then back to 1920 until finally landing on 1971. Can I assume that Oregon Scientific demographic numbers show that twenty-two year-olds make-up their largest consumer group, or do they figure old farts like me are too far gone and flabby to buy the product. Maybe I'm being too sensitive, but it made me sad. I'm not in the target group anymore. Doesn't anyone want to sell me something, unlike many younger people, I have money.
I hit the 'mode' again to reach height thinking that I shouldn't have a problem because 5'4" is average for women. 5'7" was the first choice. Snipey monitor, make fun of my stature now too. Dang thing went up to 8 feet before circling back to 2 feet. Now, the average height of a Dwarf is 3 to 4 feet, so I doubt any toddler 2 feet tall will be assessing their fitness during jungle gym.
The next step, placing the sensor on the chest, makes it clear why the starting height, is the average height for a man. The instructions say to fit the strap snugly just below the pectoral muscles. For optimal readings, it should lie above the heart while avoiding chest hair. I can't place it above my heart because my breasts are in the way. I imagine running with my boobs slapping against the black plastic. It's obvious that Oregon Scientific did not expect for vertically challenged thirty-six year-old women to purchase their product.
I ran in the rain tonight. The device worked perfectly and my heart rate averaged 123 beats per minute, burning 242 calories. I'm not really obsessed with calories data. The device is to keep my heart rate from slipping below 110 and motivate me during a long workout.
On a side note, I've owned three monitors and I find the chest strap/wrist transmitter to be the most effective. I purchased mine from newegg.com. I also found this comprehensive site while attempting to find statistics to support my theory that aged people, women and short men buy heart rate monitors making the 'Smart Heart' an ageist, sexist and vertically biased product(I didn't find any, but they sell all types of monitors).
In order to take advantage of the calories burned readings, I needed to enter personal data: age, height, and weight. After pressing the 'mode' button ten times I landed on birth year; the snarky little monitor offered 1985. I scrolled up to 2050 then back to 1920 until finally landing on 1971. Can I assume that Oregon Scientific demographic numbers show that twenty-two year-olds make-up their largest consumer group, or do they figure old farts like me are too far gone and flabby to buy the product. Maybe I'm being too sensitive, but it made me sad. I'm not in the target group anymore. Doesn't anyone want to sell me something, unlike many younger people, I have money.
I hit the 'mode' again to reach height thinking that I shouldn't have a problem because 5'4" is average for women. 5'7" was the first choice. Snipey monitor, make fun of my stature now too. Dang thing went up to 8 feet before circling back to 2 feet. Now, the average height of a Dwarf is 3 to 4 feet, so I doubt any toddler 2 feet tall will be assessing their fitness during jungle gym.
The next step, placing the sensor on the chest, makes it clear why the starting height, is the average height for a man. The instructions say to fit the strap snugly just below the pectoral muscles. For optimal readings, it should lie above the heart while avoiding chest hair. I can't place it above my heart because my breasts are in the way. I imagine running with my boobs slapping against the black plastic. It's obvious that Oregon Scientific did not expect for vertically challenged thirty-six year-old women to purchase their product.
I ran in the rain tonight. The device worked perfectly and my heart rate averaged 123 beats per minute, burning 242 calories. I'm not really obsessed with calories data. The device is to keep my heart rate from slipping below 110 and motivate me during a long workout.
On a side note, I've owned three monitors and I find the chest strap/wrist transmitter to be the most effective. I purchased mine from newegg.com. I also found this comprehensive site while attempting to find statistics to support my theory that aged people, women and short men buy heart rate monitors making the 'Smart Heart' an ageist, sexist and vertically biased product(I didn't find any, but they sell all types of monitors).
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