First, and most important, congrats to Madame CoolP and Senor OTay for what has been, by all accounts, a wildly successful opening for their production Because They have No Words. I wish I could be there to see it. Anyone in the LA area, head over to the The Lounge Theatre for the show.

Monsieur HiggyPiggy -- He Who No Longer Blogs Because He's Just Too Good For Blogging Or Something, Is That It? Huh? Punk -- is in town, so the regular Higgy brunch crew got together at Orange for breakfast debauchery... and were disappointed. Yes, there was a chocolate pancake flight, but it wasn't nearly as sublime at the last one we experienced. Plus, we waited forever for our food. It's still a good place -- hell, they have pancake flights. That's brilliant! -- but we have realized that it is not, in fact, perfect, and will feel free to find other options the next time J.Hig's in town. Which hopefully will be often, and then all-together, with Herr Doktor Chiz, in the near future... But I'm getting ahead of things.

To continue...

Why I love the internet, part 823987528376:

This site will allow you to design your official seal. As an example, here's my attempt at a Jersild Day seal:



This particular seal is, of course, hideous, for several aesthetic and philosophical reasons. I'm sure anyone with any design sense was struck blind my my color choices, and why on earth would an unofficial guerilla holiday have an official anything? Also, I could find neither a Viking nor a non-corporate penguin among the emblem choices, which saddened me. (Apparently they take requests, though, so if I had a suitable Viking or non-corporate penguin, they would be happy to add it to the mix.) Nonetheless, I adore the internet for making really obscure and random things like this possible.

Interestingly (to me, at least), I first met the inimitable Shannon Monaghan, and thus took my first steps into the world of Monaghaness, designing a similar seal or shield. It was the first day at Governor's School, and the whole passel of us were divided into groups to create a heraldic shield of some sort that represented our group. I can't remember anything we put on it, except for Matt Cassarino's contribution -- a dead canary, symbolizing his Italian heritage.

Here endeth the flashback.

And finally, a bit of whining and complaining. I periodically go through periods of wanting to get in shape and all the rest. About 10 years or so ago, that entailed hiring a personal trainer in Hong Kong. He did the usual rigmarole, taking my blood pressure and monitoring my pulse, along with breaking out the dreaded fat calipers (shudder...) and other instruments of torture. After the requisite poking and prodding, he told me there was good news and bad news. The good news: Despite being fat, I was, in fact, quite healthy. In fact, my heart was remarkably efficient, I had great lung capacity, and internally speaking, I was in great shape.

This led to the bad news: One of the things I needed to do to lose weight was to keep my heart rate in a certain zone. But my sturdy peasant body made that really, really difficult. I'd have to work really hard to boost the heart rate, more than others with less efficient internal organs. Yay, me.

I was thinking of that today, as I came back from my walk/run. I'm basically slowly building up, adding a little more running to my walk every week. Right now, I'm running 1 minutes 15 seconds out of every five minutes walking. I've got a heart rate monitor that tracks my heart rate and gives me a rundown of calories burned and such, and I've noticed a disturbing trend -- I'm covering more ground, but burning fewer calories. God dammit.

This is, of course, a good thing. It means my heart is getting even healthier, that despite being overweight I'm unlikely to drop dead of a heart attack anytime soon. My heart is adapting quite well to more exercise, and will happily adapt to more.

My legs, on the other hand, and my gut and my back and shoulders and knees and feet... they're still unconvinced. All these bits will grudgingly let me add more speed and distance and intensity, eventually, but not without complaint. So I come back form a walk/run feeling tired and virtuous, then check the heart rate monitor to see I'm burning 270 calories where I used to burn 310, despite adding an extra loop around the track. Again, god dammit.

There are times I curse my healthy sturdy peasant body. Look, I'm designed for childbirth and the plow. I can plod on for miles and miles without feeling it, but don't do so well at speed or grace or anything flashy. I have never experienced famine in my entire life -- and I doubt that last couple of generations have, either -- but my body hoards calories like any day the crops could fail and my fat stores will be all that keeps me alive. That's great, I'll be fine in any upcoming catastrophy, but at the moment, all I really want is to look good in skinny jeans. Sigh.

So really, mom and dad and assorted ancestors -- couldn't we have slipped one overbred, unhealthy aristocrat into the genetic mix? Someone prone to consumption and vapors and fragility? Is it too much to ask for a spot of hemophilia or wasting illness? Couldn't you have thought about my potential fitness for wispy fashions instead of ensuring my survival in harsh circumstances? Really, is that too much to ask?