Massage Envy

About a year ago I signed up for a membership at Massage Envy, better known as the rapidly growing massage therapy chain with the horrible, horrible name. Because, honestly. "Massage Envy"? You would have to TRY to come up with a name that cheesy. It's practically dripping in Velveeta. I'm surprised the logo doesn't include Swiss cheese holes, arranged strategically about the a's and e's.

Anyway, I decided to buy a membership because for several reasons. The first reason will come as a surprise to no one that knows me well: I'm a bit of a stress ball. Tightly wound. Some might say I put the "A" in Type A. Because of this I often have trouble with my neck and shoulders. Namely, they start to feel like they are permanently scrunched somewhere up around my ears. This is compounded by the fact that I rear-ended someone back in 2000 and suffered some pretty serious whiplash as a result. Before that accident I always thought that whiplash was a load of hooey. Well let me tell you, it's not. It's real, and it sucks. And sometimes, it doesn't go away in a matter of months. Or years. It lingers, and it gets worse when you're stressed out. And when that happens, certain people get very grumpy.

Enter Massage Envy. For the low price of approx. $50 a month, I receive an hour-long massage. Tip not included, but still—it's a good deal. In my case, an hour massage once monthly mitigates the whiplash problem and helps me feel like a regular person with properly positioned shoulders and a functional neck. It also reduces grumpiness, and as Jim would heartily agree, that's worth it's weight in gold.

Overall my experience at M.E. has actually been pretty fantastic. Granted, my local franchise doesn't have the atmosphere of a fancy spa, but it's clean and they have weekend and extended evening hours. So, super convenient. And early on in my membership I was lucky enough to stumble upon Lily, who might be the best masseuse ever. I mean, I don't claim to be a connoisseur, per se, but I've had my share of massages. And while I've only had one really BAD massage (during which my male masseuse managed to seriously bruise my rib in a ham-handed fashion) I've had lots of massages that were just OK. Relaxing and all, but by no means transformative.

Well, I have to say the massage I had the other night WAS transformative. A real trip. I decided to spring for a 1.5 hour session and I was not sorry. It was phenomenal. SO relaxing. And Lily did this wacky energy field thing that is going to sound ridiculous, but it was amazingly effective. Apparently there are points on your body that activate beta wave activity in the brain. But touching these points you reach a deep level of relaxation. So, for example, she took a hold of my little finger and then with the other hand held one of my toes. I know, it sounds totally bizarre, but it's for real. I felt like I had been meditating for 20 minutes. I really must do some research into this because if there's a way I can do this myself, I totally will. That night I slept like a ROCK.

Do I sound like a complete hippie? Because I'm really not. I mean, I think acupuncture is great and I meditate on a somewhat regular basis, but I'm by no means a drum-circle-dancing, goddess-worshipping wood nymph. However, I do think the mind-body connection is really interesting, and I have to say that ANYTHING that will calm my anxiety-addled brain is a bonus. So bring it on, Massage Envy. Gouda-worthy name and all.

Haiku Spew-o-the-Week

I think it's time for some more haikus. The theme for today is: freelance.

How can I design
When the weather is so nice
Office or prison?

I need to make calls
I need to finish an ad
Better check email.

Getting organized
Making lots of little lists
Obsessive? And how!

Whoo-hoo!

I got the tree! He came complete with a corncob pipe. Also got Brigette the cat and Edsel the elephant thingie. With his pillow. Thank you, Kid Robot, for your fine, fine products.

It's pouring

Like I mentioned before, I have a ton of freelance work at the moment. I can tell my brain is reaching a critical point because I woke up at 2 am last night fretting about deadlines and the looming specter of designer's block. So much to do, so little time. Design under pressure! That means I need take a page out of Emeril's book and kick it up a notch. Its harder now that I'm working at home. There are an insane amount of distractions including, but not limited to: dogs that need to go out, phones that ring, emails that arrive, and tasty snacks that sing their sweet sirens' songs from the depths of the 'fridge.

But none of that matters. It's time to focus. Get serious. It's time to make to-do lists and phone calls, create bid requests and scans and comps and invoices and timelines. I need to feel the periodic high of accomplishment in order to keep motivated. And that means . . . well . . . I need to accomplish something.

As of this week I do have one poster and brochure behind me, so that helps a bit. I'm actually pretty happy with the way the poster turned out. Being pleased with my work is sort of a rare thing, unfortunately. I'm my own worst critic.


I hope we can actually make it to this event next week. It sounds like fun, and I always enjoy visiting the chickens at the history park. They are of the old-school fancy and fluffy variety. Who doesn't love a heritage chicken?

Sweetbreads, etc.

I love cook books; they are a source of endless fascination. While I prefer to peruse the ones with color images of perfectly styled food, I find the down and dirty, text-heavy versions more useful. More practical. Less fluff.

Earlier today I had a hankering for chicken salad so I decided to take a look at the Joy of Cooking's version to see if it sparked any new ideas. Mind you, I inherited my grandmother's copy, circa 1953. I should have known the recipe would be basic: chicken, celery, salted almonds (if you're feeling sassy!). The usual. There is an additional list of things you can use to spice the salad up a bit, including pimento (blech!) and parboiled oysters (double blech!), but nothing that really made me snap to attention.

That is, until I flipped to the previous page, where I found recipes for the following trio of delight:
—Salad of Sweetbreads, Cucumbers, and Mushrooms
—Pickled Lamb Tongue Salad
—Mock Ham Salad (made from bologna, which is apparently ham's bastard cousin)

Don't those sound awesome? Here's a hot tip: mix up a batch of each for your next party, and watch the bridge club go wild!

So I got a little curious and decided to visit the Meat section of the book. Because who knows what types of monsters might lurk within? What I found chilled me to the bone. There is an entire section (13 pages!) of recipes for Sweetbreads, Brains, Kidneys, Liver, Heart, Tongue, Oxtails, etc. What in holy hell does that "etc." mean?? The introduction is priceless. I have to transcribe it because it's almost too delicious (ha ha!) to be true. My comments in italics.

************
The following is a hush-hush section ,"just between us girls."

Today's skeleton, shamelessly revealed, is apt to be the housekeeper's slenderized pocketbook. Faced with the responsibility of producing meals that are nutritionally sound, acceptable to the family and not noticeably economical (heaven forbid hubby suspect you're pinching pennies!) she may well feel "as broke as the ten commandments." Her marketing jaunts find her "just eyeballing around" (unintentional random body part pun?) as far as the luxuries are concerned, and the question foremost in her mind is how to vary her menus without increasing their cost. (as opposed to "I can't believe the car broke down again" or maybe "when is my condescending husband going to start respecting me?") She has little chance of emulating the French, who pity us for our limited range of gastronomic enjoyment, by using the less expensive variety meats like brains, kidneys, heart, tripe, tongue, etc., for serving these meats frequently means the reeducation of family taste. A suggestion on my part that they be tried usually meets with a vociferous and virtuous "Why, my husband wouldn't eat that stuff." Since "that stuff" is relished by countless thousands who have thrived on it, it seems reasonable to give it a trial. Charles Dickens said: (she's not really going to quote Dickens, is she? omg, she is!) "Her hair was false but it deceived no one." So don't try to coat the pill. Serve these delicacies and let the chips fall where they may.
***********

So instead of telling your family "We're having pasta again because the budget is tight," go out and buy some tripe and brains, dress them up, and "let the chips fall where they may."

Was it really that important to serve meat at every meal back in the 50's? I can't even comprehend such a thing. But I'll tell ya, this book is chock full of fun. I might have to make excerpts a regular feature on the blog. Next up: how to skin a squirrel. Not even kidding.

Throwing stones

The famous Glass House is finally open to the public. I would love to check it out sometime, maybe when we are visiting Jim's parents in New Hampshire.

I once read an interview with Phillip Johnson where he talked about throwing stones at his neighbor's house. Literally. He thought it was hilarious. And if I remember correctly, the neighbor finally got pissed and threw some stones back. I wish I could find the article, it was pretty entertaining.

Critters

I try to control frivolous spending, I really do. But I couldn't resist these nuggets of wonderful that I found at Kidrobot. I mean, I HAD to buy a "happy new job" gift for myself, right?



Cutest damn things ever. You mix and match the body parts to create all varieties of critters. Brilliant! I can't wait for them to arrive. I bought three, and since it's a blind selection I just hope they're all different. Oh, and I REALLY want the tree.