Throne Of The Gods...

...and I ain't talkin' about a solid-gold toilet with heated seats, either.

In celebration of the new NoHo digs, I did something good for myself (and my relentlessly aging back) and bought a Herman Miller Aeron Chair.

Studio-dwellers will be very familiar with this chair. It's been the de-facto standard in recording studio furniture for over a decade. Recording engineers tend to spend large chunks of time sitting on their asses, so ergonomic chairs are a must.

The one I bought was floor model, so it was discounted enough to get some extras installed. First of all, Deep Carpet Castors-



To the left is the standard castor, which I guess is fine for women or MTF trannies. To the right is the Deep Carpet Castors, which will allow me to roll around the entire apartment while laughing with glee. And I WILL, too.

The pre-assembled chair looks like this-



Another option I had put on was the PostureFit back support, because let's face it, I'm OLD. I had a hell of a time getting the support wire through the mesh-



Here's the installed PostureFit-



Finally, behold The Best Chair Ever In The Entire History Of The Human Race™-



I'm sitting in it as we speak, and I can say that the only better place for my ass is Deebo's hands.

Woot!

MFDC + Bally's = OUCH

Sometime around November 2006, a combination of illness and severe workiness managed to sidetrack the momentum of regular workouts that I had maintained for the previous 3 years. While thankfully I haven't gained any significant weight (due in no small part to MFDG's Diet Makeover™,) I still have been feeling low-energy and out-of-shape.

Having completed the recent move to NoHo (random note: I'm going to refer to North Hollywood as "NoHo" from now on because it's fun to say it. Try it: NoHo. NoooHooooo,) I decided to join a new gym. Part of the deal at Bally's is that you get a free session with a personal trainer when you join, so I suited up, grabbed my water bottle and got ready to sweat like John Belushi in Vegas in July.

I should have sensed something was wrong when I was greeted by my trainer, a perfect Aryan physical specimen by the name of Gunther. Gunther did his best to politely conceal his contempt for my weak girlie-man shape as he asked me the perfunctory basic questionnaire.

Gunter- "So, Dave, what are your Fitness Goals™?

MFDC- "It's Dan. I would like to not look and feel like a ginormous tub of shit."

Gunter- "Could you be more... specific, Damian?"

MFDC- "Imagine, Gunther, a large, classically beautiful clawfoot tub with brass fittings filled to capacity with fresh feces. My Fitness Goal™ is like to not look and feel like that."

Gunter- "OK, Devin, let's get started!"

And man did we get started. I did all manners of squats, pulls, squat-pulls, pull-squats, and ssssssstttttttrrrrrreeeeeettttccccccchhhhhhheeeeeeesssssssssssss. I asked Gunther half-jokingly how long he'd been a guard at Abu Ghraib. By the end of it I was sweating in the afore-mentioned John Belushi style and breathing like Darth Vader with hay-fever.

BUT.

I'm still going back tomorrow. Where'd that Advil go?

Woot.

Worky