I was on a road trip once and for some reason one guy decided he needed to take a brush to his head. Mistakenly, he thought that borrowing one from the one of the girls would be a safe bet… girls are into grooming right? Yeah, I guess…Witnessing his horror to find that not one of us had brought a brush or comb was slightly horrifying in itself. You could see it in his eyes, at first disbelief, then the realization that we were either not real girls or that girls, some girls, don’t brush their hair on occasion, maybe ever… Oh the horror! No rouge, no perfumed lotions, ok, but no brushes? Unthinkable. We, on the other hand, were equally perplexed by the fact that someone with such short hair would try to brush it. How? And to what effect? Detangling is clearly not the issue, and style… can you really style an inch of hair? But more importantly, why would you?
It got me thinking, and after some serious reflection I realize that it’s not that I’m against grooming and styling and such, but that my approach is just a little unconventional. I maintain clean on a regular basis, save kempt for the slightly special occasions, and even get classy every once in a great while. And I never find a brush necessary. Don’t be fooled into thinking that I just don’t care. In fact, my alternative methods are a direct result of my vanity. Blow dryers take time and dry out your hair, which is why I choose air drying. I do this on my commute, and find that the vents in my helmet are perfectly suited to it. The helmet technique not only dries my hair thoroughly, evenly, and naturally, but adds volume and a slight to dramatic wave, depending on the frequency and speed of wind gusts. The other advantage to this method is the simultaneous hands-off styling that occurs. When I am ready to take off the helmet, the ends of my hair have already been flawlessly sculpted and the roots are ready for a quick ‘do’. The accumulated sweat makes for a remarkable styling agent that quickly dries in place. One quick finger comb does the trick. No need for dryers, irons, sprays, or ties. Less is more. Dirty is the new black. Kidding. Seriously, who do you take me for… fresh sweat is clean. Trust me.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Surprise, surprise
Someday I plan on writing something profound. Something so insightful or creative that I will have to take a pen name for anyone to take it seriously. But that day is clearly not today. Nope, I am too young to know a whit about anything. And even this I am not so sure about. Ironic isn’t it? Clearly I am confused. But I’m willing to put that aside just now, if you are. You are. Good, good. That’s the attitude I like to see. You are pressing on, hoping to glean something, anything from my scrawling hand. For now I have another one of my stories, the type that don’t need imagination or interpretation. A little anecdote from my days thus far. One that is a little off, and therefore somehow noteworthy. I do appreciate your patience in the drawn out quest for something worth saying. My deadline is quite literally death, and I need deadlines. So I may be dying before I find anything much worth saying. In the meantime I give you this…
Head injuries. That got your attention no doubt. You are hoping for an explanation. No, no, this story is rather recent, so don’t jump to conclusions. You know, life is always full of surprises, sometime good, sometime very well disguised as not good. And let’s face it, sometimes things are just baaad, but you go forward and find something good to do with it. Don’t worry, I’m not going to pull out the lemon analogy. There’s one I hate, even if it does have a point. Well, on a generic Thursday I had an interview with some guys who are opening a corner grocery/deli. A funny little small-world thing happened when I found out that the owner knows my former boss from Atkinson’s. He likes Tom, and Tom likes me (or did, I’m assuming he would remember how much he loved me and begged me to come back). I don’t know how they know each other, Tom is from Idaho and mister new market man is from England. But a good coincidence eh? There’s nothing like networking to land you a job, even if its dumb luck. And you realize you can use a little dumb luck when you learn that you are only one of forty or so applicants. To be a cashier. A very prestigious line of work.
Unfortunately, this little bit of luck is probably overshadowed by the fact that my first impression was probably less than, well, impressive. I don’t know if I could have wowed them on a good day, but remember, this day was a little off. I was a little off. I don’t remember too much, other than sitting perched on a very tall chair, dangling my feet in a most professional way. And trying to sit up straight, and alert. I don’t think I said much. I couldn’t think of any questions. I think I went along with whatever they said. Let me just say that I don’t expect them to contact me for a second interview. Not unless Tom happens to call up and mention how magnificently I performed my cashier duties back in Idaho. I did mention crashing before I arrived, but I doubt they took much note of it.
I didn’t. I met Ashley at a Chai Lounge right after presenting myself as a witless want-to-be clerk at my interview. She asked what was wrong with me. How offensive. She called me slow. Said that I was slurring my speech and screwing up my word choice. Well, uh… nooo. I mean, “I crashed.” That was my explanation. I got a look. Fine. I explained the story… I hit ice near Cowen Park and slammed my head into the street. And the rest of my body. Head hurt, and the rest of my body was also not feeling so hot. The head was also feeling a little sluggish, which Ashley confirmed to be true. She mentioned doctors and concussions, to which I replied “nonsense.”
We sat there for some time, had some good conversations. I don’t remember what about, but good conversation. Barbara showed up. Good surprise, a very good time. I love those two. Darkness fell and stomachs and parking meters needed feeding, so we decided to go make some dinner. Ok, so here’s the part where the yucky surprise (namely the meeting of road and bike, of brain and boulevard) leads to something good that would otherwise not have happened. Obviously my confidence was shaken, but you get back on the horse, right? So I did that for a while. But then I saw some more ice and lots of cars and not much shoulder and some hill and the descending darkness making all of it so ambiguous and horrifyingly scary… I was not ok with all of this. What’s the word? Terrified, unreasonably terrified. Petrified. I couldn’t do it. I’d get a grip tomorrow, or maybe when the snow and ice melted away, leaving the roads approachable once again. I’m usually pretty level-headed about this kind of stuff, but my head was wonky. So clearly I got off and walked the horse back.
Well, on my way back to the metaphorical barn, I was caught off guard by someone yelling at me. From where? I didn’t see anyone. Great, my problems are bigger than I thought. Now I’m crazy and stupid. Alas, I looked up and saw a man waving from a balcony across the street. Oh boy… “I locked myself out.” Oh. He’s real, that’s good. “Uh-oh,” I reply in relief. But he had his keys on him. And I caught them, which was pretty exciting I have to say. I wasn’t counting on it. Ha-ha! The good Samaritan…. Was having trouble with the key. Shoot. It goes in, and does not turn. I try again. I try two, three more times, meanwhile the poor man upstairs is freezing and wondering why he couldn’t have found a more competent rescuer. Finally I admit defeat and walk back within view of the balcony man. “It’s not working, it’s the brass key right?” The patient, freezing man directs me to the other door, the one on the right. There are two?? I go back. Yes, two doors indeed. Which is excellent news. For one thing, the key actually did open the other door, quite easily. And for another, I was glad to note that this meant that I wouldn’t have to enter the part of the house where the fierce snarling and barking was coming from. It was a mild concern, but it had crossed my mind. It also crossed my mind that perhaps the whole stranded thing was a setup and that the nice man was actually planning to catch me and feed me to his carnivorous little dog. I took my chances. For which he was grateful. Brief introductions, his name started with a Y… minor chit chat…. And I was on my way. Riding again with renewed confidence. For about a hundred feet before I convinced myself once again that riding on ice is the most terrible thing in the world and proceeded to walk most of the rest of the way home.
The rest of the evening was pleasant, filled with food and more friends joining in. Excellent surprises. Especially the phone call from dear Gen Sofie in Chicago. We all got to say hello, and three of us will be her bridesmaids…. Oh what a night. To follow such a day. I’m not sure if I should have tried helping Barbara practice driving a standard transmission on this particular evening, but its ok. Though I wonder how helpful I was... Anyway, I still have a lingering headache a few days later, and I still would rather have not hit that particular patch of ice in that particular way. But uh, what can I say? The rest of the day was quite good, the balcony guy was saved because I was walking not riding, and it’s good to know that someone is willing to take you to the emergency room even if they have to get up early in the morning (and even if you refuse).
Head injuries. That got your attention no doubt. You are hoping for an explanation. No, no, this story is rather recent, so don’t jump to conclusions. You know, life is always full of surprises, sometime good, sometime very well disguised as not good. And let’s face it, sometimes things are just baaad, but you go forward and find something good to do with it. Don’t worry, I’m not going to pull out the lemon analogy. There’s one I hate, even if it does have a point. Well, on a generic Thursday I had an interview with some guys who are opening a corner grocery/deli. A funny little small-world thing happened when I found out that the owner knows my former boss from Atkinson’s. He likes Tom, and Tom likes me (or did, I’m assuming he would remember how much he loved me and begged me to come back). I don’t know how they know each other, Tom is from Idaho and mister new market man is from England. But a good coincidence eh? There’s nothing like networking to land you a job, even if its dumb luck. And you realize you can use a little dumb luck when you learn that you are only one of forty or so applicants. To be a cashier. A very prestigious line of work.
Unfortunately, this little bit of luck is probably overshadowed by the fact that my first impression was probably less than, well, impressive. I don’t know if I could have wowed them on a good day, but remember, this day was a little off. I was a little off. I don’t remember too much, other than sitting perched on a very tall chair, dangling my feet in a most professional way. And trying to sit up straight, and alert. I don’t think I said much. I couldn’t think of any questions. I think I went along with whatever they said. Let me just say that I don’t expect them to contact me for a second interview. Not unless Tom happens to call up and mention how magnificently I performed my cashier duties back in Idaho. I did mention crashing before I arrived, but I doubt they took much note of it.
I didn’t. I met Ashley at a Chai Lounge right after presenting myself as a witless want-to-be clerk at my interview. She asked what was wrong with me. How offensive. She called me slow. Said that I was slurring my speech and screwing up my word choice. Well, uh… nooo. I mean, “I crashed.” That was my explanation. I got a look. Fine. I explained the story… I hit ice near Cowen Park and slammed my head into the street. And the rest of my body. Head hurt, and the rest of my body was also not feeling so hot. The head was also feeling a little sluggish, which Ashley confirmed to be true. She mentioned doctors and concussions, to which I replied “nonsense.”
We sat there for some time, had some good conversations. I don’t remember what about, but good conversation. Barbara showed up. Good surprise, a very good time. I love those two. Darkness fell and stomachs and parking meters needed feeding, so we decided to go make some dinner. Ok, so here’s the part where the yucky surprise (namely the meeting of road and bike, of brain and boulevard) leads to something good that would otherwise not have happened. Obviously my confidence was shaken, but you get back on the horse, right? So I did that for a while. But then I saw some more ice and lots of cars and not much shoulder and some hill and the descending darkness making all of it so ambiguous and horrifyingly scary… I was not ok with all of this. What’s the word? Terrified, unreasonably terrified. Petrified. I couldn’t do it. I’d get a grip tomorrow, or maybe when the snow and ice melted away, leaving the roads approachable once again. I’m usually pretty level-headed about this kind of stuff, but my head was wonky. So clearly I got off and walked the horse back.
Well, on my way back to the metaphorical barn, I was caught off guard by someone yelling at me. From where? I didn’t see anyone. Great, my problems are bigger than I thought. Now I’m crazy and stupid. Alas, I looked up and saw a man waving from a balcony across the street. Oh boy… “I locked myself out.” Oh. He’s real, that’s good. “Uh-oh,” I reply in relief. But he had his keys on him. And I caught them, which was pretty exciting I have to say. I wasn’t counting on it. Ha-ha! The good Samaritan…. Was having trouble with the key. Shoot. It goes in, and does not turn. I try again. I try two, three more times, meanwhile the poor man upstairs is freezing and wondering why he couldn’t have found a more competent rescuer. Finally I admit defeat and walk back within view of the balcony man. “It’s not working, it’s the brass key right?” The patient, freezing man directs me to the other door, the one on the right. There are two?? I go back. Yes, two doors indeed. Which is excellent news. For one thing, the key actually did open the other door, quite easily. And for another, I was glad to note that this meant that I wouldn’t have to enter the part of the house where the fierce snarling and barking was coming from. It was a mild concern, but it had crossed my mind. It also crossed my mind that perhaps the whole stranded thing was a setup and that the nice man was actually planning to catch me and feed me to his carnivorous little dog. I took my chances. For which he was grateful. Brief introductions, his name started with a Y… minor chit chat…. And I was on my way. Riding again with renewed confidence. For about a hundred feet before I convinced myself once again that riding on ice is the most terrible thing in the world and proceeded to walk most of the rest of the way home.
The rest of the evening was pleasant, filled with food and more friends joining in. Excellent surprises. Especially the phone call from dear Gen Sofie in Chicago. We all got to say hello, and three of us will be her bridesmaids…. Oh what a night. To follow such a day. I’m not sure if I should have tried helping Barbara practice driving a standard transmission on this particular evening, but its ok. Though I wonder how helpful I was... Anyway, I still have a lingering headache a few days later, and I still would rather have not hit that particular patch of ice in that particular way. But uh, what can I say? The rest of the day was quite good, the balcony guy was saved because I was walking not riding, and it’s good to know that someone is willing to take you to the emergency room even if they have to get up early in the morning (and even if you refuse).
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