One of the hardest things about my job

I can't make public political statements. And I probably shouldn't opine on recent court opinions either.

Photo: Cold in Colorado. Appropriate since we're heading to Seattle tomorrow.

Haiti (and my 2010 Goal)

The earthquake in Haiti.


I am sure you are just as upset by this disaster as I am.

Haiti is so close to Trinidad, and although their language is different, I feel a cultural connection to the people and the island. The culture is so rich -- one listen to zouk (Sak Pasé!) and you'll know exactly what I mean.

When I heard the news, I felt so powerless. I called Martine, who is Haitian. She and her mom are of course very upset, wondering about relatives they haven't heard from yet. I tried to console her, but there was nothing I could do really. And I was worried about an Italian friend who was working for the UN in Haiti too. (He is safe in Italy as it turns out.)

In a daze, I went to whitehouse.gov. Barack said to donate to the Red Cross, so I did. Then the twittersphere pointed out that the Red Cross didn't seem to do much in New Orleans, so I donated to the United Nations. I didn't feel much better, so I donated to Doctors without Borders. It was a small comfort to read in the news all three of these organizations were already there in Haiti and had started working right away.

For 2010, one of my goals is to donate as much money to organizations I believe in as I spend on my inner spa girl. While it sounds pithy, using the amount of money I spend on getting my hair and nails done, facials, and the occasional massage seems like a good benchmark for giving to others (not including taxes, of course). Right now I am ahead on the donations.

I still wish I could do more for Haiti. I will see if there are any short-term volunteer opportunities for my break in between jobs this spring.

Whipped creme!

I can't say enough about Sebastian Whipped Creme!

I use it to set my hair in curls. It works really well, leaves my hair soft, has only a faint smell, and is really fun and looks so tasty!

While I loved the Davines shaping gel, it made my hair feel crunchy (by comparison). But, A bottle of Davines lasted about a year. I use a lot more of the whipped creme.

Whipped creme is on sale here at drugstore.com.

Dear NHD, I'm worried about the look of new locks

RasisingChild is a bit concerned about starting locks because she doesn't want to be the center of attention at the office.

I'm going to be brutally honest. New locks don't look good. It takes time. You really have to suck it up.

There are two things you can do though.

• Hold your head up high and just be haughty about it. Your hair is no one's business but your own.
• Have a few photos of women with locks you admire to show them what you're working towards.
  

I did a combination of the two, depending on the person and how much I cared about what they thought of my hair. When I started,t he only SL blog I could find was Leighann's, so I showed everyone that. I would gaze at her locks and wonder when my hair would look just like hers. (I am still gazing and wondering, as my hair turned out to look nothing like hers.)

The best thing, of course, is to feel good about your locks. With all of the hair blogs now, you'll know what to expect as your locks mature a lot more than I did. And, I started feeling a lot better about my new look after I discovered Caruso steam rollers (on Leighann's blog).

Photo: Running from the "What is going on with your hair?" Monster.

Post-haircut photo

Josef added more layers to my hair to reduce its bulkiness.


Sometimes I regret cutting my hair and not having it longer to show the six year's of growth. But, then, I have to remind myself that my hair is supposed to be a complement to me, and not vice versa. If I had six years' of growth or my hair all one length, it would overwhelm my whole image. And, believe me, my hair makes enough of a scene as it is.


I've been flu-y, so I haven't set it yet. But I will!

Pre-annual hair trim

Freestyle and Soft-Spikes (regular) setting.

Pre-haircut drama

As you can see, my hair is starting to overwhelm my face. I made a hair appointment with Joseph for another trim in October, which would have made it a year since my last cut. I got anxious about cutting my hair, and canceled my appointment. I emailed Joseph and explained.

He didn't get back to me, so I was tempted. Maria sang the praises of her man at Vidal Sassoon, but I was loyal. But, Joseph replied after a month, which greatly displeased me. Maria reminded me that her man was responsible for her metamorphosis from a blunt cut to her beautiful layers. I need some more layers in a big way, so I went to see him for a consultation.

Well, he won't cut my hair. No embarrassment on his part. No apology. He did refer to my hair as "beautiful," but he wasn't going to cut my beautiful hair.

Try down the street at Elgin Charles, he said. It's a black salon.

Is it just me, or does this sound a bit like Jim Crow?

I walked down the street and met Elgin. He was perfectly nice, but his salon specializes in weaves, judging from the women in the chairs I saw and the piles of hair all around. He asked me if I wanted to cut off my "dreads." I don't mind laypeople calling my hair dreads, but I do expect professionals to know a bit better. I made a consultation with Elgin, but maybe I will cancel it. I don't know if his expertise is in precision cutting.

Why not go to a natural hair salon? The only one I have heard of in LA is in Long Beach (far away) and I haven't seen anyone who got her hair cut there. People with locks just don't cut their hair that much. So, I went the route of high end Beverly Hills salons. Why not splurge on a haircut, since I only cut it annually? (Okay, fine. You're right. I always splurge on my hair.)

Hopefully Joseph won't mind that he hasn't seen me in fourteen months. Sometimes, you have to look around to appreciate the man you have. Now where's his number?



[Photo: Angelic in Chicago.]

Party preparations

I've put a lot more effort into entertaining in the last few years, because it's easier to enjoy a party when it's well organized. Anyway, here are some of the party preparations.

• Double magnum of zinfandel, check.
• Halloween labels for regular wine bottles, check.
• Skull, check. (Timpani is so afraid of this!)
• Pumpkin piñata, filled with candy, check.
• Beer can chickens & grilled pineapple, check. (Sorry, I am tired of fighting with blogger, so there's no photo.)
  
• What happened to the chickens??

Do pirates really have locks?

As you can see, we do!

And check out Samurai Breadfruit's sideburns (or sidebeards, as he likes to say in his non-native-English-speaker kinda way).

Pre-haircut

Thanks for all of your comments on Breadfruit's haircut post. He loves them! He has been telling me how many comments he's gotten. But today, he was sad. One poster removed her comment about how his hair should be cut.


Here's his before picture.

He's definitely a classic!

Breadfruit has hair issues too. It runs in the family, it seems. He wants his hair cut short, but to grow long at the same time, and these sorts of things.

His hair really was getting long, and he wanted a cut. We searched for photos online so he could show me what he meant. Well, there isn't a single actor or men's haircut gallery with what he wanted, or with someone who has hair like his. He scheduled a haircut, and told me he'd ask the hairdresser. Knowing his descriptions of hairstyles include things like cut short to grow long, I told him he had better take a photo, or he'd be disappointed.

So, this man of mine scheduled a haircut (while I was getting my hair done so I couldn't go too).
He took a picture of what he wanted: Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man!

Spiral curls

When I use my small Soft Spikes, I usually don't comb out the curls the first day. My most recent thing is to pull back the hair on top, and leave the rest free. (I used to put it all up.) However, this hairstyle tends to mesmerize the general public, so I suffered more deer-in-the-locklights staring than usual.



Felicia sent me this photo. I'm sure she photoshopped it, since neither Breadfruit nor I have any recollection of acting this goofy.

Afrobella!

From following Afrobella on twitter, I knew she, her husband, and their cat had recently moved to Chicago. I thought about looking her up, but figured she had better things to do.

Well, it turns out that our things-to-do lists had some overlap!

Afrobella and I recognized each other in the Field Museum. It was really wonderful to meet her in person. She's a full-time blogger, and hosts benefit events in Chicago. I'm a little concerned about how she'll handle the winter after living in Trinidad and Miami, but I think she'll do it with Afrobella style and enjoy winter accessories. (By the way, it's in the 90s here in LA, and my plans to buy fall clothes have been thwarted.)

Wow, between Dina, Felicia, Chi-Chi, and Afrobella, I see that Chicago is the place for young women going places!

Dining with Chi-Chi in Chi-town!

While in Chicago, I got to meet up with Chi-Chi, only now she's Chi-Chi, Ph.D.!

Like my cousins, Dr. Chi is plotting out a new, interesting career in Chicago. I hope she and Dina remain friends.

Her sweetie Dave is in politics, and I thanked him for all the good work he's doing for us liberals.

Later, I almost got kicked out of David Burke's steak dry aging cellar. What? I thought it was a tasting room.

Please do me a favor, and head to Chi-Chi's blog and congratulate her on finishing her Ph.D.!

PIRATES!

The Field Museum has an awesome Real Pirates exhibit going on until October 25th.

I love pirates, and like to think of them as drunken Robin Hood-like slightly misunderstood sailors. Breadfruit disagrees strongly, pointing out how they rape, burn, and pillage, to which I answer AARGH!

The exhibit was awesome. It begins with a dose of history about the slave trade, and the slave ship Whydah in 1715. The Whydah was turned pirate, and it continues through her adventures. It sadly sunk off the coast of Massachusetts in 1717 -- not surprising, since we all know pirates are supposed to stay in the Caribbean. It was found in 1984, along with the first ever pirate treasure ever found.

If you're in Chicago, or can get to Chicago, it's a great exhibit, especially for kids. It's really well done, especially where you climb through a recreation of the ship.

Thanks for your concern Mr. Bardwell, but I'm just fine. And so is Barack.

So this Justice of the Peace named Keith Bardwell, in Louisiana, has decided not to preform any marriage ceremonies for mixed-race couples out of concern for their children. But he's not racist because he'll perform marriages for black couples as well as white couples. You understand that, right?

I know, you think I'm joking, like we all forgot about the Loving v. Virginia Supreme Court decision. But it's true, I tell you!

I read it in the ABA Journal, so it must be true.

Cousins!

My cousins Dina and Felicia moved to Chicago about a year and a half ago. They didn't have jobs, didn't know anyone, just got in their cars and bravely went.

Dina spent her first couple months studying for the Illinois Bar. She passed (CONGRATULATIONS - one can never hear that too much) and is reluctantly working as a trial attorney. Felicia found a job too, and thinking of starting a catering business.

It was really wonderful to see them, and know that they've settled into the Windy City -- complete with condo with fabulous view of Lake Michigan.

Our other motivation (besides giving me an excuse to wear my OTT pirate fishnets) was to eat steak. And steak we did. For you carnivores, I highly recommend the bone-in filet at N9ne.

A dose of fall colors

Living in LA gives me a real appreciation for the seasons. On our (long) weekend trip to Chicago, Breadfruit and I got to see autumn, as well as four people who've starred on my blog before. Any guesses?

Bad hair day for Chris Rock

He's getting sued about his new film Good Hair. Details about the lawsuit here.

Wouldn't it be funny if I ended up working on this case? (I won't, don't worry. Or I wouldn't be writing about it online.)

Hair anxiety

I signed up for my "annual haircut." I am thinking of cutting the top in shorter layers so it doesn't get flat.


Here, it's not flat, since I probably turned my head upside down, finger combed it, and turned right side up.

But, Martine doesn't think cutting it will really make my hair lighter on top. So, instead I'm going to try to get in the habit of wearing a couple Soft Spikes at night on top. (I've been trying for a week now, but no luck yet.)

Anyway, my impending haircut is stressing me out. While I'm completely thrilled that my hair is my biggest sources of anxiety, I am really worried about this! So, I've decided to push off my haircut for a while (and get back to worrying about real estate).

We'll always have Paris!

Martine sent me this wonderful photo from Paris! As you can see, she has been wearing her hair in twists. As usual, she looks fantastic!

In case you don't know the story of how Martine lost her locks, and how she's coping with them, click here. (I really want to know what's in that shopping bag.)

We can expect to see Martine in locks again this fall.

Not all hair days are created equal

Some days are really good hair days!







Hair: One week after setting with Long Soft Spike Curlers using Davines shaping gel.


Eyebrows: In the painful process of growing them out to their natural state so I can re-shape them.

Dog: Timpani, not enthusiastic about posing.



Outlook: When my hair looks like this, I'm in a sunny mood!

Do you think Breadfruit knows how lucky he is to have a wife who will sleep outdoors in a tent for two days without running water?

Of course he does. I tell him all the time!

Timpani did very well on her first overnight trip. In the second photo, I'm holding the dog water bowl, and the doggies we anxious for me to come down off the rock. Breadfruit did well too -- he caught four fish.

We did this hike nine years ago, with Marcello. We still really miss him. Another big difference was that Breadfruit and I are in much better shape than we were then. I remember that the hike up exhausted us last time, but this time it was fine.


It was great to get away from it all, especially the smoke. We saw it 150 miles away - yuck! (See the last photo.)

We still have smoke from backfires sometimes, but overall, things are back to normal.

Fire!

The wildfires are really scary, but at the same time, they're not. They're on the other side of the mountains, so you can only see the tops of them from the west side of LA. We are getting the smoke though - here's a photo of Mt. Wilson taken from downtown. The Station Fire is 150,000 acres--the same size as Chicago!

Every day we get one or two Reverse-911 calls, which is reassuring. Our warning level has increased though - we are told to prepare in case we have to evacuate. So, here's the plan. I increased the insurance limits on our house, I'm taking birth certificates and other papers, jewelry, and hard drives to friends in the "lowlands" of Pasadena, and we're headed to the High Sierras to go camping this weekend.

I hope our bear is going to be okay.

Happy Labor Day! (Especially to those of you going to Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn!)

But wait nah, this gyul going to Carnival!

I have just committed to dance in the streets of Port of Spain wearing nothing but this!

Jeez-an-ages!

Black Women's Hair Makes Headlines!

In the New York Times, no less.

Article here.

LA Flower Market!

My friend Kelly and I headed to the LA Flower Market. I had always wanted to go, and Kelly's upcoming wedding was the perfect occasion!

We arrived at 7:30 am, paid the $2 admission fee (since we are not florists), and explored. There were more roses in more colors than I could have imagined. The colors have great names -- Confetti, Bourbon, Latina, Kristina, Fire, etc.

Kelly was searching for orange flowers, but something a little different from roses. She found some really interesting little orange flowers (which of course, I have forgotten the name of) and might use them.

I had a bit of a flower shopping spree. I bought four dozen roses and two dozen callalillies -- for $44!

The roses were not cleaned, so I spent much of the morning clipping off leaves and stems. Next time I'll pick up some flower shears too.

Summer concert

Breadfruit and I were fortunate enough to attend a Southwest Chamber Music concert yesterday. It was at the Huntington Garden, one of our favorite places.

I'm not a music expert by any means, but I really enjoyed the first piece by Aaron Copland. Breadfruit was surprised I liked "modern music," and if I ever get iTunes to work on my laptop again, I'll put it on my phone. He had prepared me somewhat for the concert by finding a YouTube documentary of Zubin Mehta and friends playing the Schubert piece.

It's hard to describe the setting. I captured only a bit of it with my telephone.

Imagine sitting on the loggia with the grand columns and marble statues watching you, close enough to see the musicians' faces. The sky darkens gradually from blue to black. Occasionally a cool breeze floats in, and when the music pauses, you can hear crickets or the howl of a far-off coyote. You lean towards your honey, and squeeze his hand.

Unbreakable

I'm taking a creative writing class at UCLA this summer. This week's homework is to write a story about an object. So, I wrote a story about a pick. It is, in fact, a work of fiction. Let me know what you think.

It’s amazing how much Catholic guilt I have, considering I’m an atheist. I’m making an effort to overcome my childhood, and adolescence, and college years, so I might be able to enjoy my adult years in peace. One of the ways I’ve found very effective is to confess my sins, which again, somehow comes naturally, and is completely inappropriate and makes me feel better at the same time.

In the first few weeks of college, when I was still in a state of shock that such a great university had taken the risk to accept me, I committed a terrible sin. It didn’t have anything to do with my courses, which truth be told, would not be nearly as over my head as I had imagined. Later I learned most of us first-years (as “freshmen” was being phased out) were in the same state of shock, thinking only legacy children had the birthright to be accepted and the rest of us were just intruders. Later I learned that legacy children, knowing they had the strongest affirmative action known to man on their side, had an insecurity that was unmatched only by athletes. Ivy league coaches crippled by their inability to offer athletic scholarships, could only compete with the promise of a fancy academic degree. But, blind to all of this, and from just a public school that only sent forty percent of its students to four-year colleges, I felt like an outsider.

Over “frosh week,” another effort to make us womyn feel included, I got to know some of my classmates. They weren’t that different from me. Some of them, like Leslie, were just like me. We couldn’t get over just how we went from being SuperNerdGirl to normal over one summer, just by leaving high school and showing up at the University of Like Minded Individuals. And I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to meet another public school girl, who had never heard of those fancy New England prep schools that everyone else seemed to be from.

One evening, before we had discovered drinking, and before the upperclassmen (sic, only men intended) showed up, a group of us had congregated in Leslie’s room. A few went out for a smoke, since Leslie wouldn't let them smoke in her room. The rest of us were trying to decide if we should go out or not bother until school actually started. Although trite, these conversations really made me comfortable. I had been concerned that everyone at this university would only speak to subjects such as Chaucer, Swiss skiing vacations, and the tortures of trust funds. Instead, we talked about boys, lipstick, and whether it was better to believe the course catalog or attend the first class of sixteen classes before settling on four.

While all of this was going on, I picked up Leslie’s afropick from her dresser. It was a third the size of the yellow one my father used, and even more simple. Leslie’s pick was black, and simply stated “unbreakable” in simple all-caps italic font. I absentmindedly played with it in my hands, subconsciously thrilled to find such a familiar, intimate object. As the conversation turned to whether or not it was worth it to return to our dorm to eat lunch, or just to eat at an upcampus dining hall, I removed all of her hair from it, and scraped off the dried styling products with my fingernail tips. It didn't seem gross at the time like it does now.

I had an afropick myself, a special present from a friend of my parents who went to Kenya on safari. It was a handmade thing of beauty, with hand-carved wooden teeth, and a giraffe at the top. I didn’t actually use it, since I straightened my hair and hadn’t had an afro in quite some time, so it rested in a place of honor on the dresser in my room. I was surprised that Leslie’s had hair in it, since her hair was straightened too.

As the conversation turned to which libraries were best to study in, I grew bored. This sort of thing was something I would have to learn on my own. Although the other “frosh” were paying rapt attention to the sophomore who discussed the pros and cons of the main floor versus the reading room of the main library. She was just showing off. I didn’t like her anyway, since she clearly made it known she had attended one of those New England schools, and was continually getting in trouble for overspending her daddy-imposed limit on her credit cards as she sought retail therapy to cope with midterms, finals, and everything in between. Leslie was enamored and had it not been uncool, she would have taken notes.

As Ms. Sophomore of Privilege spoke of the lack of BMW repair shops in our unbearably small college town, I almost snapped. Unfortunately, the pick actually did snap. You can’t really blame me, as UNBREAKABLE is practically an invitation to try to break a pick.

When the pick snapped, Leslie shrieked. I apologized immediately. But it got worse. Much worse. “That was the pick my mom gave to me when my hair started to grow in after my chemo treatments,” she said. Faced with this bullshit, I made a face, looking at her skeptically. It was a $3.99 afropick. Come on. Only she was serious. The girl had survived small cell lung cancer in high school and well enough to make it to the ivy league right afterwards.

My God. An object like this deserved an elaborate frame, not to be sitting on a freshman dorm dresser. It couldn’t really be my fault, could it?

I apologized as best I could, and spent much of the following three weeks looking for an afropick. I found one of the diminutive size of Leslie’s, but with the Black Power Fist on top. Now that we were in the ivy league, that bold assertion of Black Power seemed dated. I finally found a pick of the same size, but rather than a plain black, it was turquoise. The tines were wavy, not straight, and tipped with layers of pink and white. Small, black afropicks adorned with “unbreakable” simply did not exist anymore.

The week before midterms, armed with the ridiculously girlie afropick, I knocked on Leslie’s dormroom. Leslie and the sophomore were studying together. Math, from the looks of things. “Leslie, I feel awful about breaking your pick. I searched for a replacement in eight stores, and this was the best I could do.” I offered the turquoise and white and pink thing to her. The sophomore scowled. As Leslie reached for the pick, I apologized again. She took it in her hand and looked at me. She smiled, and said “Wow. This is way cooler than the one my mom gave me,” and ran it through her hair.

Oh my God. I stopped being an atheist for a second or two to offer thanks. My second offering, my Kenyan pick, stayed in my purse.

Big curls!

Photo 1: Hair wet, after washing.






Photo 2: Spiral curls, the morning after setting on Soft Spike Curlers Jumbo.













Photo 3: Wavy hair, on day two.







Photo 4: Day two. I have to stop wearing my hair like this to work. It attracts too much attention! Plus, it falls in my face. (Amazingly, I did not have a hair tie in my purse and had to improvise with a file-sized rubber band.)