experiment terminated

Man made shampoo for a reason. And it's a good one.

I was in the bath last night, and before I knew it, Peppermint shampoo, all over my head. For good reason. I had a date today. That, and my hair had lost some of its normal mobility. Not the tickle-you-in-the-face mobility that bugs me on a daily basis (and today is no exception). It was more like a complete follicular paralysis. And it was not pretty.

That being said, the whole experiment was not really so painful, as long as there are hot showers and nice conditioner and long steam baths. And the date went pretty well. Someone square who has on at least one occassion strung a lawn chair on a rope between two points in space and ridden it into a swimming pool. In short, I went on a date with an engineer.

Freezing cold from sitting in the park. Time to head home and pack. And no, my dear S., you may not have my shampoo. ;-)

experiments in hygiene

I'm just going to come out and tell you, disgusting as it may seem: I've stopped shampooing my hair.

Now, I've heard from several people over the years that once you stop with the detergents, your relationship with your hair changes dramatically --for the better. And I almost, but not quite, a believer.

First of all, things with my hair have never been all that great. It's dishwater blonde and wholly unruly. It annoys me by tickling my face, and it resists all attempts at management and defies both gravity and all haircare products, regardless of their proposed strength or the volume in which I apply them. It's so bad, in fact, that I have come to suspect that I have (gasp) my father's hair.

My father has had the same hairstyle for going on 50 years. I know this because I have a photograph of him and my mother on their wedding day in 1952. And there he is, black hair, albeit more of it (sorry, dad, I couldn't resist), and it's combed back straight from his forehead and held in place with a generous dollop of Brill Cream.

Perhaps you've heard the jingle:
Brill Cream, just a dab will do you
Brill Cream, you'll look so debonair
Brill Cream, all the girls will come right to ya
Just put a dab of Brill Cream in your hair

I'm told by my mother that my dad's hair is actually rather curly.

Anyway, it's Day 6 and I'm still on track. Which isn't to say I do nothing with my hair and it's sitting in an oily mass on top of my head. That would be almost, but not quite, the truth. The truth is I still wash it with hot water and conditioner, and scrub the living be-jesus out of my scalp. I also tousle it with a towel when necessary. And this morning I broke down and conducted some strategic passes with a small bottle of baby powder.

Weirdly, it's holding a style for the first time in my life. And I am not that young. I like to think that my locks have just been infused with a sort of Judy lanolin that softens it and keeps in miraculously in place. It's quite remarkable. I can push it away from my face and it stays there. I've also noticed that it's faster to dry, which is a big plus since I swim.

I'll give an update in a few more days. I'm wondering if there's a middle ground. But what I've been told (by a european) is that you have to go whole hog, cold turkey on the detergents until your scalp quits producing so much oil. I was also informed that the first two weeks are the hardest, and then it gets much easier. We'll see about that.

Godzilla vs. cold

For reasons I cannot explain, and even now don't fully understand, I spent last night at a Godzilla movie. Godzilla va. Mechanagozdilla. Actually, it was pretty good. I was impressed that Godzilla's blue streaming fireballs were not just hot, but radioactive. Which gave rise to my favorite scene of the movie: The tough, loner female pilot crawls into the downed robot's smoking head to operate him manually. Her captain warns her to "get rid of the radiation." So she ejects some sort of smoke into the room from the walls, and poof! Radiation's gone. I thought that was pretty cool.

The movie was my friend M's idea. I got to tease him about taking me places where I was sure to meet eligible men. The audience was full of interesting, pale, slouching men in their late thirties and forties. The German guy behind us had some sort of post-nasal drip problem, and the young man in a fedora on our left did not, I'm sure, own a razor. Last night, the Castro Theater was a veritable cornucopia of static DNA.

We were treated to an interview before the movie. It was with a Japanese guy who was the actor in the Godzilla suit, for real. He said he studied his cat to get the eye and movements right. It worked. "He looks like a pissed-off squirrel," M said.

M's friend P joined us. He's only limping a little from the shark bite. What was it like, to be bitten by a shark? Not that bad, he said. First off, it was a young shark, so it wasn't that big. P didn't feel any pain when it bit him, or even a squeeze. Just the sensation of being slammed into. Like a truck running into your car from behind. He was pushed forward on his board, with no idea what hit him. He turned around to see and there was this shark just sitting there under the water, with P's leg in its mouth.

"I think it got ahold of something it wasn't really expecting," P said. He's probably really tired of telling this story. But he was a good sport about it.

The other funny thing that the Japanese stunt actor told us was that the fight scenes between Mechanagodzilla and Godzilla were really difficult to film. "Mechanagodzilla's arm comes out to here," he says, putting an extended arm on the translator's shoulder. "Godzilla's arm only comes out to here." He bends his arm at the elbow to demonstrate. "So when I tried to hit Mechanagodzilla, I couldn't reach him. I would run into him with my head before I reached him with my hand. When I did that, the teeth in the mask would break. So the costume designer got very mad with me. He's yelling at me and I go to bow, and my head falls off. It was very difficult."

You can learn a lot about a culture by watching its movies. But the Japanese have always been a bit more than I can understand. Samuri movies, stomach-lurching anime, and giant fire-breathing puppets stepping on cars. Maybe we're not getting the whole picture here in the US.

Bad news: I came home with a cold. It's been going around forever. Someone gave me an Emergen-C. I'm hoping for a quick recovery, before heading north for Thanksgiving.

Fall weather

I'm having a lovely day. Don't ask me why. I can't tell you.

First, it's Sun's big quarterly launch day, so things are sortof moderately going to hell. It's not the plans were not well-laid or were poorly executed. It's that suddenly everyone has something critical that must also be done. Robert Drost won the WSJ's Innovator of the year award. That caused a bit of a firedrill. And then there are a couple of political/opreational things going on. Edicts and whatnot. When it rains, it pours.

I decided to spend an hour or so at my local chi-chi restaurant, One California, for lunch today. It's located...well, you can probably figure out where it's located. I had lamb canneloni, and they were very good. I had an overpriced glass of pinot noir and a cappuccino. Then, I had three small italian cookies and I stared out the window and thought about a new client I have, which is a consortium of companies. It's a very different experience. Politically volatile, utterly fragmented, hopelessly inarticulate, and unbelievably ambitious. I kindof like it. I have a crush on one of the working group chairs. He's diabetic and a drummer in a local band called the Fractals. There is hope for my love yet. Although, realistically, not much.

What is new in my life? Not much. Had a guffaw walking back to work from the restaurant. A woman approached; she was wearing the same Kenneth Cole jacket as I was. (First day out of the closet for me.) A guy driving a Pepsi truck stopped and hollered at us. We complimented each other and walked away. No idea what the guy was hollering about.

Now, it's time for a nap. Client coming to my workplace for the first time in ages. I want to be well-rested. Soooooo glad I'm no one's employee. Thanks to everyone who told me, "No! Don't do it!"

a cure for what ails you

Go see the Incredibles. It's a goodie.

Headed to Daly City last night to see "Ray" at the new cine-megaplex with my buddy L. Got into the theater, got seats, and then these teenagers start brawling in the back row. They end up on the floor, about 4 of them, guys and girls, and this big guy is kicking a girl in the head. Took security, and cops, 10 mintues to show up. By then, the guys were gone.

In the meantime one of the girls had emptied a canister of pepper spray. It didn't smell at all -- I was like 15 feet away from this whole thing. But then you start to cough. And choke. And tear up. By the time we left, the whole theater was starting to cough. Remind me not to go to Daly City next time I want to see a movie.

L and I wandered into the Incredibles, and lucked into seats and the perfect flick a long, hard week. Holly Hunter rocks, the animation was fun, and someone at Pixar has an elevatedly wicked sense of humour. Dark, dicey, and more than a little sweet.

It's offical. My brother M is going to Iraq to photograph the elections in January. He got fitted for body armour on Friday. Today is his 39th birthday. Happy birthday, M.

Went sailing on the bay with R today. It was gorgeous. Got lunch at Sam's -- complete with crab cocktail and onion rings and beer, and had a glorious sail home. Down the front of Crissy Field, the piers, North Beach. Everything a girl needs to kick the democratic blues. Oh, except maybe a mini cooper. (Kidding.) (I think.)

links and jinx

My sister-in-law B sent this article from the SFGate:
Wallow in chaos, and laugh.

And the sociologist referenced in the previous email is actually UC Berkeley Linguist, George Lakoff. The book is Moral Politics, which has this writeup on Amazon.com.

There may be a way to link to the new map of the U.S., compliments of my brother D. It made me laugh. And that's quite a feat these days.

And if you can bear it, Maureen Dowd's editorial in today's Times.

Cheers from a gray and gloomy California,
Judy

post election day

A palpable gloom has settled over San Francisco. It looks certain that President Bush has won reelection. People from my camp are mystified. "I don't understand it," said my friend M. "I really thought we had it."

It's hard to understand. What with Kerry winning the debates, what with anemic job growth and massive job loss, with the war in Iraq going badly. But the American people have spoken, and they do not want a change of leadership.

The Republicans have been teflon when it comes to campaign issues. The bulge didn't stick, claims of Bush's shoddy service record didn't get traction, and the attacks on Kerry's military record have, somehow, merited weight and credibility. The papers have covered Bush's many heinous acts and policies -- to my mind, an abuse of the power of the office. His 11th-hour change to environmental laws to foil an EPA lawsuit against polluting power plants. His allocation of Federal funds to religious groups to rpvide social services. His illegal war on Iraq, and fabrications around WMD and linking Hussein with 9/11. It's all quite bizarre, compared to what we're being told is the truth. But it worked.

A lot of smart people voted Republican. That's what I can't quite get my head around. I suppose they had their reasons.

There's a sociologist who wrote a book about the appeals of the different parts of the political spectrum; how it hooks into how we're built, psychologically. A friend has it; I will link shortly.

Just think; it will be the holidays soon. And there will be many pursuits to take our minds off politics, domestic and international. I hate the message this sends to the world -- that Americans support Bush's policies and actions. But I also retreat to a sad and snarky position: If we elected this guy again, we deserve everything we get.

Me? I'm going to cancel my newspaper subscription and research hybrid automobiles. I'll stay in my small apartment and pay $15 a month in energy bills. I'll pay taxes -- at least some of them -- and save for retirement and watch social programs go down the tubes. In the big scheme of things, I can get through 4 more years. Just not happily.

Front row, rock concert

My mother just called. She broke her ankle awhile back, and still gets around on crutches sometimes. Right now, she's at a rally in Cleveland with 100,000 other Kerry - Edwards supporters. They took pity on her, with her bad ankle, and put her in front row seating.

"Kerry's going to be here in about an hour," she told me. "Bruce Springsteen is coming on next." At 74, my mother is attending her first rock concert -- and a democratic one, at that. "It's like a second childhood," she said.

My father cleaned the gutters this past weekend, and he thought he'd play golf. My mother cold-called 400 would-be Kerry voters and encouraged them to vote. This has caused great glee in my family -- all nine kids and their spouses and grandkids saying, "Go, Grandma, Go!" My father is the lone Republican. I almost feel sorry for him.

He's been a bit gloomy of late. "I'm not really that into politics," he told me on the phone on Saturday.

I'm still trying to get hold of the guy at Autodesk so I can decline the very nice job offer. The executives scripts are done. I've got one project firing back up on Thursday - the guy who lost a daughter has begun returning to work. And another next week. My jury duty has been postponed until February. So basically, my life is returning to normal. Whatever that is.

Strangely, I am losing things. Like my date book. This has never happened. "Have you lost three things yet?" J from work asks me. "Yes," I said. "Does that mean I can't lose anything else?"

Instead of writing my next story, I went to Loehmann's and bought a purse. It's purple, Italian, and looks like a totebag with pointy corners. I love it.

It's a gorgeous day in San Francisco. I begin volunteering tonight with the Taproot Foundation. It's allowing me to develop information architecture muscles. It's all good.

NEWS FLASH: My brother M just sent an email. He's going to Iraq in January. "So vote Kerry," he says. "Or I'm going to die." He's the photographer.

Fingers crossed for the democrats tomorrow night. I'm buying filet mignon and champagne for my friends, just in case.