Beauty Salon Hussy

I'm a self-hating curly-haired person. From the time I was a pre-teen (except for a short bohemian spat in college), I've been neurotic about finding ways to straighten my tight poodle curls. After experimenting with numerous processes containing harsh chemicals occasionally resulting in (at times, painful) mishaps, I found a product called Anticurl made by Rusk that was a godsend. It is a fairly mild relaxer, it's pretty safe and just slightly lightens my hair color which I like. For some reason, not many NYC salons use the product. For much of the last 10 years, I've been getting the Anticurl treatment done at a nondescript hair salon by a hairstylist there I'll call Janet (because that's her name). Janet has always done an adequate job even if at times annoying me by forcing me to acknowledge how great my hair looks when she's done and pushing unwanted products on me).

Last year, Janet convinced me to try a product called Coppola Keratin Complex. It turns out, that Coppola works miracles - it leaves your hair smooth and shiny and healthy. It is supposed to be nontoxic (although the fact that it makes my eyes tear up makes me a bit skeptical). Most importantly, it makes hair incredibly easy to blow dry. A job that used to take me nearly an hour now takes 15 minutes. This is a product that has literally changed my life!

Problem is Coppola doesn't really straighten my hair, it just works really well on the hair that's already relaxed. When I first had the treatment done, which was expensive, I was annoyed with the results because Janet had touted it as a replacement for Anticurl, but after paying a lot of money I still had curly roots. I called the salon to complain (perhaps I should have spoken directly to Janet) and they told me to come in. I saw Janet who told me that the product wasn't a hair straigtener. (Thanks for letting me know a couple of hundred dollars later). I asked her to apply Anticurl on the roots and she had a hell of an attitude while doing it, all the time complaining in some Eastern European language to her cohorts. I was frankly quite hurt that she reacted this way after I'd been patronizing her for the better part of a decade. To add insult to injury, I still had to pay for the additional treatment when it was done! Fine, I graciously tipped her anyway, gave her a kiss and said my goodbyes all the time thinking that it was the last time I'd see her.

So, around the end of the year my hair is needing to be touched up. I do my research and find a salon that does Anticurl called Dueto Salon. I should've been forewarned when every other client was an octogenarian, and the owner made me wait for my appointment while he gossiped with one of them. We do the Anticurl and I notice a lot more breakage then usual after it's done - you know, those embarassing little short strands that stick up from your head like you've been electrocuted (I felt a little better after noticing it wasn't as bad as the case of shorties Caroline Kennedy had). Being too obtuse to have learned my lesson, I asked the owner if they did the Coppola treatment, which I thought might help since it improves damaged hair. I stressed that I meant the Keratin product that did not contain formaldehyde. He said they did, and I come back a week later for the treatment. After he's done he leaves the bottle out and I notice that the label says Brazilian Keratin - a different product. I pick up the bottle and read the ingredients and sure enough it has formaldehyde (i.e., poison) in it. I'm livid. Also, for months afterward, my hair was limp and lifeless. Perhaps because my hair is naturally fine, but the process does not work well for my hair.

Eventually, I discover that my favorite salon for hair cutting, Arrojo Cutler (different salons serve different purposes), carries the actual Coppola treatment and I am thrilled. I have it done and my hair gets back that silky texture. Problem is Arrojo doesn't carry Anticurl and my roots (and every other secret I'm trying to hide) are starting to show. Do I go crawling back to Janet? NO! I decide I'll go in on her day off and ask for someone else to do my hair. Turns out they schedule me with Serge! Serge is Janet's professed nemesis. While doing the job, Serge is the consummate professional (and a flaming queen - not that there's anything wrong with that). He adds some protective cream to all of the hair strand except the inch of new growth that he's going to treat so as not to use the product on previously relaxed hair. All the time, Janet's Eastern European mafia posse is eyeing me and I feel as if I'm having an illicit affair. The discomfort. Serge meanwhile has no qualms about shamelessly offering me a discount for his services the next time I come in even though he knows that I'm "Janet's client". Anyway, when my hair is done, I'm quite pleased with the results. I feel so guilty and underhanded, but Serge was great. Can I keep seeing him behind Janet's back? Can I even go back to Janet now and snub Serge? Perhaps I should have tried to work things out with her, but at some point I must get on with my life. Yes, I know that I at least could look for someone who doesn't work in the same salon and not rub it in her face, but I've tried, I've really tried . . . and finding someone you trust to do your hair is very difficult. What exactly do I owe Janet anyway?

Outliers by Macolm Gladwell

I just finished reading "Outliers: The Story of Success" by Malcolm Gladwell (author of The Tipping Point and Blink, neither of which I have read). Mr. Gladwell argues that to understand the reason for why some people have incredible success we must look at a variety of factors such as culture, family background, birthplace and even birth date in addition to the personal qualities of the successful "outlier". Although some of these ideas may not be new, his hodgepodge of anecdotes contain the most fascinating tidbits of information. For example, out of the 75 richest people in history going back to the Byzantine empire, no fewer than 14 are Americans born in the 1830s (OK, three of these were born in the year 1840 if you want to be picky); the most successful hockey players are born in January, February and March (no, it has nothing to do with those being icy months); the most successful New York lawyers were Jews born in the 1830s to parents who worked in the garment industry; Colin Powell's family is from Jamaica; and traditional wet rice farmers in Asia fertilize their rice paddies with a combination of burned compost, river mud, hemp and human manure (this factoid is not especially relevant to his central argument, but I thought it interesting as well as gross). At any rate, I was, frankly, enthralled. I'm sure Gladwell will have his detractors - those who will argue that his ideas are recycled, that the rigor of his research is suspect, that he chooses his anecdotes selectively to support his arguments or that he does not give enough credit to the qualities of grit and perseverance over the element of social determination, but I thought the book was a fascinating and provocative read.

The Year We Were Excused From Christmas

A lot of people out there recently have lost their jobs and/or financial security or know someone close to them who has. And I know many of us are worried about it happening to us. I guess that's why, judging from the dismal retail reports, many people cut back their holiday spending this year. I know it is small consolation to anyone who has recently lost their job or is struggling to make ends meet, but I do wonder whether there isn't a lot of good that can come out of the current economic mess. (At least for the time being, I am still fortunate enough to be employed, so I realize it is still relatively easy for me to say.)

At any rate, for the last five years or so, I have spent Christmas with my boyfriend's family during which time I exchanged gifts with his Dad, three siblings, and a varying number of their significant others. I then typically visited my family where I exchanged gifts with my sister, her husband and my parents. In the last few years, I have gained two nephews and my boyfriend has gained one. While buying presents for this number of people was not exactly an economic hardship for me and I derive (as I assume many people do) a certain pleasure from gift-giving, the task had become daunting. Also, I have to say that I was troubled by what seemed to me to be excessive waste in terms of time, effort and money spent in buying all of these material objects. I was often left with an uneasy feeling after all the presents were unwrapped and we were left with all this STUFF, most of which we didn't need and was frankly a drag to have to figure out how to carry home.

This year, something in the air made my boyfriend's family decide to do a "secret santa" instead of the traditional exchange of gifts. Inspired by this development, I informed my family that I was liberating myself from the tyranny of the Holidays this year and that they should not buy or expect to receive gifts from me (except in the case of my nephews). I ended up buying a few extra gifts anyway, but these were more in the nature of tokens made with no sense of obligation or expectation of receiving anything in return. The result: I didn't spend the days leading up to Xmas in crowded stores stressing out about getting the right gifts for everyone and running myself ragged. I stressed out about other things instead. My boyfriend spent more time with his siblings. I had only a small bag of stocking stuffers to carry home and enough room in my closet to put them all. I spent time with my family and it felt nice just to visit. (Although I still wish my that my older nephew had been more excited over the spectacular pop-up book I gave him (Winter's Tale by Robert Sabuda)!).

Anyway, I don't know what will happen next year, but this year, it felt more like Christmas to me than ever. We went back to the basics - spending time with family, relaxing and making the little ones happy. I was even able to maintain my anxiety in check as I sat back and watched the nephews open their presents, play with their toys and begin accumulating all this stuff that they don't really need.

I'm Back

I've been away for a while. We recently got back from a short, but sweet trip to Culebra, Puerto Rico, and I am almost ready to face the New Year. It's great to get away from the every day grind, but going away is also useful for putting things in perspective, I think. When I get back from vacation, I find that all of my usual worries and frustrations (about work, noisy neighbors, my boyfriend hogging the computer) come flooding back. But the fact that they've been absent for a while helps me to recognize them for what they are - bad habits. I read somewhere that a person's thoughts create "tracks" of a sort in the mind and that once we have taken a certain path, we are likely to continue taking the same one over and over again. If going away to visit a new place is good for one thing, I think it's to help one learn to form new tracks.

I suffered from a bout of ennui after returning from Culebra. The beaches there were so beautiful, the views breathtaking and the weather - sunny and hot. It seemed senseless to return to the cold, to my job, to my dark little apartment. Needless to say, I had a bit of the post-vacation blahs. I received a small bonus from work and, interestingly, could think of nothing special to do with the money. I'm past thinking that any material purchases can make a lasting difference in my life or happiness. On the other hand, continuing to save for the future while getting insufficient enjoyment in the present makes little sense. So what, then, could add some zest? At first, I resolved that we would try a different restaurant and sample new fine cuisine each week. The food, I then realize, is more symbolic - I want to focus more on experiential pursuits in general. If I have to articulate a New Year's resolution, it's that I want to be constantly forming new "tracks." Alas, I think I have a goal and, for now, the cloud above my head has lifted.

Dreaming of Falling Off the Grid

I may be outgrowing New York, or perhaps am getting old and crabby, but I've come to think that apartment living in the City is just not civilized. Despite moving into a fancy doorman building in Gramercy Park, I still have to deal with a next door neighbor who is unable to refrain from slamming his door, upstairs neighbors who won't get carpeting (as required by the bylaws) and a resident manager (euphemism for "super") who can't arrange to have the clanging elevator next to my apartment fixed correctly. I feel I'm under assault. Then I read an article in the New York Times real estate section about Ben and Rachel Smith who for $150,000 found a home in the mountains of Panama. They are living my dream! (Except that I want to live in Costa Rica and closer to the beach.) They have views from their terrace of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, live in a bird paradise and can hear the sound of howler monkeys in the tree tops surrounding their homes (I've heard howler monkeys and they actually sound pretty scary, but I'd take them over my next door neighbor any day). Financially, I can't see being able to retire for at least another 15 years, but truly don't think I can wait that long. Drastic measures may have to be called for. . . .

Feeling Grinchy This Year

I just don't want to do it - I don't want to deal with X-mas this year. I go through it every year: dread, followed by resentment, followed by resignation. Eventually, I come around and actually find pleasure in trying to match the right gift with the right person. This may be stage one, and most likely I will come around. Still, a week in the Carribean, away from it all, during the holidays may be just what the doctor ordered . . . .

Exhausted

Work has left me physically and mentally exhausted this week. It's now Sunday afternoon and I've barely recuperated. Worst of all, I have work I need to finish. All my little side projects have fallen by the wayside, I've done no exercise for a week and my place is a sty. It is when I most need my home's support, that it is likely to fail me as it will tend to reflect my state of mind - presently, a mess. I would pay someone to clean it for me, if it could be arranged somehow with the push of a button and no expenditure of energy. At any rate, today, I managed to take 5 minutes and meditate (again, one of those things that's hardest to do when you need it most), and afterwards managed to scrub my bathtub and take a shower. A note on a not-so-recent discovery, but I've noticed that one curious byproduct of meditation is a propensity to get up and clean after I'm done. As prayer and meditation are close to the same thing for me, perhaps there is something to be said for the old adage - "Cleanliness is next to Godliness."

Great CD Rate!

I'm tres psyched to find out Countrywide Bank is offering these 12-month CDs with an annual percentage yield of 5.65%. I haven't heard of anyone else offering that much on this kind of product. I have an ING checking account which offers interest at a relatively good rate and has served me well, but with the Fed threatening to lower interest rates, I don't know how long that will be available, so I transferred out some funds to get what I consider to be a juicy rate. Note that the FDIC will only insure a maximum of $100,000 with any one bank, so it's best not to keep more than that amount with any one institution. By the way, I'm no financial advisor (just someone who slacks off at work quite a bit to write this blog and hopes to occasionally pass on some useful information to her sisters and metrosexual brothers out there) and, to the extent you are holding a lot of cash in your portfolio, most professionals would probably tell you to invest in the stock market through a managed fund or otherwise. However, I have an apocalyptic view of the world and have never had much confidence in the stock market which I consider to be the most elaborate ponzi scheme ever known to mankind (Hey, I said I'm not a professional!). At any rate, I imagine most people, even those who are more financially savvy and less paranoid than I am, would not risk all of their capital in the stock market, so to the extent you are looking for the relative safety of this kind of product, I think this is a great rate. Power to the peeps!

Fire Next Door

Seconds after getting into bed last night, P. calls out to me from the living room and I know from the tone that it is serious. I race out of the bedroom and am informed that the doormen have just knocked and told us to get out. There's a fire in one of the apartments on our floor. I look through the front door peephole, and see only smoke. I hear a woman screaming and it sends a chill up my spine. There is a baby (I often hear) living upstairs, and I imagine the worst. For a moment I am frozen, when P. suggests we get the cats; and make our way out through the fire escape. Already, the firemen were arriving, and there is no significant amount of smoke in our unit. We live on the second floor and the fire escape is outside the bedroom window (and away from the fire), so we are not in any immediate danger or feel a great sense of urgency. I gather my purse, in which are my passport and credit cards (just in case), and proceed to get one of the cats in his carrying case, no easy feat, while P. chases the other one down. "Do we need anything else, how about the laptop?" he asks. "Screw the laptop!" I say (it's not even mine). We go out onto the fire escape but have to re-enter several times: to retrieve P.'s shoes which he failed to put on, to replace the dufflebag with a hole through which one of the cats we put in keeps trying to escape, and to get P.'s wallet left in the dufflebag just replaced. We realize climbing down the ladder with the cats is going to be a trial, so he goes down ahead to investigate while I wait. I can see through the windows of the lobby that firemen have taken over. Curious, I go back inside to see if there is any smoke. It has started coming in through the front and back doors. I return to the fire escape, closing the door to the bedroom behind me to try to minimize any damage, should it come to that.

It was back on the fire escape that I had an "epiphany" of sorts. I am surprised to find myself thinking that there is nothing inside that I really care about or am afraid to lose. Everything is replaceable. Everything that mattered - my cats, my boyfriend and me - was going to be safe. If worse came to worst, and all was lost, I knew I could start over. Anyone who is privy to the inner workings of my anxiety-ridden mind, would know that this was a breakthrough for me. Of course, it helps that the apartment is insured and that I have some savings to get me through an emergency, but I did not even pause to calculate how long my retirement would be postponed in such an event. It felt liberating (for once) not to care about such things. P. returns and we manage to get down with the cats. Of course, the few residents standing outside the building are impersonal as ever. Eventually, the fire is put out and we're allowed to go back up, and except for the smell, everything inside is fine. The occupant of the apartment that caught fire, a retired doctor, is in the hospital due to smoke inhalation but is believed to be OK. I have seen him on occasion, an unfriendly sort who never responded when I ventured a "hello" before I respectfully gave up - this is Manhattan, after all, and it is a person's prerogative to be anti-social. I found myself wondering what I should do next time I saw him - should I break the unspoken rule of silence and ask if he is OK or offer to be of service like a good neighbor? Such were my self-centered thoughts as I eventually went to bed. This morning, my thoughts were still on him. It is horrible that he'll have to return to an apartment where everything has been burned or damaged beyond repair. I find myself hoping that having lost his material possessions, a reality that I only imagined, he'll not care too much and just be grateful to be alive. My "breakthrough" notwithstanding, I'll continue to go through my apartment "to do" list: paint my entryway, wallpaper my dining area, choose a media cabinet, etc. But I recognize that it is in the process (a creative one) of organizing my home in a way I find pleasing, that I must derive pleasure, and that in the end I must not allow myself to become too attached to the results.

So Played.

I am not a student of design and will confess complete ignorance on the subject, but I don't think my taste completely sucks (?). So why do I keep seeing the same pieces of so-called furniture, which make a space look more like a modern art museum than a home, show up again and again in my favorite magazines, blogs, shows, commercials, etc. What ever happened to furniture that looked like furniture and was cushiony and comfortable? Also, I would think that whatever cultural value these "iconic" items may once have had because they were created by forward-thinking designers using new materials and forms has been diminished by their ubiquity. Therefore, for what it's worth (which I know is nothing in the minds of those whose opinions on the topic matter), I hereby declare all of the following to be completely "played out" :

The Barcelona Chair (sorry, but this belongs in an airport waiting area, not a home):

The Panton Chair (for a child's room perhaps, or a funhouse):The Nelson Ball Clock (cute, when I saw it on "The Seventies Show"):


All pendant ball lamps (played, played, played):


The Saarinen table (ok, I admit I kind of like this one):
The Eames rocker, or Eames anything for that matter (I just can't believe I bought this one!):

I like the Nelson bench, but I've seen it and seen it and seen it (and, after all, it's just a bench):

The Noguchi coffee table, I'll admit is lovely, but for upwards of $3,000 I better not find it in anyone else's house that I visit (unlikely):

While I'm at it, I will add the terms: "iconic", "mid-century modern" and "clean lines." SO played!

Thanks for listening.

Dominique Browning Rocks!

Dominique Browning is my hero. She is the editor-in-chief of House & Garden, and the reason I look forward to my H&G issue every month. I subscribe to few magazines and rarely bother to read the editor's foreword, but Ms. Browning's essays are different - they are beautifully written and somewhat poignant. At first, I was surprised (and amused) at how seemingly unrelated to anything in the magazine the letters are and that she writes so honestly about intimate details of her life. She is of middle age, has been through a divorce, is suffering from "empty nest" syndrome and grapples with the decision of whether to sell her home. Ultimately, I love how her humanity comes through. Also, I love it that she doesn't bother to hide a bit of grey hair in her picture on the inside cover. I just googled her and was excited to learn that she's written a few books, one of which, "Around the House and in the Garden: A Memoir of Heartbreak, Healing, and Home Improvement", I ordered right away. I can't wait to receive it. Here's a link to one of her editor's letters (they can all be found on the magazine's web page). http://www.houseandgarden.com/magazine/editor/dbletter_20070613

Giving to Charity To Alleviate The Guilt

I am a frugal person, but I am so mainly in spirit. In actuality, I have to admit that I spend a lot of money on a lot of crap. While I aspire to one day live a simpler life, in the meantime, I sponsor a child in a foreign country to alleviate my guilt. I've been sponsoring a child now for almost two years. For $32 a month (a pittance, really, considering what I spend on shoes), I am told I give someone else a chance for a better life. Occasionally, I receive a drawing in the mail, made by a little boy in Bolivia, of mountains and trees and lakes. Sometimes, not so frequently, I'll send a postcard with a greeting or a photograph. I notice the money is drawn out of my account only when I see a debit (one of many) on my monthly statement. I tell myself that maybe tomorrow I will be a better person. http://www.savethechildren.org/

The Big Fat Handbag Debate: How Much Is Too Much?

Frankly, if you are feeding and clothing any children you may have and generally meeting your financial obligations, it's not my place to judge you for any amount you may want to spend on a handbag. For me, I have a theoretical limit of $1500, although I have not yet spent half that amount. (OK, I spent half that amount). If you are willing and able to spend more, then I can only envy you.

My decision to purchase a new handbag was fraught with anxiety. Which one? I love so many, and a handbag is so much more than something in which to carry your stuff -- it's a commitment. I did not want to make a mistake. I knew that I wanted a satchel, I've always thought they looked most sophisticated. I went to department stores and did research on the web. I involved my whole office in the decision -- I brought in pictures and solicited my co-workers' opinions. The drama! I settled on a L.A.M.B. "Love Venezia" satchel by Gwen Stefani (believe me, I never thought I'd buy anything with a pop singer's name on it, but I fell for it). I've now had my Lambie for a few months - do I love it? Well, truth be told, if I had to do it over again, I might get something with a little less "bling" (I'm not crazy about the "L" on the front (I'm opposed to logos on principal) or the gold link on the handles). Also, I know now that rolled handles would be more comfortable to carry. BUT, I do love the hinge closure thingie that lets me open and close it easily. Also, it has this neat candy stripe lining on the inside that just tickles me when I open it up. All in all, I guess I'm pretty happy with it. (Then again, I was pretty happy with the practical leather tote from Levenger that was my last handbag).

There IS this Bottega Veneta beauty I eyed recently, but I cannot bring myself to spend my hard-earned cash on another handbag when I have a perfectly good one and could be making an extra principal payment on my mortgage. So for now, I'll stick with my L.A.M.B. satchel until I feel I've gotten sufficient use out of it. As a friend pointed out, it's almost like IT owns a little piece of ME now.

I Must Rant: Hot Dog Eating Is Not A Sport!

But it IS disgusting! I remember that back in the day, when I cared enough to try to change other people's opinions, I spent countless hours arguing (always with men) about whether figure skating was a sport. It's competitive and involves athleticism, so what's the problem? The counterargument was always that the decision about who won was "completely" subjective. Even if that were true, so what? There are plenty of other sports where the outcome depends to some exent on the subjective opinion of the judges (diving, to name just one), and why is that dispositive of the question anyway? I suspect the answer probably lies in the fact that figure skating appeals mainly to women.

But line up a bunch of idiots and have them scarf down as many hot dogs as possible in 12 minutes, throw in some barfing and subsequent swallowing of that barf, and the event merits coverage by ESPN and Fox Sports. I gagged while watching the TV last night when my boyfriend refused to change the channel and was still gagging when I had to look at the sallow face of the winner while the announcer called him an "American Hero". Well, to each his own, I guess. I hope the young man who ate 66 hot dogs in 12 minutes to win Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest is feeling better today.

If you feel compelled, here's a link to foxsports:
http://msn.foxsports.com/other/story/6991256?MSNHPHMA

Disturbing New York Times Article:

In "Skin Deep - Beauty Regimens Reach for the Gold Standard", Natasha Singer profiles women in major cities, for whom spending upwards of 10 hours and $1000 a week on beauty treatments is not unsual. The procedures range from basic manicures, pedicures and hair blowouts to now mundane botox injections to more cutting-edge and, I think, questionable electrical current thigh treatments and oxygen inhalation treatments. Now, I am generally of the mind that what you do with your money so long as you are not hurting someone is your own business and it's not my place to judge. Yet, I found this article disturbing. I think what troubles me more than the amount of time, effort and money involved in these maintenance routines is that women can be so fearful of aging that they allow so much of their life's energy to be spent trying to avoid it. To me, they seem sad and misguided. One of the profiled women says she gets up at 6:00am to make time for manicures, hair straightening and Botox injections. While I admire her discipline, I can't help thinking: Wouldn't an extra hour of sleep a day go so much further towards her goal of maintaining a youthful appearance?

Link to the full article: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/28/fashion/28skin.html?ex=1340856000&en=b2da97b6634e9b02&ei=5124&partner=permalink&exprod=permalink