Sunday, April 12, 2009

I am NOT my hair

For a variety of reasons, I cut my hair super-short a few months back. A "pixie" was the hip term my hairdresser used. (And perhaps I've already given myself away. "Hairdresser"? does anyone use that term anymore? Or do "real" women visit "stylists" at "salons"?)

Now, when I had gone from long to medium length hair last year via the same professional, the reviews were stellar. I got so many compliments, I glowed with general good feeling. This time, however, the reviews were much less hearty. and I was okay with that. i mean, it's just hair. I might have freaked out when anything interfered with the long, long locks of my teens, but the time of crying over less than perfect hair has past. I want to look good as much as the next girl, but my entire self-worth is not coif-based. or at least I didn't think it was!

Growing in short hair is tough, especially thanks to others. I was arguably getting a little shaggy, but was reluctant to clean it up. The length was *just* finally getting to a point where it didn't stick straight up, Alfalfa-style, despite my best efforts. But after receiving not so subtle hints like a headshake with a frown and the (sincere) suggestion of a wig by "well-meaning" acquaintances (and I use the term extremely loosely), I relented and paid $60 to bring things back in line.

Once again, I was pleased with the results in the relation to their nature (i.e. if she could have cut hair back *onto* my head I would have been much happier but, seeing as she couldn't, I think she did a fine job). Until a cashier greeted me this morning as "sir". really? I mean, really?!? Nothing about my voice, statue, attire or anything else gave away to you that I am, in fact, a woman?

So let me make sure I have this right. Abundant locks=woman. Short hair=man. well that's just lovely. thank you for pigeon-holing me with your quaint little labels. now please excuse me, sportscenter is on.

Friday, April 10, 2009

Troubles coming and going

Every year my sister and I take a trip to Kripalu. And every year we get lost. It's always within the last 5-10 miles of the trip, so we're generally overly-optimistic about our directional skills.

"oh, we've got it this year!"
"I don't know how we could ever get lost?!"
"We'll be there any minute..."

This year, we took it a step further with an elaborate game that eventually became painfully ironic.

"see that greenhouse! let's remember that for next year so we know we're going the right way"
"oh, the shaker museum. we'll remember that as a signpost"

Unfortunately, 30 minutes later we realized it was the wrong way, and so began the re-citing of all the reverse.

"haha, there's the greenhouse. *now* remember that means the wrong way"

The jokes got a little less bubbly as "5 miles away" became an hour with no lodge in site. But, we persevered (and tried every possible road) and eventually, the distant lights on the hill announced our arrival at the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health.

To add insult to injury, Kripalu isn't exactly forthcoming about their location. Please note that they possess the absolute smallest entrance sign ever.

I had to stand on top of it before I could read it.

We had a great weekend with lots of relaxing, reading, yoga and yummy food. As we prepared to say farewell to the former monastery for yet another year, we began the ritual of getting at least one good picture of us together to remember the trip. This process can become nearly as arduous as finding Kripalu!

We tried from the nightstand (woops, mostly bon, 1/2 of me)

Overhead (made Bon look sleepy...or drugged)

and my personal favorite, our "Glamour Shot", (which made me laugh so hard I nearly peed)

before finally getting both of us, smiling, fully in a shot.

Can hardly wait for next year!

Sunday, April 05, 2009

Can't we all just get along?

God Against the Gods : The History of the War Between Monotheism and Polytheism by Jonathan Kirsch

Words I *thought* I knew the meaning of:

Pagan - a village-dweller, i.e. a "civilian". one not willing to be a "soldier" in the service of the one true god.

Athiest - first used by the pagans to describe Christians because the latter did not recognize the pantheon of gods.

Heresy - derived from Greek for "choice" (integral to polytheism)

Traitor - from Latin for "one who hands over", specifically those that handed over Christian writings and artifacts to Roman soldiers.

Catholic - "universal"

Orthodox - "correct belief"

This is how history should be told! I actually read the last few chapters in eager anticipation, as if reading the climax of a juicy novel. At one point I had to laugh...we *know* how it turns out and paganism *didn't* win. but boy was I rooting for them!

I likely found this book more fascinating than, say, someone fully steeped in the Bible and committed to Christianity would because, let's face it, he doesn't make the Christians look so hot. At least when it came to religion, paganism was all about tolerance, and that's the way it had been since time began. It seems odd to think about Christianity as it must have been then, something unheard of, strange and downright opposite of all that religion had ever been.

Of course, history is written by the victor, which Christianity ultimately was. Its state-(read: power) driven propaganda machine was so effective that the word "pagan" likely conjures up *much* more and viler things than "civilian" in the average person's mind, and that's unfortunate.

I found this book so compelling that I'm considering keeping (rather than swapping) it. that is the highest of praise in my world, to join harry and frodo on the shelf.