Monthly Archives: July 2008

Brusha brusha brusha

While at the supermarket the other day, I thought to myself, “Oh, while I’m here, I should pick up a new toothbrush.”

Holy hell, I am not trained for this kind of shopping.

What is up with all the toothbrushes? It used to be bristles on a stick. Well, okay, technically it used to be a stick. But as far as manufactured goods go, I was pretty well satisfied with the craaaaazy inventiveness of the original Reach® angled-head toothbrush. I mean, whoa. That was some thinking, there.

Since that time, toothbrushes have become quite the industrial-design darlings. I don’t care about the brand, but that was the least of all the decisions I was faced with. Manual? Battery-operated? Disposable? Replaceable head? Angled head? Angled bristles? Cross-action bristles? Indicator bristles? Antibacterial bristles? Gum stimulator? Tongue cleaner? CHEEK cleaner? Dual-action? Triple-action? And would you like that in soft or medium? What color? With extra country-style pulp, plus added calcium? Want fries with that?

Ho. Lee. CRAP. I was buying replacement heads for my Ultrasonex for quite some time, but I switched back to manual a good two or so years ago. And I assure you, I have gone through a number of toothbrushes in that time. Where did all of these choices come from? How have I not noticed? Have I been buying my toothbrushes from the local We Only Carry Three? Or has it only recently reached this level of overload?

I finally picked a brush with three different levels of two different angles of four different colors of bristles, with a row of gum-stimulating “fingers” along either side. The super-grip handle (have there been a lot of slipped-toothbrush accidents that spurred on this influx of ergo-grip toothbrushes?) is, I think, deep pink. I didn’t look that closely, and my eyes were glazing over.

I know this much: the damn thing doesn’t fit in my toothbrush holder.

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And that was Mistah Izzahd

Okay, now that my local peeps have had their chance to see Eddie perform live, I can post a clip from the current tour without spoiling anything for them. If you haven’t seen the current tour yet… well, click ‘play’ at your own risk. This isn’t his best bit, but of the limited Stripped tour clips currently on YouTube, this one was by far the least annoying in terms of sound/picture quality. I bring you The Ten Commandments, especially that one about coveting oxen:

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plans tonight

I’m going to see Eddie Izzard tonight. Woo! So, um, yeah. Here’s a clip from a previous tour:

Thank you for flying Church of England. Cake or death?

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Hats (comma) vintage

Yes indeed, Marge hit upon Friday’s teaser. Hats! Vintage hats! Vintage hats that I don’t have an appropriate hairstyle for, and therefore never wear! A horrible waste of loveliness! At least they look good on my small collection of Styrofoam heads. Note for future gifting occasions: I can always use more heads. I will someday encircle a room with a shelf that runs near ceiling height, stocked entirely with bewigged and behatted heads. Some people may find that creepy, but those people are unlikely to be my friends.

Click on the photo for more.

Orange straw bucket

Orange straw bucket

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No New Shoes

That’s not a command, it’s merely my current state of being. You see, the corporate headquarters of the company for which I work moved in June. Our old building was about a mile from a DSW, which led to more than a few lunchtime shopping adventures with colleagues and other friends who worked in the same office park. Our new building… not so much. We are now located in a spacious, light-filled building that is in the middle of a residential neighborhood.

It just so happens that there’s a DSW a mile and a half from my home. In fact, I drive right past that shopping center on my way home from work each night. I have a $10 rewards certificate. I have a $5-off-$20 coupon. I have a $25 gift card. I even have a pair of shoes that I need to return. I’m not sure why I don’t stop in, other than it’s not as though I need more shoes.

After all, I just bought two new (vintage) hats. :)

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Hair We Go!

I love a pun. Even an old and stale one.

I’m sitting in a chair getting my bangs trimmed at my local Floyd’s Barber Shop on Wednesday, when my stylist mentions that the staff there is trying to get a RAB car show together. “Cool,” says I. “What are the details?” Well, they’re trying for a weekend at the end of August. “Great! I’ll be there.” Then she asks, would I like to model?

Let me think about that.

Hmmm.

Professionally-done RAB hairdo, for FREE.

Tough call, right?

YES!!!

The next step is, apparently, to ask the lead coloring tech if they’re still planning on having hair models. He sure hopes so. Takes a quick glance at my hair. Is it okay if they color it?

Okay, I know there are gals who are all “Ohmigod don’t mess up my highlights!!!” but I am not one of them. I usually color mine myself, and my technique is sloppy. You want to color it with your mad skillz? Go right ahead.

Does it have to stay the same colors?

Oh, wow. I hadn’t for a moment thought that they’d keep it the same. No, no, have a ball with it. Do whatever you feel works. It’s been assorted combinations of black, brown, blond, blonder, and road hazard orange, all in the last 18 months. You do your thing, darling. I’ll just sit there, smiling. And deep-conditioning it for the next six months.

So, I still have no real info while they try to put this shindig together, and the whole thing might fall through. But it’s fun to dream. :)

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Mutts

Every other year, I host a casual cocktail party to coincide with the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. I provide a liquor imported from the host city (Ouzo 12 from Athens, last time around) and ask my guests to bring a snack that represents their heritage. Every time, people reply, “But I’m a mutt.” Listen, kids. We’re all mutts. If you just moved here yesterday from Brazil, chances are that you have a grandparent or great-grandparent from Portugal. Even if your entire family never moved from one small town, the geo-political borders aren’t stagnant.

As an example: My great-grandmother Anna (née Aniela) came to the U.S. from a now-nonexistent territory called Galicia, in what was at that time northern Austria, but was previously under Polish rule. Her entry in the ship’s manifest from Ellis Island reads as follows:

Nationality (Country of which citizen or subject.): Austria
Race or People: Polish
Country: Galicia

Galicia was, at different times, politically allied with Poland, Lithuania, Austria, Hungary, Germany, and Russia (in no particular order). You all knew that “Poland” disappeared entirely for a while, right? Right?

What country are you from? It’s all just words. Borders don’t define you.

(Dedicated to my friend Drewseph on the eve of his European travels)

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