yesterday. [
today]
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:i sat in the back of the bus around noon, listening to vespertine & watching in the seat across from me where this mother was braiding her maybe two-year-old daughter's hair. she was very efficient, ruthless. she pulled at her daughter's hair with the pick in this precise, clipped rhythm, & the girl just sat there, clutching at the back of the next seat, with her eyes tearing up: but just sitting there, letting it happen & go on, miserable & stoic.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:after an unplanned excursion to used kids records (two dollar guitar! a find), i went back to the i-like-to-say-"salon"-with-a-british-accent SA-lon & had my hair dyed. i have never paid anyone to dye my hair before, but it was a much quicker business than the 4-day, 4-step process i used when i did my own.
while i was sitting in the chair under the plastic drape not scratching at my scalp, i read the rolling stone cover piece on bruce springsteen, which somehow managed to be simperingly adulatory while not saying a damn thing about the new record, or the sound of the band these days, or the man himself.
this is what i said to amy-who-does-my-hair: that when i was in high school i "only dated boys with cars" & that i would "make them drive me to louisville" so that i could scrounge around in the little record stores for hair dye: with the ultimate goal of redredred hair. this mind you is a fictionalized version of my high school dating life: why yes i happened only to date boys with cars, & i often went to louisville with them, or ordered them to take me there, & sometimes i went to record stores to look for the velvet underground (unfindable in elizabethtown) & red hair dye, & i never once bought myself a single bottle or box or jar or tube of hair dye, ever, with a boy in louisville.
so what i want to know is why do i feel compelled to lie to my haircut lady/
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:when i walked out of the SAlon i kept my headphones off because i was walking to meet mischka on campus. i walked down the street trying not to stare at myself in the windowglass & after i had walked a few blocks i noticed how quiet everything was. cars slished past & men with jeans on repaired shop windows & kids with hip messenger bags hurried on, & there was despite the activity & the crowd just nothing to hear. i thought, is it always this quiet without my headphones on/ somehow i though the world would be more bustling, a thing to avoid as i usually avoid it.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:i walked down the street with mischka, unapproached.
:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:with jeff i went back to used kids, we went back & sat on the red couch & watched law + order until bean came home. we ate pizza & watched more television, including an episode of csi that appeared to, but failed to, guest-star chuck close.
speaking of brilliant painters painting a surface, we talked about andy warhol, about the time capsules & the dirty greasy wigs.
