Okay tell me this: why is it so hard to find good pictures of interesting haircuts on the internut? If you do any kind of google search for anything related to hair, you get a million crappy sites with bad pictures of celebrities or weird interfaces where you can slap a cartoon mullet on a picture of yourself.
Today's title is courtesy of a line I really enjoyed from our Deadwood viewing this evening. The Brit is leaving for the Dominican Republic tomorrow on a mandatory work-related thing that involves a very fancy resort. He's been downloading doom rock to listen to on the plane. Meanwhile, winter is rearing its freezing head in Minneapolis and I am going to spend my free time watching Veronica Mars and listening to whatever is the opposite of doom rock. Children giggling? There will probably be at least some of that.
Yesterday there was a baby shower for my sister Mol and her alleged girlbaby. Not surprisingly, there was a lot of pink. Em and I bucked the system and bought them a lime green Bumbo, which Mol somehow hadn't even heard of. Clearly she does not spend as much time on the futureweb as I do. Mol had a mandate that there would be no lame games or hooha at this shower--just a bunch of women telling birth stories and girlhood stories and whatever. Also pie, though that may not have been an actual mandate. A family classic baby story goes like this: my mom had been nursing Mol in bed during the night, and she woke up to hear the baby crying. Without even thinking, and also in a delirium of sleep-deprivation, my mom scooped Mol up and started walking around the house looking for her. The baby wasn't in the crib. She wasn't anywhere. And my mom started thinking in desperation that she was going to have to wake my dad up and tell him, confess that she had lost the baby and then what? What would they do? (Mol, meanwhile, had stopped crying.) So Mom caved and woke my dad up and made her tearful confession, at which point he groggily pointed out that she was holding the baby. How like him to sleep through all of that.
On an unrelated note, my sister Em, who was plagued by various fears as a child, related one last night that she'd forgotten about until that very moment. She was talking about Mom reading Caddie Woodlawn to her and how that had instilled a serious fear that the entire family would be scalped. Em described this while laughing so hard at herself that she was crying. Em, back in the day, suffered from what she called "historical fears," which is maybe not so crazy when you think about how history tends to cycle.
Also, after she read Hatchet she started planning ahead for emergencies and would carry around, like, a granola bar and a tube of Chapstick in case she got lost. The Chapstick was not for lip protection, mind you. It was for if she, for some reason, had to shield her entire face from the cold.
As for me, I was exclusively afraid of things that go bump in the night and prayed nightly for protection against ghosts, goblins, witches, "count draculas" (this was actually how I phrased it), and "anything related to that" (also direct phrasing). I fed this fear by reading John Bellairs books, and then later Stephen King and The Exorcist. What was I thinking?
Speaking of supernatural, did anyone else see that PBS thing about ghosties or whatever the other night? Maybe it was "Supernatural Science." I wasn't really watching it, but there was an awesome little thing about how very low-frequency noises have physical effects on people that are totally consistent with supernatural experiences: the sense that you're being watched or that you're not alone, prickling heat, cold sweat, seeing shapes moving in the periphery. The dude investigating this had had a creepathon experience alone in the lab one night, and he couldn't let it alone--which led to the discovery that the new fan in the lab was emitting this sound that had caused his weirdness.
I love this kind of stuff. I definitely prefer it to ghosts.