Scraps Again

Scraps Again
08.22.04 02:49 pm
I woke up this morning at six thirty to the unbearably familiar sound of downpour. I think anyone who grew up in Seattle knows the feeling, the mixed feeling of comfort and dread, that waking up to the rain again feeling. The concert of tiny splashes puts us to bed and wakes us up again in the grey light of morning for nine months of the year. But its just August, can we have another few weeks? I havent even gotten a tan, or a clear hot day at the beach. The italian plums in my yard are ripe now. That matte whitish dust that covers the plum surface doesnt wash off in the rain, the tree is heavy and dripping. Under the 45th Ave viaduct there are concrete pathways over a swamp, telltale leftovers of what the whole area looked like before golfcourses, stadiums, married student housing, the gap and honeybee hams. The geese still come here and I think theyre sorely dissapointed every time. Anyway, a huge willow tree cracked in half in the rainstorm and fell under the viaduct, blocking the pathways and dipping its tendrily arms into the horsetails and stagnant sulfuric water. I had to bushwhack my way through the branches, trailblazing for the frail looking, Asian, Banana Republic employee girl who looked to have been standing in front of the tree, wondering what to do, for some time before I got there. I was wet and drippy when I got to work. We learned foiling techniques and sectioning this week. There are six sections to a full foil and actually the same six for a partial foil, they're just compressed into the area above the occiput. I really like the weaving part, getting the hairs you want foiled seperated from the ones youre leaving natural. Its hard to get the hair covered in product and not pull the foil away from the scalp giving the client "instant growout." Practice practice. The other challenge is placing the foil packets in the small vertical sections in the temples. They have to be vertical because if theyre horizontal theyll look all stripey when you pull your hair back. I cant wait to do it on a real head, as youre all called in the bizness. I think Im gonna recruit Carrie again, good for blonde highlights.
BTW, I remembered the word that Ms Kendra says that makes me want to holler, I had to write it down on my paper so I didnt scream it out loud: Accrost. Instead of accross. Also, alls. As in "Alls you have to do is..." She's amazingly consistant with them both. I shouldnt be so picky perhaps, but theyre just such strange quirks for English at all let alone someone who has put so much effort into speaking perfectly. On Tuesday I gave her daughter who is 15 and about to start high school a deep conditioning treatment. She has the thickest curliest caucasian hair you can imagine and its really long. Very tangly. I got shampoo in her eye. Minty, eucalptus scalp treatment shampoo. It was awful, I had to give her a five min cold eyewash. We still managed to have a really good time after that, I gave her some ideas for the teen mystery novel she wants to write (murder among the contestants of a reality show!), and bribed her with popsicles, Ms Kendra said she loved me, despite shampoo faux pas. Her eye was tearing the whole time and I know it killed because even my hands were tingling all day from how strong that shampoo was. Of all people for me to make the shampoo mistake with. Note to all: when you emulsify your product at the shampoo bowl (ie. rub your hands together before spreading the shampoo through your client's hair) do it behind their head so you dont have to bring your hands over their face with drippy product in them.
I spent the rest of the day with La'Quara, a 4th quarter student who has the station right next to mine. She is ghetto fabulous. Deep reddish black skin, new nails every few days, long auburn microbraids and hazel contacts, different outfits every day. Shes a fox. And pretty nice too, I mean a friendly hardass. Her man is a DJ around town, Ive seen him at clubs downtown for years. He's huge and has great braids and a big belly. She says she doesnt like pretty men. Hilarious. She and I did a rollerset and mani pedi on an extremely nice older woman who said we make a great team. It was fun. Friday was busy as hell. I started the day with a pedicure on an elderly woman. Her feet werent bad, but your skin gets so thin after 85 or so years of walking the earth, its like its ready for you vanish years before you actually make the exit. Your bones give calluses from the inside out. I am always afraid I'm rubbing too hard, or that my file will tear their papery skin. Hasnt happened, but it could. she said I was a joy and that I must be an exeptional person coming from my generation, seeing as how most young people today are selfish and thoughtless. It was a kneejerk reaction to want to disagree, but when I thought about it, its pretty much true. Most of the people I know are pretty exeptional. If I had any doubts about that fact they were dispelled after a brief stop at this club on Blanchard between first and second on Friday night. Wow. All the men looked overgroomed and faggy and the women looked hungry, in every sense of the word. Moving on, I had tried to book these three appointments for members of my sister's friend's wedding party for three or so days. Ms Christina...because she was totally overwhelmed by the concept of making three appointments at once, only booked out one other stylist and left two at the same time to me. I went in the breakroom to tell Tamara she had an appointment, I was going to ask her to do one of the flower girls' updos but Bintu had already asked her to take the Mom of the girl's rollerset. Bintu is about 2 months pregnant and always hungry and emotional. I guess Tamara didnt want to do a rollerset, so she stormed out and I was left with three clients at 1 o clock and chloe coming in for a spiral set at 130. I couldnt stand there in the breakroom and argue about who did or didnt want to do what so I just started shampooing the woman and figured Id either finish them all and reschedule with Chloe or someone would take over. I did an nice airform flatiron on the mom, who hadnt wanted a rollerset after all, ironically, and a french braid on one of the girls. Bintu finally came through and did a nice bun updo on the other girl and I got to spend the next three hours doing Chloe's hair. She looked adorable. The curls made her look about 12. I used bendy rods since curls always come out tighter in a set than they do in a perm and I was using a perm style wrap. I wanted them to be real hangy and spirally and I was afraid they hair wouldnt have enough room to spiral up the regular rods. It was so cute. Her man asked if she looked like Shirley Temple. I said yeah, but Jewish...more like Shirley at Temple. She made me promise to put that in here. Happy Chlo? I always feel hella stupid retelling my own jokes.
I know I'll do a way faster and even better spiral set next time. These things have a pretty quick learning curve. It was a long day. My feet werent too bad at the end though, I must be getting used to it. Then I raced off to the wedding where I saw my sister had been given a HORRIBLE updo by Gene Juarez. It was all falling out and she had a trillion unjustified pins sticking out of this rumpled pony-bun in the back like a porcupine and her part wasnt straight. I pinned it back up to the best of my ability without redoing it completely. Whichever half assed stylist did that updo probably got paid like 50 bucks and it couldnt possibly have taken more than 15 minutes tops. What a shame. Nobody come to anyone but me for wedding updos, K? Ill be in Santa Cruz all next week at dance camp. I love saying dance camp, its so silly sounding. My four day summer vacation! I cant wait, endurance tanning here I come.

Fatigue Sets In

Fatigue sets in.
08.14.04 04:08 pm
In the fight to conquer my natural profound lack of motivation and discipline, I've fostered this sort of tiredness-is-lazyness additude. And frequently, it's true. But as this quarter wears on and its been more than six months since Ive had a full day off, save the day I played hooky with Jason, I am experiencing some serious fatigue. I notice it in my leg muscles. The first 20 minutes of dance class, my legs are just screaming "Lay it down you bitch! Just give us a few hours peace!" It wears off, but I think the ol' gams may have a point. 9-5 standing on the linoleum, then dance from 730 to 930, then a quick change and either out to a club, somewhere to eat or grocery shopping, then up at 7 the next day to run or go to the gym and start again. Whatever, I'll rest when Im dead ;). I have been experiencing unexplained calf pain...I hope its a cramp and not a blood clot. Not too much happened this week. Nathaly allowed Ms Kendra to use her as a model for spiral perming which I simply can't believe. She had waist-long, perfectly straight hair, which Ms Kendra wound around alternating peach and orange rods to produce the most License to Drive era 'do I have seen since 1985. She went from a cute millenium mallteen look to Pretty Woman pre Richard Gere. And the clincher with perms? They're in till you cut 'em out. Ouch. In other news, I gave the grossest pedicure in the history of womankind. If that happens to my feet when I get old, never mind, it's simply not going to. I wore gloves, and she really was a nice lady but, I just had no idea you could have that amount of...I dont know what it was...buildup...under your toenails. Enough. I won't be doing pedicures in my real beauty life, not if I can help it. I did a pretty good rollerset on a wonderful lady from Nawlins who is almost 70, looks 50, and has been dyeing her (relaxed) hair Ronald Mc Donald red for 30 years. Downside was, she leaned back and stained the front of my pants magenta. Weak. It was through that damn smock too. Other than that, we had a great time. Im hoping she'll come to me regularly and start teaching me creole patois. On Friday, Lindsey Steel came in for color, I did a 5G on the underpart of her hair, from the occiput down, and in fang shapes above the ears so it shows over her shoulders. She is one of those rare women whose hair actually grows out of her head light blonde. It looked awesome with dark under it, lots of depth. I did a really nice press and flatiron on a young Eritrian woman for the rest of the day. Gave her the ol' curl flip. Very cute. She looked at Melashu (who was working the front desk, since it's been recognized that Ms Charlene is a freaking incompetant maroon) like "You gave me to a white girl?" when she came in, but she left asking if she could request me next time. Alrighty then! You can t argue with a good press. Our class has lost three more people this week. Rosa, who looked just exactly, bone chillingly like one of the wigheads and had about the same personality, dropped to go to school with her boyfriend at North Seattle. Liz, the tiny, adopted, Korean girl, asked Ruby to break her from Dispensary for 15 mins on Tuesday and never came back. And sadly, sadly, upon being assigned a rollerset on the floor last Friday, Nathan told Ms V and Ms Belle that he didn't want to be here, that he just wanted to go to barbering school, walked out, and his name has been crossed off the attendance list. Not a word from hime since. I'm crushed. I hope he does go to barbering school, but beacuse he decided to drop in the middle of the quarter, financial aid wont cover him any more and I seriously doubt he'll be able to pay the $5000 on his own. The blacuum strikes again. I met with Damaris, Ms V's daughter. She co-owns and works in Damaris Latrelle Salon and Dayspa, a premeire African American spa on 23rd accross from Mt Cavalry Baptist and Philly Cheesesteak. She's letting me come in 3 or so days a week over September to assist her and the other stylists when its busy in return for her teaching me her specialty, the art of natural styling (locks twists braids etc.), in the downtimes. I am so excited and honored, she has never let anyone come work with her before. I don't know what I did to get so lucky but Im not asking any questions. Damaris is beautiful, she has short black twists with cocoa colored ends, her hands look just like Ms V's, and move just as quickly and perfectly. The salon is classy as hell, it doesn't even feel like Seattle, and certainly not like the CD. It's like a set from one of those black sitcoms; all dark wood and well placed afro centric decor. Drawings of sultry black women, fertility statues like they now (strangely) sell at Marshall's, and maroon drapey curtains. Everyone has fantastic hair that expresses their distint personality: twists, braids, baby fros... I have a feeling its going to be a real learning experience in every way. Some of the sisters looked at me with trepidation but everyone was cordial if not genuinely nice. I think I'll grow on them. It ought to complement Robert Leonard's bustling honkey-tude nicely. Have a great week!

Starlings Love Figs and Blackberry Stomachaches

08.07.04 02:46 pm
I don't know how the starlings know exactly the moment when figs are perfectly ripe: instinct, controlled repetetive sampling, second nature, or sixth sense, but they do. I had been warned of the birds' descent, and the subsequent sticky fig-mess that follows by my lesbianlandladies who have the misfortune of having to park their car's beneath the fig tree's chartreuse foliage. I had been going out every cool morning and picking bowls of figs, bringing them to work, to school, to my mom, to the Tacoma art museum, you name it. I skipped a couple days, knowing I might live to regret it, and when I went back out they were all gone. Strips of maimed figs hung from the ends of every branch, at every level. The ground was pink with stringy, seedy figgage. The starlings' precision amazes me, not even the lowest branches were spared. The only ones left were hard and tiny, sour and unyeilding to even the sharpest beak. I, on the other hand, have no such ripeness insight. These days my runs through seward park, rainier beach and beacon hill, are punctuated by compulsive stopping to eat roadside blackberries. It doesn't make for the most consistant heart rate, but let's be frank, its not like I'm in Olympic training mode. Even after a lifetime of PNW urban harvesting I have no feeling for the ripest berry. I can see it when they're about to fall and they're overripe fizzy sweet but I never fail to eat three or four deceptively black ones that hide a few telling red kernels on the top and taste super tart and curdle my stomach. The salmonberries are good too, but rare to find and I'm always nervous that they're not really salmonberries and instead of the blackberry sideache Im used to running with now, I'll be on the roadside, stiff and foamy, from a nightshade poisoning. Last friday, I went to Lake City to a small thai restaurant to see Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan's nephews sing Qawaali. I wasnt prepared, I was wearing a skirt and a little stupid filmy shirt but I really wanted to go and all my Pakistani clothes were wrinkly and in RB. It was an incredible show. Only in Seattle would it be at this little unsuspecting restraunt with fifty people. They're playing something like the Staples Center in LA. Anyway, it was divine. Their skill, their connection to the most high, and their flawless seamless interaction and wordless communication with each other is hypnotic and captivating. They improvise on a theme (rhythm and or melody), and pass the lead through the different instruments (voice, harmonium, tabla, clapping) one of the clappers feeds the lead voice a verse and he improvises off of it, everyone else weaves themselves in to his style and then someone else takes off. They are young, younger than me and its clear that their bodies are incidental to them. They don't look particularly healthy; drinking ghee may be good for the vocal chords but its at the expense of the body. In any case, it was a transportive and divine experience even with the drunken and admittedly obnoxious punjabi sikh dancing guys element. It reminded me (on a much smaller level) of the out of control feeling I had in the crowd at the Junoon concert in Islamabad. I was irritated at how selfish these guys were, distracting the focus and dancing wildly in the front when everyone else was seated on the floor,especially since Sarah was sitting next to me feeding me info about alchoholism and DV in the Sikh community. Plus SabraAuntie was totally unamused by their antics, and it seemed like the performers wished theyed give it a rest. Here is where paired experiences comes into play. The very next night, my mother had roped me into going to see 60's new age leader and self help guru Ram Dass. I had some trepidation agreeing to go, but I thought first of all, my mom is nobody's fool and she loves the man. Plus, he was into Eastern philosopy before the herds of fung shueiers and yoga mat toting ponytail neohippes could even say the word chattarangadandasana. I figured, it won't hurt me to have an open mind and hear this spiritual teacher. Plus, it'll make my mom happy. Well, I went for a long Burke Gilman run after work on sunday and was helluv sweaty and feeling weird being at the robot-no-bodyfunction-University Village. And Im starved, despite all blackberry pitstops. So my sister, generously enough, offers to let me go shower at her house and she would pick me up to go downtown before the talk. I reluctantly walk to my car, drive in my soaking clothes up to 15th, climb her stairs with my bags, find that my key no longer works, call her and she says she forgot to tell me they changed the locks. Suffice it to say I was hot about it. Now I'm faced with changing, homeless style, in the Victrola bathroom. We fought about it, and she has yet to allow that I had reason to be as pissed as I was. Plus most of what we were fighting about was that I kept hanging up on her. I know, its childish, but I was really done talking and i didnt feel like being well mannered. Nobodys freaking perfect. I showered at my friend Laurie's house, which was weird, and my mom and sister called me about every fifteen to twenty seconds to tell me some breaking news about where they were leaving the ticket for me or how I should be sure and call if I wasnt going to come. You can be sure I really, really didn't want to go by this point. But, filial piety triumphed. I went, parked illegally, didnt feel spiritual or the least bit open minded and was presented with some of the most outrageous bullshit I've ever seen in my life. Town hall was packed. I couldnt find my mom anywhere and I really didnt feel like playing Where's Waldo for her in the sea of dowdy, predominantly greying, ponytail, white people. It became terribly clear there was to be chanting as some more dowdy, greying white people took the stage and sat down on pillows in front of the self same instruments I had seen played with such authentic fervor just the night before. Krishna Das (1 ess, not two, white as Barbara Bush) began to tell some story about how he got this chant from a sadhu in the mountains of India. The audience had an uncanny way of knowing which esoterically placed pauses to laugh at, as if to show him "aha, uh huh we know what you're talking about, we understand." Then he breaks into the chant, first in english "let your light shine on me," for about 20 mins then a traditional harehareramaramaharehareharekrishna type thing, only I've never heard one in a major scale like that. He sounded more like woody guthrie. Actually Ariel and I decided, having put our animosity aside for the moment, that it sounded like the as yet undiscovered Eagles; the Chant Album. The audience whipped themselves up into a frenzy of pretentious nodding, off beat clapping and flailing arhythmic "dancing." The chant went on for 45 minutes. At first I thought either I would have to run screaming or my head was going to explode but as my aesthetic senses numbed themselves to the assault of twirling sarongs and birken-teva-naot-clark shod tapping, I busied myself looking for someone in the room who didnt need a haircut. One couldnt be found, but I did finally see my mom and went to sit with the fam. Finally they rolled Ram Dass (two esses, not one) on to the stage in his wheelchair. His trademark white hair is long, thin and puffy. His pause before speaking was so long that I thought, with alternating horror and relief that perhaps he wouldnt speak but just hit us with some kind of Zen mendicant silent teaching. But, no. Ariel informed me he had had a stroke and therefore spoke very slowly. I wonder if maybe they should consider an alternative to speaking engagements, but who am I? He speaks slowly yes, but not just that. He began to sound very, very familiar. To the irritation of the people around us, it slowly dawned on Ariel and Me that he sounded but exactly, EXACTLY like the giant wise tortoise from the Neverending story. I mean to the point where I want to watch the credits and see if maybe he didnt do the voice. After that dawning realization, it was pretty much over. Inner hysteria prevailed. He spoke about some good stuff, honestly he did. Nothing that was real suprising or informative, but nothing really off base either. People kept shouting out (as an alternative to actually thinking of a real question) "speak about fear," or "speak about death." Things they already knew his opinion on, had already read about, had listened to on his tapes or (shock of shocks)could have thought about on their own, you know? I guess its like asking Bob Dylan to play Subterranean Homesick Blues when you know all the words and can sing along like karaoke. Maybe if I hadnt been at the Qawaali just the night before, seen and felt the authenticity of that experience, it wouldnt have seemed so starkly bad. But it was just so canned, so weird and such a comfortable, created, predictable atmosphere to talk about such wild, organic, definitively unpredictable things as fear and death. And to see all these white people excercising their "mastery" of these instruments, this philosophy, and to so plainly see in contrast to Rizwan and Moazzam Khan, what a mediocre, dispassionate grasp they had on it all, it was depressing as hell. Im glad people are interested in the spiritual plane, I really am. And this is doubtlessly better than nothing or better than attending the RNC, but man, have some respect for the way things are really done. Prostrate yourself to the hard parts and the discipline of these traditions too if you want to claim them, dont just wear the beads, stretch frequently and call yourself a freaking yogini. I left when I started falling asleep. I wanted to go visit my girl Janelle at Harborview. Shes been there for three weeks following a devastating car accident she had as she headed south on I 5 from B'ham last month. Her leg is...god, its bad. It pretty much imploded at every joint. Plus the seat belt broke her collarbone and her arm broke when the car rolled into the median. Then someone who knew she wouldnt be home for a while broke into her apartment and took everything she had. She thinks its probably her Sister. I cant even integrate that into my spectrum of understanding We are at a very very low place in our ethical fabric as a nation, and I think it's really trickling down (as it often does) to individual moral fiber. Life can be a real hurter. Put that in your lecture, Dr. Dass, I'm sure you've figured it out. Just one or two beauty school tidbits this week. We are learning perming. Its challenging, to learn the wrapping and get the dexterity of papering the rods and getting them in exactly right. But thats not what I want to write about, cause nobody cares about perms, they're over. What is so outrageous is the fundamental disrespect for the English language that is evidenced by the categorization of different kinds of perm solution. Ok. Endothermic Waves and Exothermic waves. Get this, its keeping me up nights. Endothermic waves need heat from an outside source and Exothermic waves provide their own heat. Id repeat it for emphasis but i guess you can read it as many times as you want. It'll still be BASS ACKWARDS!!! It kills me! I guess its all well and good if you dont know what endo and exo mean anyway and this is the first time youve heard it, as seems to be the case for my entire class. Then you just memorize the words like a freaking foreign language and call it a day. But for those of us who actually remember things by WHAT THEY MEAN, its rediculous! Ms Denise said she thought some cosmetologist thought the word probably sounded cool/technological and decided to call it endothermic with no real reason. Somebody tell me something. I gave Nathan a ride home and asked him about his relationship with Amber. He said she was a mix of immature and disrespectful. I told him that didnt sound like a great mix and he had to agree. He also said that he was ready to find his girl and settle down, that if he could, he'd be married right now. He said he's always telling his playa homies that they're messing things up for guys like him. He said he knew I wouldn't believe him, but that it was all true. I couldnt shake the feeling that he thought that was what I wanted to hear, but he seemed really sincere so I tried to take him seriously even though I dont think he's any more ready to settle down than Chingy. The kid is 20. Then after a long courage building pause; "So, where your boyfriend at?" I told him his name was Enrique Iglesias and he was on the road a lot. Actually I didnt say that, but it would have been a cute response. I told him I didn't have one. He said, "Man, I dont see how anyone could miss the chance to mess with you, youre off the hook." You're sweet, I told him. "Naw, for real, you're so cool and mellow, you're smart but you're funny and you can dance. Some cat is gonna be really lucky, man. " It was so cute, I can still pull the youngsters, baby! I told him he was gonna make someone very happy as well, even if it isnt Amber, and dropped him off at the bank on Henderson. Now he touches my arm in class and pulls out my chair for me, like we have an understanding that if it werent for those pesky ten years between us...He really is a good kid. Know any nice 20 year old girls lookin' to settle down?