Hair Misadventures

While poking around tonight on YouTube, I found this amazing video of two of the great modern masters, Yo Yo Ma (the cellist) and El Gran Ástor, Ástor Piazzolla (the bandoneon player). If this doesn't move you, then you're made of stone:



I think most people have heard of Yo Yo Ma, but Ástor Piazzolla is still largely unappreciated in this country. He basically reinvinted tango music by taking it from the nightclubs and cabarets of Argentina and elevating it to a legitimate art form by fusing it with modern jazz and classical music. So go and give El Gran Ástor a try sometime. If you like him, you'll probably like his protege, too: Dino Salduzzi. My newest CD is also Dino's newest, Ojos Negros, which also -- coincidentally -- happens to be a recording of duets between a bandoneon player and a cellist. Very, very good stuff.

In other news, after an unfortunate hair-dye incident yesterday, I am now a brunette. I made the sad mistake of attempting to dye my hair (I was tired of the dirty blonde look) and, out of an overinflated sense of my own styling/coloring techniques, I decided to do it myself. First mistake. I went for a "strawberry blonde" shade -- at least, according to the Clairol "Coloure Experte" box. That's the last time I buy hair dye whose own packaging can't even spell the world color. Second mistake. Needless to say, the color didn't quite turn out as expected. Instead of "strawberry blonde," I got this:

Only more frightening. I waited a full 24 hours and shampooed it furiously, praying that the color would tone itself down, but to no avail. Instead, I ended up doing the walk of shame into my local Visible Changes today where I was the butt of many jokes in the coloring department. I was even an example to some trainees of how not to "do red." No shit? Yeah, I think everyone got that memo already.

So, three hours in the salon, a headful of bleach paste (yes, bleach paste) and $250 later, I am now a brunette. It's obviously not my natural color but the stylist said that putting anything else on over the bleach would damage my hair too much. Then, of course, she loaded me down with hideously overpriced salon shampoos and conditioners and hair masques and I bought them with my head hung, simply grateful that anyone was able to correct my Pennywise 'do and ashamed of my own hubris.

The brunette is growing on me, though, and Richard is strangely attracted to it. I always knew he had a thing for brunettes... Maybe I've had enough of being a blonde for a while. At the very least, now I can start conquering that other physical attribute that causes people to immediately assume that I'm a blithering moron:

They're not mine, sickos.