You’re too Pure to be Pink

My streaks started out as just a few strands of color.  It became more and more difficult to separate the bleached and dyed hair from the normal looking hair.  Gradually the color was taking over my head:

 

A new plan hatched.  Here’s how we accomplished one of my silly life goals:

1)  Assemble your team.

  

Silas, my good friend and hairstylist Jody, Bea, Sol, Fifi, Batman, Cici and Mimi.  All faithfully attending the dying of the hair.

2)  Slap on some bleach.  Equal parts developer (30 proof) and bleach powder.  If it tingles it means it’s working.  Since my hair has been dyed darker (my natural color is a bit lighter than Silas’) it is harder to bleach to white.

3)  Go to work with half bleached hair.  Have students basically freak out begging to see the top half. Since the roots are virgin hair they bleach lighter and more quickly.  It’s really really ugly, like a calico cat disaster.  Such are the pains of bleaching.  It’s not an exact science.

 

Teaching Keyboarding and Public Speaking for a few weeks this summer.  It’s a pretty great job.  Today the above prompt came up – had to take picture of it for Pam (mom) and Max (nephew).  Not that either of them would fix either of those things.

4)  Freak out because Jody is late and maybe she isn’t going to finish my hair!  But no, she came and off we went to bleach again.  Typically I’d let the hair follicles rest for a bit, but eh.  My hair can take a double bleach ok.

Got my sweet kid’s hair shield thing on.  Knock off Toy Story.  Baller.  This is my yellow hair after two bleachings.  The color didn’t move much, but that is ok because I planned to dye over it. 

5) Coat your skin with Vaseline, anywhere your hair color might stain.  Notice how shiny my forehead is in these pics.

6)  Mix your dye.  All weird colors are semi permanent.  I went for stains rather than full saturating dyes.  Manic Panic stains bleached hair but isn’t recommended unless you want a soft color.  Prevada is only available to pro hair-dressers (like Jody.)  The rest you can buy at stupid Hot Topic (the devil’s store, according to Pam).  I prefer RAW and Special Effects.  Or Jerome Russell.

7) Have your hair dresser slap on the color.  Or do it yourself.  I usually do it myself.

 

8)  Get used to your new hair!

Starting a Movement

Found this little heart warming drawing at the wedding of the year (Congrats Court and PJ!) last weekend.

Rock on, Solomon!

Punk is in your Soul

I was working on some shoes the other night and my older sister Paige started asking me about the punk movement. Is it the music aspect or the fashion or the lifestyle that makes one “punk”? How do you qualify?

I guess when you’re putting spikes on your shoes your family might want a bit of an explanation. I’m not sure I can explain it myself, but I think if you boil it down it’s a form of self-expression, like life-art.

I don’t know which came first with my interest in punk, the music or the fashion or the art. They kind of go hand-in-hand. I originally got interested in the Velvet Underground. Velvet Underground were compatriots of Andy Warhol and the whole Factory scene (he was their manager and they his studio band). You’d know their song “Walk on the Wild Side.” Thus, fashion, art and music were all part of the genesis of the punk movement. In the early 70’s John Cale made bad decisions and Lou Reed shot off into his solo career. Later he joined with David Bowie (and recently the Killers on one of my favorite tracks ever, “Tranquilize”). I remember loving Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day” when I was in seventh grade. How on earth did I stumble upon that? And Bowie, of course, is every child of the 80’s alien symbol of awesomeness. How could we not be mystified by The Labyrinth? I wanted to know all things Bowie. I remember thinking as a 13 yr old, Ziggy Stardust? Who is that? I need him in my life. My fave of his is “Rebel Rebel.”

But back to the 70’s. London in the seventies vomited up bands who paired the aggression, fashion and attitude of the New York bands, both glam and otherwise (including the New York Dolls “Personality Crisis”, Iggy Pop “Lust for Life,” and T. Rex “Bang a Gong”) with politics. Thence came the Sex Pistols, my personal favorite punk band. Heard of Johnny Rotten and Sid Vicious? They were part of the Sex Pistols. “God Save the Queen” is punk’s national anthem and it’s an attack on British conformity and reverence to the monarchy. They frequented Vivienne Westwood’s clothing store “Too Fast to Live Too Young to Die” and the band became the inspiration for much of Westwood’s clothing. Hence, the pins, spikes, leather, red plaid, deconstructed clothing look. Pretty much everything that looks punk can somehow be traced back to Vivienne Westwood. I lurve her.

Along with the Sex Pistols were The Clash. They’re another punk pioneer group, widely called “The Only Band that Matters.” I kind of agree. They headlined a concert in 1978 called “Rock against Racism” and they kept ticket prices low at concerts to avoid giving money to “the man.” They pretty much made no money which is an interesting anti-consumerist position for a band to take. You’d know “Rock the Casbah” and “Should I Stay or Should I Go” and probably “London Calling.”

So those were the major Old School punk groups. But Old School Punk became artsy and pretentious, so Street Punk developed as a return-to-roots movement that happens every once in a while. Punk goes in waves. I don’t like much Street Punk (called Oi). Too gritty. Then in the mid-90’s Green Day moved from Street punk to a more commercial band – basically they sold out. But they still make good music and they're great live. Also in this group are Ska Punk including my two favorites Rancid (related to Operation Ivy) and Less than Jake. In the 90’s there was Skate Punk (The Offspring, NOFX, Face to Face, Bad Religion). I like this subgenre and I saw some of these bands at Slim’s in SF when I was a teenager.

Betsey, Vivienne W. now (old with orange hair) and in the 70’s.

Punk fashion today looks exactly the same as it did in the 70’s, except with a lot of glam thrown in. And that brings us to Betsey Johnson. Remember John Cale of the Velvet Underground? Well that’s Betsey’s ex husband. She was part of the Velvet Underground / Andy Warhol scene! She’s been in and out of style since 1978 but I think she really blew up fashion-wise when she started making accessories and handbags around 2003. I bought my first Betsey Johnson dress at a thrift store on Telegraph Ave. in 1996. It was hot pink. It still fits, but maybe for Some Guy’s eyes only. Betsey has really married art and fashion, with big punk elements thrown in. She needs to hire me to design shoes for her.

So when Paige said, “I like it, I just don’t really get it” it got me thinking. Where did all this come from? How is it still relevant in my mom-life in the suburbs? Is it possible to be punk and drive a minivan?

Punks on the Street . . .

evolve into Madonna’s punk phase which inspired Lady Gaga (as does Andy Warhol) . . .

which evolves into Madonna goes back to the roots – Warhol. It all comes back to the Factory, folks!

I remember when I learned I was pregnant with my third child worrying about having to make the jump into minivan life. I had an X5. It didn’t fit three carseats across. I was talking to my then brother-in-law about the commitment it takes to officially give up on cool and buy the damn minivan. He turned to me and said, “Your car does not define you. Punk is in your soul.” I bought the minivan. (And yes, of course it’s black!)

This is the phase my life is in right now and I think it’s pretty hardcore. Sure we live in a glamorous quiet suburban town. Sure I rock pack-n-plays. But I’m going to wear what I want and be as leftist as I please and look how I want and take my kids on urban vacations. I just like to live where I can get a freaking parking spot.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I’m obsessed with this movie:

Have you seen it?  Go buy it or find it on Netflix or something.  Or invite me over to watch it with you because I want to watch it again and again.

It’s the story of black hair and the lengths (ha, pun) women go to to get long luscious Beyonce hair.  Relaxing, extensions, weaves, they’re all in there.  It was a total revelation and I loved how black girls spilled their hair secrets that I’ve been wondering about my whole life.  I watched it again last week with my fabulous and lovely hair dresser friend Melissa. She was as mystified as I was and I thought, as a hair dresser, she would be privy to this sort of information.  Apparently only black hair dressers know their secrets?  Why is that?

What is UP with Beyonce’s blowing in the wind hair?  How did she get it that long and silky looking using relaxer which I know just fries your hair?  Is everybody related to Native Americans?  How does Michele Obama get her hair to look perfect?  Who is wearing fake hair?  What is fake hair?  How much does this all cost?  And most importantly, HOW DO I GET IN ON IT??

Weave, weave.

A weave means a lot of different things.  These, I’d guess, are full pieces that are sewn onto the head after the real hair is french braided down to the scalp.  It’s a fascinating process and one that takes hours, has to be redone every 6 weeks, looks like it hurt, and costs a fortune.  I want to try it!  But it sounds itchy.

Braided, netted, extensions to be sewn on.  These are clipped to the hair.

Now everywhere I go I’m constantly evaluating black girl’s hair and analyzing how they got it to look so amazing.  It’s like art.  They can change their hair dramatically overnight. 

Jealous.

Wigs are definitely not part of white girl culture, unless the wearer is undergoing some sort of chemotherapy, in some theatrical show, or maybe a prostitute.  If you see a white girl wearing a wig A) you notice and B) you try to determine if she is sick.  I’ve always been tempted by wigs but never given them a go.

Pre-wig, wearing wig cap and looking kinda scary.

No time like the present!

If you’re going to buy a wig, I say, go big or go home. Japanese girls wear wigs all the time for cosplay -- costume play dressup -- as seen with Gwen Stefani’s xenophilic (but perhaps condescending) Harajuku girls phase.  I didn’t want a natural looking wig.  I wanted an anime-style wig.  Not quite Lady Gaga, but something fantastic.

 

Cosplay girl, Girls in cosplay in the Tokyo Harajuku neighborhood. Jude in the stroller.

After being jealous of this blogger for months, I found some fabulous wigs for sale from China and went for it.

My wig’s debut was a regular Saturday.  My kids and I were headed to the Little Farm in Berkeley and then to the mall for some shopping.  Just me and them, probably not seeing anyone I knew.  Perfect time to experiment with my new freaky wig.  I was feeling brave and ready for adventure.

My mom helped me put on my piece, though she objected and didn’t get why I was wearing a pink wig.  I didn’t really know either.  I just felt like it, okay?

We got it on, I turned to her and she adjusted it and said, “Looks perfect.  You look like a prostitute.  Don’t be surprised if you get propositioned.  Have a good day!”  Thanks mom!

 

At the Little Farm

At the Little Farm I quickly realized that being normal and with my kids totally validated me despite the weird hair.  I had a posse.  My kids didn’t think I was weird, they liked it!  It was like being a mermaid all day, or a Disney princess!  Stranger kids wandered up to me in interest.  I liked it!

Then we went to the mall.  We’re always a bit of a spectacle because I load all three kids onto one stroller.  This time I was pushing it wearing my weird wig.  Teenagers stopped me to talk about the wig.  Old people smiled at me.  It was strange being so conspicuous, but very amusing.  It made a boring and stressful walk through the mall a total adventure.

And then we ran into Carol!  Mimi’s preschool teacher (hi Carol!) was shopping with her mom and, as she passed me, was nudging her mom to look at the girl with the freaky hair.  Then when she recognized Mimi and Jude she said incredulously, “Lenore?!”  I loved that she knows me well enough to be simply amused.  It was so fun running into someone we knew and we laughed a lot.  It was the best part of the day.

Until that night.  It happened that I was meeting Some Guy, his boys, and our friends for dinner.  In Oakland.  At an Ethiopian restaurant where we are often the only white people there.  I don’t know why I felt more uncomfortable in that restaurant, and subsequently at Oak Street in Emeryville, than I had in less ethnically diverse areas.  For some reason a white girl wearing a wig in the majority white suburbs is different than a white girl wearing a wig around more black people.  People literally pointed and obviously nudged each other.

It was very interesting.  But then I thought to myself, why is it weird for me to wear a wig and not weird that the girl standing next to you is wearing fake hair?  What’s the difference?  Do you think her wig is less noticeable?  Cause I notice.  I know the fake hair secrets now. 

I’m slowly debuting my pink wig with my friends.  Today I wore it to the laundromat and the dentist.  It turned mundane activities into adventures, and all because of a mass of synthetic pink hair.

I’m totally buying more.

  

Laundromat photoshoot.

Not Normal

There were 1200 hits on this blog yesterday.

Sure, many of them are refreshes and returning visitors, but still.

Kind of a lot of people.

It got me thinking.

What is the most important thing I could say to you? What would be worth reading, worth your time?

I was born a little bit different -- when I was just a little kid my older sisters would say, "Come here, Normal" to which I'd scream, "I'm NOT NORMAL!!" I've always had authority problems and rebellious problems and rebel rouser problems. I got kicked out of church camp EVERY YEAR but my parents still made me go back. I was my parent's worst nightmare throughout my teen years, aside from my intensity about academics. I've never really been a good girl.

After high school I attempted to quit going to the LDS church. I had LDS friends and attended church but I had many problems bending my will to that of an organized religion. I believed that the LDS lifestyle was a good way to live but I wasn't trying very hard and I didn't really feel like I fit in: I had weird hair, I supported liberal politics, I hated Utah, I didn't go to BYU, I didn't think women should serve missions, I had no verbal filter, I was a feminist, I wore bikinis, I was fun.

A bit weird, not that cute, hanging out in my favorite section of Barnes & Noble. You're not a real blogger if you can't post gross pics of yourself.

Despite not fitting in I found myself an LDS husband who tolerated and celebrated my unMormony brand of Mormonism. We had a lot of good years together in which he would help me dye my weird hair, discuss the merits of attending non-Sunday church activities, and seek out less "normal" Mormons to befriend.

While I was definitely on the fringe of LDS culture, I didn't realize that I may have also been on the fringe of LDS practice. Sure, I went to church and attended the temple, did my callings and lived the LDS lifestyle. Nevertheless I felt stagnant in my belief.

And then came crisis.

During the crumbling of my marriage I found myself alone on Sundays while my ex was either traveling or doing theater. I found myself alone at night. I found myself alone in general.

On those Sundays I had a couple of kids who were not going to go to church that day unless I took them. And so I took them.

On those nights alone at 2 am there was no one to call and nothing to do but worry. The church says to seek for solace in the scriptures. And so I read them.

This was my hour of need and I had faith that the simple Sunday School answers would work: read the scriptures, say your prayers.

And it did work.

I was strengthened. We got through the worst of it. The rain came down and the floods came up and this house on the Rock stood firm.

I've been through the greatest trial of my life and it was a crucible for me. It taught me faith, humility and reliance on Christ.

I've always been a believer, but now my strong will is more flexible. I've been humbled.

I'm still a liberal voting, rebellious, kinda weird feminist woman with little filter, but I have been through hell and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that the Gospel taught in the LDS church is an absolute necessity.

I invite you to look into it. It's totally in this season.

And if it feels foreign or you think you're not going to fit in or it's not for you, come sit by me.

If I can do this so can you.

Go on, check it out.

WFT: Nor

My WFT is one that’s shared by most of my family.
We’re not huggers.

This is weird if you’re over 5.

 

You’d think we would be, being mostly girls and loving babies in the way that we do.  But I think I can speak for most of my siblings when I say that we’re not really on the hug bandwagon.

I pretty much get all my hugging done with this guy.  (And Some Guy)

We don’t deny hugs, we just are always a little caught of guard by them and they typically make me very uncomfortable.  Why do people press against each other?  What do they get out of hugs?  Am I missing something? 
To me hugs are either sexual or an opportunity for a cheap feel or something reserved for children.  I think hugs peak in middle school when they really are an excuse to get all up in another person’s grill and touch them.  Creepy. 
I’m extremely physically affectionate with my children and significant others, but beyond that I’m a bit weirded out.  Is it weird to be weirded out by hugs?
I’m trying to retrain myself.  I aspire to being more hug-friendly because clearly I’m missing something.  Force me to hug you.  Thanks.
 

Maybe I’m Victorian.  Don’t think Victorians hugged.