a melancholy URL for the
[bracketed[ and /slashed/
@
http://bracketandslash.blogspot.com
is no more

....

however, you can read (and bookmark)
the rest of the story
@
http://blog.thehummingbird.com

So I re-straightened my hair last night. Which, as I find out today, is not a good idea.

It looks "okay," but it's nothing special. I'm convinced now, after this second application that my hair is far too resilient for chemical illusions. I guess eventually I'll settle on the fact that my hair is curly and that there are women everywhere who pay pretty pennies every day to have hair that looks like mine. (That's what they tell me anyway.)

The recommended time for a straightening solution is 20 minutes max. I left mine in for 40, just to spite it, just to see what it would do and because I'm a guy, I could just cut it all out if it somehow went awry. Really all that happened was a tickling scalp and a few tinglings here and there.

Which would have been fine.

Until I started to wash it out. The water alone made the very tip-top of my head BURN. And burn and burn and burn. It was painful, I mean it.

I'll venture to say that the subsequent shampoos (and water) that I put on my head hurt more than anything I have ever voluntarily undergone. At one point, I even opened my eyes a few moment amidst the spraying chemicals to check the bottom of the tub for missing follicles "just in case." No swatches of hair, though, to my relief.

After that drama had ended, I was relieved to turn the shower head off, to get the chemicals out of my head. I applied a coat of "moisturizing complex" and some overly-perfumey conditioner and got out of the bathroom as quickly as I could. I had to see my hair. Check for bald spots, discoloration, you know, the usual things one checks for when getting out of the shower.

Really, it looked beautiful. And I basked in it. My hair looked like I've always wanted it to look: long, dark, shiny black and straight. It spilled over my forehead to the point that I could see my little locks curling at their ends without the aid of a mirror. The press of wet strands of hair on my forehead and on my cheeks felt lovely. Like smelling a first flower. Touching it. It was a really special moment, I admit. I gloried in it, recording the long stretches of hair from the center of my head to my eyebrows, over my ears and behind them, long and swoony. All to memory. Right down to the drip, drip, drip of shedding water off the back of my duckish hair.

But, alas, too good to be true. Eventually I stopped staring at myself and went on about my things around my room. Within two or three hours the hair was dry again and starting to break it's mold. It was all I could not to touch it, not to spoil the illusion. By night's end my hair was poofy and, though straight-ish, it was definitely recoiling.

And now, while I can shake my head and feel the hair move like I imagine it would if I had naturally straight hair, it's working its hardest to regain its composure. It's fluffy and fried. My hair is dried out. I burnt it on the top and my scalp is essentially charred from a lump of chemicals that sat at the top of my head too long. Thus, of course, the excruciating pains of rinsing my hair out. Now, to the touch, that patch of hairs is hard, as if permanently moussed. And my scalp is dangerously sensitive to the touch. If I think about it, I can feel it right now without even touching it.

Gee whiz. I've really done it this time. Giving in to the fashion addictions... What was I thinking?

I'm told that I can't treat it again or "else." Which, at first, sounded particularly balding. But just this batch. This batch would be irreparably fried. As it practically is now.

Oh well.

It was fun while it lasted. Even if it was just a few glorious moments in front of the mirror, all by myself. I revelled in it.

So while I'm a little lost on how to feel about all this, I can say that the air is of self-deprecation. Like laughing at myself. Laughing at some silly, would-be kid who insisted on burning up his hair with cheap-o chemicals and frying all his "long, lovely locks" to his father's, mother's and uncle's dismay.

C'est la vie though. I've still got you guys. Even if I do go bald.

Hallelujah,

Oh. And hey. Just for the sake of having something exciting to tell you, I wanted to pass on that a dead crow in a nearby park has turned up as testing positive for the West Nile virus. Which, according to reports, means that the virus has now, if you will, "entered the building."

So... if I turn up dead, with a coat of black feathers about my body, a stiff beak and two orange feet hiked high into the air... then I guess you'll know what happened. But let's just hope that doesn't happen and that we all make it out alive.

That'd be a much nicer, much more storybook ending to tell my would-be grandchildren some day.

Ismael (¶ #6) became a U.S. citizen yesterday. His smile could not have been more reflective of his joy. And to that great joy, I initially shook Ismael's hand in congratulations but, then, without thinking about, I hugged him. "Welcome, brother."

And I really, really meant it.

Which is so cool because I've never officially "welcomed" anyone to the U.S. before. But it felt like second nature. So I'm proud to have my good friend Ismael as an "official" U.S. citizen. If anyone deserves it, Ismael does.

"We live in a beautiful world..."

Tomorrow, Shelley's sister, Shari, is getting married to a guy named Mark. Which I guess is perfect for her. I guess.

I hope their dreams come true.

The last wedding I went to felt very other-worldly. So much so that I had to leave. Hopefully, though, my senses will be a lot less raw this time then they were at the last.

Also, my apologies that there hasn't been more going on in my life right now (if one can truly apologise for that sort of thing), but I sincerely appreciate your visits to the site. Thank you.

A wee bit sick here. Sorry that I haven't posted till now.

Weekend has been very full, with working extra to save my pennies and dollars for the lastest secret (non-virtual) project.

Throat's a little tight, head's a little stuffy, worked twelve hours tonight and found this cool looking CD player/radio.

The horn is fully functional, but no cash to get it now. Perhaps later.

Also, found this much more postmodern version that is complete not only with the CD player and radio, but with dual cassette decks and a three-speed turntable! It's two hundred and fifty bucks, but I'd definitely like to get it (or something like it) very soon. I need a new stereo anyway. The one I have is going on ten years old now and the disc changer requires that I now turn it manually. Not to mention, I've wanted to be able to listen to some of my old vinyls for such a long time now.

Geez, I really miss those things.

Goodnight,

Okay, freaked out and at very last moment am now scheduling an appointment with ASE-certified Ford dealer for oil and filter change. Will also get new wipers, a rotation and perhaps an alignment, along with as many other things as I can afford.

Just thought I'd let you know.

But am waiting now for them to respond, as well as another insurance company.

Am trying desperately to get my premium below current extortionist's rate of $220/month.

Good luck, oy?

Bonne chance,

Tonight I will go to bed early. (5:30a at the latest.) And wake up even earlier to make my way into the oil change shoppe and get myself a long overdue change of fluids. And maybe a brand spanking new pair of wipers, too. Heck, I might even get my tires rotated! You never know what I might do. I'm a wild and crazy guy. (I've even considered buying new tires. Wow.)

"He's a maniac, maniac...."

My friend, Ann(i)e, is in Ireland this morning. Hopefully sleeping, or at least waking up. I'm dreaming sweeping green fields and a serious lack of tourists.


That is all I have to say tonight.

Wish me luck in letting non-ASE-certified Jiffy Lube dudes work on my car.

It's 4:47 now and Stan is about to come out and play. Don't forget to visit him occasionally. He gets so lonely sometimes.

Love&doves,

Goodness me, I have been so busy this week -- inexcusably occupied and I haven't read a single lick of a single book.

But, boy, am I getting good with CSS.

And I can't stop listening to Ani DiFranco:

           got a garden of songs where i grow all my thoughts
           wish i could harvest one or two for some small talk
           i'm always starving for words when you're around
           nothing on my tongue so much in my ground

           half the time i got my gaze trained on your motel door
           fourth door from the end
           rest of the time my gaze lays like a stain on the carpeted floor
           if it weren't for my brain i'd go over and make friends
           too bad about my brain 'cause i'd like to make friends.

           see the little song bird unable to make a sound
           even though she follows her words from town to town
           we both have gardens of songs and maybe its okay
           that i am speechless because i picked you this bouquet.

yum.


It seems, over the period of a weekend and half a week, that I am smiling a lot more when typing. In famed "emoticons."

Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

But in any case, I should be careful. If not, I could very well turn into a poem.


Stan has a new drawing up this morning, so give him a visit. And tomorrow's, I suspect, shall be very, very nice, too. So look forward to it.

Oh, and for all those interested (and paying attention to the time), I don't know when the new secret project will get done. But I will try to have something accomplished with it in the next seven to ten working days. :o)

There. There's your smile.

And, hey, here's your quote for the day. From Miss Ani herself. It comes from Track 3, "Cradle and All," of the Not A Pretty Girl album.

Enjoy it and have yourself a mighty fine day. I'll be sticking to toasted oatmeal and confectioner's powdered sugar (tall, straight, extra dry).


"youth is beauty
  money is beauty
hell, beauty is beauty sometimes."


Night, loves.    (Er,.... morning.)

Well, folksies, our wee little community count here is up to like 14.

Thanks so much for coming here and reading as much as you do. I really do count it an honour to have a place in your schedules each day.

I mean, that God is a real smart kid. This whole communication thing. Who knew?! It's absolutely novel! I love it.


So let's roll those credits, Tom!


credits     
in order of chronological shout-outs   

ally mcbeal's sister      ...      shelley                           
officer cakepolice      ...      keith                            
resident alien      ...      bananie              
anonymous      ...      anonymous   
shorty      ...      sarah    
juju fruit      ...      aju             
officer .org     ...      meg              
avian uncle      ...      papabird      
edward estelin      ...      . ak .                    
lady cray raar      ...      catherine          
anonymous cinnamon twist-hater      ...      anonymous cinnamon twist-hater 
century gothic gal      ...      constance               
radiohead      ...      bose          
  mysterious mike      ...      mike                        
sparrow      ...      anne      
                   mum      ...      [jp/p]'s mom    
imaginary flower      ...      jenn-daisy            
my other brother     ...      glp                          
      aussieaussieaussie     ...      holly(oy,oy,oy!)          






So there. You're all happily accounted for.

But, if you're name's not here and you want it to be, you're gonna have to get in line and give a shout-out like everybody else. And to do that you'll need to read the Monday, 6 May entry below. Which, if you're name's not in the credits, either means you've intentionally disregarded my simple request for a painless "here, here" shout-out the first time you read the 6 May entry, or, it means you haven't read the 6 May entry yet.

So get to it! If you are of the latter group, shame on you for being so long in stopping by. It's nearly unforgivable. But I forgive you nonetheless.

But fret not, friends, family and archnemeses, you still have a chance to be a part of this exclusive list. Call today! Additions to the coveted "Credits List" will be be available at this FREE introductory rate for a LIMITED TIME ONLY. Come 13 May, inclusions to the "Credits List" will incur a nominal posting fee. But as an exclusive offer through this blog only you can make your payments in four easy installments of only $99.95 a month. Ask our operators about the FLEX-PAY payment plan. We gladly accept Visa, MasterCard and Discover. (Sorry, no Diner's Club!)

So shout-out today and save yourself the risk of freely distributing your credit card number to underpaid call center college students who have their own bills to pay and would love to get a hold of your credit card number, expiration date, name, address and three-digit security code (located on the back of your card in the signature strip).

Click here for inclusion TODAY!

We look forward to hearing from you!

[Now, back to first-person singular...]

***

There's another secret project in the works. And it'll involves me here blog.

An official announcement is expected in the next 72 hours, so check back on the hour for more information!

And, as always, [inserts shameless plug] check out Lifeasastick.com! And be sure to tell all your friends.


That's it. That's all I've got from the ranch today.

Keep your heads intact.

Respectfully and capitalistically yours,

For the record, I didn't get the Oreo creme pie I had hoped for. Settled for a much cheaper Oreo shake that sufficed just as well for the time being.

And I straightened my hair a few days ago.

But if I hadn't just told you, you'd never know.

Bless,

Things are getting along interestingly. I'll say that.

Otherwise, I'm extremely tired. (By the way, thanks for all the many responses to Monday's request for heads-up. Very encouraging.)

Am again finding myself at the helm of another sur-secret project. This time not such a big deal, but it involves this blog and much too much time in underappreciated scripting and tinkering. Definitely not worth the trouble and the sleep lost. Will try to find an easier, less depriving way around this.

No update to Lifeasastick today. Up with the blog instead. Though I wish I'd drawn. I got a couple couple of nice 'uns towards the end of the night. Looking forward to getting those out.

Now, before I go, (because I'm very, very tired) I want to say that I've never really seen anyone arrested before.

Of course I've seen people in cuffs on COPS as much as the next bloke, but I've never actually seen it take place.

Poor lady today came into our restaurant and chatted on her invisible cell phone for almost three hours while ordering a T-Bone steak, two appetizers, desert and an entire bottle of red wine.

Everyone was up in arms because this lady was talking to herself and supposedly "disturbing other guests." But, to be quite frank, the reactions of my coworkers was pissing me off much more than this lady's fictitious conversations with the palm of her hand. As far as I or anyone else was concerned, she was having as good a time as she deserved.

But the word that immediately came to mind was a word I had not heard before. Maybe I made it up and maybe it is a real condition, previously coined, I don't know. But in any case, psychophobia seems like, perhaps, our next great struggle. Or a present one which we do not often enough encounter to talk very much about.

I must say, though, that it broke my heart to hear people conspiring to call the cops and have this lady removed simply because she was having a conversation with her own hallucinations. The idea that they could do that --rightfully-- and get away with it made me physicall ill.

The server whose responsibility it was to serve this woman was explaining his frustrations to me and his concern that she would walk out with paying. Which is a valid concern. (You can usually sense it quite a while beforehand.)

But I went on to explain to him that what this lady was suffering was, quite simply, a disability that is wholly protected under various civil rights. No distinctions are made between physical and mental handicaps. And if people were moving away from this lady or leaving the restaurant because she made them uncomfortable, that is no reason whatsoever to have her extradited from the building by a strong arm of the law.

I told him that her hallucinatory conversations were, in stark comparisons, no different than if two gay lovers were to be at a table sharing dinner together, holding hands, occasionally kissing, et cetera, to the certain dismay of more than a few guests within ear and eye shot. But simply because others may be uncomfortable with or completely homophobic of the idea is no valid reason to have those people "removed."

When we talk like that, we have mounted our high horses and taken up the thick-lipped mask of incontrovertible arrogance. Which is what made me so sick.

We can't just delete people from our social lives simply because they are not who we would choose to share our lives with, or vice versa for that matter.

I was surprised a few minutes later that, in musing, my manager asked me what I thought he should do, if he should call the police.

I asked him more lucidly than I'll ever understand, "Is she talking any louder than anyone else in the restaurant? His her conversation on the 'telephone' any louder than the rudies who come in here and talk on their phones?" As much as I think he wanted to alleviate the situation on everyone's part, I was surprised that he conceded so easily to the fact that she was in no way being an obnoxious disturbance. Just a rare occasion was all.

He let the situation go. Other workers "kept an eye on her" -- perhaps the most condescending thing I've seen to date.

In three hours' time, this lady ended up racking up quite a hefty bill. And, as suspicions had supposed, she didn't turn out to have any money. Or identification. Or anyone to call.

The manager, upon finding this out, of course immediately called the police. (Fair reason.) The cops showed up a few minutes later and within ten more minutes had her hands cuffed behind her back to a wicker chair in our lobby and the white-haired lady sat leaning forward with her hair covering her eyes. The cops went through her bags and she offered warmheartedly coupons of several sorts and as many food stamps as she had on her.

So I hated being wrong. And I hated being right.

I knew from the outset that she wouldn't be paying. (As much as one can "know".) And yet, my heart still sank for her when she mumbled, "Oh, I don't like cops" and turned herself up penniless. But in her favour I thought it only fair to give her the rightful benefit of the doubt. She deserved it. (She still does, I tell myself.)

I guess this lady'll be out of jail by noon today and will somehow make her way back to wherever she came from; probably unidentified and probably uncared for.

God only knows.

But at least He knows better than we do and'll have more mercy on her afflicted mind than all the hate and fear and intolerance that we could conjure up tonight. I know that God is good for that much. At the very least, that much.

He gives us the absolute benefit of the doubt.

Shalom, mademoiselle.

YHWHbénir,

Okay, happy Cinco de Mayo and all that jazz.

I wish I had some of those cool, triangular cinnamon crisps that Taco Bell used to carry. Does anybody remember those? They were my favourite. As a child, I think they were the only reason I went to Taco Bell with my mum and actually liked it. I know this because they didn't have chalupas back then. And since they've stopped carrying the really cool, triangular cinnamon crisps as of quite a few years ago, several chalupas a month's consumption have happily taken their place.

My apologies to everyone who's been coming here consistently, only to an empty blog. This should not be the case any longer, now that the secret project is fairly public.

At the moment, I am fighting off some mouthy little sores that I seem to be afflicted with. They've been resident for several days strong now and I'm waiting for the hour that they decide to relinquish my body. Work is difficult with them as the nature of my job dictates that I need to talk a lot. And so talking hurts -- a lot.

Just curious --a show of hands-- who here is actually reading this thing?

If you're reading this right now, do me the quick favour of clicking the "comments" link directly below this message and posting a shout-out. Would be encouraging to know that people are actually visiting this page and that I'm not just talking to the wind. No worries if you've never commented before; I promise not to hold it against you. And if you're a regular, speak up anyway, just for the sake of numbers. A brief "Here, here" will suffice to encourage me.

Tidings in that.

I hope all is well on the various homefronts.

Per a good friend's request, I'll make an attempt at visiting Bob Evans this afternoon/evening and picking up a nice Oreo creme pie. I've heard they're to die for. And Lord knows I could die for something right now.

So I'll let you know how that goes over.

Keep in touch,