I am blonde and I am catty

I will post photos as soon as I have some good ones, but so far the only ones I’ve taken have been self-portraits in my car at stoplights. Because I am blonde now. Well, blonde-ish. More frosted, I guess. I look sort of like a news anchor. See, I ended up “winning” a free cut and color from an Aveda salon near my work, and feeling (as you know, ad nauseum) like I needed a little Joy right about now, I made the appointment for a whole new look. Except that I didn’t really want a whole new look. I wanted my same haircut, just cleaned up a little, and my same grey hairs on display for all to see. I wanted my bangs a little shorter. And I wanted some very mellow lighter brown highlights. You know, for depth or whatever. But the man who cut my hair was a sort of frumpy 1980’s washout, with a Great Clips commercial-esque bleached fade. And when I told him I wanted very subtle color, he acted completely disgusted, as if I was asking him to marinate my hair in chlorine for an hour and then cut it with a primitive stone knife. According to him, blonde highlights are the only kind of highlights, and that even with my very dark brown hair, blonde highlights could still look very natural. Which I didn’t buy for a second, but let him do anyway because it was clear he didn’t want to be giving a girl a free haircut anyway, and I wanted to be accommodating. (Which by the way is my MO these days.) So I looked on while he brought out the bleach and the foil and the crusty paintbrush. And I sat under the dryer and read US Weekly. And I let him put literally 8 sticky products in my hair. The one thing I can say about my hair right now with absolute certainty is that it is very, very sticky. Apart from that it’s just frosty. Boring cut, no bangs. Sort of bubble shaped right now, but I’m hoping that will go away with washing. I tipped him ten dollars. I will make an appointment tomorrow with nice nice nice man Joe V who will fix me up and make me look 26 again. Instead of 56. Maybe he can fit me in next week? Sigh.
It’s not that bad.
I was going to write a sort of catty post on the PDX Film Fest site about how much I hate Q & A’s with directors. But then I read the posts that went up today and they were so thoughtful and appreciative that I felt bad and backed down. Even though I guilted MIke into giving me a login for that blog ASAP. No no, I can’t be catty on that blog.
But I can be catty here! I hate director and/or artist and/or actor and/or musician talk-backs after shows. Don’t get me wrong, I like to hear artists speak about their work. What I don’t like are the dick-slinging questioners who use their moment in front of the mic to prove to everyone in the room that they understood the film better than everyone in the room. Including the director. They ask, “What made you decide to use a hand held shot during the bedroom scene? Do you feel that hand held shots in general provide more intimacy to the moment, or were you making a comment on the fumblings of new lovers?” But what they mean is, “I am a film aficionado. I am a nuanced critic of The Arts. You (director) and I share an understanding of The Arts that is beyond earthly comprehension. It is, rather, celestial. Or perhaps you do not understand at all. (This condescending tone of voice I am now using to respond to your response with my elaborate follow-up question denotes that I have lost all respect for you.) Perhaps what you have created is nothing more than a naive accident, and I will now attempt to trap you into a faltering admission of this fact.” Fucking douche-bags. I have been an artist at one of these talk-backs, and it’s just excruciating. You can’t do much more than shrug helplessly and mumble something about how every viewer had their own schema and that sometimes artistic decisions are hard to explain in a hot, crowded theater when everyone else just wants to get to the party.
Okay, enough cattiness.
Psyche!
A little bit more.
I won’t name names here, but I was at a party recently and spent some time with some very status-conscious people who sized me up and decided I was pretty low on the totem pole of PDX coolness and proceeded to fawn over my much more street credible companions. Can I just call bullshit on this? Anyone who has spent time in this loosely connected “indie rock” community knows the unspoken rule, which is basically just “be cool to everyone.” How many shows have I gone to by myself only to meet nice dudes who later became my tightest homies? How many bands have crashed on how many couches around this ol’ globe? How many baristas have set up installations for traveling artists at their humble cafes? Favors are traded and returned, and connections are made with kindness and word of mouth. So don’t come into my zone and break the unspoken rules! And don’t be presuming to know the lay of the land! Ugh. Maybe it’s not like that, but damn. There is no excuse for rudeness.