Reviewed: Pureology Hydrating Shampoo

This morning I was in the shower thinking about reviewing razors (I had one of those winter WHOA leg hair moments) but I didn’t because I realized I had already done so, and because I was sickly thinking that, while it’s warm in New York right now, there are definitely some super freezing days in the future where I might want that extra layer. So instead, I looked to the line of scented bottles at the back of my shower.

Lots of girls are picky about their shampoo, probably because some pseudo-scientific commercial has done it’s misleading job and convinced us of its merits. I’m more of a sampler, mostly sticking to salon brands and whichever bottle is prettiest at Trade Secret. However, about 4 years ago my stylist started using Pureology in her salon and I have coveted the ridiculously expensive brand (about $25 a bottle) every since.

It’s supposed to be super healthy for your hair because it’s all sulfite-free and whatnot, but it also smells awesome and it’s a delicious purple color that reminds me of My Little Pony. Plus, I have to say that my hair, which is always difficult—dry and frizzy—has been somewhat behaving lately. It might be that awesome prayer I did the day I was really sick (ha!) but it might just be the shampoo. I’ve only made the plunge and bought one bottle so far, and now that this one is about out I’m sad because I’m currently on a budget (which always is so hard, especially knowing that these Frye boots are just out there, existing in this world.) I’ll probably just end up using the rest of the cheap bottle I buy for Joe and instruct him to use instead of mine (he has amazing hair and can handle generic Suave and no conditioner.)

89 Stars. Also, the conditioner smells like mint, and I imagine is kind of a nice wake-up in the shower.

Reviewed: Myself (Extended Version)

I was thinking, why the heck should anyone take my word for it if they don’t even know who I am? Well, hmmm…You don’t know Lindsay Lohan either, do you, but American Apparel sold thousands of grey fleece hoodies when she blacked out and drunk drooled in one. But the point is, how am I ever going to sell you on Swiss Miss Hot Cocoa Mix or the entertainment value of One Tree Hill if you don’t trust me? Ergo, I compiled some tidbits.

1) As a kid my claim to fame was that I possibly had the largest personal VHS collection in town, including such gems like The Pest with John Leguizamo…or that I pronounced “breakfast” as “breaf-tast.” Either one.
2) I was disappointed that Hillary Clinton didn’t win the Iowa caucus last night but then I watched Obama’s victory speech and now I’m in love.
3) I think having a favorite color is stupid.
4) Tomatoes are the most excellent fruit.
5) I once spent an hour in Nerdland creating an alphabetical, cross-listed spreadsheet of my DVDs. (Crap, I wasn’t going to reveal that to anyone.)
6) My mother, in a moment of weakness that is hilarious upon reflection, broke down and called the 12 year-old me a dumbass. (I totally deserved it. My mom's awesome.)
7) I got a 27 on my ACT the second time. Wait, actually I think I got a 26.
8) Olive Garden is my favorite restaurant.

I just realized that I’m totally out of touch with anything other than pop culture, which is making my interactions with new people sort of odd. I can talk for an hour on the WGA strike, but stare dumbly when you ask me about the presidential election. This is mainly because of 1) Dr. Weil, whose 8 Weeks to Optimum Health recommends staying away from the stressors of local and national news, and 2) the Iraq War was getting more depressing than ever and the writing life is depressing enough. But apathy is kind of unfamiliar territory for me and I felt like I had accidentally killed a bunny the other day when I didn’t know anything about the Bhutto assassination. “Who’s Bhutto?” I said to Joe. Ugh, I know. I’m disgusting. In college I was the girl in the long batik skirt asking you to sign a postcard for endangered species. Now the most significant thing about politics I know is that Edwards has got a pretty f-ing good haircut.

Anyway, I’m totally undeserving of all the Christmas presents people bought me. Joe bought me this:
Or rather, he did after I exchanged what he bought me for this. I got him the DVD of Big Trouble in Little China. (Among other things, geez. The gulf of expense wasn’t that wide.) My grandma got me cute red leather gloves and a red knit scarf. My mom got me seasons 1 and 3 of 30 Rock and The Office, respectively. My aunt sewed for me the most amazing needlepoint. And my sister got me Marc Jacobs Daisy. I love the little gold pouch.I also got the stomach flu and cried and vomited and laid on the bathroom floor moaning, had to cancel my flight, decided not the put the $1000 change fee to go a day late on my credit card no matter how tempted I was, lost 4 pounds, couldn’t eat a real meal for a week, went to the Met to see the baroque Christmas tree and convinced Joe to leave with me before the lighting (I was weak from flu, and geez, it wasn’t even a REAL tree---come on, Met, get with it), was sad about zoo-kept tigers and the WGA strike, and accidentally killed the rosemary plant that I had brought inside for the winter and then forgot to water. And now I’ve created the longest post ever, entirely about me. Can you believe it?

Hmmm. 47 Stars? (Barely.)

P.S. #8 is a lie. Double ew.

Reviewed: Papermate Sharpwriter Pencils

Of course it happens now that I’m to the revising process of my book--the pens and pencils stage--there are none in the house. It is moments like these that make me realize how attached I am to my Powerbook, and also how much things have changed. It’s like looking at the signature (circa 9th grade) on your social security card, the way each individual letter is formed in perfect cursive, and you realize that you’ll never go back to that ever because you can’t remember anymore how to write the cursive r.

So I’m going to the store this afternoon to pick up some Papermate Sharpwriter #2’s. Those are the plastic mechanical pencils with a twisty (instead of clicky) graphite dispenser. These guys are truly the masters of mechanical pencils, showcasing the same yellow color as the old school woods, but without the annoying scratchy thing that happens before you need a sharpen. Sharpwriters served me well throughout my education and I hope to continue utilizing them in the future, that is, until we start living in a paperless society and the government breaks down so that the police become on-the-spot judges and cities are contained within walled enclosures and cars fly and I’m totally looking to Sylvester Stallone because he’s had experience with this before.

84 Stars.

Reviewed: Beards

Last week I met Murph’s new boyfriend for the first time. For some reason I started talking about how I am jealous of men because they can grow facial hair, and now I’m a little worried about the impression I made. I mean, it’s not as if he didn’t know about my crazies (Murph had to inform him of my fear of going to new people’s houses [it gets so claustrophobic]) but this time, after half a vodka tonic, I think I was a little too adamantly sincere.

But beards are cool, so I am kind of jealous. Men are so lucky! It’s like expressing your personal style—on your face! It’s not like I’m going to go out and take some hormones or something, but I’m just saying if women had the ability to grow beards naturally and it was socially acceptable--if not applauded--to do so then I would totally do it. Even just to have the option of growing a beard seems more free. So we all agree it’s completely unfair. Periods, breast cancer, date rape, FGM; women always get shafted.

Now I’m going to list some of my favorite beards: Aragorn, Ryan Gosling, Al Gore, Casey Siemaszko in Young Guns, John Goodman, John Lennon, Lincoln, Dumbledore…hm, I’ll probably think of some more later.

66 Stars.

Reviewed: Christmas Gifts for Mom and Dad

It’s a pretty safe bet that my parents don’t read this blog considering they don’t even have internet in their house (which, come on, is practically sacrelig in 2007 even though it probably has more to do with cheapness than being unconnected to the modern world [which I also feel safe saying, since that’s where cheapness gets you!]) so I can totally review the amazing presents I bought for them this year.

Joe always makes fun of me because I usually pick out presents that I would want and then give them to other people, which is to say I’m not a very good gift-giver (ahem, the homemade pillows of 2003, that coconut purse I got Tesch for her birthday.) Anyway, this year I feel is going to be completely different. I’ve spent the last 11 months writing my novel and the first three of those months following Robert Olen Butler’s method of exploring the unconscious and I think, somehow, that advice allowed me to transcend my fallbacks and get things people would really enjoy.

My dad always comes home from work and empties out his pockets, and since he’s a blue-collar-my-pockets-are-my-office kind of guy that means the kitchen counter becomes the repository for loose change, keys, folded up invoices and reminders and receipts, keys, nuts and bolts, keys, (he has a lot of keys), etc. I figured, wouldn’t it be nice if he had a super posh place to put all that junk? Here’s what Dad’s getting:(This picture is the Pottery Barn version, which is prettier, but I ended up getting my Pops the one from redenvelope.com because they have a larger version.)

My mom loves to take baths. Nothing too exquisite; just hot water and body wash and a clean wash cloth. She takes the best baths out of anyone I know—the simplicity is the secret—and she makes them look so good I’m sometimes tempted to slip in the water right after she gets out (she’s my mom, it’s not gross!) So I went to Macy’s and got these fantastic soft, organic cotton towels in an oatmeal-y, natural color (the Haven by Hotel towels in Rice.) The edging is kind of rustic and luxe at the same time. Mmmm…I think she is going to really like them.
I did a good job, didn’t I? I think I did. 88 Stars.

Reviewed: American Airlines

Joe and I flew AA last weekend down to Miami for our short trip to Key West. I’m one of those people that hate to fly. Not because I’m scared of crashing, but because the cram-‘em-in style of air travel really terrifies me. I’m little bit claustrophobic and it’s hard for me to handle the slim amount of space between rows, the tall and imposing seat backs, and the way there are like 30-50 people--some big, some tall, some smelly or coughy or sniffy or broad shouldered and you know they are the trampling kind--between you and the tiny little door so far away and hidden at the front.

But with American Airlines, even the little things about air travel that make it somewhat bearable are absent. The biggest one being, no snacks. If you want a snack you have to buy one for $3-5, and they only sell one kind of candy bar (3 Musketeers), one kind of chip (Pringles), trail mix or a ginger cookie. With the exception of Pringles (maybe) all selections are things you’d find in the back of the cabinet at your grandma’s house.

The flight attendants are kind of jerky and the planes are kind of junky. Considering kayak and orbitz make airlines pretty competitive these days, I think I probably won’t be buying American.

26 Stars. Twinges of nostalgia over the fact that my grandma used to always fly American (or TWA) when she came to visit us, presents in her carry-on bag. On her way home we would watch out the window from the gate as she climbed up the stairs onto the plane, then wave as the plane taxied down the runway. Old school airport, Peoria, Illinois, circa 1980’s.

Reviewed: Ayelet Waldman writes about Christmas for BAZAAR Magazine, says there's no Santa

I’ve never been one to be concerned with any of the debates that come around this time of year, not Bill O’Reilly’s so-called war on Christmas or all the Jesus is the Reason for the Season hoopla. I’m not religious and I enjoy the holidays mostly because of the existence of Santa Claus.

So that’s why I was a little miffed after reading what Ayelet Waldman, spouse of novelist Michael Chabon, had to say about Santa to her daughter, Sophie, in this month’s Bazaar magazine:

“…the mother of my then-four-year-old daughter’s best friend called to request that I tell Sophie that there was, in fact, a Santa Claus [so as not to spoil the holiday for her daughter]….
Not on your life. I told Sophie, as I have since told her younger siblings, that there is no such thing as Santa Claus, that he is a character in a story just like Willy Wonka or Amelia Bedelia. I further instruct them that their Christian friends are sweet but gullible, and out of respect for their limitations, we should all work hard to sustain their delusions for as long as possible.”

Dude!

Too bad for me, I guess, since I was one of those gullible, limited, deluded kids (and sometimes think I still am.) Heck, I still get a kick when the news anchor announces Santa sightings on Christmas Eve. Santa is kind of like my hero; he eats tons of cookies, gives away hundreds of presents, and sticks it to all the meanies with a lump of coal. How awesome is that?

If believing in Santa Claus is an example of my limitations that’s the least I have to worry about. I’m reveling in my delusions.

3 Stars. One year I even convinced myself I saw sleigh marks in the snow. Anyway, if you want to talk about gullible, Murph thought the ending of Alpha Dog had an interview with the real Susan Markowitz when it was really just Sharon Stone in a fat suit.