2002-11-11 - 8:56 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "And the Glory of the Lord", from Handel's "Messiah"

Tonight, on the way home from work, we saw Benjamin Franklin.

Honestly, for a moment there it felt like it was really him. As though there was some sort of time warp, and this little piece of the 1700s was standing juxtaposed with the twenty-first century. The guy was dressed in period costume, with the little glasses, and the area was dimly lit, and the hair was PERFECT -- long hair with a bald spot on the top. I don't think it was a wig; I think this guy had grown his hair long so he could BE Benjamin Franklin.

Did I mention how much I love living here?

BTW, I have heard that ol' Ben used to take "air baths". Which meant, I believe, that used to sit around, starkers, on a regular basis. I don't know if this is nudist folklore or if it's true, but I need to find out exactly where he took these and have my picture taken there. Hm, here's a quote (source here):

"You know the cold bath has long ben in vogue here as a tonic; but the shock of the cold water has always appeared to me, generally speaking, as too violent, and I have found it much more agreeable to my constitution to bathe in another element, . . . cold air. With this view I rise almost every morning, and sit in my chamber without any clothes whatever, half an hour or an hour according to the season, either reading or writing. This practice is not in the least painful, but, on the contrary, agreeable; and if I return to bed afterwards, I supplement my night's rest . . . [with] one or two hours of the most pleasing sleep that can be imagined. I find no ill consequences whatever resulting from it . . It does not injure my health . . in fact [it may] contribute much to its presservation."

In other exciting news, I stuck my head out the 4th floor door to feel the temp this afternoon (trying to decide what shirt to wear for my walk) and set off the burglar alarm. That door has no exit/entry delay, so it's instantaneous. Strobe and siren and keypad beeping, all at once. Gave me quite a jolt.

Luckily, there is a (very!) short delay built into the system, so I was able to turn it off before it called the monitoring center. I really don't want to set off any false alarms. I think I need to put post-it notes on every door in the house to remind myself what happens when I open them.

When did writing in this journal get so difficult?! Dammit.

Last Friday Poindexter went to get his hair cut. I came by to pick him up. His stylist had mentioned when he saw me at a previous appointment that he liked to work with color, "so if your wife ever wants her highlights done..." So I had been planning to ask him to fix my too-blond highlights, which have grown out by three inches now. I've been putting it off, feeling guilty for spending money on my hair when we have three million things to fix in the house. But it looks so dreadful now that I'd rather put off a house project. If that makes me shallow, so be it.

I was sitting there, trying to work up the nerve to ask about it. I am extremely shy at salons. I have no idea why. I love going. I love coming in looking sort of scruffy and leaving all dolled up. And everyone is always so nice. But there's something I find extremely intimidating about people who work with other people's appearances for a living. Maybe it's because so many of them look so put-together and stylish. I feel like a frump.

Anyway, the stylist was concentrating very hard on Poindexter's hair, and didn't seem very talkative, and I was beginning to worry that this was a bad idea. I want a stylist who likes to chat. I am not comfortable around quiet people! I need someone communicative! Finally I decided I'd just mention what he'd said to Poindexter and see how he reacted.

I asked, "Poindexter said you like to work with color?" And he perked up like you wouldn't believe. "Oh, I love to do color!" Encouraged, I asked if he'd be willing to help me "fix mine", explaining the too-blond thing, and he ushered me into his chair and explained why it got too blond last time, and how he'd mix in some of my natural color (which he says is "dark blonde"?!) down at the bottom to darken it and put some lighter color up by the roots, and yes, we could play with some fun colors, maybe some reddish tints, and ...

I needn't have worried. Looks like I'll have a chatty colorist. I'll probably go in after Thanksgiving, and will try to remember to take before and after pictures.

Later on, I dragged Poindexter out (why is it always dragging? sigh.) for a short walk. I had some dessert in mind at a little bakery nearby. On our way back, we ran into the neighbors who live in back of us and I finally met the wife and baby girl (I had met the Dad and 3-year-old, Melissa, at Halloween).

The wife, I was intimidated to see, is not a smiler. Not. At. All. During the entire conversation on the street there, she didn't smile once. Man, how can people not smile? For me it's involuntary. I meet someone new, and I smile at them. These people who don't smile, it makes them look like the crabbiest people ever, but I don't think they're necessarily crabby people. It's just how they are. But they still scare me, because I think they'd rather be ANYWHERE than talking to me, and it's awful.

Anyway, we mentioned we were coming back from the bakery, and the dad said, "Oh, we go there all the time. Melissa, what do you like to eat when we go there?"

She didn't hesitate. "Calamari!"

Too funny. She got her restaurants mixed up. Once she realized what we were talking about, it turned out her favorite item was exactly what Poindexter had picked up for himself.

Miscellaneous crap from last week (Friday the 8th, afternoon, I think) that never turned into an entry:

My MIL called Poindexter at work today, wanting to know if she could borrow my jeans while she was here during the second half of November, so she has less to pack. I'm happy to return the favor -- she lends me clothes and shoes all the time when I'm down there. It's fun being the same size as another person and being able to swap clothes.

Last night, I wore the wrist guard all night. When I woke up and tested it, it still hurt like all hell. Suddenly now, early afternoon, it has almost completely stopped hurting. What the heck?

I seem to be physically incapable of tearing the "sealed for freshness" paper thingie off the top of the Pringles can. I always end up ripping off paper inside the can while I'm at it.

We saw "Mulholland Drive" the other night. For the first fifteen minutes I was trying too hard to figure things out. I complained to Poindexter, who said, "Stop trying to figure it out. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the atmosphere." Once I did that, I began to REALLY enjoy the movie. Aside from the sizzling lesbian sex scene (way better than any straight sex scene I've seen in a while), my favorite part was watching Naomi Watts act the same short scene in two COMPLETELY different ways. I think I could watch an entire movie that was just one scene being played repeatedly with wildly different interpretations.

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