"You're Hair- You're Here!!!" (Name that movie)

I was walking home from my hair appointment this evening, whistling "Holly Jolly Christmas" as loudly as I could, pausing only to grab a tendrel of my freshly chopped hair, push it against my nostrils and deeply breathe in the woodsy, metallic scent of expensive product, flat-iron and sharp shears that lingered on every strand. Then, as I was skipping along, sending bird-like chirps into the crisp autumn air, it dawned on me--- WHISTLING IS SO ANNOYING. It is possibly the most pompous human activity in existence, aside from simply saying "I am extremely content- so much so that I am forcing you to share in my contentment. You have no choice." 

So I stopped whistling and stored my giddiness away for more universal moments of happiness, like Christmas morning and Nate Berkus decorating a Katrina-victim's new home. 

The hair is much improved, though. No longer the coarse, equine, owl-peltish snarl it once was. It makes me feel, it makes me feel, it makes me feel like a nat-ur-al woman. WOMAN.

I've been so out of the loop for the past week or two. My Planet Money podcasts are piling up higher than my dirty laundry and I'm only half-way through my New Yorker which I must finish before Friday when a new one will arrive. Time to get my desire-to-be-well-informed arse into gear!

I've postponed my video-blog voting until tomorrow or the next day because Char wishes to Skype me to tell me her election choices. Imagine that! Hmmph!

NEW HAIR! 

There once was a time when I could eat an entire canister of almond roca and not think twice...ah, the blissful ignorance of youth, 

Madge