the # 1 reason getting my hair cut stresses me out

Forget fear of a bad haircut or dye job (we've all been there, and some how survived). The number one reason I hate going to the salon to get my hair cut is the small talk.  I hate small talk, but small talk reigns supreme at salons.

My hairstylist (a very nice woman) is always trying to engage me in this chatter, and it stresses me out. I literally have nothing to say. What's more is I think she is trying to put me at ease/make my experience more pleasant by trying to get me to talk, but I don't want to. Why can't we just sit in silence? Seriously, I would be fine with that.

Have you got anything without Spam?

Hello lovely readers,

you may notice a bunch of comments have been deleted by the blog administrator (me). Rest assured, I only delete spam comments (of which I've gotten quite a few lately). I adore real comments from real people, so don't be deterred by the messages of deleted comments.

life lesson: how trails work

If you ride your bike on a non-loop trail to the point of exhaustion, you are still only half way done.

pippy love

the children came to a perfume shop. In the show window was a large jar of freckle salve, and beside the jar was a sign, which read: DO YOU SUFFER FROM FRECKLES?

"What does the sign say?” ask Pippi. She couldn’t read very well because she didn’t want to go to school as other children did.
It says, ‘Do you suffer from freckles?’” said Annika.
Does it indeed?” said Pippi thoughtfully. “Well, a civil question deserves a civil answer. Let’s go in.”

She opened the door and entered the shop, closely followed by Tommy and Annika. An elderly lady stood back of the counter. Pippi went right up to her. “No!” she said decidedly.

"What is it you want?” asked the lady.
"No,” said Pippi once more.
"I don’t understand what you mean,” said the lady.
"No, I don’t suffer from freckles,” said Pippi.

Then the lady understood, but she took one look at Pippi and burst out, “But, my dear child, your whole face is covered with freckles!”

"I know it,” said Pippi, “but I don’t suffer from them. I love them. Good morning.”

She turned to leave, but when she got to the door she looked back and cried, “But if you should happen to get in any salve that gives people more freckles, then you can send me seven or eight jars.”

~Pippy Longstocking, by Astrid Lindgren,

life lesson

When you scroll through quotes about loving books and reading on Pinterest for an hour instead of actually reading the book on your nightstand, you have a Pinterest problem. 

movie review: Don't You Forget About Me (John Hughes documentary)

This is a documentary about 4 film-makers who love John Hughes and set out (from Canada) to find his house and try to interview him & let him know that he is awesome and missed by all. Throughout the movie, various people who have worked with Hughes are interviewed as well as people in the film industry who admire him and teenagers who relate to his movies even today.

This should have been, could have been, a great documentary. Sadly, it was not. The problem was that the film-makers were completely unprofessional and came across as stalkers. Their plan? Drive to Chicago, knock on John Hughes' door, and ask him:
1. Why he stopped making movies.
2. Will he make movies again?
3. Does he know how much everyone loves him?

I'm sorry, but if these people actually had gotten an interview with Mr. Hughes (they didn't), these were their questions? These?! Really?

More than anything else, this movie made me mad. It made me mad because it should have been a good documentary about a film-maker who connected to a generation of teenagers - who still connects to that generation and to generations to come - but instead it ended up being a documentary about what assholes these young film-makers were. Ugh. Wasted. Sad.