Hair today, hair tomorrow

File this under "Ew, I didn't even know that happened in first-world countries that manufactured soap": a 29-year-old woman in Britain hasn't washed her hair in 11 years. Let me blink rapidly and try looking at that again: 11 years. Damn. (When I saw the Fark headline, which didn't specify "Britain," I was wondering if it would be an East Asian holy person who didn't cut her hair for religious reasons and didn't wash it either for religious reasons or just because it took too damn long. [I have some justification for anticipating that conclusion: the Guinness Record for the world's longest hair is in fact held an East Asian holy person—a Thai shaman who hasn't cut his hair for sixty years—but even though it's over 17 feet long, at least his village helps him wash it once a year.])



So, as I was saying: 11 years. Yuck. And now, at last, I don't feel like the single dirtiest twenty-something non-institutionalized otherwise-clean long-haired female. I admittedly do not wash my hair very often—I'm surprised that I've had to wash it once a week this winter, and the time between shampoos is generally best measured in moon phases—but at least it's way more often than every 11 years. (I haven't cut my hair for almost 10 years, though—I've had an inch or two taken off every year or two, but no serious shortening—so washing it isn't terribly convenient; it takes half an hour to wash and half a day to dry, and I don't sweat much or do anything involving actual dirt, so I avoid it until I start feeling like I need to carry a bell and cry "Unclean! Unclean!" as I walk the streets.)



Well, there; I've confessed. And see, you're not thinking "Ew, that Zhaba is the most unclean person I've ever heard of"; even if you're thinking "Ew, that Zhaba should wash her hair more often," it's not overwhelming the "Ew, that British woman should wash her hair at all" thought that's the main takeaway message here. (Is it?) And in case you're wondering, I washed my hair yesterday, so you don't have to feel embarrassed to associate with me. (At least not for that reason.)

Gee, thanks

I know everyone's excited about the Eagles getting into the Superbowl, but the local NBC station is really taking it a bit far with this weather report on their homepage:





(Although at least now I know it's not insultingly warmer in Florida than it is here. If it were above 60° down there I'd really have to go bang my head against something.)

Still here, still

Time for one of my occasional "I'm not dead" posts; I've had a few things I wanted to post about, but I haven't been able to scrounge up the time and the energy. Busy, weird, stressful stuff at work; weird, stressful stuff medically (nothing too bad; just the follow-up to the sleep clinic study that I'm still not thrilled about having had to do, and a remarkable amount of trouble getting prescriptions written, filled, and refilled); and although I feel neither regret nor guilt for having spent $299 on a full-length fox-fur-trimmed wool bouclé coat—I've waited years to buy a coat this nice, and hey, it was marked down from $430!—it certainly limits my money-spending choices until my next paycheck. (Just-add-water noodle bowls for lunch at my desk every day this week; at least with the weather so cold and the sidewalks so icy, it's a good time not to have to go out for lunch.)



So, yeah, busy, weird, stressful, but I'm still here. Hopefully I'll keep being still here. And hopefully have time and energy simultaneously so I can get back to reading and posting and remembering to eat. Till then, I leave you with an article from this week's Onion that had my whole office snarfing: Someday, I Will Copyedit The Great American Novel. (Sometimes you've just got to dream the achievable dream...)

Snow screens

I said I'd post pictures, and for once, I'm really doing it: I call this series "Sunday Semi-Silence; or, South Philly Side Street, With Snow." I took these in front of my house at about 2 p.m. today, and the street's probably going to stay like this until the weather warms up enough for the snow to melt; plows can't fit down our street, and if they did, there's nowhere for the snow to go except up on the sidewalk (and the cars) again. Some of our neighbors spent the morning digging their cars out, and you can bet they're keeping a jealous eye on those parking spaces. (Hopefully without gun in hand. People have been shot over parking spaces, but not in my neighborhood, that I know of.) (This is, by the way, the only time of year when I'm actually glad I don't have a car.)



Click on any of these thumbnails for the big(ger) picture.



Establishing shot, looking down my street. (The stadium where the Eagles play is about a mile away in this direction.)





Establishing shot in the opposite direction. Notice the guy on the next block trying to get his car into the street.





This one gives you a better look at the depth of the snow (and the tire tracks) in the middle of the street.





Snowed-covered cars, and a parking space that's been turned into a shoveling drop-off site.





My front porch; our shoveling drop-off is that dead space between the gate and the big planting pot. (One year it got piled up so high we had to take the snow inside and melt it in the laundry tub.)





Right in front of my door. I like the way the ironwork looks against the snow; I wish I had a better camera.

We (okay, they) did it!

Yes, technically only the Eagles players and coaches actually won the game...but, the heck with that, it's a city-wide synecdoche: We did it! And now I can finally stop worrying about losing another NFC championship...I don't know if I'll feel this way on February 6th, but right now I almost don't care if they win the Superbowl, I'm just glad they finally got to it.



The stadium's just about a mile due south of here, and the main street running through the city is a block and a half west; there's a veritable motorcade of fans making their way up Broad St., and I can hear the honking and the shouting and the sirens through the office window. (Someone on my street was trying to set off firecrackers after the game-winning touchdown, but the snow, as I hoped, has dampened both enthusiasm and fuses.)



Now I've got to go back downstairs and root for the Steelers...as counterintuitive as that feels, I really want an all-PA Superbowl. (New England vs. Pittsburgh is going to be a lot less affected by the snow and freezing weather than Atlanta vs. Philadelphia was; J. says New England has a better chance of winning in this weather, but then, he's from Boston. [Hey, Boston doesn't need to win anything else this year anyway; you got the Red Sox, let us have the Superbowl. Go Steelers!])



More sirens, louder honking, and man, I can't believe how loud those people must be yelling for me to hear it a block and a half away, two stories up, and through a brick-faced plaster wall. I guess they don't really need their voices for another two weeks, though...I wonder how many people will call in sick tomorrow?—either with hangovers or with head colds brought on by screaming their throats raw in below-freezing weather.



Oohhh, here come the traffic helicopters: whuppa-whuppa-whuppa. I think I know what'll be on the news tonight. And tomorrow morning. And tomorrow night. And Tuesday morning. And...



Oh, but I'll let myself be tired of that then. Right now? Dude, this rocks. If I didn't lose my voice at the drop of an octave and a thermometer, I'd be screaming too. And I've got to go make another margarita and cheer for the Steelers now. Woo-hoo!



Update: Aw, Pittsburgh didn't make it. So it's Philly vs. New England; I like New England (the region) just fine, but I think the Patriots have won quite enough Superbowls in the past three years, don't you? (New England residents excluded from that question.)

Game day

Another good thing about lots of snow the day before a big football game: if we win, it'll be much harder for people to celebrate(=riot) in the streets. (Conversely, if we lose, it'll be harder for them to express their disappointment[=riot] in the streets.) With the sidewalks and side streets blocked, you can't run amok very efficiently; and who wants to turn over a car when they have to dig it out from under a foot of snow first?



I started writing this about an hour ago—I've got pictures to post, and I've been editing them and working on the Javascript—but the game's just started, so I'm going to post this and go downstairs and get to work on the barbecue chicken wings. Pictures to come, though, perhaps at halftime; a South Philly side street the day after a weekend snowfall is as close to impassable as a major metropolitan area below the 60th latitude can get.

Snow, part deux

Lots of snow today—not by Massachusetts or Minnesota standards, but 8"-12" is quite a bit for a single day's snowfall in Philadelphia. No one's getting a car out of my street for a while, certainly. I'd prefer a big snowfall to happen on a weekday, so I'd get a day off from work; but, if it's gotta be on a Saturday, the day before the Eagles play the Atlanta Falcons is the best one I can think of. (The 11 o'clock news is a frantic series of Godardian cross-cuts between the weather guy and the sports guy, with the anchors in between hardly knowing which they should be more excited about. [My favorite "...but it's snowing!" newscaster perplexity: the day Saddam Hussein was captured, there was also a winter storm on the way. Those poor anchorpersons. They just didn't know what to do with themselves.])



I dreamed about the Eagles again last night; this is pathetic, I don't remember ever dreaming about a sports team before, let alone two nights in one week. In this one, they were winning what apparently was tomorrow's game; another person watching was saying "It's stupid to think they'll lose, look at that play!" and I said "It's stupid to assume they'll win, they've got plenty of time to screw it up." (At least, in my dream, it was a Terrell Owens play we were watching; perhaps it's a sign that he'll be back on the field tomorrow. [You never get a second chance to lose your first NFC championship!])



What, overly pessimistic? You can't be too cautious. I'm not gonna say anything to jinx it.