In my eternal battle of "Bangs or Botox," bangs won yet again after months of growing out my fringe through every stage of awkwardness. I seem to be in this eternal pattern of grow out / cut / push to the side / repeat. And more than rarely and quite dangerously, I am the one wielding the blade for these front-view revisions.¬†
The latest chop happened was while I was traveling. My bangs had finally gotten to the point where I could tuck them behind my ear ‚Äď kind of the Holy Grail of patiently maturing a fringe. All it took was one "bad hair day" combined with a shadow cast across a rivet in my forehead and I started snipping.
I am sure you are wondering where I sourced scissors appropriate for trimming human strands while I was traveling, as hotel rooms are not typically equipped with barbering shears. I have that covered. I always travel with professional hair cutting tools and styling razor. Always. Because I never know when the urge to clip is going to hit me.
I am therefore a professional stylist‚Äôs nightmare due to this self-snipping tendency. My future stylists be warned; eventually I will altar any haircut I receive on my very own.
This behavior started very early. And my family took note of this. My paternal grandmother to this day will not allow me to have scissors. She took them away from me as a punishment when I was about 5 years old, after I transformed the loft in her condo into a hair salon. My first client was my little brother, who was just three years old at the time.
I played out the entire salon scenario, setting the scene for a true hair design experience. I greeted my brother with a big welcome as I had him crawl up the stairs to enter my den of beauty. I took his tiny hand and walked him around while I indicated the imaginary shampoo bowl and retail products.¬†
The overhead ceiling lights were off and the space was only dimly lit by the late-afternoon gray haze pouring in the windows from the cloudy, Wisconsin fall day. There was a s…
Over the weekend, a friend posted a picture on social media that was taken at her birthday dinner with the caption "Birthday drinks with the birthday girls."
In the photo, I was seated at the forefront, snuggled into a curved booth and flanked by four lovelies. The occasion was in fact, in celebration of two beautiful birthday girls. However, I was not one of them.¬†
I was tagged in this photo on Facebook and it has resulted in yet another episode of "everything happens for a reason."¬†
I have made both a verbal and internal wish to change my birth date for the last few years. I am part of a little club of humans whose birthdays exist on or are close to calendar holidays or what could be considered, overshadowing events.¬†
There are the people who get a dual celebratory energy being born on Christmas or Fourth of July. A tinseled six-foot tree and fireworks to crown your special day are kind of a cherry on top of the birthday sundae. Decorations and entertainment that are a bonus "gift with purchase."
However, there is the diametric double-birthday, where a more somber holiday or event falls on or around your birthday. A festivity of being born coupled with a national tragedy or personal loss has an undertone that is hard to overcome, no matter how positive or optimistic the person is.¬†
I fall into the later category. My brother passed away just two days before my actual birthday. The glow from a thousand candles cannot fully illuminate the darkness of having the anniversary of his departure so close to the celebration of my arrival.
September, the month that once brought the beauty of changing leaves and the anticipation of "doing something special for my birthday," now ushers clouds of memories that are difficult to escape no matter how many years pass or how hopeful the affirmations.
While I have never been one to throw a big celebration in honor of myself, this duality has forever changed the tone for a day that is supposed to be full of confetti and ca…
Tossing the van keys in the trash at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere is just one of the notches in the "first national tour" belt of Gretchen and the Pickpockets. While it may not be the typical tour debauchery of bygone days, it‚Äôs just one anecdote this band is collecting along the way.
Wallet chains can safely be removed. Vocalist Gretchen Klempa and her bassist brother, Mike, hail from Pick Pocket Woods, N.H., hence the group‚Äôs name. They both attended the University of New Hampshire where they met and formed the rest of the group two years ago.¬†
The sibling element doesn‚Äôt necessarily make for a Partridge Family experience on the road. Guitarist Richie Smith had a messy run in with some dog waste departing from his house to the tour van, but the band sees these sorts of little mishaps as "a good omen."
According to Matt Turner, manager of The Jazz Estate, audiences can expect to be wowed by the show, which is in support of the Pickpockets' recently released self-titled debut LP, out now.
Turner continues, "We are excited to be adding to the music in Milwaukee during Summerfest time! It's also our weekly "Jazz In The Dark" Thursdays, partnering with Lakefront Brewery, so the first 15 paid get a free Riverwest Stein."
The band has become accustomed to packed houses in venues both big and small but they are especially looking forward to the intimate environment The Jazz Estate offers because, "engaging and connecting with the crowd lets us give a unique, energetic and memorable performance every time we play."
The tour will be the band‚Äôs premiere beyond the borders of New England. Mike Klempa says they are especia…