Praise then darkness, and creation unfinished

Last night, I arranged to meet L (WINOLJ) after my workout, for lunch and to accompany me to Astor Place Barber Shop while I investigated hair coloring.

I had a good workout, then went down to the Village. I got to Paul's Burgers well before she did, but after a while we were both quite well fed, because the servings there are always generous.

The hair place has given up their street-level space (there's a chain ice cream shop in their now) but is bustling down at basement level. I spent some time trying to get information about what would be involved in streaking my hair purple; despite the language barrier, I determined that yes, bleach would be necessary, but that they didn't think it would do much damage. One of the hairdressers advised me to get relatively small streaks, because I have fine hair. I did that, but wound up (from a different hairdresser, a woman named Elma) with, I think, more purple bits than the first woman had had in mind.

Bits of the process were uncomfortable: having the bits of hair that were to be dyed pulled (with something that resembled a crochet hook, I think) through a plastic cap, and some fumes from the bleach. Mostly, it was just somewhat time-consuming. Most of the time, I spent chatting with L about cats and other deep and meaningful subjects. Once the bleaching was done, the hairdresser took me to a different area, washed the bleach out, and then applied the purple. I sat there for a bit, not doing much. Near the end of the dyeing, another woman came over and tugged bits of the hair further out--I went "ouch!" and she explained that she needed to make sure that the roots got colored. Then Elma added more purple. Someone came over and said "Que linda color!" I uttered an automatic "Gracias" and Elma, sounding surprised, asked "You speak Spanish?" I admitted to a little— had I been fluent, the whole thing would have been simpler. Despite those last-minute tugs, the dye in the front very visibly doesn't go all the way to the roots, which is disappointing.

Another wash, and back to Elma's station, where L was disappointed that she'd missed the actual application of the dye. Elma blow-dryed my hair, brushed it out, and attempted for about the fifth time to get me to have her cut it. I declined, because I wasn't sure I had enough Spanish, or she enough English, for me to get across that I want only the absolute minimum trimmed off the bottom.

From there, L and I wandered to and through Washington Square Park, which is greening very nicely. We poked our heads into a new tea shop called Tea Spot, at Third and MacDougal, but I concluded it was noisier than I wanted to deal with, so we had our tea at La Lanterna. Eventually, we headed for our respective homes, via Porto Rico (for coffee beans). On the A train, there was a woman who was loud, somewhat randomly aggressive, and I suspect mentally ill—but rather than shouting anything rude or threatening toward me, she just remarked two or three times "She has purple hair!" There are worse things than being conspicuously but non-threateningly weird.

On my way to the drugstore, I passed rosefox, who called "Looks good, Vicki" as she and sinboy walked north on Broadway.

I want a new purple-hair userpic, but the purple/gym one will do for this entry.

( gym details )

I'm thinking seriously about doing my hair in purple again.

The easy way would be to buy another can (or two?) of the B-Wild dye and do it at home. That produces an all-over purple effect (including, for a little while, the bathroom sink). But I'm thinking it would be cool to get purple streaks put in, instead.

I don't feel up to doing that at home. (Yes, I know it's possible in theory; I'm not confident of the results.) Does anyone either know a place in New York City (preferably Manhattan or downtown Brooklyn) that does purple/other non-natural hair colors, and does a decent job?

Also, any comments on the relative appeal of all-over versus purple streaks?

Addendum: Paying a professional to put in purple streaks would--as I should have realized--involve bleaching the parts that are going to be streaked. I'm not sure how much damage that would do to my (relatively thin, light brown/dark blonde) hair. Further thoughts/information? I've been growing it out for a couple of years, it's finally at a decent length, I don't want to ruin that.

I have a sudden desire for a trilobite userpic. A purple trilobite userpic. Ideally with at least a suggestion of it being underwater/on the ocean bottom.

No, no good reason, and this probably shouldn't be anyone's top priority.

I got cattitude to take the digital camera out yesterday, to get pictures of me with shoulder-length purple hair. Behind the cut-tag is a picture of me and roadnotes in Inwood Hill Park. ( cut for size--over 200 kB )

My actual boss--as distinct from Marvin, who's my day-to-day supervisor and generally signs my timesheets--came in this morning and told me that she'd decided to move me from the office I've been in over to the empty cubicle in the proofreading area, because she thought it would help me concentrate.

I'd be more convinced by this reasoning had I not, immediately after completing the move, been distracted by people quoting Rodney Dangerfield jokes at each other. The problem is that if this doesn't work--if, specifically, it proves a distraction--the conclusion is more likely to be that I'm not suited to the work than that moving me was a bad idea. On the other hand, one of my co-proofreaders said that she thinks the reason for the move is that that office isn't proofreading space, and that there's no good basis for us using it when there's room for all of us in the area that is designated for proofreading. One effect of this move is that the work number I gave some people is no longer functional: it might still get to a voice mail box, but I won't see the message light. (At some point I'll have an outgoing phone line again, though making calls will be more problematic, because I can't close a door to avoid distracting people.) Fortunately, I'm not particularly bothered by people walking by behind me, and there isn't much traffic through there. (rysmiel, you would hate it.) There are other annoyances, notably that none of the cubicle walls will take pushpins, so I can't post any of my accumulated notes and photocopies, and that no office and no office door means no private place to do crunches (not that I was up for those today).

Alina who I ride the train with complimented my hair; one of the other people in the van did a double-take when I got in, and said something about my being early for Halloween. That joke I got twice today, though I have no idea what they think I'm going to dress as. Marvin said "Oh my god!"--I asked him whether he'd ever seen purple hair before, and got a response that came down to "yes, but not on a grown-up." When I came in after a walk at lunchtime, the receptionist said "Why?" and I had no idea what she was referring to at first. I suspect the next questioner will get something like "Martians," or if they're lucky "Because it's the color I had in the house" (this is actually true). On the other hand, back here in the city cattitude and I had a nice conversation with a neighbor which began with her saying something about my hair. She said it took guts to do something like that, and I said that the one thing to remember is that purple hair gives anyone and everyone the excuse to start a conversation, so if you don't want to talk to strangers, don't do it. This led us to talking about giving directions to tourists, at home and while traveling.

On the good side, I finished the first batch of this month's freelance proofreading--the URL verification, which I can't do on the LIRR, and which this time turned up two defective URLS; I talked to my mother; my purple hair got praise and cheerful, startled comment from the usual assortment of strangers; and julian_tiger has been introduced what is evidently the Perfect Food for which he has been waiting all this time, namely smoked whitefish.

On the not-as-good side, the RenFaire at Fort Tryon Park was over-crowded and under-festive this year. It didn't help that I had to wander through most of the crowd in order to meet eleanor because she'd gotten badly lost/mis-directed on her way up there, and hence come in via a staircase to the Cloisters, rather than the fair entrance at Margaret Corbin Circle, near the A station. I eventually fled the crowds and did what I referred to as "my best imitation of the M4 bus," namely walking a hilly half-mile or so down to 181st for rye bread; the walk helped a lot.

On the bad side, I seem to have a cold (or possibly some kind of allergic reaction) again, or still. I figure that having a cold, like having purple hair, is not actually against the rules for jurors.

Well, that's done. When it dries, I'll get a better idea of whether I like the effect with long hair. julian_tiger took the whole thing calmly, and in fact was poking around in the bathroom while cattitude and I were standing at the sink (which is next to the door) doing things with purple hair dye.