my sandbox

So my mom and I went to her hairdresser’s on Friday.  This has become something of a ritual when I come back East to visit.  A sort of mother and daughter thing.

In the past I’ve been persuaded to allow a semi-permanent color that lasts four to six weeks to be applied to my hair, with the stipulation that it look just like my regular hair color, only covering up the encroaching white.  I had been happy with the results.

This time was a little different.  She asked if I wanted the usual color, the secret formula of which she had carefully recorded on an index card and squirreled away.  I said yes, and she retreated to the back to mix her witch’s brew.

As she applied the color to my hair, she informed me that she had added some extra red “to make it warmer”.  “Huh,” I thought, “that’s not what I asked you to do.”  But since she was already applying the color it seemed that there wasn’ t much I could do, and even if there had been I was inclined to trust the hairdresser, who is very nice and personable and is getting married at the end of the summer.  Who was I to make a scene?

When I emerged from the procedure, it was clear things had gone horribly awry.  The first indication was when the hairdresser noted, “Hmm.  Your hair took the color really well.”  I asked,  “Is that a good thing?”  “Well, it’s kind of bright…”.  She dried my hair a bit to see what it would look like, and it was, frankly, shocking.  Others in the salon compared me to Ronald McDonald, and not in a good way.

Sometimes, when a hairdresser screws up, they don’t really see it, and they think it’s great, and you think it’s horrible, and awkwardness ensues.  One good thing about this situation was that everyone in the salon was in agreement- my hair was now a hideous disfigurement.  So, the hairdresser, taking responsibility for her actions, set about fixing it by throwing some brown on top of the bright red.  Although it did add an additional hellish hour to the salon appointment, it did improve things considerably- I no longer look freakish (at least, I don’t think I do.  If your opinion differs, feel free to not disabuse me of the notion).  But now I look different, which isn’t really what I was going for.  It has now become clear to me that one good way to not look different is to not allow people to apply random chemicals to my hair.  Lesson learned.

I kind of wish I had gotten a picture of the Ronald McDonald look, but I think I was too shocked to whip out the cell phone, and since the hairdresser was clearly alarmed and chagrined I had no wish to add to her distress.  I do have a picture of what I look like now and will presumably be looking like for the next four to six weeks.  In some lights, it looks kinda purple.  I guess the upside is that the hairdresser didn’t charge for it…

A pair of robins have built a nest under my parents’ back deck.

It’s possible to look down upon the baby birds through the cracks between the boards. Here’s what it looks like:

There’s at least two nestlings.  My mom was going to powerwash the patio furniture on the deck, but has changed her plans so as not to drown the wee bairns.

I just want to say up front that this post will contain no photos.  However, it will contain a map, just to keep things lively.

I’m in Rhode Island now:  got in Tues. night.  The flight was fine, if by “fine” you mean being packed into a tiny seat trying to pretend that the dozens of people around you don’t actually exist, having all the moisture sucked out of your body by a ruthlessly efficient ventilation system, and subsisting for a total travel time of ten hours on two packets of mini-pretzels when really you don’t even like pretzels in the first place, but it’s all they’ll give you, the cheap bastards; if that’s fine to you then yes, the flight was fine.  It was uneventful.  It achieved its purpose.

So now I’m at my parents’ house, which is in an older neighborhood, on a lake.   And I just want to take this opportunity to mention that, unbeknownst to many, there’s more to Rhode Island than the fact that it’s small.  It’s a fine place, all green, with birds, and blue skies, and all that.  It’s been awhile since I’ve been in RI at this time of year, so it’s kind of nice to be reminded of what a swell place it is in the late spring/early summer. 

My mom and I went wine tasting yesterday.  Yes, Rhode Island even sports a few vineyards.  We visited two.  The first was, well, lame.  The climate and short growing season here really only lends itself to a few varietals, mostly whites, but this vineyard tried to make it all - they had like 30 or 40 wines available for tasting, and four out of the five we tasted were not very good.  Seemed like they were just trying to fleece the tourists rather than make a quality product. 

The second winery, Greenvale Vineyards, was excellent (although their website has annoying harp music when you first enter it, so consider yourself fore-warned!).  The tasting room was tucked away in an old converted stable within sight of the Sakonnet River- very picturesque.  They focus primarily on whites, and had six wines for tasting, all of which were good.  They also have twin elderly springer spaniels, Sarah and Danielle.  Sarah came and slept on our feet while we tasted.  Here’s a map of where it is:  note that it’s on the same island as Newport (Aquidneck Island). 



View Larger Map


My folks are over there by the Arcadia Management Area, so we drove across Narragansett Bay on the Jamestown and Newport Bridges. It used to be that whenever I came back to RI from out west the landscape would look totally foreign to me and it would take some time for me to readjust to eastern topography and vegetation. I’ve been back and forth enough times now so that’s mostly worn off, but crossing the Narragansett Bay yesterday it struck me that it looked all weird and unfamiliar, and I realized that now the predominant “crossing the bay” image in my brain is crossing SF Bay on the Golden Gate Bridge. Narragansett Bay is smaller, and the shores are lined with trees rather than cliffs and/or city.

Anyhoo. Today’s plans include a little hike/walk around a birding area, an early evening showing of Indiana Jones, and dinner at a ribs place.

Just left my cool job at the Center to go on to another cool job at Cornell. I told my friends at the old job that I’d keep them up-to-date via this blog, so I’m unearthing it. Look at it! It’s so dusty and creaky. It’s like a zombie. Except that I think zombies are more wet than dusty. I wonder if my mom is still checking it (the blog, not the zombie) every day? If she isn’t, does it mean she no longer loves me?

So, since my last post, there was Thanksgiving and Christmas, which were lovely, then a new semester that included an internship and a coupla classes plus my old job at the Center, and then I got a job, and another job, and a scholarship. The first job is via Cornell’s Biology Library but I will actually be working and living at the Cornell Biological Field Station. It starts June 2 and will last through the summer. I’ll be working on a data curation project involving a long term aquatic ecology data set, an online repository, two dwarves, and a wheel of cheese. There will also be the semantic web. I will tell you more about it later, when it actually happens and I know enough about it not to be nonsensical and flippant. After that I’ll be working full-time for UC Berkeley’s Bioscience Library. In a fact that turns out to be not entirely coincidental, this is also where I did my internship this semester. And I won a scholarship for one thousand dollars based on my sheer intellectual prowess. Disappointingly, it’s to be applied to my tuition rather than given to me cash in hand. Oh, and I have to take a couple more classes before I graduate, which will be in Spring 2009, unless the asteroids come and muck everything up.

So that brings you just about up to date, except for two important events. One is that Victor and I went hiking on the Tomales Bay Pt. Trail in Pt. Reyes Nat’l Seashore and saw elk, and wildflowers, and elk in wildflowers. Like this:

And, we went to Limantour beach (also in Pt. Reyes Nat’l Seashore) and found that the best thing to do at the beach is to bury Arty in the sand. Here’s how:

And so:

And then he falls asleep:

And there you have it. Next post might be from Rhode Island, or Cornell, or something. Or it could just be from here.