This weekend has been a progressive bad hair day. Saturday evening we were invited to go to a masquerade ball. It actually is just a fundraising dinner at the community country club and people dressed pretty and wore masks. Mine was from my birthplace of New Orleans and was quite festive. There was a photographer there and pictures were mandatory. Look, I am not normally camera-shy, but I was having a bad hair night and I just wasn’t into it. At all.
After the “ball,” we headed home to catch up on some DVR stuff (like this week’s favorite, Grimm), and my phone started to light up like a vacancy sign at Myrtle Beach. Plink, plink, plink. I grabbed it, muttering about who would be texting me so late, and then I realized: someone was Facebook tagging me in the pictures from the event. Bad hair and all. Super.
Side note: I am very particular about the pictures of me that go on Facebook. It is not that I am hiding my identity or true self, it is just that I like to be the one to tag myself. It is just a thing I have. Sometimes it feels like Facebook is a little TMI instead of being something that I can control. Also, the person who tagged me in all of the pictures WASN’T EVEN AT THE FUNCTION. Creepy.
Truth is, I am growing out my hair for Locks of Love. However, I am a horrible hair stylist. I did not pass Go or Collect 500 dollars in the school of how to do my own hair. Thank goodness it is naturally wavy because I really don’t have to do much to it. For a formal function, though, I am (and was last night) at a loss.
Sunday, the hair issue continued. Mine ended up in a loose, twisty pony tail and stayed that way all the way up to Cleveland. We are season ticket holders for the Broadway Series of shows in Cleveland at Playhouse Square and today’s show was the Broadway revival of Hair. How fitting.
The show was what I expected – peace, love, happiness, war protests and “long beautiful hair, shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen, down to there, hair.” There is a thing about this show. Historically, it has a nude scene in it. Totally naked, not PG, not PG-13, but nude as the day they were born naked. I wondered, would Hair in Cleveland be like Hair in NYC? Would Hair show all the hair? Would Hair take it to that level in Cleveland during a Sunday matinée? Now, I have seen shows that sported hair – in New York, but never in Cleveland. So, I was curious. Was Hair going to be all that Hair is traditionally supposed to be? Well, now that I have piqued (or peaked – wink wink) interest, I will tell you. In a moment. I need to savor this second. OK. Time’s up.
Yes the cast of Hair bared all. For a brief moment, under very low, blue-tinted lighting, they did drop trousers. And then it was over. Pretty anti-climatic (no pun intended) leaving me to wonder if it was really all there. Hair.
When I got home, I took my hair out of the pony, put my Playbill away and placed my mask in the van to take to school and hang up on my bulletin board (because, like doing my hair, I stink at decorating bulletin boards). I passed a mirror and thought, my hair isn’t too bad at all. Like a masquerade, my hair can be something to hide behind, but, like the musical Hair, it is also part of my identity. So I will just let it go. For now.
“Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair
Flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it