Raitted: A Perfect Ten
I often wish that I had learned to play an instrument. I took piano lessons in college but only made it Jingle Bells and then realized that my fingers and my brain don't like to communicate sometimes and the notes that I was playing weren't exactly the notes that should be used. My musical genius is limited to a pretty decent sense of what constitues great music; just because I don't know my way around a guitar or a keyboard doesn't mean that I can't appreciate the sounds they make when put in the hands of people much more adept at brain-hand-ear coordination than myself.

Last night I got to witness one of those amazing musicians.

Bonnie Raitt played in Austin and I had fantastic seats. After a bit of a dramatic start to the evening (I missed half of the opening act if that gives you any idea of how messed up things got since we all know I always arrive very early to events af this nature) things settled down and I settled in to an amazing display of vocal and musical mastery. Bonnie played no less than half a dozen different guitars, a piano and a keyboard. She sang songs that make you want to jump out of your seat and dance (which I did!) and songs that make you want to hold on to the people you love and never let go. After two hours and three encores, my late night drive home through the dense Texas fog was the most relaxed and content I have been in a long time. The stress of the work week melted away and all I could do was tap my hands on the steering well to the amazing guitar riffs playing in my head. Musical therapy, it might just be the best kind of medicine.

Music to my ears
I'm tired of my old cell phone ring. Well, not tired. You can't really get tired of Idina reminding you to Defy Gravity. But ready to move on, yeah, that's it. The problem is, I don't know where to start. There are way too many choices. And I don't want to sound like a teenie-bopper. I mean, I'm tempted to put some Grillz on the ringer but I'm not crazy. And although Gold Digger would be fun, highly inappropriate statement to make in the grocery store check-out line. The Cingular site has tons of options, too many in fact, that's what is making it tough. I mean, the fact that they offer beatbox ringtones and a section for old school hip hop speaks volumes about what's out there. I just don't want to spend $2.49 on a new ringtone and then be annoyed with myself in a week. So I'm taking suggestions. Any good ideas?

No news is good news, right?
That's just the thing, I have no news. No prolific thoughts or contemplations on life. No amazing, life-altering experiences to speak of. No fights or loves or even mellodramatic happenings to report. We all watch the news and know that vice presidents now hunt for lawyers instead of birds. The olymipcs are on which makes me cold from all the snow. Then Apolo steps on the ice and I'm suddenly all warm again. And curling is still boring. Like most people, American Idol makes my ears bleed and yet I still watch. Despite the the insane influx of projects at work that threaten to weigh down my spring, I'm still finding time to cook good food and drink good wine and spend time with the people that matter. I have a few visitors coming in the spring which makes me joyful beyond belief. All of my bills are paid and there's still enough cash left for shopping trips with minimal guilt. And I'm going to start going to the gym...soon...maybe. That news will be the good news, and that's the news I will be sure to share.

Re-define
Today, I typed the word "encumbrance" into my online dictionary to find out exactly what it means and how it relates to a big pile of organizational budget expenses.

The definition I received: "something that encumbers."

Seriously! Square one.

Further research gives me a definition of encumber: "to impede or hamper the function or activity of."

I still don't know what the hell that has to do with a budget, but I'm working on it.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
In the last month, almost all of the women in my office have transformed their hair. Color, cut, style, you name it and someone in my office has done it. On last Saturday, I cut my hair. After a spell of wanting to grow it long, I realized that long hair is no good when all you do with it is tie it back in a ponytail anyway. So I went to the salon and took my mid-back length hair and cut it into a super short bob with ringlets that end just at the nape of my neck.

I didn't even think twice about cutting my hair, it's my hair after all. But some of the women in my office were so concerned about how others would feel if they changed their hair, worried that it wouldn't be liked or that by changing their hair it somehow changed them. One woman was so sure that her mother would hate it that she didn't even mention the cut or the fact that she went from a blonde to a brunette to her at all. She just showed up at her house the next weekend and hoped for the best. And as it turned out, the best wasn't so good. Another woman knew that her father, a man who associates femininity with hair length, would be angry that she cut her long hair from bottom skimming length to the middle of her back. She too hasn't told her parents, she plans to unveil the look on the next visit home.

The whole air of drama that has surrounded these hair transformations has really left me wondering why is it that so much of our identity as women is tied to our hair? How long we choose to keep our hair somehow reflects the type of woman we are or the color we choose or the style in which we wear it. And it's a whole different kind of drama for black women. I saw a movie today where the woman dared to take out her weave and go with her natural hair length and the drama was so big, about so much more than just hair. It was about status and sexiness and availability and a whole bunch of other things that should be influenced by a lot more than one's hair. When I went to cut mine last week and sat in the chair at a black beauty salon when I asked the man to chop it all off not only he but a woman waiting in one of the chairs by the window were both so concerned and asked more than once if I was sure that I wanted to "get rid of all that beautiful hair!" I was definitely sure but they couldn't understand it at all.

I'm not saying that I know the answers. I care just as much about how my hair looks as the next woman, but I guess it wasn't until very recently that I realized how much my hair says about me to others, what it displays about the type of woman I am on a completely different level than I can really understand. My theory has always been, "it'll grow back,"and when it does I'll probably just cut it again. I probably won't even think twice about it, but apparently everyone else will.