Go West, Young Man

I was reading Anya Seton's Foxfire, and this passage jumped out to me. The book takes place in the early 1930s.

Dart shared with most native Westerners a large tolerance towards eccentricity. Here against the vast panorama of mountains and desert each individual became sharply silhouetted, traits intensified, passions more violent. The air itself bred sharper men then the soft and foggy East where corners blurred into a monotonous smooth mold.

There is no denying that there is a "molding tendency" in the New York area. I don't believe it is applied by outside pressure, but by individual choice to "fit in." Many who attempt to gain acceptance by "rule following" and do not succeed. For all that effort, I might as well do what pleases me, which I have done since I was a wee lass.

I think my brain is merely hardwired differently; I never got sucked into current trends as a child, unless I was actually interested. Fourth grade was Lisa Frank Stationary - I didn't see a benefit to spending my precious recess time auctioning off stickers. Fifth was Chinese jump rope - my reflexes aren't the best. Sixth - kugelach. Again, sucky response time. 

It never occurred to me to go along with these fads as a way to gain acceptance.

I wonder now if anyone I know would be different if they merely had a change of scenery. Would I be any different?

Bon Voyage

I will be out of town for the next week and a half; I am not sure if I will have internet access where I am. 

However, posts shall be going up as usual; for those who comment, I am not ignoring you, merely I am incommunicado. 

Check out this video that Surfin' posted. The tune is stuck in my head something terrible; it also made me laugh.  

After seeing their other work, I thought of Guy in LA's comment about stalking swains.

For every stalker out there, this is your song. 

Shabbos Face: Eyeshadow I

(While eyeshadow is not, of course, a Shabbos specific step, I shall just label it such. Feel free to use in the weekday). 

This is very serious territory we're entering. 

Since preferences and color-suitability differ from person to person, I will just relate what my eyeshadow routine is, and everyone can take what they like and leave what they don't or suggest alternatives. 

To begin, matte eyeshadows tend to have longer staying power, but even if the eyeshadow of choice has shimmer, the primer should keep it staying put.

The brush for this step has to be carefully selected, as the application here makes all the difference.

My favorite brush happens to be one I bought at Duane Reade by a no-name brand that has since ceased to exist. It was part of a two-pack called "crease brush duo." Most drugstores have some form of "crease brush duo." The smaller brush of the two doesn't get much use, but that's okay.

The brush bristles are firm enough to apply the eyeshadow accurately yet fluffy enough to blend it out. It's a delicate balance, and finding the ideal brush will take time and experimentation. 

The e.l.f. studio contour brush (purchased at Target) is also great; the bristles are deliciously soft, depositing and blending nicely. 

e.l.f. contour brush

Starting first in the crease, apply color deep in there and travel down the lid. Color can be applied however desired; a crescent-shaped approach outlining the outside of the lid, or fully fill in the lid with color, or keep the shadow strictly in the crease.  

Via no-frillsmakeup.onsugar.com

Make sure to blend, blend, blend! That is imperative! Harsh lines must be buffed out. 

More details next Friday on eyeshadow color and using more than one shade. 

Stocking Slump

As my background is Brooklyn in origin, there are a few givens. One of them being, stockings on Shabbos. 

I loathe the term "pantyhose" - it sounds like torture device, which in 80+ degree heat, it can be. It has benefits, however; holding in flabby territory to ensure good fit, shoes are nasty on bare feet, legs get a flattering hue.  

Outside the frummie territory, stockings are fading away, alone and unloved. It has a negative image of . . . being Bobbish. 

True, stockings can look grandma-like. That's why females should take care to purchase stockings that add a hint of color and shine, rather than being blandly white.  

That's why I like Filazi 14 Silky Sheer in Bronze and Melas Sheer Control Top in Honey. 

But since summer is thankfully behind us, my stockings have been removed from sight as I lovingly take out my opaque fashion hosiery.

No Questions, Please

A friend of mine, a listed reference, was called by the mother of a boy. 

"Does she have a television?"

My friend, hesitant, decided not to whitewash anything and replied that I did. 

"Oh, good. She's normal."

My point here is not regarding normalcy (those without televisions, of course, can qualify as "normal"). My issue here is the concept of "references."

My family has long been with the "shidduch system." My siblings, my parents, my grandparents all met for the most part via a third party, be it family or friend or acquaintance. But this concept of resume/profile/rap sheet is a new being, along with "references." 

When my sister was dating twenty years ago, there were no references. If my mother happened to know someone in the same neighborhood, then she would call them to casually ask for some filler info. Often my sister went out no matter what was said. 

To be a reference is a lot of pressure. For instance, if my friend has decided to lie or stretch the truth, thinking that was what this woman wanted to hear, that wouldn't have been good (although, I'm not sure if I ever ended up going out with that guy). In the end, references don't know what information the other side wants to hear, and may say the wrong thing despite a true desire to say otherwise. 

I, personally, do not bother with references. I've gone out with guys who were supposedly "nice" and "wonderful" and "I wanted him for a brother-in-law," and they were actually affirmations that chivalry is not only dead, it suffered miserably on the way out. 

Then, I have gone out with guys that didn't get ringing endorsements and I found them perfectly pleasant. 

Maybe I don't know how or what to ask. But if the guy lives close enough and meeting up isn't complicated, it's just easier for me to put on some makeup and find out what he's like by myself.

The Stuff Romance Is Made Of

When the Words Don't Fit by Sara Healy is a pleasant debunking of Disney myth. 

She begins her tale as young, sweet, 21-year-old; on the flight to her sister's post-elopement party (eloping being a family tradition) she catches the eye of a dashing fellow traveler. When she departs from the plane, he hands her a poem. 

Swoon. 

One would think it the ideal beginning of an epic romance; two strangers meet and profess their undying love. When she returns to the airport he is there, they take the same flight back, and become a couple. 

He walked me to my car, and we kissed in the parking garage, under orblike yellow lights. It was a still kiss, a postcard kiss, a Disney princess kiss, the kind of kiss that makes blue cartoon birds chirp and swirl in the sky, their beaks holding garlands. And this is exactly where the story should end. It should cut to credits, and the music should be triumphant but soft. Your last image should be of the young girl and the handsome poetry-writing boy frozen in a movie kiss. You should brush the popcorn off your lap and leave the theater smiling because everything worked out the way you knew it would. You can leave remembering that time when you were young and lovely, and things like that could happen. 

But as the audience may recall, this is real life. She held on longer to the relationship than he, since, after all, they have a fabulous story, right? 

The man she meets right after the poet became her husband. They met through mutual friends at a bar. 

My husband and I don’t have a great “meeting” story. We met in a conventional way and had a conventional wedding. And in some sense, we lead a conventional life. 

Her parents had the epic love story, but she knew it was not easy. Their marriage was over fifty years old but it had its ups and downs. As does hers. 

But my husband has seen me at my worst, at my most vile. And he has seen me at my best. He knows the things I don’t tell anyone, and the lies that I tell everyone but him. I have made sacrifices for him and been angry about it. Sometimes his flaws are so egregious, so blatant, they are all I see. And sometimes his kindness is so stunning that I am humbled. And that’s love. Big, epic, fairy-tale love. The kind of love people write about. The kind of love that could inspire a poem. 

Hair Conditioning

Today's hair has it rough. 

If it's lucky, it has been merely curled, ironed, blown, and permed. The hair needs a pick-me-up after such harassment. Once a week I use a deep conditioning treatment instead of regular conditioner, like Neutrogena Triple Moisture Deep Recovery Hair Mask. It sinks into the hair for 3-5 minutes, then can be rinsed out.

I thought that was sufficient . . . until I started to get dandruff, which I am still a little stunned by (dandruff? Me? Who knew?) Dandruff isn't good for the scalp, and all I need to hear is "hair loss" and I'm searching for remedies. It is also annoyingly itchy.

Coconut oil is a pretty awesome being. It's good for practically everything - as a skin moisturizer, a hair treatment, a margarine replacement (try it in cookies).

Coconut oil had a bad rap for a while as some guy claimed he had a heart attack because of it, but here's the deal: anything that grows from the earth, providing it is edible and non-poisonous, cannot hurt you. Fattening, yes, but good for the heart.  The only evil oil out there is hydrogenated or partially hydrogenated, which is a  man-made process, and that should always be avoided.

I bought a tub of non-hechsher coconut oil (it's much cheaper) and began to work it into the scalp. Oh, how soothing it was! When working any product into the scalp, use the fleshy tips of the fingers, not the nails. While massaging, I felt the dandruff flakes loosening amongst the hair roots. Scalp massage also helps to stimulate hair growth. 

Many recommend keeping the oil in overnight, but I wouldn't sleep comfortably thinking I was greasing up my favorite pillow. I keep it in for a minimum of a half hour. 

I then shampooed twice (that seemed to be enough to get out the oil) and my hair being thick and all, conditioned as usual, although other hair types may not need to.

My hair was softer than ever before. It felt healthy, it shined, and it wasn't as thick as it usually was. It was also more manageable. And my dandruff went on hiatus.

No wonder Indian women have been using this stuff for centuries.  

Coconut oil is now returning as a skin and hair treatment, so there  are products available for specifically that. Such as Cococare 100% Coconut Oil. Be sure to check the ingredients; some products claim to be natural oils, but the main ingredient is mineral oil instead (which is a pore-clogging, skin-strangling, petroleum-derived pollutant. Yuch.)

Coconut oil solidifies at room temperature, so to make it more manageable I stir in another oil, like olive or avocado or almond, which is also good for the hair.

New Hair Toy!

The humid summer season has blessedly left us, meaning my harsh hair treatment can be laid aside as well. I iron to defy humidity and its frizzing influence; now with the chill of winter, I need not be so torturous. 

I came upon the Infinitipro Spin Air Rotating Styler by Conair. It is the premise of blowdrying hair in one simple tool - the bristles rotate while it blows air. 

The reviews were enough to convince me, and it arrived in time for Shabbos. 

Like by ironing, pre-drying is recommended. Leave some moisture in the hair. Divide hair. 

I decided I wanted to try the wavy look I thought only my hair guy could achieve. I placed the brush, which was on low, as close to the roots as I could, then pressed the rotating button as I drew to the ends. When I got to the end I stopped, turned off the spin feature and waited a few seconds, then pulled out, the way he does. It resulted in a lovely wave.

For a first try, my hair came out pretty good.  It shined healthily, free of split ends. While my hair guy is still not going anywhere, this toy worked great for me. Now I can give my locks a break from sizzling.  

Jacques Pepin Is The Man

I mentioned beforehand of my mother's interest in cooking shows, and while as a kid I would beg her to put on something more entertaining, I have now found myself intrigued. For instance, I have the cooks I love and the cooks I hate (the latter outnumbers the former). And my favorite chef is Jacques Pepin.

His recent shows are entitled "Fast Food My Way" and "More Fast Food My Way" (plenty of videos are available on YouTube) and they demonstrate that which is often lacking in cooking shows: technique and reality.

When he slices an onion, I watch with fascination. Absolute perfection. It's all about the flick of the wrist (acquired from constant practice), as well as keeping his knives sharp, a necessity which I have never heard. 

If a side of his pie breaks open, he just pats it back together again. Other chefs have these unrealistically perfect dishes that never leak or fall or break. Mr. Pepin loathes waste after his wartime years in France, and doesn't throw away anything, not even apple peel. The way some chefs just cut off one end of a vegetable and toss the rest away is abhorrent to me. If my grandparents went through the war, I can be careful with baltashchis.

Mr. Pepin emphasizes technique, such as what is the best way to fry this or chop that or cook this or bake that, which transcends one-time recipes to cooking technique. 

I barely cook at this point (I live at home with a fabulous cook), but I still find myself scribbling down his tips. He's on at various times on WLIW.

Just watch the man make an omelet. It'll change everything you know. 

This episode in entitled "The Egg First!" 

Olympic Shopping

Shopping is not a fun, casual outing meant to kill time. Oh ho no. Those who sleepily roll out of bed at 11 and leisurely consume breakfast then trot off to the mall at 2 on Sunday, I am sorry, but you are not a shopper. 

Shopping is a sport. It involves endurance. Strategy. Patience. It is survival of the fittest. 

1) Sleep the night before is key. One has to have the energy, and one does not want to get sucked into the "I'm tired so I'll just take that thing to get out of here" trap. This is clothing we're taking about, the very thing that identifies a person to the greater world. Just dragging anything off the rack won't do. Make sure bedtime is strictly observed the night before a shopping outing.  

2) Plan that to be the first one on the doorstep.  If the mall opens at 10, leave however earlier than that to be the first in the door. By 12 parking will be a nightmare, and no one wants to have a shouting match with a guy who can pass for a bouncer arguing over who had dibs to the spot.  

When there are less people grabbing and pushing, making an informed decision is easier. 

3) Going shopping in ballet flats? Uh-uh, I don't think so. For the hours I spend on my feet, I need sneakers. Not dorky walking sneakers, of course, but something that laces up, holding the feet in, with enough rubber on the sole to keep the foot supported.  Something fashionable, like the Puma Soleil in Black/Very Berry or Black/Limestone Gray. 

4) Provisions! I usually take along some whole-wheat crackers and string cheese; stopping into a kiosk for a Haagen Dasz or frothy frappacino will defeat the purpose of the outing: finding clothing that fit right. Consuming sugary calories will alter one's current size.

5) Be prepared not to find anything. One can't go shopping with the attitude, "I need a beige pleated skirt, and I have to find it today." That's not how shopping works. 

In order to shop successfully, an open mind is key. Find something that really flatters at the right price? Buy it, even if it may not be so necessary. Next week an occasion may arise, and the perfect thing will be already hung in the closet. 

If nothing was found that suits for the right price, don't panic. I have often gone home empty handed; on the flip side, I have often emerged from the store laden down with bags. Shopping is about the search, and stores schora is often seasonal; there will be times when there is less or more merchandise in stock.

If an occasion is coming up, don't push off the search to a couple of weeks before; go now to look. More options, such as sales, will be available, so grabbing something and paying a fortune  out of desperation will be less likely. 

 
6) Make sure of the store's return policy. Sometimes I'll be in a dressing room weeping at the beauty of the clothing I tried on, only to realize at home that the hem can't be fixed or the price was too much or my waist is not defined. Return it rather than kill yourself over it. 

If the store it was purchased in is too far away for a second trip to return, many department stores will accept returns by mail. I have sent back garments via Priority Mail boxes, and while $10 may seem like much it's a lot cheaper than gas and tolls. 

7) Unless the man in one's life will be a help, don't bring him along. Leave him with the kids at home; dragging around a whining crew will torpedo any chances of finding anything. They'll harass  you so much you'll be too frazzled to shop successfully. Without hubby and children, purchasing a wardrobe for both in peace is more probable.