A Miracle in the East Village

Hair-Pi salon treated me to a new look last Thursday. I initially went in for a trim. I tried to break the ice with banter that would relate to my stylist's interests. "Why don't curly-haired people get bangs anymore? It's time to bring the style back! HAHA!" And with a grave look on his face, James the Stylist grabbed me by the shoulders, dropped his voice an octave and said, "I can do that you know. If you're not kidding, we can make that happen." Artists take everything seriously. Even nervous chatter.

So he cut it. I walked outside a new, gorgeous woman! But with the humidity, my hair said "Jolly good fun. Why, I think I'll pay a visit to my old friend, Forehead," and promptly curled above my eyebrows to rest like a stack of pancakes.

There was no time to be insecure about a new hairstyle. I had one hour to feel normal before I graced the stage of...

Oh Hello. This is a wildly entertaining night of tomfoolery served up by John Mulaney and Nick Kroll. I put the crowd in a trance with a few shakes of my increasigly frizzy 'do. The magic was photographically captured by the talented and hilarious Anya Garrett. I had a great time and left. But the story doesn't end there. If the story ended there, you wouldn't hear about the miracle. Walking down 11th street, an Emo teen looked up at me from her dark hooded sweatshirt, with smudged, black eye liner and smiled. Do they DO that? With so much angst and deep, soulful understanding of the darkest corners of humanity, she found something in me that made her smile.

Then I punched her for laughing at my hair.