Her Bad Hair

Because I've nothing to add to all of the post-Oscar commentary that is circulating the Internet (except, perhaps, this: what was up with all those puke tones? Mint green? Coral? SALMON? Almost made it possible to overlook the hideous bow on Nicole Kidman's mercifully non-puke-toned dress. Almost.)

And, because any discussion that I might offer about this today would rapidly deteriorate into cursing. (Not least, because it makes this joke now seem profoundly unfunny.)

And, because I am sick and snotty and cranky and - consequently - in the mood for a little self-flagellatory humiliation.

And - last but not least - because this fine lady threw down the gauntlet, and who am I to resist a good gauntlet?

For all of these reasons, and, possibly, a great many more that will only occur to me after I have swilled some more Nyquil, I offer you HER BAD HAIR, BANGS EDITION:

Late Eighties Goth Bangs. Hair dyed a distinctly unflattering shade of black; eyebrows carefully pencilled in with black pastel crayon smuggled out of art class because killjoy mother would not let me wear cosmetics beyond lip gloss (which, I needn't add, represented a serious hindrance to my goth aspirations.) Note teasing of bangs at crown: lower part of the bang is brushed down across forehead; upper part is brushed upward in spiky faux pompadour. Art.

Late, Late Eighties Bangs Of Desperation. Somebody saw Risky Business, seven years too late. So. Sad.

Early Nineties Bangs Of Despair. Short, heavy, blunt bangs never go with long hair. Which is likely why I look so miserable. That, or the hideous green dress. Or both. (Note, too, that this picture provides incontrovertible evidence that Bad Bangs compromise one's ability to appreciate things of beauty and/or adorableness. Possibly because they pull too forcefully and unevenly upon the frontal lobe, but that's just a guess.)

Mid-Nineties Bangs Of Ambiguity. AKA Her Bad Bob, First Prototype (Version Red). Early effort to work out the precise proportional relationship between length and heaviness of bang and length and degree of layering in bob, while taking into consideration variations on colour (experimenting with taking strawberry blonde into the deeper, more burnished reds) and angle of cut (angle forward along chin line).

Her Bad Bangs, 2007. Or, the iBob. Bangs now an artfully layered fringe that hangs neatly at point of eyebrow, thanks to skilled (and expensive) hairstylist and ceramic flat-iron technology. This will last until next hair-washing, at which point bangs will flip sideways and tidy bob layers will flip into strange Betty Boop-like wave, and I will resort to periodically pulling bangs and sides back with WonderBaby's toy tiara to keep them from flopping into my face while I am hunched over my laptop.

And no, you will not see a picture of that. I have my dignity.

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On a more serious note, support is needed in the Basement. Please, when you have a sec, pay a visit...

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Oh, and? Many, many thanks to OTJ, Mom-NOS and Kyla for the awesometasticness that is nominating (naming?) me for a Thinking Blogger Award. Which, well... me? Thinking? REALLY?

It's supposed to be a meme-ish kind of award, so I'm going to have to give some thought to how I'll pay this forward. Stay tuned.