Sometimes a girl’s gotta take care of herself. No, sometimes a girl’s just gotta touch up her roots. I tried a new place today, figuring what the hell, let’s make a fresh start.
I like a haircut, personally. I take off my glasses — the hair color gets all over them — and the world goes all swimmy. I hold the fashion magazines right up to my nose, so it looks like I’m really, really interested in 10 Fun Looks For Summer. Today, I read Us, which is not a fashion magazine, more like a gossip rag for people who find People too intellectual. I marveled at all the stars who’ve flown under my radar — who the hell is Marc Anthony, besides the new Mr. J-Lo? Could you pick Tara Reid out of a police lineup? I couldn’t. In the midst of all this, a handsome blur appeared to my left, and asked if I’d like a complimentary hand massage.
As he got closer, he came into somewhat sharper focus. Young guy, the new massage therapist at the salon. Works on men and women, prefers an eclectic rub style, said he likes to get to work and then “see what I find,” which sounds sort of dirty when I write it down, but really it wasn’t. He squirted some Aveda lotion on my hand and got to work. Of course it felt marvelous. We made small talk, although I noticed my voice was getting softer and quieter, doubtless a side effect of having my palms rubbed and my fingers handled the way a farmer handles the teats on an udder. It’s hard for me to make small talk without slipping into reporter mode: Where did you go to massage school, young man? Las Vegas, really? What was that like? Have you ever been to the Bellagio? And so on.
Asking questions gives you an opportunity to drift away between them, although I learned a bit — Bellagio waitresses wear fitted suits, with short skirts, but otherwise somewhat tasteful. Las Vegas is a strange place to be a permanent resident. It wasn’t so bad for a while, but he’s glad to be back. He worked as a lifeguard while he went to school, at a hotel pool.
He finished up after about 10 minutes, and there was an awkward tip-me moment, which I ignored. My mitts were feeling too good in the immediate afterglow to go diving into my purse for a fiver, and besides, he said “complimentary.” (Relax. I tipped him when I left.)
People should touch one another in a massage-like manner more often. This is something I firmly believe. Ten minutes with this guy, and I was ready to set him up in an apartment. I liked my cut and color, too, so it was a pretty good afternoon.
Alan’s downstairs listening to “After Bathing at Baxter’s.” All that Grace Slick wailing — sometimes our domestic soundtrack is a little strange. Me, I’m old-skool; you’ll never top “Surrealistic Pillow” in my book. When I had my radio show, the engineer sometimes used the long intro to “She Has Funny Cars” for bumper music, at my request.
Linkage: When Jon Carroll is funny, he frequently captures a certain effervescent goofiness that’s as light and delicate as a soap bubble, but still, just right.
“July Surprise” = no surprise.
You have a swell weekend, and I’ll see you after it’s over.