The 1st Golden Squirrel Award

This week was filled with travel to Chicago for a work conference, but I managed to squeeze some fun in the evenings. The weather was hot and humid - yuck! We did manage to wander onto the set of Transformers 3 that is being filmed in Chicago right now. Lots of trashed cars and Styrofoam rubble (see photo on the left) and production assistants telling you to keep moving. We perhaps dawdled  in order to snap some photos. I was using my iPhone and it wasn't until we were far away from the set that I remembered that I had my Flip video camera with me. UGH!

Now it's my vacation time and I thought I would jump the gun one day and announce the first winner of the Golden Squirrel award. (see my 7/23 blog post for a complete description of this prestigious award)

It's not a person this week, although it might technically be human. It's the one thing that has distracted me for almost as long as I can remember.

It's my hair. In the love/hate relationship that is "A Woman and Her Hair," this week has been mostly hate. The humidity in Chicago didn't help.

My hair has been nearly every possible natural color from blond to goth black.  It has been straight to curly (courtesy of smelly Lilt perms with its sponge wraps).

The worst was when I tried to highlight my hair in junior high school. Clairol had a new product for doing your own highlights; (Frost n' Tip) it was a cap with thousands of tiny little holes and, using a plastic crochet hook, you were supposed to pull your hair through the holes.  It's off the market now, but you can find it still being used in Gitmo for an alternative torture device.

We didn't give up the idea of "frosting" my hair, we just did it without the cap. Portion control was the issue with this - instead of thin strands, we grabbed chunks. It was awful! My 9th grade photo is the only proof I have and I keep the only copy of it locked up and hidden away. I suppose I should destroy the evidence.

I can link my ADD to my variety of hair styles. Unlike other parts of my life, I could control my hair and whenever I was bored with something, I would color or cut or torture it.

Right now my hair is long, but that could change. I colored it this morning and now it's very auburn. 
I picked up an over-priced hair style magazine at the airport yesterday and have started marking the pages. Not sure how short it will go, but it's going to be cut next week regardless.

Then I'll be able to stop being distracted by my hair.

At least for awhile...

Saving Private Ryan

Did you watch the Oscars Sunday night? I didn't. It's another change in my personality that really intrigues me. In the past, I never missed a single award show - People's Choice, Grammys, Emmys, Tonys, Oscars, American Music Awards, etc. Today, I don't even pay attention to who is nominated.

I remain a fan of the movies, television and theater. So instead of watching the Oscars, I watched a movie - seemed appropriate.  I watched the amazing Steven Spielberg movie, "Saving Private Ryan." It is emotional movie in many ways, but for me the scene that destroys me is the final one in the cemetery in France. Not the rows and rows of white markers representing the thousands who died, but seeing James Ryan - the title character - standing before the grave of the man who saved him.  He is standing there wearing a golf polo shirt with a powder blue golf jacket over it, looking very much like my dad. It was his official uniform for the last 10 years of his life. 

My dad was a World War II Veteran who served in the Pacific. He was very proud of that service and rightly so.  He would rarely talk about his time in the Navy and I never pushed him for information. I so wished that I had.

When I first saw the movie in 1998, it had only been four years since my dad had past away. While I shed a tear or two during the movie, I started to sob uncontrollably during the final scene as the character was now my dad standing there in his golf jacket.  Since we had met at the theater, Dan walked me to my car, but I was still crying. I told him that I would be fine and that he should go home. I would cry for another 20 minutes sitting there in my car.

So, I watched "Saving Private Ryan" this past Oscar night, now 16 years removed from my dad's death. I still cried pretty hard, but when the scene was over, my crying was over, too.  I wonder if I cry today more from the emotional memory of how that  final scene impacted me or because I still see my dad in his golf jacket.

I can't think of any other movie that has impacted me emotionally like this movie did. Do you have a "Saving Private Ryan" movie that causes you to react differently?