Nell's Unfortunate Incident

Freshman year in college, my next door neighbors decided that a good name for a band, short story, or movie* would be "Nell's Unfortunate Incident." They weren't really sure what the incident in question would be, but insisted that the title just had a certain ring to it. Much as I would like to be able to disagree, it does sort of sound natural, as if it's existed for all time. Perhaps this is why the theme of my Christmas break could be Nell's Unfortunate Incidents. [*my vote would be to use it as a band name because it's postmodern that way]

An obvious unfortunate incident of my time at home was seeing Lemony Snickett's A Series of Unfortunate Events, and not just because the title is so close to mine. This movie had such potential: the effects were beautiful, the actors were terrific, the story could have gone places. Instead it just fizzled. It was as if someone told you that s/he put re-lighting candles on a birthday cake--and lied. After blowing the candles out, you wait and wait for those suckers to re-light, but nothing happens. This same sort of anticipation built with Good Bye Lenin!, which sounded so funny in theory, but turned out to be a one-trick pony running in a circle that couldn't decide if it was a pony or a pitbull.

Another unfortunate incident happened on Christmas Day when--walking up friends' driveway to exchange gifts and dessert--my mom slipped and fell, dropped the glass pie tin, and caused a chunk of glass as deep as a stack of five dimes and just as wide to lodge deep down in her hand. She also landed on her right knee and twisted her left ankle (already weak), and I wound up staying home-home from work (as in, in Massachusetts rather than Brooklyn) Monday and Tuesday to help her out. She couldn't go up and down stairs until today, so I'm glad she's feeling much better. I felt awful about having to leave, but I needed to do so, so I took the Delta Shuttle to New York (1/2 price because I'm under 25!) last night and came back to work again today. Christmas itself was wonderful (other than my mom's accident). Our church service on Christmas Eve was really beautiful--a little long because the music director uses the service as an opportunity to play everything he wants--but our new minister is wonderful: great messages, great delivery, etc. In fact, so many people attended this year's service (a testament to Catherine's preaching) that we had to park in the cemetary--more than a little creepy. I was hoping to see my high school boyfriend at church because I found out his best friend was just diagnosed with cancer and wanted to let him know that I'm thinking about/praying for them, but it seemed that he was the only person not there.

But the incident that can officially be termed "Nell's Unfortunate Incident" occurred on December 23rd. My mom was given a gift certificate to a new restaurant in Kingston from one of the students that she tutors. It was supposed to be nice, so I took a little extra time getting ready. Because it was raining out, my hair looked like a rough draft for a Chia Pet, so I decided to straighten it. Having left my straightener in Brooklyn, I borrowed a heated round hairbrush from my mom.

Mom: Are you sure you can use it?

Me [full of sarcasm, my first karmic mistake]: No, Mom. I only have a college degree. Of course I can't figure it out.

Fast-forward to thirty minutes later. I'm sitting in the car in the restaurant's parking lot still trying to pick small pieces of hair out of the brush, which is secured tightly against my head near the front. After ten minutes of sitting in the car, my mother--who has gone into the restaurant at my urging to tell them that we're there, just not fully capable of entering--comes back out to tell me that the hostess has suggested that I come inside to use the Ladies' Room to try to extricate myself from the Hot Brush or vice-versa, depending on which way you look at it. Because I'm wearing stilettos, it's raining, and I have to hold the head of the brush at a certain angle to keep the pressure off it so that I don't further hurt myself, my mom takes the cord and leads me into the restaurant as if I'm on a leash. Fast-forward to five minutes later.

Mom: All I have is this.

Me [shouting, in the ladies' room at this point]: I don't care. So, I'll have bangs. I
just want this stupid thing OFF MY HEAD! Cut it. Cut it!

So, very carefully, my mom nail-clippered me to freedom. I bought a straightening iron the next day. And the short hair isn't all that noticeable. Really.

Currently listening to: Anthology - Carly Simon (it's Carly--of course I love it); EP #1 - Ben Taylor Band (ditto on the last comment, but add that this album has made me fall head-over-heels for him again with only four short songs); Hymns of the 49th Parallel - K.D. Lang (all covers of songs by Canadians--really beautiful and some interesting choices); Propeller - Peter Stuart (former lead singer of Dog's Eye View, one of my all-time favorite bands for their lyrics and Stuart's haunting voice; his first solo foray captures both of these things--yum)

Good-bye, Susan Sontag.

I never understood a word you wrote, but you'll be missed.

Good-bye, Jerry Orbach.

The streets of New York have a little less law and order without you.

I am too devestated by the events in Asia to respond.