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    IMAGINATION, Life of Josie M.

    Setting. Development. Resolution.

    Life of Josie M

    I could hear the inner wheels of Henry’s mind grinding as he lay silently next to me, both of us facing opposite directions with only the smalls of our backs touching.
    I sat up holding the comforter up to my chest as if to shield me from the vulnerability ahead. I turned and spoke to his back, “I knew this would happen the minute I saw the back of your head.”
    He picked up his head and rested his chin on his shoulder. “What?”
    “Well, actually… I knew this would happen when I first saw your back…in your fabulously sexy, dark-navy suit with the silver pinstripes…then I saw the back of your head. But, still, I knew.”
    Still confused, Henry now swiveled his body counter-clockwise to lie facing me on his side. “You knew what?…From what…my head? All I heard was you think I’m fabulously sexy,” he let the last word trail off slowly like he used to do while teaching, using sarcasm to get his point across, only this time, it was  seductive, luring me back down next to him.
    I let go of my death grip on the comforter and slid back down on my side  into his open arms and nestled up close to his chest. We were now looking into each other’s eyes.
    “When I walked into Albert Hall, while I was focused on finding Room Six, you were hunched over at the water bubbler. I couldn’t help but say to myself, ‘Wow. Who is this with the phenomenal taste? He’s a student here?’ You then stood up straight and walked into the next room. I only saw the back of you head. But, I knew. The salt-and-pepper hair was a dead giveaway.”
    As he kissed my forehead, he muttered, “I still have no idea what you are talking about. Are you calling me fabulously sexy again?”


    Eventually, we had to pull ourselves away from each other and the seclusion of my bedroom as it was Monday morning and we both had classes to teach.  As Henry showered, I got up and started the coffee.
    “Ugh. Rain again,” I muttered to myself as I opened the window blinds. Opening the blinds was painful, not because of the light hitting my un-ready pupils, but because I felt each one of those horizontal lines of light shattering the cocoon the weekend in bed had just built around me and Henry.
    Reality was rearing its’ ugly head with the possibility for sheer and utter disappointment when Henry leaves, as he had not responded to any of my feeble attempts to convey the true breadth and depth of my feelings. I had tried several times during the course of the past two days to gather the thoughts, feelings and emotions rushing through me for the past year into what needed to be the perfect combination of words to tell to this man, the most wonderful man I had ever met, I was in love with him.
    I could still hear the shower running. I started to prepare myself for the worst. I started running scenarios of our departure through my head.
    “Thanks for an amazing weekend. But…I’ve already told you…I’m happy in my current situation…”
    “East or west coast?”
    Henry startled me. While I was preparing myself for the dreaded “You’re a Great Friend” speech staring out the window, he had gotten out of the shower, gotten dressed and poured our coffee. He was standing at the edge of the kitchen holding in one hand my “I ‘heart’ LA” mug and in the other, my “I ‘heart’ New York” mug.
    “LA or New York,” he clarified.
    “Oh…New York, please. Thank you.”


    I stood frozen in anticipation as I watched Henry gather his belongings from around the apartment. I was still in my bathrobe, still gripping my “I ‘heart’ NY” mug and still unable to breathe.
    “Well…” Again, his words rolled off his tongue with great seduction.
    We were now walking towards each other. When Henry reached me, he took the mug out of my hand, placed it down and began kissing my neck.
    “Stunning, sexy, and irresistible,” he kept kissing me as he spoke.
    “What?” My mind was preoccupied with his lips, not conversation.
    “Turquoise, strappy high heels and your refute of Georg Hegel’s theory of the Absolute.”
    “What?” I repeated, still preoccupied.
    “That’s when I knew I had fallen in love with you.”



    IMAGINATION, Tips + Advice

    When life gives you lemons, grab tequila.

    When life gives you lemons, grab tequila.As Labor Day approaches, the looming clouds of family cookouts lay overhead.

    Ah, yes. A time when every single girl is reminded just how single one’s life may be.

    No. Really people, relatives no less, will leap out of lawn chairs to ask if you have “found anyone” yet.


    Me:  “No, but I cured cancer.”

    Auntie Insane:   “That’s nice, dear. You know, my coworker’s son is about your age. He still lives at home, but that just means he’s saving money.”

    Even the cure for cancer couldn’t save me from this annual scene – and, yeah, he’s “saving money.” Let me guess, his “apartment” is located in the basement?

    And, you thought of me for this loser. Gee. Thanks.


    Ah, yes. I have heard it all for the “finding someone” advice:

    • “Some Saturday, go and hang out in Home Depot for an hour or two. I bet you would find someone there.”When life gives you lemons...
    • “What about that guy Chris?” (PLEASE NOTE_I dated Chris in high school, SIXTEEN YEARS AGO.)
    • “So what if he is thirty-three and living at home. He’s saving money.”
    • “I REALLLLLY wish I knew someone single.” (PLEASE NOTE_ I am single, not terminal. Don’t call in Make-a-Wish yet.)
    • “He’s a Greek god. You’ll love him. He’s perfect for you.” (PLEASE NOTE_ Greek gods do not have uni-brows.)
    • “You should go on a single’s cruise. That’s how my friends met. You know, they had some ice breaker…he got ‘Frank’ and she got ‘beans.’ The rest is history.”

    Enjoy your Labor Day weekend. And, don’t forget to pack the tequila.


    IMAGINATION, Life of Josie M.

    “They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said, ‘No, no, no.'”

    Amy Winehouse

    Hi. My name is Josie. And I am a douchebag addict.

    I have teetered on the edge of serial single and serial dating for years now. Thus, my blog.  However, this year both sides of the fence have culminated into a gigantic, festering vat of emotionally draining energy.

    I mean, things were to a point were Kaz and SlinkyChic insisted I audition for VH1’s Tough Love, a reality TV dating boot camp. Look, Slink even started filling out my application:

    Q:  Why do your friends think you are single?
    “I would say you are single because, well, you have not yet found THE ONE, but THE ONE has not  yet found you either. The potential future Mr. Josie has to GET YOU, and let you BE YOU.  You are Little*, but not LITTLE in your attitude. I would say that you have a certain type and when your friends show you a potential MAN, you may not consider him upon the first review after the 2 seconds you have reviewed him from head to toe….plus usually when we go out it is late at night and usually quite dark and libations may be involved.”

    And then she also added this in her email:
    “I think your criteria may be very selective and narrow, meaning that you HAVE to have a man that falls w/n a list of your requirements if he EVEN gets as far as to talk to you…

    Oh, and they LINGER….. they have to be long gone before you can move on!!! You have hanger-oners… that are always there or come back. I have trouble typing on this little laptop, maybe we need to have a conversation all of us and make a conclusion as a group. We need to make this GOOD.”

    Slink’s email was touching enough to make my eyes water and brutal enough to make my eyes water.

    I am particular. Not particular like, “narrow, meaning a man must fall within a list of requirements,” but particular like a hot-house orchid; I have certain conditions I want THE ONE, as Slink put it, to meet.

    These “hanger-oners” at one point did meet my “conditions,” but over time, fell out of favor for one reason or another – and stayed around. And, yes, some fell into the category of major douchebag – and stayed around.

    I didn’t care. I didn’t care these “hanger-oners” weren’t THE ONE, they were someone to go to dinner with, on a long-weekend with – let’s be honest, I wasn’t in love with any of them. Hell, there were a few I didn’t even really like, never mind love.  This leads me back to the culmination of a festering vat of emotionally draining energy… there were a few I did deeply care for (i.e., Ian) — and one I was insanely in love with (i.e., the secret crush). But, the deep feelings were never returned.

    Ian didn’t want to get married again, or live together, or spend lots of exorbitant time together, but he didn’t want to break up either. I thought I would be okay with his terms, I even called him, “Mr. Right Now” to his face. I guess, deep down, I thought he would eventually change his mind. Ah! Wait! I know what you are thinking! Let me add, Ian would also say things to make me believe his mind was changing. After a long weekend in Boston, I finally realized he never meant anything he said in terms of change – and was harshly reminded, leopards don’t change their spots.

    The secret crush I have been referring to in my junior-high-school manor since the creation of my blog, is no longer secret. I think. I think he knows about the depth of my feelings, but with men, ladies you know, they mostly lack the ability to connect the dots – no matter how many academic degrees. But, at this point, does it really matter if he knows? It’s been a cat and mouse game of flirtation, however, he decided to stick with his current situation. I am heart broken, and worse, I feel stupid. He made himself clear – even if he did dabble with the idea of me – and he did dabble – you do not not bring up your current situation for this long without dabbling! Plus, he talked a big game. He dangled the proverbial carrot of many super fantastic, incredible projects/jobs/etc. on a stick in front of me, yet, meant none of them. I don’t know which is worse – being the girl not chosen or realizing the guy of my dreams could actually fall into the category with all the rest — douchebag.

    Thus, I put myself into douchebag rehab.  (I must say, Kaz and Slink are extremely proud). No more accepting phone calls, emails or text messages. I have deleted all the “hanger-oners” out of my phone, email address book and social networks.

    I have emptied and cleaned my festering vat – with bleach.

    * * *

    *VH1 Tough Love, Season 2 casting was closed when I went to submit my application.
    *”Little” is a nickname.


    Glass Slippers, Golden Lassos & Pink Corvettes

    Barbie // Wonder Woman

    Since an early age, I have been continually told by my parents, teachers, childhood fairy tales, and the leading ladies of television and my toy box, I can do anything I want to do in life – the world is my oyster – an oyster filled with unlimited choices. I can be and do whatever I choose. I have endless choices. But, how do I choose the right one?  Barry Schwartz’s best seller, The Paradox of Choice, addresses the paradox of choice, comparing life’s choices to choosing toothpaste to  a generation’s paralysis in finding their life’s direction.

    As a child of the 70s, a decade still feeling the 1960s’ second wave of feminism, I have been bombarded with images of princesses finding Prince Charmings with glass slippers, Amazon women fighting crime with golden lassos of truth and flying invisible jets, and a 5’11’’ blonde bombshell living the American Dream with her dream career du jour, in a dream house, with a dream guy, driving a dreamy pink Corvette. Cinderella, Wonder Woman, and Barbie made finding the man of my dreams, fighting crime, and choosing a career seem as easy as shopping out of the Sears catalogue.

    I have been told I have unlimited options. But, do I really? What if I wanted to wear my glass slippers as I flew my invisible jet to my dream house? Can I have all the choices I choose? And, what if I get bored with my invisible jet, can I park it while I drive my pink Corvette? Do these unlimited options truly mean my options are limitless?  Is Barbie telling us we can be too many things?

    Schwartz’s The Paradox of Choice addresses the dilemma many female thirty-somethings are facing, are our force-fed infinite choices, determining or detrimental?  Just as Schwartz’s describes his quest for a pair of jeans as most unbearable, Gen X girls are “forced to invest time, energy, and no small amount of self-doubt, anxiety, and dread” in their quest to make their biggest life choices.

    Schwartz’s psychological and social study demonstrates how, as Schwartz’s book cover states, our culture’s abundance is robbing society of satisfaction, an anthem, if you will, for female Gen Xers like myself.  Schwartz proves chapter by chapter, from shopping for toothpaste in the supermarket, to picking a college, to the psychology behind picking toothpaste and a college, “…as the number of choices keeps growing, negative aspects of having a multitude of options begin to appear. As the number of choices grows further, the negative escalate until we become overloaded. At this point, choice no longer liberates, but debilitates”.

    As more and more female role models came on the scene – Samantha from Bewitched, Jeannie from I Dream of Jeannie, and the girls from Facts of Life – the stress and anxiety level of my generation grew into obsession with our looks, our bodies, our fashion, having children, and obtaining the corner office with a view.  My generation was told we needed to choose all of the above – but, without genie or superhero powers.  We were told we needed “it all.”

    Deciding the direction of my life is still alike shopping in the toothpaste aisle at Super Stop & Shop. The options lay before me on two-thirds length of an aisle taking up four shelves; I can choose Crest ProHealth, Crest with Scope, Crest Healthy Radiance, Crest with Cavity Protection, Crest Nature’s Expressions, Crest with Tartar Control, all in a variety of flavors and consistency, Lemon Ice, Clean Cinnamon, or classic Mint in gel or paste. What should I choose? What do I want? What do I need? Should I get more than one?

    I find these choices, like Schwartz, debilitating – both in life and in the supermarket. Is life – and oral care – really this difficult? What is the significance of the abundance of these peripheral choices? Why can’t life be as simple as my grandmother’s – meet a boy, get married, have kids, buy plain Crest?  Christopher Caldwell of The New Yorker agrees, “Nor is the “paradox of choice” limited to the shopping aisle. It helps explain why so many people at age thirty are still flailing about, trying to choose a career—and why so many marriageable singles wind up alone. You await a spouse who combines the kindness of your mom, the wit of the smartest person you met in grad school, and the looks of someone you dated in 1983 (as she was in 1983) . . . and you wind up spending middle age by yourself, watching the Sports Channel at 2 a.m. in a studio apartment strewn with pizza boxes” (Caldwell, 2004).

    I agree with Schwartz, “the ‘success’ of modernity turns out to be bittersweet, and everywhere we look it appears that a significant contributing factor is the overabundance of choice”.  I do not hold a grudge against Cinderella, Wonder Woman, or Barbie; they were just doing their jobs.

    After surviving childhood and my teenage years, I still have faith the world is my oyster – still filled with unlimited choices.  In regards to my life’s direction – and oral care – I follow the instructions of my female role models:  I do my best in all that I do – and I stick with the basics – plain Crest toothpaste in classic Mint flavor.

    * * *


    Caldwell, C. (March 1, 2004). Select all: Can you have too many choices?” The New Yorker.
    Retrieved March 3, 2008 from

    Schwartz, B. (2004). The paradox of choice: why more is less.  New York:  HarperCollins Publishers.


    Opposites Attract. Seek Yours.

    opposites attract

    Rick Ocasek and Paulina Porizkova, Mary Matalin and James Carville, Mork and Mindy, Samantha and Durwood, Miss Piggy and Kermit, the old adage is true – opposites attract.  After all, complimentary opposites are by definition, natural.   Remember playing with batteries in sixth class science class – likes repel, opposites attract? Yup, all el natural.

    Opposites Attract.

    From Rick Ocasek and Paulina Porizkova to Mork and Mindy, the old adage is true – opposites attract.

    Single people have, do, and always will get inundated with dating advice (whether they want it or not) from every Tom, Dick and Harry (and Aunt Joan) which runs the full gamut spectrum of bad advice. From “You should join a bike club” (knowing I don’t own a bike and it’s in the middle of winter in New England) to “You should try that eHarmony because it matches every aspect of your beliefs, chakras, urine samples and hair highlights” (the site rejected me, yes, rejected me, actually saying it was unable to match me).

    The notion of finding the perfect man or woman who has the exact same interests as you falls right in the middle of the bad advice spectrum; single people are either being given short, curt advice by people unnerved by the unmarried (because single usually implies retardation, apparently) or by people who think finding someone is beyond easy (because after all, they found someone).

    In my dating experience, I have dated nothing but opposites. Because – they’re interesting! They’re different! They’re exciting! I have been shown different parts of the world, different perspectives, different cuisine and ultimately, different parts of myself.

    Singles should, need and must seek their opposites because ultimately, they are truly seeking their compliment counterpart – the ying to their yang. Now mind you, just as we learned on Wild Kingdom, opposites sometimes are just opposites (or on a date when the guy shows up with his lap dog in a sweater).  But, stay the course, don’t be afraid – seek your opposite!


    Originally posted on  formally, as “SWF:  Ying Seeks Her Yang,” December 2010.


    IMAGINATION, Tips + Advice

    Will Work for Shoes: A Woman’s Guide to Job Search Attitude

    A Woman's Guide to Job Search Attitude

    A Woman's Guide to Job Search AttitudeHave you always considered yourself a positive person, but since the economy’s super tsunami, you have to push your fingers into the sides of your mouth to smile because your career path still seems bleak? If you have experienced lay offs, consolidation of multiple positions into your one, furloughs and pay cuts, keeping a positive attitude about your current position and future career path seems as if it requires the strength of a circus sideshow freak.

    Everyone and everything advises employees and job seekers to “Stay Positive!”; after working 60 hours weeks for the past four years without a raise, that should be easy, right? Believe it or not, it is. But, you need strategy.

    I had my dream job as the director of marketing at a boutique investment firm — with the shoe collection to prove it. At the end of 2008, when the market crashed, so did my firm. I was laid off and spent most of 2009 unemployed, watching my savings disappear with only a handful of job interviews and only one job offer. Needless to say, I took the job.

    I didn’t have a plan. I applied to job listings, followed-up, rinsed and repeated. I wasn’t consciously “staying positive,” I merely kept reminding myself I survived worse — deaths in the family, the threat of swine flu and SARS epidemics, and even the revival of Bret Michaels’ career.

    I do wonder, what if I did have a plan of attack — a strategy to keep positive? How many less sleepless nights and pimples would I have had — TONS — that’s how many.


    Here are the top five steps every woman should take if you recently lost your job, are in the process of job searching or simply still feel a bit blue about life’s twists and turns.

    Step 1. Pink is the new black: what do to immediately
    Realize you are not alone. Unemployment is still lingering at a dreadful nine percent according to Entrepreneur magazine, with roughly six applicants competing for every one available job.

    Update your resume, executive summary and any other professional profiles immediately. And then, tell everyone you know you are in search of a job. No, really. EVERYONE.

    Use your updated executive summary in the body of your emails/status updates/internal emails/voice mail messages with your resume attached, as a mini elevator pitch, giving your connections job history, qualifications, and some idea as to what you do and what would be a good fit. Believe me, some of your closest friends and family have no clue as to what you do; I received a multitude of forwarded job openings for selling houses, working with small children, financial advising, and teaching senior water aerobics.

    Step 2. Strategy is key: creating a 3-,6-,9- and 12-month plan
    When I worked in the marketing department of a health care system, we continually used the buzz phrase, “a holistic approach to medicine”; this is exactly the approach women need to take in creating a 3- through 12-month plan because of the multi-roles women usually have — wife, mother, head of household, cruise director.

    No matter the length of time, a strategic plan should include a blueprint for:
    *Your personal mission statement targeting the type of position, salary and company you are looking for as well as the minimums and maximums you’re willing to sway;
    *Tracking networking efforts, positions applied to and follow up efforts;
    *Connecting with a mentor, life coach or therapist (some offer discounted or pro bono rates for the recently unemployed and remember, even if she think she is, remind your mother — she is NOT your life coach);
    *Finances covering rent, savings, utilities, car payment and unexpected expenses;
    *Daily exercise (as simple as a 20-minute walk) to keep the endorphins flowing in order to keep stress at bay — and positivity at hand;
    *Creating a daily routine. Get up at the same time everyday, take a morning walk at the same time everyday, pick up/drop off the kids the same time everyday, search for a job at the same time everyday, etc. Your body craves the stability, calmness and reliability of the daily routine your job held.; and
    *A worse case scenario plan.

    Remember, “You can hit a target you can’t see,” setting goals and mapping out how to reach them is power — empowering you to take action, eliminate the stress of the unknown and create excitement for the future.

    Step 3. Find your inner stiletto: navigating feedback/bad advice
    The good news for job seekers: you’ll receive an inordinate amount of advice and feedback. The bad news for job seekers: you’ll receive an inordinate amount of advice and feedback.

    Take each piece of advice and feedback and compare it to your mission statement you just created in Step 2. Are they aligned? Will the advice/feedback get you closer to your goal? If the answer is no, it a honking waste of time. Period. It is critical, especially if you are unemployed, to keep your focus, energy and more importantly, time directed to accomplishing your goal — a paycheck.

    Don’t get me wrong, people will want to help you find a new job or climb the corporate ladder, however, I found friends, family and colleagues are more prone to giving you “rushed” advice out of pity and their misdirected anxiety. Don’t let other people’s fear lead you to make bad decisions or take advice your gut is telling you is garbage. Give a gracious, “Thank you,” and keep moving forward with your plan.

    Step 4. In the meantime, try on all the shoes you like…
    Even with your new set daily routines and overall goals, there is still going to be a lot of free time. Think of this time as new-found freedom to explore hobbies, bucket lists and projects that were shelved on the night stand for ages.

    Here are a few examples of what I did with my time, along with a few others, to get your creative juices flowing:
    * Learned (very poorly) French
    * Watched every movie on the AFI’s Top 100 Movies of All Times list;
    * Started yoga classes;
    * Started training for a half marathon;
    * Started painting again;
    * Started reading every book listed on the Top 100 Books of All Time list;
    * Caught up with friends over a cup of coffee;
    * Create a bucket list;
    * Refurbish a piece of furniture;
    * Learn how to knit/sew/craft; and/or
    * Spend more time playing with your kids/pets/family/friends/cabana boy.

    You never know where the connections you make by filling in time may lead you. In the words of Cinderella, “One shoe can change your life.”

    Step 5. Comfortable shoes: settling — or not settling — into your new job
    It takes roughly 30 city blocks to fully break in new shoes, a new job takes just as long. No one likes change, keep to the new routines, hobbies and projects you set in Steps 2 and 4 to pad yourself again with stability, calmness and reliability in adjusting to your life’s new chapter.

    If you took a job to get a job and now are ready to move on as the economy seems to be leveling, follow the steps above — tell a select and perhaps discreet group of everyone you know you are on the hunt for a new job, create a deadline-based plan, filter advice, keep feeding the right side of your brain, and don’t kill me for saying this, but Stay Positive!

    Finding a new job — whether or not employed — is tough and requires patience, endurance and sometimes tequila. It is crucial to stay focused, positive and healthy in order to accomplish your goals, take care of your family and preserve your self-esteem. There is a light — and sometimes new Jimmy Choos — at the end of the tunnel.


    “Employees Only: The Great Recession spurs growth.” Entrepreneur Magazine, December 2011, page 71.


    IMAGINATION, Life of Josie M.

    Rule no. 42: Destiny is not always destined.

    Life of Josie M.

    And then, there was Ian.

    Our introduction was kinetic. I still can feel the energy, the tingles, which ran from my hands down to my toes, of our first meeting years ago.

    He was thirteen years my senior, an Amherst College scholar, a brilliant writer, and his salt-and-pepper hair made his presence insatiable.

    Two years passed, enduring brief and intemittent meetings. And then, he emailed me. 

    Ian expressed he wanted to meet me out for coffee, he needed to speak to me. His email was short and to the point, making his message seem all the more urgent. The next day, we meet at a small, quintessential bookstore turned coffee house.

    As I sipped my coffee, the impossible, the unbelievable, the never-happens-to-me happened to me.  This man, whom I have been intoxicated with for the past two years by mere hair and wit, announced he was ending his unsuccessful marriage of ten years to feel alive again, feel companionship again, feel romance again – because he had met me.

    This was the impossible, the unbelievable, the never-happens-to-me because up until this point, we had never dated, never had unscrupulous, secret encounters (not counting the many in my mind). We had been friends. That’s it.

    Six years and one hell of a romance later, nothing makes you feel more like a toaster, than being told he was leaving for another woman.


    As kinetic as our meeting was, I was in denial of the looming end.
    Destiny is not always fate, but fate is often destiny.

    Yes, the impossible, the unbelievable, the never-happens-to-me happened to me
    with a man I was intoxicated with by mere hair and wit for years previous,
    however, I denied the fact intoxication evitably leads to a long, slow death by poisoning of the soul.

    His once insatiable presence is now mere memory.
    Our brief and intermittent meetings turned long, romantic weekends reading in bed, are now gone.


    Sex, drugs and nakedness. Did I mention I was with my parents?

    Hair the Musical

    Not living far from New York City, to celebrate my birthday, my parents announced we would take the train in and they would treat me to day of shopping, a matinee and dinner with close friends in the Big Apple.

    Being avid travelers, my parents always amaze me with their savvy and worldly knowledge.

    STEP DAD:     “You know…I think they have a bathroom on these trains.”
    MOM:               “We sit backwards?”

    After enduring a non-express Metro-North Line train ride into Grand Central, we then endured yet another non-express line – the ticket line in Times Square.

    For those of you who know – and for those of you who don’t know – there is a TKTS ticket booth in Times Square  where would-be show-goers can purchase matinee (and some night shows) at a discounted price. Since it was my birthday, my parents advised me to pick the show of my choice – they also advised me they wanted to see a musical.

    As the line dwindled and we neared the ticket window, so did our show options — we were down to Shrek, Mary Poppins and HAIR. Shrek – a singing, flatulent ogre…um, no thanks; Mary Poppins – been there, done that; so, that left….HAIR.  I faintly remember listening to my parents’ HAIR album (yes, 33LP record) growing up and knew the premise… how bad could HAIR be?

    Sex, drugs and nakedness. Yup.  Did I mention I was with my parents? Even as a full-grown adult, one never outgrows AWKWARD.

    I understand this play was a radical social commentary of the late 1960s, I get it. I understand the naked protest is just that – a protest. I get it. The cast was uber-talented. I am not debating that. I know this particular revival won the 2009 Tony Award for the Best Revival on Broadway that very week. I am not debating that either.

    What I am saying is, by intermission, I was ready to throw the Kumbaya towel in.  I am just not a flower child, thus, the 33 songs which comprise HAIR – and trust me, all 33 were performed – put me over the mother-loving, hallucinogenic, orgy edge. I am a child of the 1970s, by then, the hippies were fading and The Partridge Family was taking over the sit-ins. Donnie and Marie were stars – clean cut and as white bread as you can get. No LSD for them.

    The only thing close to HAIR when I was a teenager were – the glam rocker bands – POISON (who, incidentally, where at the Tony Awards that year as well, you know, when douchebag lead singer, Brett Michaels had a run in with the stage – in case you missed it —

    HAIR The Musical

    Bon Jovi, Cinderella, Stryper, etc. The hair was there, but the radical social commentary for these guys was showing off how many groupies they could fit backstage and they were burning hotel rooms down, not draft cards.

    At curtain’s close, my mother felt the same as she did close to forty years ago when seeing HAIR in London, “It’s still as radical now as it was back then;” my step father agreed and remembered seeing the play in New York shortly after its debut – and still likes the nudity *wink*, and I…I was glad to leave (sorry, HAIR) – with a new appreciation for the play, actors and, of course, our freedom.

    * * * * *

    HAIR:  The Musical
    2009 Tony Award Winner for Best Musical Revival
    I saw HAIR at the Al Hirschfeld Theatre, 302 West 45th Street, New York, NY 10036