OMG! The water main broke, so we have to boil water here in Beantown before drinking it. It tastes nasty as hell boiled! Well, technically, it tastes like absolutely nothing. Boston water, even with the too-much chlorine and other junk added since I was a kid drinking the good stuff, is like its architecture. It has Chahm! I don’t even care that I brushed my teeth in the iffy back-up reservoir water before getting the FYI on that; I just care that the water tastes too pure, like unspoiled woodland or rainforest water. This is the city, baby. Give me some rust.
Renewed dialogues on Black women wearing naturals (that’s wearing our hair unchemically-processed). With the economy in a state of non-luxurious living, who can afford to plunk down $100 for salon relaxing? I’m biased on the topic, having chemically altered my hair for a maximum of 5 years in my entire life. It was long, $200+, and I didn’t love it. It felt weird, sounded weird, looked alien with my veggie-burger-loving personality, and took for-ev-er to blowdry on non-salon weeks. I was in my 20’s. In honor of my turning 45 in January, I’ve cut my possessed hair. It’s soooo soft and curly, silent, and it “looks like me.” I adore it. Here’s the link that prompted this confessional burst of kinky-haired self-love: