Short List.

A short list to make up for last Friday's no-list:

This girl.  Check out what she has to say about getting braids in NY vs. Lagos, Nigeria.  Quality & Craft.  And, she praises the magic of Moroccan Oil!

Cape Town represents with this neat-o project.

What do you think?  Is it harder to make friends when you're in your 30's?  

Um, yes.  Will go perfectly with this.  Both fit my toy requirements, which are: lightweight and packs flat(ish).

And this - this trash toy geodesic dome is sweet.

Nobody needs a hundred-round drum magazine.  Nobody.

An incredible article about Kenyan marathoner, Sammy Wanjiru.  Sorry you can't read the whole thing online unless you subscribe (argh....), but here's more writing about this tragic & amazing runner.

Sammy Wanjiru image from WikiCommons; http://cc.nphoto.net/view/2008/12259.shtml

Track & Field, baby.  I recently realized a new passion for reading and watching running related stuff.  Not actually running, however.  Hmmm.

Made in China?

Did you know that both Johan and I are only children?  If only we had read this first...
More here.

Sarah is at the beach.  Johan's at a whiskey tasting.  Elias is bouncing off the walls.  Lou's stomping around in the fabulous vintage french red heels I scored at this little place in Brooklyn.  And, yeah, I cut my hair.

Less than two more weeks Stateside.  Eeep.  

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To Chop or Not.

Warning.  This post is pure fluff.

No deep thoughts or philosophical concerns today.

While I am busy applying for free medications (thanks Dr. Gelburd)! and collecting supplies (thanks Jennifer!) for Dr. Laure's clinic and a few other upstanding summer projects, I am also thinking about my hair.

Apparently, Sarah and I both think about hair a lot.

After several years of hair-growing the urge - or obsession - with chopping it all off in anticipation of another steamy round of Kinshasa is upon me.  This is a cycle.  A very un-unique issue that plagues women around the world who are not bound by some cultural or religious hair promise.  In Congo, nobody ever dares describe someone by their hair, because thanks to wigs, a woman is bound to change it up frequently.  Even Mama Vida, who is far from fashion-obsessed, has shocked us on occasion when she decided she needed a hair change.

My hair has always been resistant to length.  Which I took as a challenge.  So, after five or nine years, it's just below my shoulders.

Luxuriously long for me.  I was proud of it and my own feeble attempts at a high hipster top-knot, until I saw this photo:

Swoon.

So.  Now the question is: If I do the chop, can I convince Sarah and/or Johan to help me cut my own hair so that it keeps looking like the above picture for the next several months?  Or is forcing your friend/husband to be your stylist team against their will officially a horrible idea and I should just get a wig already?

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