And the Toni Goes To.....

While strolling through Chinatown, I passed one of the many small hair salons. Ladies with thick black hair were getting their $6 cuts, having their nails done for $10 and someone was getting the advertised $20 permanent wave. There's just no mistaking that distinctive smell.

Even though it wasn't as chemical an odor as I remembered, it was enough. One whiff and I was 10 years old, sitting on a stool in the bathroom staring with dread at the Toni box. It was Saturday, nearly Easter and the thought of a Spring makeover possessed my mother -- possessed her to the point of inflicting a home permanent on her youngest daughter.

In retrospect, I consider this an episode of child abuse. There was weeping - mine -- and gnashing of teeth -- Mother's, who was annoyed by my constant fidgeting. I hated the smell, the endless waiting for the chemistry experiment to take hold, the rollers that reminded me of pink (for girls, of course) chicken bones. But most of all I hated the results.

They were nothing at all like the twins on the commericals. You were supposed to guess which one had the Toni. They both had wavy, soft curly hair so it was a difficult choice. But unlike either TV twin, I looked like a chia pet.

I kept tugging at my hair hoping to de-curl it even though Mother kept assuring me that the frizz would be gone by school on Monday. This is the same woman who lied to me about Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy, so by age 10 her credibility was weak.

It took months for the frizz to settle down. Months of wearing scarves and answering to the name Brillo head on the playground. They don't call it "permanent" for nothing.

Like It's Amazing, Literally!

I'm not sure what happened that pushed me over the edge, but I have recently assumed the role of official language curmudgeon. I've always liked reading, writing and playing with words. And while I'm very attuned to usage and proper grammar, I'm not one of those annoying people who corrects someone while they're talking. In the privacy of my head however, I circle their mistakes in red just like the nuns did on my high school essays.

Take the word "amazing" for example. Webster defines it as "filled with great surprise or sudden wonder; astonishing".

It's an uber descriptive, powerful adjective that works particularly well with life's memorable moments -- like childbirth, winning the lottery, viewing the Grand Canyon, hearing a prodigy play Chopin and other events of similar magnitude.

Yet, a guest on the Today Show was telling Matt Lauer about an amazing olive tapenade, an amazing garlic mayonnaise and -- yes --- an amazing spicy guacamole. In that brief 4 minutes of fame segment, he used the word "amazing" 9 times. And just to further irritate me, he repeatedly drew out the second syllable so my ear spelled it "amaaaazing".

Give the man a thesaurus! Food is delicious, scrumptious, delectable, yummy, heavenly....and so on. But unless you're dining with the Dali Lama at the top of the Eiffel Tower it's rarely amazing.

Like I want to literally jump off the Golden Gate Bridge when I hear language misused. Wouldn't that be amazing?