Put Another Dime In Your JukeBox, Baby

We recently got an Apple TV. I love it. My husband and I scurry to see who can get to it first. I'm a gracious loser, because I know he will just try and watch the first episode of the second season of the Wire and start snoring before the theme song ends. I've seen the first five minutes of that episode 15 times now. It's riveting.

Apple TV made me realize that my kids will never watch tv the same way I did. (Did you come here to discuss worldy issues? I think not). They will never know what it was like to have "The Wizard of Oz" air once a year- the day before Thanksgiving. They will not be six years old, and borrow a black and white little (like 8 inch mini cube) television from your parents, that you set up in your pink checkered bedroom to watch your first glimpse of "Gone With The Wind."

I started my affair with puffy dresses at a very early age.

In other news- I succumbed to the world of Groupon and bought a swanky haircut/highlight/deep conditioning at a swanky salon. The salon is gorgeous. My stylist appeared to be a short, intense hairdresser with freakishly strong hands. Despite my pleas of "for the love of all that is not frizzy- I have the world's most tender head" at one point, he flexed his strong knuckles and SQUEEZED my hairs so tightly I now look like I've had Botox. Win? I still can't decide.

As for the haircut- it looked great until I got home. And now I look like Joan Jett had a baby with Snookie- pouf, and shaggy layers. Crikey. Luckily, once my normal frizz sets in it will detract folks from asking me to sing a New Jersey rendition of "I love Rock n' Roll".