An unannounced late post for me today, due to my last-minute escape to the city for the day to get my hair cut, do a little shopping and engage in some research at the Newberry Library.

As the day was gorgeous, I did the 40 minute walk from the train up to the salon, which was oddly devoid of exciting street life, unless you count seeing mimi smartypants staring at you from every other newspaper box. She�s the cover girl for this week�s New City. Although I did see one bootilicious woman in some gravity-defying pants that appeared to be dark tights under bleached jeans so unraveled as to appear lacy. The pants themselves were vaguely horrifying, but the outfit was made by the fact that they appeared to match her bleach blond hair with dark roots showing through all the spaces.

I settled into my seat in the salon with a cup of coffee. There was a 4 year old girl dancing around the salon and singing little songs to herself while her mom got her haircut. She�d clearly been there before, as all the staff knew her. I was glad of a small floorshow, as the hair cut took nearly 2 hours (including the 15 minute wait at the beginning). It wasn�t an unpleasant 2 hours. I�ve been going to the same person for 12 years, and I know enough to come prepared. She�s always running late and when her next appointment is free or doesn�t show, as happened today, she takes twice as long. I will say, it is one one of my most favorite cuts ever. I feel very girly and glamorous, so much so, that I was actually convinced to purchase A Product and a new hairbrush.

To celebrate my newfound chicitude, I decided I had time to shop at 1 store. I picked Mark Shale where I promptly dropped too much money on some very silly clothes, thanks to the most fabulous sales assistant ever who somehow didn�t intrude on my surly I-vant-to-be-alone shopping state of mind but continued to bring me fabulous things in my size that I hadn�t noticed.

Then I headed up the street to the Newberry Library, one of my all-time favorite places to work. It�s a big, beautiful old building that feels very scholarly. I spend a lot of time in archives, and I�ve been to archival libraries all over the country for various parts of my dissertation research. After you get used to closed stacks, it�s a lot of fun. I love the ritual of it all. It�s pretty much the same wherever you go. You place all non-essential belongings in a locker � no bags or pens allowed in most places. Then you head to the catalog � it�s still an expanse of wooden card catalogs -- and then to the information desk to make your requests. The librarians always act all interested in what you�re doing � they will be the only people throughout your dissertation project who will at least feign fascination and you are extremely grateful for this as well as for their expertise. They assign you a seat and, after a while, bring you giant old books with gilt bindings, hand you assorted paraphernalia with which to handle the books, and leave you to your work. Today�s paraphernalia included bolsters on which to rest the covers of the book so the spine didn�t break and a fancy weighted pillow to hold the book open in case it wouldn�t stay open on its own. If you�re really lucky, you�ll get a pair of white cotton gloves. Then you not only feel studious, but vaguely elegant, in a June Cleaver kind of way. I got a seat on the 2nd floor right in front of the big window overlooking the park. In the glow of the green desk lamp, I plugged in my computer and did some editing until my books arrived. I slammed through 10 volumes of the periodical I�m researching before I had to call it a day. I made my Xerox requests (not only do they bring you books, but they make copies for you � for a fee of course. It�s like having a personal secretary for the afternoon, except they don�t get you coffee).

The guy in front of me on the train on the way home, while on the phone kept saying the phrase �the smell of death.� He did so in the context of telling a story of accidentally leaving a package of meat on top of a freezer when putting a bunch of stuff in. They didn�t realize it until it started to stink and drip blood out of the saran wrap cover. HE appeared to be telling this story as an illustration of why smell is a good way to find out where there are animals in the walls of your house. He also kept saying �long story short.� I hate that.

A small girl downstairs kept giggling. She was dressed head to toe in pink and was wearing a rhinestone tiara and carrying a small pink wand with a rhinestone star on the end.

On one platform, as we were pulling out, I noticed a man in a black Grant Park Packing jacket smoking a fat cigar held in one hand while gesticulating wildly to his friend with the other. A few steps further down the platform, a woman held up a baby in a fuzzy blue snowsuit with blue gingham ears on the hood.

Tonight I�ll have to find my own books and make my own copies and act interested in my own research. Maybe I�ll try to track down a pair of white gloves to make me feel more studious.

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