Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
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What A World Of Gammon And Spinnage It Is, Though, Ain't It?

If you get off the L train, coming onto midnight any night of the week, climb the stairs and begin the journey through the poorly lit PATH tunnel, you might feel like you're starring in a Woody Allen flick. That's because the black man who guards the far entrance - by choice, not career - is playing his saxaphone. Saxaphone is so Lou Reed. Lou Reed is so New York. New York is so cinematic. Cinematic is so Woody Allen

As the heels of my boots tap a staccato rhythm into the pavement along with the subway saxaphone song, I find myself swishing my hips a bit to make my skirt swirl and tossing my hair back, as if a camera is following my movements. The mood is right. The music too. Every time I make my way to work, I feel like I'm starring in one of the dozens of movies I've viewed featuring exhausted, happy, flirty, fun, lost, disconsolate New Yorkers of every shape and color. Depending on my mood, I'm a Woody Allen heroine or a tough Scorsese broad. Maybe I'm a sly Hitchcock vixen or a hapless victim, running from ominous shadows. It's up to me.

Sometimes I toy with the idea of cutting off all of my hair. Very short. I want to be all face and a bit of hair as opposed to all hair and a bit of face. If I cut off my hair I could save so much time and money and worry. I'd wear funky earrings and bright lipstick and talk softly, like a pixie. I'd feel lithe and perky and I'd attend yoga classes and take up painting. Oh, I'd be so light and airy until I noticed how flat my head is in back and that my ears kind of stick out like Spock's if you look at me straight on. So maybe not. Maybe that's a negative on the hair cut. But it sure sounds nice.