Kinda Counterproductive if You Ask Me

I'm still down in the basement, but couldn't help but comment on the Martha Stewart Tip of the day that appeared on my Google iPage:

"If you have a headache,
cut a lime in half and rub it
on your forehead and
the pain will go away."

Really? All it does is make me want a gin and tonic.

Which could very well be how I got the headache in the first place.

Dear Universe: If You'd Like to Reach Me...

I'll be in my basement.

I told a friend yesterday, that with all of the things going on with you right now, maybe it was time for me to take my Trusy Tornado Preparedness Backpack and head to the cellar to live with the crickets for a bit.

It's a very cute (LL Bean. Duh.) and chocked full of goodies like bottled water, a hand-crank flashlight, tiny battery-operated radio, granola bars, canned dog food (not for me) and a small first-aid kit. If I throw in a crossword puzzle book, my back issues of Real Simple, and a notebook on which to write my manifesto, I think I could get by for a few days while you work out some of your issues.

And by then maybe

this...

and this...

and this...

and this...

and this ridiculous nonsense ...

and hell, of course how could I forget this...

have time to get better, go away, or for this freaky-assed thing to get all revved up again and swallow us in one giant gulp.

So please let me know when it's all better. Just drop by and stomp on the kitchen floor. I'll know its you.

Ta-ta for now,

Gert

Gert Slept Here

OK, not there... well, actually... I'm sure there were a few days where I lounged on the grass with my trusty LL Bean backpack for a pillow and enjoyed a nice disco nap on the quad between classes....

You see, while the main purpose of the weekend was to visit my friend and see a football game, much of our time was spent walking down memory lane. The team I was going to the game to see was from where I attended grad school, but my friend was also so kind as to take me to visit my undergrad Alma Mater. It's a small, quaint liberal arts school (above) of about 2,000 students just outside Columbus in a small, quaint Victorian town of 10,000 or so people (below).

I did, however, sleep here.

There on the first floor, the last two windows on the right - it used to be much more cutely covered in ivy. Those were the front two small rooms of a suite that included a large bathroom on the side that then connected to two more small bedrooms on the back side of the building. For university dorm standards it was fantastic. Ten-foot ceilings and windows with ledges deep enough to sit in and read a book. A large bathroom with tiny vintage tiles and pedestal sinks. For real world standards it was insane. That 500 or so square feet housed six college senior women and all of their crap. I don't care how cutely tiled and pedestal sinked your bathroom is - that's not easy.

One of my roommates was a campus tour guide and would include our suite on her trips. A half-dozen or so prospective students and their parents would wander through a couple of times on Thursdays and Fridays with mouths agape at the quality of dorm life in our fair university. We - her roommates - would try to be at our collegiate best. Or at least not be in the shower. Our long, straight hair and rosy cheeks donned adorable woolly sweaters or college sweatshirts, and were usually seen studying, folding laundry or making Ramen in an electric tea kettle while college radio alt rock played artfully in the background. We were good.

One late afternoon on a perfect fall day a tour group came through as we were all hanging out in our common room (the widows pictured above) enjoying the crisp air and getting ready to enjoy the eve of one roommate's 22nd birthday. We had a friend in the oh-so-adorable men's a capella singing group and as we were chatting with the parents and students, our friend and some of his fellow singing buddies walked up to our open windows, and as a birthday gift, stood outside and serenaded us with Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl." Speilberg couldn't have scripted it better. I think three tuition checks were written right on the spot and I'm still not convinced that we shouldn't have gotten a commission of some kind.

Here are a few more photos:

My favorite building on campus. Just walking in the door made you feel smarter - it had a large central staircase with worn mahogany banister, old wooden tables, chairs and cabinets in the class rooms lit by 12-foot windows - and of course more vintage tile. It used to house the geology and geography departments, but a new science building was built and this one was renovated and restored using all environmentally-friendly techniques. It now houses - get this - the English AND Environmental Studies departments. Being one of probably only two English / Environmental Studies majors at the school ever - I feel quite honored. Could have put my name over the door too though... just sayin'...

Our football stadium. I think my high school stadium was bigger. Of course, the size might have something to do with the fact that we used the single-wing offense from 1894-1994. Yes, if you know football, that's 100 years without using a quarterback. 100 years.

Fraternity row is directly behind where this picture was taken and there's a large hill to the right that overlooks the stadium (or would, but big evergreen trees have grown up and blocked some of the view). So on Saturday mornings you didn't have to bother with buying a ticket to the game - or walking all the way down to the row for kegs and eggs - they would just roll it all over to the hill. A tailgating dream. No quarterback, but still, a tailgating dream.

The brick path that goes to through campus and to the chapel (and the clock that has never worked). Your freshman year officially begins in a small convocation in the chapel with your first-year classmates and all of the faculty in their academic regalia. You leave from there and process to the larger outdoor induction ceremony - two by two - down the brick path lined with the robed and hooded faculty clapping and welcoming each of you as you go by with a pat on your head or your shoulder.

You all meet together again, four years later, for another small convocation in the chapel. And then you process to the larger outdoor graduation ceremony - two by two - down the brick path lined with faculty, clapping and patting you on the head or shoulder as they say goodbye.

I think it's safe to say that if you're looking for a school for yourself or someone else, I can't recommend this one enough. Of course, these pictures don't do it justice. It was rainy and cloudy and the trees haven't changed yet, but in my head it's forever mid October and sunny. Luckily it's forever like that on the website too. They're no fools. I may spend the rest of the afternoon just occasionally going back there and clicking refresh.

Thanks for indulging me. Stay tuned for the rest of the trip.

As an Elephant's Eye

I'm back from my weekend jaunt to Ohio. And I drove. Being a city mouse that doesn't have to drive much I've really come to dread long road trips by myself. In fact, I have this theory. "If the interstate narrows to two lanes - it's time to turn around and go home." But I used to looooove road trips. Made entire soundtracks for them. Had fantasies of driving cross country one day. Would drive home from college for the weekend - a 7ish hour trip - and it wouldn't phase me a bit. Not any more.

I had wanted to fly, but the awesomely cheap flights from Southwest left at awesomely ridiculous times and no one wants a house guest they have to schlep to the airport at 5am. So I drove. And to cope I decided to take a page from a former shrink's suggestion book and just break it all down into little segments. And you know. It totally worked. Middle of Tennessee to the Middle of Ohio? No, no, we're just going to drive from Nashville to Bowling Green. It's an hour. College kids do it every weekend. Then from Bowling Green to Louisville. Two hours. Boring, but very do-able. Louisville to Cincinnati - a measly hour and a half. Cincinnati to Columbus - same thing! Unbelievably boring! But still only an hour and a half! Toss in a few pit stops, some CDs and Diet Cokes and voila, I'm there.

Only there were no CDs as I forgot to pack them. Thankfully there is a public radio station accessible from just about anywhere in the country. There are also digital cameras that you can point toward the passing scenery and take random photos to pass the time while you're driving. Yes, while you're driving. That's why God created auto-focus.

So, in case you're wondering just what it looks like to drive from Nashville, TN to Columbus, OH on a Thursday afternoon. I'll show you.

For most of the trip it looks a lot like this:

Lovely hills and trees. The occasional rolling pasture with a grazing cow and old weathered tobacco barn. At some point north of Louisville all that loveliness starts to get a bit dull, but just as you're about to get antsy the road gets curvy and the hills get tighter and steeper and then suddenly you come around a bend and whammo - there's the Cincinnati skyline.

Cincinnati's a fun city to drive through as long as traffic isn't too bad. You get to go over a big bridge. See the new stadium. Lots of cool old architecture and tall buildings.

But then about 15 minutes later it all changes. The hills disappear. The asphalt highway turns to sections of flat, flaaaaaaat concrete with spacers between them that make the last hour and half of your trip the Midwest version of Chinese water torture. Ga-gunk, ga-gunk, ga-gunk, ga-gunk. For ninety miles. And all you can see is corn. Corn. For. nine. ty. mi. les.

And no, I've never had the privilege of driving through any of the big, square, scary states, so I'm sure that this is quite a breeze in comparison. But when all you have are your own thoughts, a digital camera and Terry Gross to keep you company, you can see how a person could go a bit mad.

But I made it safe and sound (ish) and will be sharing more of my weekend adventure later. That's all for now. Safe travels.

Seasons Greetings

How was your holiday weekend? Mine sucked. I worked. And then, I worked. And when I was done, I worked a little more. But at the time it was ok because I knew that Monday evening marked the start of the most wonderful time of the year. College football season.

Yes, some teams played on Saturday, but football doesn't really start until my boys in orange take the field.

Which they did.

And then lost in overtime to a team in CALIFORNIA.

And I KNOW the logic behind not playing a cupcake team from a lower division for your opening game. And I agree with it. And I KNOW that this is how last season started out (but even a bit worse, actually). And it all ended up ok.

But the thing is, all summer when I could have - no, SHOULD HAVE - been reading up on new players and stats - I was working. When I could have been watching highlights from scrimmages or learning the rule changes - I was working. And I'm not talking about the 8 hours in which I'm supposed to be working and not on govols.com. I'm talking about free time. What was I doing? Working. So now it's football season and do I understand the new clock rules? No. Did I know where our new offensive coordinator came from? No. Do I know how much faster Monterio Hardesty can run the 100-yard dash this year? Uh, no. So, what would have been a frustrating but minor loss is now just a symbol of something much greater and much grouchier.

So I still say GO VOLS. But I'm also thankful that this is a bye week.

And how am going to spend this bye week? Going to a football game, of course. And celebrating - in all likelihood - losing a football game. How is this possible you ask?

I'm going to visit one of my very best friends in Columbus, Ohio and we are going to the Ohio State / Ohio University football game. She and I attended Ohio University (she has an actual diploma though) and are big Bobcat fans. Chances are good that you've heard of Ohio State University, but not of Ohio University. It's a much smaller school with a much less-successful football team.

Normally there wouldn't be a huge rivalry between in-state schools that are so different, but one of the years I attended OU there was a big dispute. You see, it wasn't enough that Ohio State refers to itself as The Ohio State University (no, I'm not kidding), but when colleges and universities were given the opportunity to license different letters and nicknames for their sportwear, Ohio State decided that in addition to owning the rights to "Ohio State," "OSU," and yes, even the letter "O," they also wanted the word "Ohio" (not sure if they tried to own "The" as well).

Thing is, Ohio University rightly laid claim to that nickname. Just as the University of Michigan is "Michigan" and Michigan State University is "Michigan State." Or the University of Florida is "Florida" and Florida State University if "Florida State." Not really rocket science, right? But no, some are slow and like to be big bullies and a legal battle ensued. It made national news. Granted, no one outside the state really cared. All that matters though is in the end, the right Ohio prevailed. Ohio University's homecoming theme that year was "There's Only One OHIO." And even though their opponet was the university of Akron, most of the parade floats involved some sort of bobcat beating up a buckeye. 'Gotta love it.

This Saturday no one acutally expects Ohio University to win the game. But that's OK. Ohio's football fans aren't used to winning all that much, but they cheer just as loudly for a completed pass or a good punt as other teams do for touchdowns and field goals. They're never bitter or feel slighted because another team outplayed them. They're just happy little green-clad, oft-intoxicated Bobcats, proud of their school and proud of their team and having a damn good time regardless. Without sounding like a sap, it's really quite touching to see. It also doesn't hurt that the marching band totally kicks ass.

So, if you're around on Saturday afternoon and you're a fan of good ole fashioned team spirit, tune into ESPN at 11am C / 12 E and watch the Battle for Ohio and cheer for the underdogs. The 34-point underdogs.

GO VOLS! GET TO PRACTICE!

GO BOBCATS! BEAT THE SPREAD!

By Request

If you happened to listen to NPR this morning - or last Sunday - they've been talking about doughnuts. They even had someone who wrote the history of the doughnut or something doing a live online chat. Seemed like a sign from above.

"Ode to the Krispy Kreme"

(Or, how Southerns know way too much about where and when to get food that's bad for you.)

A while back I regaled a few willing readers with a tale of woe about how Krystal no longer makes vidalia onion rings. At the end I mentioned that one of Nashville's Krystals has a particularly onerous drive-through and how one night some friends and I almost became ensnared in said drive-through while trying to find an open doughnut store.

Confused? Intrigued? Hungry? Well, one very kind reader requested the rest of that story and I thought it only polite to oblige. (That'll teach her!)

So picture, if you will, a Saturday night and two friends - let's call them "HE" and "SHE"- and I went to a late movie in Green Hills (a neighborhood on the west side of Nashville). We got out of the movie around 11:00, and as we were leaving the theater, HE said he wanted to stop at the Donut Den to pick up some doughnuts for the next morning.

The "Den" is SUPPOSED to be open until midnight. But, as we found out from my last trip to Krystal, sometimes the universe disappoints. And sure enough, the Donut Den was CLOSED. (When I tell this story to people from Nashville they always scrunch their brow, become distracted, and start to mumble "but why would the Donut Den be closed?!?")

So, we pull out of the "Den" and onto the street. HE says that now that he can't get doughnuts, he really, really wants doughnuts. SHE and I say that now we're hungry too because of all the doughnut talk. (And no, the movie was not a late night showing of Laser Floyd). Someone - it was during the summer, I believe, so it was probably me - reminded us all that Krystal was up the street just a little further. Being a valid option when it's late and you're hungry for something to clog your arteries, we tried that. When we got to Krystal the line for the drive-through was almost out to the street. Decisions had to be made. And the rest of the conversation went something like this:

SHE: That's a long line. I don't want to sit in that line.
HE: Well, I'm not going in.
ME: No. Me neither. But we don't want to get stuck in that line - you get halfway and there's that retaining wall and then you're trapped. We could be there forever.
SHE: I can't get stuck in that line. I'll go insane.
HE: And I really wanted doughnuts. Krystal doesn't have doughnuts.
SHE: Maybe the guy at Donut Den was just taking the trash out or having a smoke and locked the front door until he got back. Maybe we should try again.
ME: But if we do we lose our place in line.

[silence as we all take a moment to ponder the options]

HE: WE COULD CALL THEM FROM THE CAR!
ME: Excellent. I'll call information. [dials 411]
OPERATOR: Nextel 411, this is Yolanda, what listing?
ME: Nashville, Tennessee. The Donut Den on Hillsboro Pike.
OPERATOR: Thank you. Here's your number....

[ring... ring... ring... ring... ring... ring... ring...]

ME: No answer.
SHE: Hey, the line moved.
HE: Damn it. I really want doughnuts. And now Krystal sounds disgusting.
SHE: Well, we knew that already.
ME: What about Krispy Kreme?
HE: It's not open.
SHE and ME: It's open 24 hours!
HE: Only the Nolensville Pike (on the south side) store is open 24-hours, but it's closed for construction - they're rebuilding it.

[Drive-through line inches forward]

ME: Rebuilding! But it was so cool - all retro with the Formica and chrome counter. They're keeping all of that, aren't they?
HE: No. It was all only held together with 50 years of grease. I heard the fire marshall said to level it.
SHE: What about the Elliston Place store (downtown-ish)?
HE: No. It closes at 11:00.
SHE and ME: How the hell do you know that!?!
HE: I have a friend that lives in Bellevue (The west side. Waaaay on the west side. Like Memphis.) whose claim to fame is how one night at 10 'till 11 he made it from Bellevue to the Elliston Place Krispy Kreme before it closed AND didn't get stopped by the police. He's very proud...
ME: I'm gonna call, just to make sure.
HE: I'm telling you - it's CLOSED.
SHE: Hey we're moving again - and we're getting closer to the wall. Hurry up.
ME: Well maybe since the other store is under renovation they're open later.
HE: I'm telling you. They close at 11:00.
ME: Let's just find out. What else are we going to do?
SHE: We're gonna get stuck in the damn drive-through if you don't hurry up.
ME: [dials 411]
OPERATOR: Nextel 411, this is Yolanda, what listing?
ME: [covering the phone and whispering loudly] Sonofabitch! It's the same woman!
HE: [starts giggling so hard he's about to pee himself]
SHE: Who cares! Ask her for the number. There are only three cars ahead of us before the wall.
ME: [speaking in a lower tone to disguise voice] Nashville, Tennessee. Krispy Kreme... On Elliston Place....
YOLANDA: Uh-huh... Thank you.... Here's your number...

[ring... ring... ring... ring... ring...]

ME: No answer.
HE: Really?! You don't say...
SHE: Two cars. TWO CARS!
ME: Maybe the Krispy Kreme on Nolensville is open again.
HE: Did I not just say that it was closed?
ME: Fine. But there has to be another Krispy Kreme in the greater Nashville area.
HE: Where?
ME: I don't know. Kentucky? But it doesn't matter though because I don't want to call information - it will be that same woman again. You call.
HE: It probably wasn't the same woman. How do you know if it was the same woman?
ME: Her name was Yolanda. What are the chances?
HE: True. But she won't know who you are and she probably gets a lot of doughnut-related calls this time of nigh ---
SHE: ONE CAR!! THERE'S ONLY ONE CAR LEFT BEFORE THE WALL - THEN WE'RE TRAPPED. CALL, DAMN IT!!
HE: HURRY!!!
ME: Alright, alright! [dials 411]
OPERATOR: Nextel 411, this is Yolanda, what listing?
ME: [covers the phone again] You've GOT to be kidding me!!
HE: [giggling AND snorting]
SHE: THIS IS NOT FUNNY! We've already been sitting here for how long?? I don't even like Krystal. I HATE Krystal. I DO NOT want to be trapped in the Krystal drive-through. Do you understand me?!?

[Keeps ranting while I talk to information]

ME: [full of shame, not even bothering to disguise voice] uhhh, yeah. Nashville, Tennessee. Krispy Kreme on Nolensville Pike.
YOLANDA: Y'all are in serious need of some doughnuts.
ME: I KNOW. I'm so embarrassed. I thought I was calling some big national Nextel call center.
YOLANDA: No girl, I'm in Nashville. The only one here tonight.
ME: That's hilarious. We're in Green Hills and were going to go to Donut Den, but it was closed.
YOLANDA: [probably scrunching her brow] It was CLOSED?!?
ME: I KNOW. So we're in the Krystal drive-through as back-up, but we don't really want Krystal, plus you know, there's that wall, and we don't want to get stuck.
YOLANDA: Oh yeah. I know what you're talking about. And all those drunks in line. Takes forever.
SHE: THE LINE IS ABOUT TO MOVE AGAIN! SEE - PEOPLE ARE TAKING OFF THEIR BRAKES!
HE: [uncontrollable giggling and snorting]
ME: [covers phone] Just wait here a second. [uncovers phone] I KNOW - so, then we were going to go to the Krispy Kreme on Elliston -
YOLANDA: Well, I thought it closed at 11:00, but I didn't know if I should tell you that or not.
ME: It's okay. Someone else in the car knew it would be too but I was hoping that since the one on Nolen --
SHE: WE HAVE TO MOVE FORWARD IN LINE - PEOPLE ARE GOING TO HONK!
ME: [covers the phone] No they won't. Just a second! [uncovers the phone] I'm sorry about that, Yolanda... I was just thinking that since the Nolensville store is under construction that maybe Elliston would be open later.

[car behind us honks]

HE: [no noise coming from him, just convulsions of laughter and small tears streaming down his cheeks]
YOLANDA: Honey - the construction is finished! They reopened Friday at midnight.
ME: I KNEW IT!

[car behind us honks again]

SHE: I'M GOING. TO KILL YOU. [does the mom-style awkward backwards reach from the driver's seat into the back to try to smack me and/or take my phone]
ME: [dodging and weaving] Nolensville reopened last night! Thanks Yolanda!

[SHE immediately whips the car out of the drive-through and back onto the road]

YOLANDA: Y'all have fun! Bye!

We drive over to the south side of Nashville to the newly-built Krispy Kreme. The drive-through line is out to the street.

SHE: Dear God, not again...
HE: [not fully recovered, speaking through gasps as he tries to catch his breath] There... Is... A... Krystal... Down the road... A little... [reverts to fits of laughter]
SHE: So help me...

This line is moving much faster though, so we wait. And as we wait you can see the people in line ahead of us pointing at the inside of the new store. No doubt talking about what it looked like for so long. The "Hot Donuts Now" sign lights up while we're waiting. People from inside their cars can be seen raising their arms and cheering. A car horn honks in enthusiasm.

When we get to the speaker box back of the store, there's a banner over it that says "Welcome Home." We order. We get our doughnuts. We start to eat them before we're done paying. Before we get halfway back home we're well on our way to a blissful sugar coma.

HE: You know what you should name your Chinese kid?

[puzzled pause as we try to figure out what he's talking about]

ME: What?
HE: You. You were talking at dinner about how you plan to one day adopt a little girl from China.
ME: Yeah...
HE: Well, I know what you should name her.
ME: Please don't say Krystal.
HE: [snort] No.
ME: Krispy Kreme???
SHE: Oh, you're appalled at Krystal, but you offer up Krispy Kreme as a viable option.
HE: Nooooo.

[Long pause again, then...]

ALL: YOLANDA!

Summer Lovin' Week 6

No Title Necessary

It would be nice to say that this photo was taken on a two week stay in a rambling old beach house. In reality it was taken during a four-hour stay in beach chairs my mom and I bought at the Piggly Wiggly. But that's just fine. It was what we needed and, let's be honest, the beach is wasted on someone like me in the summer. The thought of putting on a swim suit makes me break out in hives and by 11:06am I start to get too hot. I'd much rather hide out in the mountains in July and August and then creep down to the beach in November, or January even. What can I say? I'm a circus freak. A good PR person would say that I just enjoy the serenity and isolation of the beach in late autumn and winter because it allows for more introspection and creative thought. But circus freak is probably more accurate...

The photos were taken on the Isle of Palm, just outside Charleston, SC. My job's annual conference was in Charleston this year. I had a nice suite for the week that I wasn't really going to get to enjoy so I invited my mom to come along and enjoy it for me.

The schedule during the week went pretty much like this:

7:00am - Start Work
7:00pm - Stop Work
7:05pm - Leave Hotel in Search of Food
8:30pm - Work From Room While Watching the Olympics
9:00pm - Michael Phelps
11:00pm - Stop Work
11:30pm - Sleep

God bless Charleston and it's totally walkable downtown with a restaurant every 1/2 block. It made eating dinner soooo much better than Room Service Chicken Pasta Whatnot that I would have ordered every night like I have the past two conferences.

Thursday - the last day of the conference - I was finished early so we went for our first trip to the beach. It was lovely. We walked along the water's edge until we worked up an appetite, got our flip flops all mucky, thoroughly soaked our capri pants from the knees down and let my hair go all Rosanne Rosannadanna in the humidity.

We spotted what looked like a restaurant just up from the path to the beach so we decided to check it out. Downstairs it was your typical touristy beach bar/restaurant - The Banana Cabana - with life preservers and fishing nets tacked to the wall, patrons drinking unnaturally green alcoholic beverages, live music from a guy who looked suspiciously like he might subject me to a Jimmy Buffet song at any moment, and a menu with all kinds of deliberate misspellings and inappropriate apostrophes, like "cap'n's fish 'n' chip's."

The menu for the upstairs restaurant featured various freshly-prepared seafood and locally-grown produce with artfully worded descriptions of the daily specials. It looked delicious. And fancy. At least fancy for Rosanne Rosannadanna and her mucky flip flops and wet capri pants. And after running around and catering to every whim and whine of 200 conference attendees and one boss for four very long days, the mere possibility of climbing the stairs to a maitre'd who would look down his nose at us, ask the dreaded "do you have reservations?" and, if we're lucky, give us a table by the bathroom, was just more than I thought my ego could endure. Oh but the alternative... fried things in plastic baskets... the threat of a "Cheeseburger in Paradise" sing-a-long... Room Service Chicken Pasta Whatnot was starting to sound like a viable alternative to the decision before me.

Thankfully my mother is much more brazen than I am when it comes to some things. Stops people on the street to ask for directions. Strikes up conversations with total strangers in line at the grocery. Makes friends with hotel housekeeping. For me this strategy usually ends in disaster, but she usually winds up learning a more interesting route to her destination, the best out-of-the-way restaurant, or getting extra toiletries without even having to ask. So, we march up the stairs, are greeted by the greeter guy, and she immediately asks "are we too casual?" He looks sort of confused for a second but says "absolutely not." We get a seat by the window with a view of the ocean. It's all simple and elegant and casual and not a bit pretentious. And the food... holy-moly. Shrimp and grits with Andouille sausage and heirloom tomatoes that literally melted in my mouth.

The next morning we headed back out to the beach where we waded in the surf again (above), followed silly birds around, read for a bit, and I fiddled with the fancy camera from work and took lots of morning-sunlight-on-ocean photos.

And four hours at the beach worked out just fine. Hopefully I'll get to go back to the beach this winter... you know... for some introspection and creative thinking... but it was nice to be on the "real" beach in summer with the rest of the world like a normal person. Well, as normal as you can feel with Rosanne Rosannadanna hair...