"Are We Doing Klute?"

This is one of my favorite things Stephen Colbert ever asked a guest on The Colbert Report. Jane Fonda was on and Colbert was attempting to steady his steely glare as she slithered all over him, trying to get him to drop his persona for a moment during their interview. He asked her, biting his lip, "are we doing Klute?"

I've been asking myself the same question ever since I visted Shaun, my new hair stylist, who I've finally decided is the man I'm going to cheat on my Russian blade-wielder with. I went to him for a second opinion on the "I'm not making you blonde!" opinion I've endlessly received from my longtime confidence cutter. I'm trying once again to force change from the outside in, hoping that by moving on from this silly power struggle which continually finds me unable to assert myself in the face of a woman holding a pair of thinning shears, I will not only be able to leave behind a head full of dated stripes, but will also reach in and wrap my hands around my mojo and pull it the hell out into the open again.

Shaun wants to give me a "loose, wavy, coulda-been-a-boy's-cut-in-the-Seventies-but-looks-like-a-less-structured-Fonda-Klute-cut" in a cool beige hue. I've been turning that one around in my mind's eye for a couple of days now. It could be the kind of thing where I'll look back on this post once I'm wearing a "loose, wavy" Joan Jett on my own ass-graced, curvy body and think, 'it sounded like such a good idea at the time', or it'll be just like the cut that was part of the evolution that created this blog in the first place: my "slick-severe-coulda-been-a-bowl-but-was-more-Bladerunner-dipped-in-chocolate-bob" that began a revolution of the soul. That's the one I'm wearing in the Facebook profile photo I recently had to remove after admitting to myself that I simply don't look like that anymore.

Nor do I feel like that.

I'm reading over these missives wondering how this became a melodramatic hair blog. When I first started writing OneKate posts, I was eating transformation for breakfast and making meatloaf outta the leftovers. I wanted to talk about reinvention, growth and potential. To be fair, I'm predisposed to the subject matter. I'm a Scorpio. I thrive on all that phoenix and flames shit. Ashes to ashes, funk to funky, folks. I love it. And at the time, I was running (hard, 5 days a week), rattling all kinds of bits and pieces loose, discovering edges and ledges on my body and in my mind I never knew existed. But that has slowed, yes, and now I'm softer in spirit and silhouette.

So too, has my momentum in other places. I've been replaced in my mediocre QVC job by a young woman who my boss refuses to stop referring to as "that pretty little girl". From mediocre to invisible. That's not exactly the transition I was working for. I'm so apathetic about my job, I can't even be bothered to surf the internet in my newly acquired spare time. Most days I keep busy by reading through our takeout menu folder. 'They have muenster! I'm keeping this one on file.'

I feel like I've become a person incapable of real, meaningful change. If I can't change the fact that there's a little girl hawking cheap cosmetics on TV in my place, my persistent feeling of directionlessness, our inability to pay for car repairs, this panicky cat at my feet, slow computer, these blasted permanent vertical frown lines, or the behavior of each and every person on earth except me, then I'll just change my goddamn hair. I continue to lighten my shade up top, hoping it'll eventually lead to a lightbulb. In essence, what I'm saying is, my scalp has become the only place I feel capable of making the kind of change I can actually see (there goes that melodrama again). But it's sorta true. Life feels like it's stalling. Has stalled.

So, I guess the answer is, YES, WE'RE DOING KLUTE.

Until we can do something else.

Life Is, In Fact, a Movie

Things I Thought Only Happened In Movies, But Actually Happened This Week:

1.) Someone asked me to "sex up" a line about venture capitalists and private equity firms and see if I could make another about bank lending requirements sound more "embellished, provocative."

2.) I watched too many Dateline: Investigation and 48 Hours: Hard Evidence shows in a row, then went to bed and was terrified of a thunderstorm.

3.) I stumbled on a massive, stunning, original abstract oil painting at a Brooklyn "Break-Up Sale". The woman sold it to me for $20 because she just "couldn't be around it anymore" and needed to "move on". I am an accidental collector.

4.) I ran into a man I had a massive crush on in school as I was sporting the following ensemble: an ill-fitting green tank top featuring a between-the-tits coffee blot, an odd, sweat-matted Morrissey-inspired pompadour and a pair of denim capris refusing to hold their roll, which meant they came to an abrupt end roughly 5 inches above my ankles. On top of that, my dog wouldn't stop hassling his Papillon mix.

5.) I drove through Manhattan in a daze early Saturday morning. I was on my way to Brooklyn to move a friend to a new apartment. The windows were open, Billy Joel was singing about something blue collar, I turned onto Broadway. Out my passenger window I saw the tour groups pounding pavement, seizing sights and suddenly, I came to. When I looked past the dashboard, I was in Times Square. In my car. Alone. Me and the Jumbotron. I Was Legend.