prematurely grey

Some of you are not aware of my hair’s role in Tom DeLay’s downfall. Briefly, in 2004, it became clear that my hair cuts and Tom DeLay’s woes were linked. I accepted the responsibility any super has to use her powers for good and decided to chronicle the connection in a blog. The beginning of this chronicle is documented, in a post cleverly titled The Beginning.
You are reading that blog right now. Prematurely Grey is the saga of one woman’s willingness to change her hair for the good of America. What it lacks are photographs of those changes, making Prematurely Grey an act of faith on the readers part (and probably explaining why readership has been rather limited to people who can see my hair).
On Saturday night, I had something of an mystical experience when the Paper of Record published an article about the power of the New York Blonde. I posted a little something about it, a little something that indicated that I had finally surrendered to a power greater than myself and had become willing to turn my life over to it:

My pledge: If growing out my hair, flying monthly to New York, and offering my head to the High Priestesses of Highlights will make Dick Cheney die, I’m in.

There are many of you out there who may not appreciate what that statement means, so I’m going to spell it out for you. I grew up on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. No one has to explain the power of the New York Blonde to me; I’ve been observing it and mercy to it my entire life. For me to be willing to transform myself into that which continues to haunt me (even though I have some very close friends who are indeed New York Blondes), well, that was the ultimate sacrifice.

Two days later, DeLay is out.

Some of you were a little surprised that I didn’t post immediately: Ding Dong DeLay is Dead! Well, I did post immediately (leading to the tardies earned by the Misses Em and Mazie this morning), but took it offline right away. I’d just made this big email push to people in my neighborhood and I didn’t want to scare them away with my DeLania. As the day went on, I didn’t know what I could add. My work was done and I was onto the Burnt Orange Report to freak out about how the Democrats will end up losing the Texas 22nd anyway.

But right before getting ready to go to bed, my devoted channel surfing turned up a song of the day-like gem: Elizabeth with Cate Blanchett. I’d seen it during the breast-feeding era on one of the Academy “For your consideration only” DVDs before the studios sent out special machines to go along with their encrypted promotional whoring. The second it came on, I knew I had to watch to the end because this movie concludes with the creation story of female hair-cutting superpowers. Elizabeth cuts her hair and whitens her skin to turn herself into a virgin. She then processes out to the court and mounts the throne, having declared that she is now married to England.

The screen goes black, tells us she ruled for forty years, leading to greatest power on Earth status for England, and that her reign is called the Golden Age.

I’m just sayin’ it takes an Elizabeth to be an Elizabeth.