Oh my god.
My hair has gone bat shit Shirley Temple crazy.
I don’t think I’ve seen it this way since high school.
Remember when spiral perms were cool? Too bad that’s over, because that’s my natural hairdo (at least in this rainy ass weather. Some kind of storm system came and parked over Bermuda Tuesday and is here until the weekend. My hair, in kind, has declared anarchy.)
So what I was saying is that it’s too bad the spiral perm has fallen from grace because I’m rocking it any time the humidity crawls above 70%. It’s very Dee Snyder of Twisted Sister. Or – having just seen it – any member of Anvil. More on Anvil (what a goddamned tragedy they are) tomorrow…
Meanwhile, just to be clear, the title of this blog post is in reference to my hair rather than any actual jungle. Contrary to popular belief (including my own when my friend was relocated from Grand Cayman to Bermuda about six weeks ago, and thus the destination to which I was moving her cat changed), Bermuda is not in the Caribbean. Not even close. Basically, if you have a sea-worthy boat, head to Savannah, Georgia and sail due east. Avoid the hurricanes, when possible.
It was first settled when a ship bound for the Jamestown settlement in the ‘new world’ crashed in Bermuda in 1609.
This segue originally made sense because at first I confused Jamestown (current-day Williamsburg, Virginia) with Roanoke, and thought those guys were lucky for the crash, but thankfully I Googled it, because 1. You guys are smart. and 2. I was mistaken. Thus, 3. One of you smart asses would have pointed out that I was mistaken.
But since I brought it up, Roanoke, as you also may or may not know, is simultaneously referred to as the Lost Colony of Roanoke because the settlers disappeared off the face of the earth and no one knows why (minus the little anecdote that the citizens were waiting – in vain – for THREE YEARS for supplies sent from England. Supplies that never arrived. Thanks, England.) Anyway, in addition to not knowing why those guys went AWOL, I also don’t know why my brain has chosen to remember the time my eigth-grade U.S. History teacher, Miss Van Antwerp, declared that when she died, the one question she had for God was, “What happened to the Roanoke settlers?” Miss V was really into U.S. History. Over the years I’ve thought about things I’d ask God when I die, and Roanoke has yet to make the list.
I actually remember a lot about that lady, but I won’t bore you with it here.
I learned that little fact about the settlement of Bermuda via Jamestown (confused with Roanoke) while reading the “Bermuda Visitor” booklet during a particularly boring wait for the wifi router to be upgraded to the Bermuda internet service provider specs (which didn’t work, but is another story not blog-worthy. It’s like being sponge-worthy, but because the blog lives on in cyber space, whereas sponge-related activities do not, it’s even more critical. To further clarify: the latter doesn’t live in cyber-space unless you stupidly videotape them. But I digress…)
Another thing you may not know about Bermuda is that they have no source of fresh water. Not a single river, stream, or creek to be had. The only source of water is rain (which according the booklet they refer to by the not-terribly-original nickname ‘liquid gold’). So anyway, the rain is collected on roofs painted with limestone and catchments (or drawn from underground lenses) and stored in tanks. Supposedly the limestone wash is what purifies that water before it drips into said tank. I studied the limestone roof to distraction, but it really didn’t look very clean to me. And then there’s the whole bird poop issue. And don’t even get me started on acid rain.
Nonetheless, I have consumed multiple glasses of the stuff, and they all tasted fine. I even left one out overnight on the coffee table next to my sofa bed and had some the next morning – the gold standard taste test for tap water – and it was good. Or as good as water can be, which is to say devoid of flavor. And no flavor is good. In terms of water.
So there you have it.
I’ve run out of things to say.
All these curls are pulling on my head and making it hurt.
So goodnight…and Happy Friday the 13th! (My lucky day, having been born on one.)