The temperatures are falling, along with the pine straw in my front yard, which can only mean it's my favorite time of the year. Chrysanthemums, pumpkins, candy corn -- all mark the season for so many of us here in the South.
I laugh at rules. I am that guy who dances to the beat of his own drum.
I am a collector. Ask anyone who knows me, and you will find out that I can't throw anything away.
It was Mama who had the first permanent wave of my life, all those years ago at Shirley's Beauty Shop downtown where women gathered to get the most modern hairstyles of the day.
Several years ago, I fell asleep on the sofa only to be awakened by the sound of the QVC home shopping network, every light in the house turned on, and Mama flailing her arms in the air. I wasn't dreaming.
If you are like me, then you are old enough to remember a certain peculiar little freckle-faced boy named Alfalfa, with his self-avowed talent for song and his true love for Darla.
It has been a very long time since I was a teenager, but I got totally into the 2014 Teen Choice Awards last weekend.
I hold such a tender spot in my heart for teachers.
Perhaps it was to quiet a rambunctious little boy, but one of my dearest memories is when Mama would open up a stick of Juicy Fruit gum and hand it to me -- along with her purse.
Right after hello, the first thing I ask of all new salon guests is to indulge me in a few basic questions to help me get better acquainted with their hair.
The ponytail is the default hairstyle for most Southern gals, especially in the summer when everything is wilting.
I believe it was on an airplane a few years ago that I first met humorist David Sedaris. Well, I didn't meet him exactly, but it sure felt like I did.
One of the many things my mama and I did to pass the days of my childhood was to meticulously pry open sunflower seeds, licking the salt off the shell first, more often than not sitting side-by-side on her porch swing.
I knew three things with certainty moments after my four-o'clock flew into the salon sideways in a minivan.
I adore magnolias. There's just something magical about the purity of those delicate blooms peeking from the backyard tree through the library windows at me while I write.
Some women find themselves in angst over whether to bid farewell to those long tresses, but not Kim Arnold. No, ma'am, indeed!
Broadway Nite, Chinatown, Central Park -- the mention of such things might lead you to believe I'm reminiscing about a recent getaway to New York City.
I love women. As far back as I can remember, I have always adored them.
Settling into my styling chair for the first time, Emily Haxton wasn't the least bit interested in the current edition of Veranda or a petit four, because she was wearing that oh-too-familiar frown of a woman not in love with her hair.
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