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Blondi’s Salon: An Oasis Of Chic In A New York Desert

DAHLINGS –

So there was I, in the back of my car, driving uptown on Broadway in Manhattan for a meeting with a potential client. Then it happened. I happened to glance in the mirrored glass that separates me from my driver and gasped.

My hair was a MESS! My beautiful cascading blonde waves looked greasy! More so, because I was wearing a headband. In my hurry to pick a suitable Missoni outfit and leave, I had neglected to check my mane in the mirror, except for a glance across the room.

I couldn’t meet a potential client looking like this! Glancing out the windows of my car, all I saw were Supercuts, whatever that is. But then I looked out at Broadway, and saw:

Chandeliers.

Sparkly objects instantly get my attention, and these were huge chandeliers, hanging in a clean, chic white space filled with—salon chairs!

I ordered my driver to pull over, then called my client to say that an appointment with Meredith Viera would be delaying me a tad.

The chic chandelier’d emporium was Blondi’s Salon.

“I need a shampoo and blowout IMMEDIATELY,” I said to the lovely young blonde thing behind the desk. “And FAST. I have an important meeting!”


(Note: this does not capture the magnificence of the chandelier, but that is hardly my fault. Different lovely thing, too.)

The young lady, whose name was Stephanie, smiled and waved over a stylist, a man with long hair named Anthony. “Anthony can take you right away, Miss,” she said.

Anthony, who, it turned out, is quite the intellectual (he quoted both Dante and Virgil), took me in hand. Bucky nestled quietly in my lap under the black cover, ready to bite if Anthony’s hands went any lower than my collarbone. (It’s been known to happen.)

The results were magnificent, and achieved in record time! It was then that I knew I had to write about this beautiful salon, nestled on Broadway near 106th Street, next to a hardware store. Cognitive dissonance, to say the least.

The owner, darkly handsome Joseph Nasser, started Blondi’s in Los Angeles twelve years ago, before moving to New York City. He opened his first New York salon on the East Side, then another one close by, where the clientele includes celebrities, society mavens, and the crème de la crème of both sexes. The salon has been featured in such publications as New York Magazine and GQ.


Nasser was born in Lebanon, where he started cutting hair at the tender age of fourteen. His brothers were a doctor and an engineer, respectively, so young Joseph’s interest in hair was considered a tad peculiar.

However, it paid off handsomely. Joseph Nasser had noticed there were no first-class beauty salons in the neighborhood known as Morningside Heights. His Upper West Side based clients were begging him to open one. He opened it in what was the former local Obama campaign headquarters, which Nasser considered a great augury.

His hairstyling staff has worked in all of the most prestigious salons in New York City, and they have swiftly built up a loyal following. For those who are used to midtown prices, Blondi’s is surprisingly reasonable: womens’ haircuts start at $45, mens at $30. They do it all: color, extensions, makeup and even bridal makeup.

Nasser is proud that they are able to offer Japanese relaxers for the hair starting at $250, as opposed to Brazilian relaxer, which can cost upward of $600. Blondi’s Salon has a number of glowing reviews on a number of sites, including Citysearch: http://newyork.citysearch.com/profile/47447359/new_york_ny/blondie_s_hair_salon.html

I have requested that Anthony do my hair during New York Fashion Week, because a girl needs to look impeccable at all times! I can think of no higher recommendation than allowing him to style my blonde locks.

Do look them up; they are always running specials and discounts as well!

Blondi’s Salon
2742 Broadway
New York 10025
212-666-5505
Blondishairsalon@gmail.com

Ciao,

Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog

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The Sick & The Dead: Lindsay Lohan as Marilyn Monroe

Dahlings –

This morning I was confronted over my morning latte’ with the latest celebrity outrage. No, not the Miley Cyrus seat-belt flap.

It is Lindsay Lohan’s handlers’ incomprehensible decision to have their client pose as Marilyn Monroe in an imitation of Monroe’s last photo shoot with Bert Stern. (http://media.nymag.com/fashion/08/lindsay-as-marilyn/)

Stern himself, who apparently has not accomplished very much since the mid-1960s, saw a injection of career Viagra in this exploitation of the youthful hype whore. So he shot the new pictures himself. After all, he had published all 2000 photographs he shot of Marilyn in several different books, all published long ago.

These photos were called “The Last Sitting,” and were virtually the last pictures taken of Marilyn. There are many beautiful images, if you overlook the fact that Marilyn was extremely drunk and high.

(No disrespect for the dead intended. But mon cher lecteurs, the sad reality was that she was an alcoholic and addict, dying six weeks later of an barbiturate overdose.) Later Norman Mailer, may he not rest in peace, used many of these photos for his own exploitation book, a masturbatory fantasy bio titled “Marilyn.”

And now we have Ms. Lohan. When I saw the first photo, I thought she was wearing prosthetic breasts, but then I realized they were phonies of a different sort. I have no idea what this has to do with Spring Fashion 2008, but that was the section into which Star—er, New York Magazine—decided to shoehorn this pathetic travesty.

As for Ms. Lohan, she doesn’t think it is a “big deal,” but then, her actual career has not been a “big deal” for quite some time and this is the first intentional publicity she has received for several years.

I have this to say:

SHAME on all who participated in this degradation of the memory of a beautiful, talented actress who died before her time!

SHAME on all of those who brought this venal monstrosity before the public.

SHAME on those who knew the only similarities between Ms. Lohan and Ms. Monroe are gender, alcohol and drugs.

One only hopes Ms. Lohan has the good fortune to live until 36.

Regretfully,
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog