Thursday, December 11, 2008

The Racist With Scissors Next To My Head




I don't get my hair cut too often. As a mid-30s man, I feel a certain sense of smug glee when I see many of my younger friends with a shiny pate as I hide behind a veritable Eagle's Nest of hirsute glory. My hair is thick, healthy, and shows no signs of graying - yet another point of self-satisfaction.

However, it has one bad problem - the longer it gets, the curlier it gets. And the more product is required to get it to behave without going into "Seth Rogen" territory. I've been described as looking like Mr. Rogen twice in the past couple of months, which reminds me to watch my carbs and possibly investigate a new hair color. Until then, I figured that since my last haircut was in June, it was time to shear the locks.

Now, mind you, this was a complete "timing" deal - I've got a couple of Christmas parties coming up, and I should look a little more "Superbad" than "Knocked Up." And as much as I love my hair, I'm not one of those guys with a hairdresser. I usually go to a barber or Mallcuttery place and see what happens. There's usually nothing that they can do that some gel and a hat and a couple of weeks of "yeah, I got a bad haircut" can't fix. I decided to go to a local Rockville salon, see which ones looked like they could give my hair the love and attention I seldom give it. Frankly, I'm amazed my hair hasn't left me for somebody who would treat it with more dignity and respect. I guess, at the end of the day, it loves me. I decided to treat my hair to a real salon. It's not enough to say "I'm sorry," but it's a good first step. Let the healing begin.

I started my Tour des Salons Dans Rockville by checking out the strip mall next to White Flint Mall on Nicholson Lane. The first salon is named something like "Salon" and had a sign declaring that they'd be open until 7:30. There was one person in the place getting her hair done, and two employees. It's 6:30, surely I could get a haircut within an hour! Except...the door was locked, and the attractive woman with little English skills told me they were closed. "But, your sign says 7:30," I stammered but she was closing the door and asking if I could come back tomorrow. Well, there are two other salons in this strip mall. I'll shop around.

Salon #2, Art and Chemistry appears to be their name, is four doors down. The people inside looked happy and attractive. Not busy, but signs of activity. My hopes were high. There was no sign on the storefront indicating hours, so I walked in and asked for an impromptu haircut. "Sorry, we don't take walk-ins after 6 on Wednesdays," they told me. I asked what time they closed. "8," was the reply. "I can't get a haircut in two hours?" I asked. "No," the young blond girl behind the counter replied, but unhelpfully added "We could do it on Tuesdays or Thursdays, but not Wednesdays." I have no idea why they have a bias against Wednesdays, but, wow. I headed over to Salon #3, Oxygen Salon - which wasn't even open to be snubbed by.

I got in the car and checked out Fatima Salon across the street. They were closing up for the night, but their sign indicates, in Spanish, that they speak Spanish, and the Men's Haircut Guide poster in the window had more bad clipper cuts displayed than the second season of "Oz." I moved on.

Salon #4, Urbanity, also on Nicholson, seems to be out of business. I didn't get a chance to be turned down there as well. Salon #5 is next to the Safeway by my house on Randolph Road. I pull up at 6:59pm. The sign says they're open until 7pm on Wednesdays. The place was completely closed. No signs of life until 10am Thursday, if the sign is to be believed. Salon #6, Progressions, is on Nebel by the Gold's Gym. I drove up, and saw that they were closing down as well. Sorry to disappoint my hair, I turned to the White Flint Mall, as the options for a Wednesday night haircut were quickly slipping.

White Flint used to be the fancy mall around these parts, but Westfield's Montgomery Mall has more stores and less cheesy Miami Vice neon around the foot court. White Flint used to be packed all the time. I shouldn't be able to find parking next to the door this close to Christmas and Hanukkah, but I had my choice of spots. I walked in, looked at the trusty mall directory, and saw two places to get my haircut. One of them seemed to be an independent place, and the other was part of a chain. I chose the indie place. First thing I saw was a cute young brunette at the counter, and a gay dude styling a pretty West Asian woman's hair. I would have to assume that a gay man is a good sign for a salon. I was told by the young girl that I could have a haircut, no worries, but it would take about 15 minutes for the stylist to get to me. "Fine," I say, as the last thing I want is to drive around Rockville any more than I already have.

I leaf through the picture books of "Men's Hot Hairstyles." We need to come to an understanding here - are these picture books for men to point and grunt at the look they want, or for gay men and women with a fetish for Eurotrash to drool over? Because there wasn't a single haircut and/or model in either of these guides who didn't look absolutely ridiculous. Some of the cuts were straight from "A Flock of Seagulls" or Jaromir Jagr. None of them I wanted on my head.

Fortunately, my hair stylist of the evening was much more sensible than that. She noted that I like my hair a little on the longish side, and that the curls were annoying me. She said my hair looked nice and healthy, and she'd give me something that wouldn't make me look bad or too old. She was about 60-something, but trying like hell not to look like it. She told me about her kids and how they're dragging her off to Mexico for a vacation over Christmas. We talked about how a postal worked was assaulted in Rockville. Neighborhood stuff. She made a comment about how Rockville would be great if there weren't so many idiots around. I liked this woman.

Well, until...

(you knew there'd be a "well, until..." coming up, right?)

Well, until...she asked me what I was doing for the Inauguration. I said that I was probably going to head out of town, avoid the crowds, get some skiing done. She said she'd be scared to come into the city. I said "Yeah, with anywhere from 2 to 6 million people, depending on who you listen to, coming into town, it could get crazy." She says to me, into the mirror, the way that many hair people seem to do, "I mean with all the...um, racial things. All the minorities."

Huh?

WHAT???

I tried to explain that the last time DC had a massive amount of black folks in town, the Million Man March, there was very little crime, and in fact, was one of the most civil weekends in the city. And, that given that lots of folks voted for Obama of all stripes and colors, it would be more of a celebration than anything. She shrugged and did a shiver in fear.

Last time I checked, Maryland was pretty racially diverse. And Rockville is hardly lily-white by any stretch. I swear, look in any direction and you'd swear you're in a Benetton ad.

We didn't talk as much after that, as it was pretty obvious that she knew that she'd crossed a line. I changed the subject, and she mentioned Mexican vacation again. I wasn't offended, but merely shocked at how casually she said that about President-elect Obama and the potential for violence. Because Lord knows every other Presidential Inauguration has been plagued by violence.

Maybe that's why I don't have a steady hair cutter - I like the social interaction with the awkward and the freaky.

I paid my bill, left a standard tip, and left. The hair cut looks good so far.

The irony in the whole thing resides in the name of the salon - Rainbow.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

What I learned last night...

Next time you hear somebody doing what you *THINK* is a top-notch vocal impersonation of Christian Bale as Batman, that deep, throaty weird thing he did - and you applaud the guy doing that voice - check to make sure the guy doesn't have a damned tracheotomy hole and tube.

I did that last night.

I wondered why he could do the voice so well.

I apologized, and he was very gracious about it. I felt bad...but not as bad as his throat does.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

From DCFUD.com - Somewhere in South Park, Colorado, a Young Boy Cries

butterben.JPG


The Wall Street Journal is reporting that the many locations of the national chain restaurants Bennigan's and Steak and Ale are closing as of today.

The article states that the chains' parent company, Metromedia Restaurant Group, has declared Chapter 7 bankruptcy on those two themed restaurants, and that company-owned restaurants were ordered to not open for business today. Franchise-owned stores are not named in any bankruptcy filings, so they may remain open.

So, for those hankerin' for some Death By Chocolate, you may want to call ahead to make sure your location isn't, like, closed.

Bennigan's biggest fan, Butters, could not be reached for comment.

The article points out that these closings are yet another sign of trouble within the mid-price chain restaurant category, but I'm guessing it's also proof that brass rails and huge portions can't overcome bad food forever.

Tuesday, July 01, 2008

Define "Irony" or "Delusional" - either one works

Somethings I can't even dream up...and I'm messed up.

From PageOneQ (link coming soon)


Sens. Larry Craig and David Vitter co-sponsor Marriage Protection Amendment


Two United States Senators implicated in extramarital sexual activity have named themselves as co-sponsors of S. J. RES. 43, dubbed the Marriage Protection Amendment. If ratified, the bill would amend the United States Constitution to state that marriage "shall consist only of the union of a man and a woman."

Sen. Larry Craig (R-ID), who was arrested June 11, 2007 on charges of lewd conduct in a Minneapolis airport terminal, is co-sponsoring the amendment along with Sen. David Vitter (R-LA).

Craig, who entered a guilty plea to a reduced charge of disorderly conduct, was detained and charged for attempting to engage in sexual activity with a male undercover police officer. His arrest and plea became public two months later. At that time, Craig attempted to withdraw his plea and enter a new plea of not guilty. To date, his efforts have been denied by the courts.

In July of 2007, Vitter was identified as a client of a prostitution firm owned by the late Deborah Jeane Palfrey, commonly known as The DC Madam.

With a Democratic controlled Congress it is unlikely the bill will be brought up for a vote in either the Senate or House of Representatives.

A voice mail left for Craig spokesperson Susan Irby went unreturned. Attempts to contact Vitter's press secretary Joel DiGrado were unsuccessful.

The full text of S. J. RES. 43 follows:
#

110th CONGRESS 2d Session

Proposing an amendment to the Constitution of the United States relating to marriage.

IN THE SENATE OF THE UNITED STATES JUNE 25, 2008

Mr. WICKER (for himself, Mr. VITTER, Mr. CRAIG, Mr. ROBERTS, Mr. INHOFE, Mr. BROWNBACK, Mr. ALLARD, Mr. THUNE, and Mr. SHELBY) introduced the following joint resolution; which was read twice and referred to the Committee on the Judiciary

JOINT RESOLUTION

Proposing an amendment to the Constitution of the United States relating to marriage.

Resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled (two-thirds of each House concurring therein), That the following article is proposed as an amendment to the Constitution of the United States, which shall be valid to all intents and purposes as part of the Constitution when ratified by the legislatures of three-fourths of the several States within seven years after the date of its submission by the Congress:

"ARTICLE"

Section 1. This article may be cited as the Marriage Protection Amendment.

Section 2. Marriage in the United States shall consist only of the union of a man and a woman. Neither this Constitution, nor the constitution of any State, shall be construed to require that marriage or the legal incidents thereof be conferred upon any union other than the union of a man and a woman.


Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Dear Florida...

You may go now. Seriously. I'm not joking. We're sick of your sexy teachers molesting teenage boys. We're sick of your inability to count, recount, or make a decent ballot in the first place. We're sick of your lack of support for any baseball team other than the Yankees when they come into town. We're sick of CSI: Miami. We're sick of you turning our formerly-hip, intelligent aunts who rawked when they lived in DC into paranoid old bitties who think Obama is a jihadist spy and forward every religious saying, urban legend or chain-letter email with an animated gif of a glitter-covered puppy waving with the oh-so-witty caption of "I Wuf You!" We're sick of seeing YouTube videos of little old men plowing their `79 Buicks into taco stands because they got "confused" and thought it was Hitler waving to them, not a 15-year old immigrant boy dressed as a giant friendly chalupa.

Actually, I rescind that. Those videos are priceless. Keep `em coming.

You, Florida, as a state, just accused a man of "wizardry." It's 2008, not 1408. I have seen many, many things in my 35 years and spent several vacations in Florida. The only wizard I saw in Florida was a dude in white sheets bitchin' about how black people were takin' over the state. Dude apparently has never been to Miami, or, slim may have been a lil' off in the "color detection" department.

But I digress. The teacher does a magic trick to make a toothpick disappear. The only thing I've head disappear in Florida were voting machines and ballot tabs from black neighborhoods in the 2000 election.

If Canada is America's Hat, it doesn't take a dirty mind to figure out what part of the body you are.

On behalf of the rest of America, for your sins against all things that are wise, educational and evolutionary, you can leave. Secede, go back to Spain, become part of Cuba, be Puerto Rico's little bitch - hell, join the Ice Capades for all I care.

Just go.

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

Oops...

There are three professions in which "oops" should never be said.

1) Airplane pilot.

2) Piano mover.

3) Hair stylist.

My long, flowing locks...gone.

I knew I was in trouble when I asked for a trim. Just a small trim. Clean up some of the more aggressive curls in the back. The woman cutting my hair used clippers to get rid of a few of them, and then, my head snapped back and to the right like JFK's in Dallas. The clippers grabbed a hold of my hair and yanked out a chunk about the size of a good golf divot. I looked at the clippers as the device ate my hair, and wondered what evil madman developed such a vile, barbaric tool.

On the floor, my hair rested. In the chair, my neck and scalp gave a bit of a groan for being nipped, then, a sense of shock hit me as hard as I imagined the hair hit the floor. I felt, for the first time in months, cold and fresh air hitting the back of my scalp.

The woman, Asian, about 50, said "oops."

I said "What happened?"

"Clipper snagged," she said curtly.

I had explained to her earlier that I wanted to grow my hair out to make a wig for a cancer patient, and just needed a small trim to clean me up.

What I didn't need was her saying "Lookie how hansome you look!" and grinning like an idiot.

Now, this is where I should explain something - I love the fact that America is a great big melting pot. All sorts of nationalities and ethnic groups in this land gives me a sense of hope and joy. But the woman who cut my hair - with her pidgen Engrish and overdone voice and facial expressions in the vein of Margaret Cho making fun of her Korean mom - turned me, momentarily, into a violent, raging Republican. "THE IMMIGRANTS ARE TAKIN' OUR JOBS!! BUILD THE WALL!! SCREW THE U.N.!"

I looked in the mirror, and saw me looking back, but not the 2007/2008 version of me. It was more like the 1998/2004 version of me, the "trying to get ahead in the corporate world" version. The high-strung, kinda pissy version. That was not my favorite Me.

Still, stunned as I was over the loss of me beloved, flowy hair, I said "What is this?? I asked for a trim! This is not even close to what I wanted!"

She said, and I wish I was joking, "you no look like girl no more."

My temper boiled over. I'm 5'9" and 205 pounds. I have facial hair. I'd be one large, ugly, hairy woman.

So, I did something that I haven't done in years. I asked her to finish up, and I walked out.




Coming soon, a tribute to my hair.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Slack-Assed Blogger Apology

Food - ate at Colorado Kitchen and revisited Matchbox. Both are fine places, no doubt

Also ate at KFC. I may have to mention that Patton Oswalt warned me. Why did I doubt him?

Drink - Rogue Chocolate Stout....mmmmm....

Women - yeah

Dogs - Kramer and Bubby say "hey."

Arizona - damn...cool state.

Links and stories coming soon.

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Monday, January 14, 2008

Be My Yoko Romo!!



Thank you Dan Patrick for coming up with that fantastic name, and, I've come up with a ditty for you Barenaked Ladies' fans.

It's a great day when I can mix my love of the NFL with my love of Canadian geek pop.

In honor of Jessica Simpson and Tony Romo,

Be My Yoko Romo
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If there's a pop star you can just bang out, then do so.
And if theres a quarterback you can just wear out, then do so.

You can be my Yoko Romo
You can follow me to Mexico
Be my, be my, be my Yoko Romo.

Isn't it beautiful to see two people so much in lust?
She's dumb as a brick and his games' gone straight to rust.
Now that he's lost again it doesn't seem to me to be too damn bright.
To have her bouncing off your knob instead of watching football tape all night

You can be my Yoko Romo
You can follow me to Mexico
Be my, be my, be my Yoko Romo.

Oh no, here we go, Tony can't get it done.
Oh no, here we go as Romo throws
Aieee!

I know that when I say this,
I may not be taking too much care.
But I laughed my fool ass off
When she got dumped by John Mayer.
(I'll blame it on Yokey!)
If I was Tony and you were Yoko,
I would gladly give up all football genius,
Just to stick my tongue down your bald mons venus.
(hit it!)

You can be my Yoko Romo
You can follow me to Mexico
Be my, be my, be my Yoko Romo.