Five Dawller Haircut

Being the cheapskate that I am, it usually pains me to go to a barber somewhere, anywhere and PAY for a haircut - usually, I'll just take my trusty Wahl clippers and do it myself (zhoom, zhoom!). Well, recently I thought my sides were getting a little "puffy" and I was a little scared to do it myself again, I think I might have screwed it up just a little last time. Well, lucky-me! During one of my walks through the city I discovered this little place in the East Village on 3rd that charges the affordable, oh-so nice little price of...five dollars. Yay! Well, now I'm looking fabulous. I have to admit I was a little nervous at first, I come to find out that it's a barber school and it seemed all the students were congregating around me pointing and rubbing my hair. The lady who I assume to be my barber is pluppering in Spanish to everyone (but me) and everyone starts laughing! I admit, I was a little confused. Why the laughter? Suddenly she looks at me (well, my reflection in the mirror) and starts interegating me, "Who cut your hair? Was it someone here?" Yow. She really seemed to hate it when I told her that it was me, that I usually cut my own hair. "Well, now I have to fix what you've done." Then more Spanish chatter and clippers went to work. She said that I had cut up too high, but I don't know how that mattered, she cut just as high as I did. Anyways, after she was done "fixing" me, the head of the school, some Russian dude with big facial features, used some clippers and sheered over everything she did and mentioned something about soft rabbit hair. I think he was talking about me, but not to me. Soon, the cutting cape was off and "Peter Cottontail" was hopping out with a nice new haircut!

Now I Understand...

I see that my work-ethic, or lack thereof, was firmly rooted in place on my 15th birthday. Thanks, Mom!


(Feel free, by the way, to make fun of my 80's hair and my vivacious legs.)

A Different Karen Lynn Gorney Sighting:

http://ideapit.blogspot.com/2005/04/jeff-steps-into-uncharted-territory.html

wow...

Freezepop NYC

Alright, I somehow missed Princess Superstar the other night, but I made sure I got my butt into Manhattan early enough to catch Freezepop at the luminous Pussycat Lounge (meow!). I should have realized that an establishment with any reference to pussycats would probably have naked boobies on display, but I sure found out right away, when instead of taking some hidden stairway to where the musical stage actually was, I walked right through the door in front of me where I was carded to find several ladies jaunting about topless barside. Oh well! The show itself was a lot of fun. Freezepop is a trio specializing in electro-synth pop. They got the entire crowd jumping around to the beat, causing me to worry. I wasn't sure that the support beams would be able to handle all the ups-and-downs. The floorboards were giving in, swaying about giving me a feeling similiar to that of sea-sickness. At any moment I could see myself and the entire crowd falling through the floor crashing down upon all the frisky dancing girls and their hard-luck, world-weary, over-charged clientelle. I kept dancing anyway. Freezepop played songs with titles like, "Boys on Film", "Science Genius Girl", "Pop Music", "Stakeout", and "Get Ready 2 Rokk." They didn't play some of my favorite songs like "Shark Attack" and "Robotron 2000", possibly due to the fact that the sound system there really kind of sucked. Their show ended suddenly when the mikes stopped working. Darn! A curious observation on my part: I assumed lots of nerdy girls would show up to this show - sure there were a few, but, on the whole the ladies there that night were like Hollywood gorgeous. Lots of toothy smiles, well-defined cheek-bones, and long blonde hair. One of them looked like a fair-skinned version of the girl who plays Lana Lang on "Smallville." Were these females "planted" by the management? Hmmmm....

Oh Man! Afterthought

Just realized what a Swedish day I had yesterday. Ikea and Socialist Glam Rock all within 24 hours. And now I just remembered I went to Todd's and we watched some British show called "Knowing Me, Knowing You with Alan Partridge" who's theme song is the ABBA song.

I'm gonna start shitting lingonberries.

Oh Man!

Finally got my new bed from Ikea! I was so busy putting it together and moving my room about, I forgot that I had a ticket to see Princess Superstar at the Bowery! Argh! As soon as I realized what a dummy I was, I threw on a jacket and ran to catch the N train. I got there just as the main act started, yay! But, it wasn't her, damn! I thought Princess Superstar was the headliner act, but it was some gay Swedish glam-rock outfit called The Ark. Well, I rushed all the way there, I thought I might as well watch their show. The lead singer was some skinny guy channeling Freddie Mercury, Ziggy-era Bowie, and Rob Halford's leather hat. He kept going on about how Swedish-style socialism and sexuality are combined together in the spirit of rock. I guess I had to believe him.

Chores

Hey everybody! Today I washed some dishes and did my laundry. Pretty exciting, I know; but, I'm just trying to get my blog on. Sometime's it's hard to do when it's been awhile since the last entry and you're staring at a blank screen and you're like, "Uhhhhh....what do I write?"

I Don't Feel So Bad...

I was just at the store picking up some milk and while I was waiting in line I perused through the latest issue of the National Enquirer. In this issue they spotlighted pictoral documentation of the worst Hollywood body parts. I got grossed out on the likes of Halle Berry's boogars, Clint Eastwood's vericosey leg, Katie Holmes' cold-sore inflicted lip, and Ashlee Simpson's forked tongue. My face looks immaculate compared to all those barf-outs! Thanks go out to the Corporate Hollywood Celebrity Machine for raising my self-esteem. Yay!

PS: There's a great photo of Lindsay Lohan later on in that issue. She's posing with some druggie and behind them on some table there sits, quite noticably, a wad of coke. Haha!

I've Got the Plague

Ok, maybe not quite, but close enough. It's been a tough week and a half back here in NYC for me. First of all, literally within five minutes of parking my rental car outside my apartment after driving 17 hours from Wisconsin, I got a frickin $115 ticket for parking on the frickin sidewalk. Which, by the way, City Government, if you're reading this, I WAS NOT on the sidewalk! My tire was touching the curb. I hardly think that that was disrupting any traffic (pedestrian nor vehicular) at 5 in the morning. So take it back!

Then, I went on some dates this week, and guess what? I'm allergic to love or dating or people or something. I've figured out that I have a history of going out with someone and then a couple days later I break out in this unpleasant stress rash. Makes me want to hide myself from the world and that's where I am now, dammit. Was I that isolated and lonely as a child that any human contact I get now upsets my body chemistry and my face horribly mutates? Anyways, if anything, I think I'm gonna take this and do something with it, coming up with an idea for a story (play, comic book, whatever) based on this freakish curse that I've got.

I've also decided to get on the ball, just getting things done; but, it's a difficult thing to do when other parties involved don't respond. YMCA, if you are reading this, call or email me back! I want to join your gym/pool so I can get back into better shape. I've called and left messages and I've also emailed your membership director a couple times. I'm just hoping that you're not so understaffed that your membership director is also your pool-boy. Sheeesh!

And stupid IKEA, email me back about that bed I ordered. I want it sometime this year.

Now, dear readers, you may understand why I haven't blogged as much recently. I've been spending all my precious time in front of my mirror and in front of my computer checking my damn email.

Venting done. Thanks!