On the one hand there’s Buddy Rich. U.S. Marine, well disciplined, and the fastest drummer that ever lived. On the other hand is Keith Moon, British buffoon known for sleeping off hangovers for days and not showing up at his own concerts, and the fastest drummer who ever lived. Both are dead because of things they did, Rich smoked cigarettes and got a brain tumor and Moon drank a tad too much. Both were the best at what they did and will never be duplicated as much as people try. They both were the darlings of talk shows, Rich bashing pop stars of the day and Moon bashing politicians. Although there is more than enough material to compare the two drummers, it is their respective musical genres that will be examined here, as the drummers are the embodiment and product of them.
Jazz was being born in 1919, and so was Buddy Rich. He died in 1987, long after Jazz died. Moon was born in 1946 and died in 1978 which pretty much parallels the rise and fall of rock as well. Would either genre exist without the men or the men have existed without the music is anyone’s guess. While Jazz was born in the southeast United States, Rock and Roll was reared in Memphis, also part of the southeast, so that makes them cousins. Both cousins were the bastard sons of Black and White music and so were embraced by the Negros and vilified by the Whites. Saddled with the Satan brand they provoked fights and religious exorcisms and started family rifts that time would never heal. Jazz became the refuge for poor blacks and whites, while Rock and Roll appealed to those who could afford records and players. This little difference drove their infant tour busses on different roads.
So begins the growing years of adolescence. Jazz was never jealous of its more commercial cousin, preferring to simmer in the smoke-filled clubs and basements of urban areas while Rock played in the sand in California. There was a new mode of transportation available, so Rock took an airplane over to Europe, only to find Jazz was already there. As was so often the case, the lads came back to the states with Rock, leaving Jazz in the dark but giving it a nod as an influence. Cousins being cousins, they shared things freely. Janis and Jimi were sacrifices for rock, while Chet and Miles took the spike for Jazz. The religious zealots were backing down at this time in history because this was the sixties, and being square was passé, so music began to reach places it couldn’t before. There were Christian rock bands and Jewish Jazz groups and sometimes they commingled (remember, it was the sixties) and produced Fusion. Fusion is sort of like a mule; a strange but interesting offspring of two distinctly different breeds, and sort of like the grotesque pink eyed deformed child who is the product of two close cousins. Experimentation over, Rock and Jazz went again to their respective corners to grow up.
If you are old enough to remember Kennedy, you still mourn for rock. Rock went out like a light, but at different times for different people. Might have been when the British lads said farewell, might have been when your old faves went disco, might have been a plane crash, point is there was a specific moment. Jazz on the other hand lingered, spitting up an occasional piece of what once was that would make you think it would come back, but it petered out so silently you never saw the death notice. Every now and then you might see a cheap imitation pop up like an ill-fitting Halloween costume, but it’s soulless, hollow. Both cousins died in their prime and were laid to rest near each other, with their grandpa Country giving the eulogy after he and grandma Blues drove over from Mississippi in Hank’s Cadillac.
So if Buddy and Keith were to meet what would they say to each other? Certainly not anything about drumming, neither one ever practiced and refused to take or give lessons. Would they argue over which type of music was better or would they smother each other with admiration? Both these men were ugly and short, but well loved by everyone they touched, just like their music. Both died too soon, like their music, and both were the backbeat to the soundtrack of my life. Jazz and Rock and Roll were so different, yet so similar. They were interdependent, relying on each other for inspiration but original in what they did with those five basic chords. No comparison when it comes to what to listen to, though; Nighttime is Jazz time and daytime is Rock and Roll.
27 November 2010
example
There are plenty of sports out there that will get you up and out, and some that will keep you inside as well. There’s bowling, darts and pool for the indoor crowd. If you’re more of an outdoorsy sort you can climb mountains, play rugby or go hunting. Motorheads have auto racing, snowmobiling and jet skiing. There are even indoor-outdoor sports like basketball and tennis. In short, there’s a sport for you no matter what your fancy. I have friends in the Special Olympics and friends who play wheel chair rugby, so there really is no excuse not to do something. I myself have quite a few sports I enjoy, but my favorite is a borderline sport, not one that requires pads or training and one you’re never too old or young for. I like fishing. There are different types of fishing, fresh water, salt water, even frozen water. You can fly fish, troll, surf cast or just use worms and bobbers. Fishing is an excuse to go someplace quiet and just be, or it can be a group activity involving beer and boats. Here are a few examples of fishing trips I have enjoyed.
My friend Alex had a twelve foot homemade boat with a twenty-five horse Nissan outboard. I knew how hard it was to get parts in St. Lucia so I had shipped down a lower unit a few months before when I found it in Florida (Nissans aren’t very popular in the states) and it had cost about eighty bucks to get it to him. Of course for the ten days I was down there we fished all but one, and caught more Barracuda than I thought possible. As a thank you for the parts, Alex and his father fed us breakfast and dinner each evening, and showed us places very few people have ever seen. We saw St.Lucian mountain men, used a zipline in the rainforest and climbed the Pitons. We had the best vacation anyone could ever ask for, and my wife even discovered she liked fishing or at least being on the boat.)
My brother lives in Massachusetts and is able to fish more than I because he lives around Gloucester, where the lakes hardly ever freeze completely. Once in a while I visit him and we fish the surf with bloodworms, hauling in Stripers and chucking them back. The water is warm there, and shallow and sandy so you can wade out twenty or thirty feet and still be knee-deep. The moon was out and we had caught quite a few fish, small-talking our way to a larger thing, something he wanted to say or ask. My wife had recently passed away and we talked about loneliness and how to fill the void and I still couldn’t figure what he was getting at. I finally said something to the effect that I was fairly thick and couldn’t understand what he was getting at. I remember the Hollywood timing when he simply said “I’m gay” just as his reel sang out with a fish. I’d like to tell you it was the biggest fish either one of us had caught and it was glowing with a golden light, but it was just a fish.
In Columbia Falls there’s a big old camp that was once Arthur Godfrey’s, but is now owned by the Downeast Salmon Federation. If those walls could talk they’d cough and mutter. Once upon a time Ted Williams fished there with Jackie Gleason. That’s in the logbook. We usually go two or three times a year and do some serious fly-fishing. Last summer there was a visitor who came down to check on his eel traps. I went over and struck up a conversation and found he was a Maine Guide and specialized in fishing trips on the river, having lived here all his life. I told him I’d like to hire him for a day to point out my family’s old camps, I remember them from when I was young but they got sold a long time ago. All but one he said. Turns out he was my cousin Dean I hadn’t seen since I was about five. Dwayne at the Downeast Salmon Federation had told him I was there when Dean asked who was using the camp. For her birthday my mother got copies of pictures from her youth to her twenties. She cried tears of joy and we visited some graves afterwards.
Some people say fishing is a Zen experience. That is a fact, when you fish you aren’t anything other than a man holding a stick hoping food will come to you. But fishing is also Gestalt. Consider the scenarios described and decide if the wonderful results are the result of fishing or part of fishing. A man holding a stick can have more happen to him than a shot at dinner. Because you go places and meet people you may not otherwise, fishing becomes a door to a wonderful world of opportunity. Or a darn good chance for a good nap.
My friend Alex had a twelve foot homemade boat with a twenty-five horse Nissan outboard. I knew how hard it was to get parts in St. Lucia so I had shipped down a lower unit a few months before when I found it in Florida (Nissans aren’t very popular in the states) and it had cost about eighty bucks to get it to him. Of course for the ten days I was down there we fished all but one, and caught more Barracuda than I thought possible. As a thank you for the parts, Alex and his father fed us breakfast and dinner each evening, and showed us places very few people have ever seen. We saw St.Lucian mountain men, used a zipline in the rainforest and climbed the Pitons. We had the best vacation anyone could ever ask for, and my wife even discovered she liked fishing or at least being on the boat.)
My brother lives in Massachusetts and is able to fish more than I because he lives around Gloucester, where the lakes hardly ever freeze completely. Once in a while I visit him and we fish the surf with bloodworms, hauling in Stripers and chucking them back. The water is warm there, and shallow and sandy so you can wade out twenty or thirty feet and still be knee-deep. The moon was out and we had caught quite a few fish, small-talking our way to a larger thing, something he wanted to say or ask. My wife had recently passed away and we talked about loneliness and how to fill the void and I still couldn’t figure what he was getting at. I finally said something to the effect that I was fairly thick and couldn’t understand what he was getting at. I remember the Hollywood timing when he simply said “I’m gay” just as his reel sang out with a fish. I’d like to tell you it was the biggest fish either one of us had caught and it was glowing with a golden light, but it was just a fish.
In Columbia Falls there’s a big old camp that was once Arthur Godfrey’s, but is now owned by the Downeast Salmon Federation. If those walls could talk they’d cough and mutter. Once upon a time Ted Williams fished there with Jackie Gleason. That’s in the logbook. We usually go two or three times a year and do some serious fly-fishing. Last summer there was a visitor who came down to check on his eel traps. I went over and struck up a conversation and found he was a Maine Guide and specialized in fishing trips on the river, having lived here all his life. I told him I’d like to hire him for a day to point out my family’s old camps, I remember them from when I was young but they got sold a long time ago. All but one he said. Turns out he was my cousin Dean I hadn’t seen since I was about five. Dwayne at the Downeast Salmon Federation had told him I was there when Dean asked who was using the camp. For her birthday my mother got copies of pictures from her youth to her twenties. She cried tears of joy and we visited some graves afterwards.
Some people say fishing is a Zen experience. That is a fact, when you fish you aren’t anything other than a man holding a stick hoping food will come to you. But fishing is also Gestalt. Consider the scenarios described and decide if the wonderful results are the result of fishing or part of fishing. A man holding a stick can have more happen to him than a shot at dinner. Because you go places and meet people you may not otherwise, fishing becomes a door to a wonderful world of opportunity. Or a darn good chance for a good nap.
20 November 2010
Effect
If you throw a stone in the pond does it always cause ripples? Not during ice fishing season. There is an unwritten rule with us that what happens on the ice stays on the ice, except if you bring fish home, then you just plain lie about what you did. There’s a huddle of us (if Larks can be an exaltation we can be a huddle) any given day on the pond, sharing stories and thoughts on life and generally solving all the world’s problems. We catch fish as a by-product of our interactions, not as an end goal. The effect of the “code of the White Eskimo” is that we have grown together as a group. The result of this cloistering is that we have learned about things ranging from Erectile Dysfunction to cooking tips, we have indirectly influenced the political landscape in our region through our discussions and actions, and we have directly contributed the wellness of some community members. I like to think of us as the good part of the Masons combined with the Three Stooges.
Because we can’t talk about what goes on (outside a few vague references) to others off the pond, we are free to discuss our deepest secrets with each other. This freedom is sometimes uncomfortable, as you might expect a group of males to talk mostly about sex, and you’re right there, just not the way you think. R. had a prostectomy a few years back, so we share his joy when he tells us about his occasional successful efforts. L.1 has high blood pressure, and the medication that keeps him alive also makes him wish he were dead sometimes, so we all checked the computer under secrecy of darkness when the wife was out of town and made damn sure we erased our tracks. He got his doctor to change his meds and is happier now. L.2 is a man’s man, and would never admit to something as sissified as cooking, but we share recipes on the ice that he’ll probably use when he’s alone. Oh, sure, we also talk about cars, guns, movies and all the other guy stuff, but it’s different, almost sacred when you can talk about things that actually matter.
There’s always an upcoming election in one of our towns, or a town meeting to decide if so-and-so should be allowed to build a garage. The effect of our closeness is that we become above the law in our minds. We are the deciders. We don’t mudsling or lie, but all of us are or were involved in local politics, and some of our group still have a little sway in the warmer confines of a town office. This is a fairly central pond in our county, and certainly not the only one we fish, so opinions can be spread to other ponds for the more important issues as we see fit, or we don’t have a consensus we agree to leave it to die on the ice. It stands to reason we can be accused of fixing the vote, but we really are just saving other fishermen the trouble of thinking about such things so they can catch more fish.
Another effect our closed membership has is seen throughout the Downeast area all year round. It’s impossible not to notice the poverty around here, but sometimes the need is hidden from view. We usually have a budget of about a hundred bucks apiece we put in a coffee can and decide who needs it the most. Last year M. and L.2 hid in the bushes with a camera when the lady we built the ramp for got home. She’d gone to the hospital in Bangor to get her leg amputated and while she was there we built her a wheelchair ramp and put in a wider door. She and her husband just stared at it for a while. She’ll never know who built it. We’ve bought refrigerators for people, had their cars fixed, even got a few jobs, all without them ever knowing who did it.
There you have it, a little story about how a huddle of ice fishermen were affected by a seemingly arbitrary rule established two generations ago. Not quite a butterfly effect, more of a centralized action-reaction type idea. Because of our actions, others have been affected as well, and they affected others, and so on. So if you ever stumble on to a group of men on the ice who are talking quietly remember, what they are doing is probably affecting you.
Because we can’t talk about what goes on (outside a few vague references) to others off the pond, we are free to discuss our deepest secrets with each other. This freedom is sometimes uncomfortable, as you might expect a group of males to talk mostly about sex, and you’re right there, just not the way you think. R. had a prostectomy a few years back, so we share his joy when he tells us about his occasional successful efforts. L.1 has high blood pressure, and the medication that keeps him alive also makes him wish he were dead sometimes, so we all checked the computer under secrecy of darkness when the wife was out of town and made damn sure we erased our tracks. He got his doctor to change his meds and is happier now. L.2 is a man’s man, and would never admit to something as sissified as cooking, but we share recipes on the ice that he’ll probably use when he’s alone. Oh, sure, we also talk about cars, guns, movies and all the other guy stuff, but it’s different, almost sacred when you can talk about things that actually matter.
There’s always an upcoming election in one of our towns, or a town meeting to decide if so-and-so should be allowed to build a garage. The effect of our closeness is that we become above the law in our minds. We are the deciders. We don’t mudsling or lie, but all of us are or were involved in local politics, and some of our group still have a little sway in the warmer confines of a town office. This is a fairly central pond in our county, and certainly not the only one we fish, so opinions can be spread to other ponds for the more important issues as we see fit, or we don’t have a consensus we agree to leave it to die on the ice. It stands to reason we can be accused of fixing the vote, but we really are just saving other fishermen the trouble of thinking about such things so they can catch more fish.
Another effect our closed membership has is seen throughout the Downeast area all year round. It’s impossible not to notice the poverty around here, but sometimes the need is hidden from view. We usually have a budget of about a hundred bucks apiece we put in a coffee can and decide who needs it the most. Last year M. and L.2 hid in the bushes with a camera when the lady we built the ramp for got home. She’d gone to the hospital in Bangor to get her leg amputated and while she was there we built her a wheelchair ramp and put in a wider door. She and her husband just stared at it for a while. She’ll never know who built it. We’ve bought refrigerators for people, had their cars fixed, even got a few jobs, all without them ever knowing who did it.
There you have it, a little story about how a huddle of ice fishermen were affected by a seemingly arbitrary rule established two generations ago. Not quite a butterfly effect, more of a centralized action-reaction type idea. Because of our actions, others have been affected as well, and they affected others, and so on. So if you ever stumble on to a group of men on the ice who are talking quietly remember, what they are doing is probably affecting you.
05 November 2010
division
The perfect pizza is not easily replicated in the home kitchen because it is a Gestalt kind of thing, a food miracle that combines all that is good and beckons a frosty malt beverage with its come hither aroma. Some folks are quite content with a frozen pizza or one from a gas station, and that’s great. They can have it, but it’s a pale imitation of what could possibly be the greatest achievement of mankind. A real pizza is baked at an extremely high temperature, with fresh Mozzarella and aged Provolone and Romano, and maybe some meats and vegetables. It has a sauce made of fresh Basil, dried Oregano and blanched Tomatoes. The crust is thin, yet has a distinct inner layer. There is no oil on the bottom like a Greek pizza, nor is it filled with Cheddar like those Chicago deep dish pies. The toppings are purely individual, but there is a rule to follow when putting them on. So let’s deconstruct a pizza and see if we can identify what makes it our raison d’ etre.
Looking at it from above we see the toppings. If you like an onion that’s what you see first. Onions are mostly water, like all vegetables, but usually are placed on top to get the proper color and texture. If there is Hamburger on your pie, it sits directly under the Onion in order to brown up. Ditto for uncased Sausage. Under the onions are other vegetables, but the ones on the bottom are the biggest and most stable, like Green Peppers. Some pizza men grate a layer of Romano under the vegetables to absorb and redirect the moisture and keep the crust from getting soggy. If you are a carnivore, this next layer is where you’ll find your meats, mostly Ham, Salami, and the occasional cased Sausage.
True pizza is not so much a vehicle for toppings, but a medley of cheese and sauce. The next place we get to in our journey to the heart of the pizza is the cheese. In some areas of the world the cheese is fresher than others. Because Mozzarella is not aged and has very few ingredients, this is the cheese of choice for traditional pies. It melts well, slices or grinds easily, and tastes great. In with the Mozzarella you’ll likely find some aged Provolone, that being the smoky flavor that complements the golden crust. The Romano may or may not be here, depending on whether or not you ordered veggies. Under the cheese is the sauce, which by all accounts makes the pizza great or merely good. Usually Plum Tomatoes are used, after they are blanched and their skins removed. Sometimes they are cooked in a pressure cooker to reduce them to a paste, other times just chopped into fine bits. Common ingredients in the sauce are minced or sliced Garlic, fresh Basil, dried Oregano (fresh is too heady) some sugar or honey, and sometimes some grated Parmagean cheese. The true pizza has little sauce and a light layer of cheese, relying instead on the crust to make it flavorful.
Underneath all that, you find the crust itself, the holder of goodness. A crust is made simply, but with love and pride. It is a miracle of chemistry and physics, soft and chewy inside and brown and crispy outside. Not too thin, but certainly not any thicker than a nickel. The golden bottom is flecked with cornmeal and little black bits from the floor of the oven, where it has been placed without a pan and spun at least once. The water used in the crust gives it its flavor, and a true pizzaman will use ice cold water when making it, preferring to let the yeast rise at room temperature. The water is the reason pizzas don’t taste good in places like Kansas or Key West, not enough Lime. The oven itself does a lot of crust flavoring, as they are usually about seven hundred degrees so the flavors are sealed in and the pie cooks in about ten minutes. The crust/oven relationship is a fickle one, each particular oven calling for a different crust recipe. For the purpose of this essay we have grouped them together as they are inseparable.
So now you have your pizza in front of you, steam curling off the toppings, crust all golden brown with a halo of red around the geese to hint at the sauce buried there. You understand what it is, how it’s put together, yet something’s missing. The finishing touch, a frosted mug of beer. This is the true illustration of “sum is more than the parts”, a shining example of what things can be if put together correctly. The next time you have pizza; ask yourself if any mere mortal could have dreamed it up. I’ll bet the answer will be no. Just as humans are composed of about eleven dollars worth of chemicals put together just so, the superstar of the food world is constructed of ordinary materials with a heavenly touch.
Looking at it from above we see the toppings. If you like an onion that’s what you see first. Onions are mostly water, like all vegetables, but usually are placed on top to get the proper color and texture. If there is Hamburger on your pie, it sits directly under the Onion in order to brown up. Ditto for uncased Sausage. Under the onions are other vegetables, but the ones on the bottom are the biggest and most stable, like Green Peppers. Some pizza men grate a layer of Romano under the vegetables to absorb and redirect the moisture and keep the crust from getting soggy. If you are a carnivore, this next layer is where you’ll find your meats, mostly Ham, Salami, and the occasional cased Sausage.
True pizza is not so much a vehicle for toppings, but a medley of cheese and sauce. The next place we get to in our journey to the heart of the pizza is the cheese. In some areas of the world the cheese is fresher than others. Because Mozzarella is not aged and has very few ingredients, this is the cheese of choice for traditional pies. It melts well, slices or grinds easily, and tastes great. In with the Mozzarella you’ll likely find some aged Provolone, that being the smoky flavor that complements the golden crust. The Romano may or may not be here, depending on whether or not you ordered veggies. Under the cheese is the sauce, which by all accounts makes the pizza great or merely good. Usually Plum Tomatoes are used, after they are blanched and their skins removed. Sometimes they are cooked in a pressure cooker to reduce them to a paste, other times just chopped into fine bits. Common ingredients in the sauce are minced or sliced Garlic, fresh Basil, dried Oregano (fresh is too heady) some sugar or honey, and sometimes some grated Parmagean cheese. The true pizza has little sauce and a light layer of cheese, relying instead on the crust to make it flavorful.
Underneath all that, you find the crust itself, the holder of goodness. A crust is made simply, but with love and pride. It is a miracle of chemistry and physics, soft and chewy inside and brown and crispy outside. Not too thin, but certainly not any thicker than a nickel. The golden bottom is flecked with cornmeal and little black bits from the floor of the oven, where it has been placed without a pan and spun at least once. The water used in the crust gives it its flavor, and a true pizzaman will use ice cold water when making it, preferring to let the yeast rise at room temperature. The water is the reason pizzas don’t taste good in places like Kansas or Key West, not enough Lime. The oven itself does a lot of crust flavoring, as they are usually about seven hundred degrees so the flavors are sealed in and the pie cooks in about ten minutes. The crust/oven relationship is a fickle one, each particular oven calling for a different crust recipe. For the purpose of this essay we have grouped them together as they are inseparable.
So now you have your pizza in front of you, steam curling off the toppings, crust all golden brown with a halo of red around the geese to hint at the sauce buried there. You understand what it is, how it’s put together, yet something’s missing. The finishing touch, a frosted mug of beer. This is the true illustration of “sum is more than the parts”, a shining example of what things can be if put together correctly. The next time you have pizza; ask yourself if any mere mortal could have dreamed it up. I’ll bet the answer will be no. Just as humans are composed of about eleven dollars worth of chemicals put together just so, the superstar of the food world is constructed of ordinary materials with a heavenly touch.
process
Nothing can be more frustrating than a bad haircut. If you have a hot date or a job interview and go there thinking you look like an eighties T.V. newscaster you’ll lose your self-confidence and with it the date or the job. Face it; we live in a society that judges us on appearance alone. No one cares if you can cure cancer if your head looks like two gerbils are mating on it. Why do you think Mother Theresa wore that cloth on her squash? That’s right. Bad Hair. My point here is not that you shouldn’t make fun of people with bad hair, but that you should strive not to be made fun of because of bad hair. To that end, let me tell you a sure-fire way to get the haircut you need to succeed in today’s superficial society. First, you’re going to pick a style. Then you’ll be going to the stylist or salon. Of course you will have to recreate this new look at home later, so that’s another step. If you follow these directions in order you will be the belle of the ball.
Why do we have hair anyway? It’s to pledge allegiance to our favorite celebrity! You really should get a favorite celebrity with the same size and shape head as you so things don’t look so out of scale. For example; if you are a big Dolly Parton fan and happen to be a forty-something male gym teacher, you should think again about your taste in music. Perhaps you should listen to more Mitch Miller. Once you choose your follicle leader you may or may not have to grow or cut your hair to match them. Cutting is discussed in the next step, but growing is time consuming and boring, so my suggestion is just not to do it. Find a style more like yours already is, only shorter and more socially accepted. Don’t lose sight of the goal: acceptance through imitation. If the only celebs you can find with your head shape are in rehab or jail, make sure they are at least on a reality show about their “struggles” or you’ll lose all social cachet. Before you go on to step two you have to have a picture of your idol to take to the salon. Make sure the pic you cut is from this week’s magazine so as to be “fresh” and “exciting”.
The next phase involves finding the right establishment to do the transformation. A helpful hint: don’t go to one with faded photos in the window! These places may have been around for a while, but they definitely aren’t riding the razor’s edge of fashion. Maybe your mom got her hair cut there, but who wants to look like your mom? Not even your mom does, that’s why she gets her hair styled like someone else. Try the newest place you can find, even if nobody there speaks English and they all wear leather shirts. Look for this salon with your nose; chemicals equal science equal progress and progress is what we’re after. Once you find the right place, you need to pick a stylist. Don’t accept the first one available, but look for the one with the worst hair. This is because they all cut each other’s hair, so you know she’s not the one who did the hack job. Show her your picture from the magazine and trust her to do her thing. Remember, barbers go to college and colleges are favorite target groups for celebrities. Settle back in the chair and let the magic begin. When she’s done she’ll helpfully suggest a line of hair care products made especially for you. Buy them. I know they’re expensive but remember: barbers go to college…they’re smarter than you.
Sporting your new look will bring you untold confidence and swagger…until tomorrow morning when you look in the mirror. This is not the time to be alarmed, remember the bag of hair care products? Use them now to bring your hair back to factory new! Pour those bottles of progress on your scalp and let them do their thing. With your hair now submissive, you should carefully (using your photo as a guide) place every strand back the way it was yesterday. Don’t worry about how long it takes or if anyone’s waiting, remember this is progress. A little known fact about hair styling is that a mirror will actually reverse the image. This is key to remember in case your picture (or you) has a misshapen head or one ear you need to cover, or a tattoo. When you get to work (late as is the style) don’t read anything into those looks from your fellow employees. It’s awe and jealousy, plain and simple. Recreating these steps is only necessary as long as you have hair care products. After that you start the process over again.
By now you have learned how to choose a hairstyle, how to pick a salon and stylist, and how to keep your hair from being the reason you’re not invited to parties. Remember, this is a repeatable process and not a permanent cure for bad hair. With your new hair style comes renewed prowess, both on the job and at home. Be prepared to be treated differently, as all celebrities are. It has been said that the difference between a good hair cut and a bad one is two weeks, but we both know the difference is social validation. The Prince Valiant will come back in style, and with these easy to follow steps you are ready!
Why do we have hair anyway? It’s to pledge allegiance to our favorite celebrity! You really should get a favorite celebrity with the same size and shape head as you so things don’t look so out of scale. For example; if you are a big Dolly Parton fan and happen to be a forty-something male gym teacher, you should think again about your taste in music. Perhaps you should listen to more Mitch Miller. Once you choose your follicle leader you may or may not have to grow or cut your hair to match them. Cutting is discussed in the next step, but growing is time consuming and boring, so my suggestion is just not to do it. Find a style more like yours already is, only shorter and more socially accepted. Don’t lose sight of the goal: acceptance through imitation. If the only celebs you can find with your head shape are in rehab or jail, make sure they are at least on a reality show about their “struggles” or you’ll lose all social cachet. Before you go on to step two you have to have a picture of your idol to take to the salon. Make sure the pic you cut is from this week’s magazine so as to be “fresh” and “exciting”.
The next phase involves finding the right establishment to do the transformation. A helpful hint: don’t go to one with faded photos in the window! These places may have been around for a while, but they definitely aren’t riding the razor’s edge of fashion. Maybe your mom got her hair cut there, but who wants to look like your mom? Not even your mom does, that’s why she gets her hair styled like someone else. Try the newest place you can find, even if nobody there speaks English and they all wear leather shirts. Look for this salon with your nose; chemicals equal science equal progress and progress is what we’re after. Once you find the right place, you need to pick a stylist. Don’t accept the first one available, but look for the one with the worst hair. This is because they all cut each other’s hair, so you know she’s not the one who did the hack job. Show her your picture from the magazine and trust her to do her thing. Remember, barbers go to college and colleges are favorite target groups for celebrities. Settle back in the chair and let the magic begin. When she’s done she’ll helpfully suggest a line of hair care products made especially for you. Buy them. I know they’re expensive but remember: barbers go to college…they’re smarter than you.
Sporting your new look will bring you untold confidence and swagger…until tomorrow morning when you look in the mirror. This is not the time to be alarmed, remember the bag of hair care products? Use them now to bring your hair back to factory new! Pour those bottles of progress on your scalp and let them do their thing. With your hair now submissive, you should carefully (using your photo as a guide) place every strand back the way it was yesterday. Don’t worry about how long it takes or if anyone’s waiting, remember this is progress. A little known fact about hair styling is that a mirror will actually reverse the image. This is key to remember in case your picture (or you) has a misshapen head or one ear you need to cover, or a tattoo. When you get to work (late as is the style) don’t read anything into those looks from your fellow employees. It’s awe and jealousy, plain and simple. Recreating these steps is only necessary as long as you have hair care products. After that you start the process over again.
By now you have learned how to choose a hairstyle, how to pick a salon and stylist, and how to keep your hair from being the reason you’re not invited to parties. Remember, this is a repeatable process and not a permanent cure for bad hair. With your new hair style comes renewed prowess, both on the job and at home. Be prepared to be treated differently, as all celebrities are. It has been said that the difference between a good hair cut and a bad one is two weeks, but we both know the difference is social validation. The Prince Valiant will come back in style, and with these easy to follow steps you are ready!
01 November 2010
bad poetry
Ode to a Process essay
You sit with writing as your intention
Yet nothing is born of your comprehension
The goal is an essay
That was due yesterday
This will surely take some invention
The words in your thoughts are mired
And tho you’re quite assuredly tired
The keys you must pound
And the cursor goes round
Until the process idea is acquired
You’ve tried to describe delicious dishes
Building garages, catching fishes
You’re getting antsy
Not tickling your fancy
These are not your writing wishes
You’ve played with iambic pan
Tameter isn’t for you, man
How about some haiku
To see you through
Until you have process in the can
Thought about riding and golfing and dancing
Of drawing and painting and romancing
Of fixing and making
And growing and baking
About anything but prancing
Why must my ideas always fight
Like children crying “I’m right!”
None’s going pop
None’s on top
I guess I’ll give up tonight
You sit with writing as your intention
Yet nothing is born of your comprehension
The goal is an essay
That was due yesterday
This will surely take some invention
The words in your thoughts are mired
And tho you’re quite assuredly tired
The keys you must pound
And the cursor goes round
Until the process idea is acquired
You’ve tried to describe delicious dishes
Building garages, catching fishes
You’re getting antsy
Not tickling your fancy
These are not your writing wishes
You’ve played with iambic pan
Tameter isn’t for you, man
How about some haiku
To see you through
Until you have process in the can
Thought about riding and golfing and dancing
Of drawing and painting and romancing
Of fixing and making
And growing and baking
About anything but prancing
Why must my ideas always fight
Like children crying “I’m right!”
None’s going pop
None’s on top
I guess I’ll give up tonight
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