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Sarcasm Aside

random thoughts of a self-diagnosed neurotic with the attention span of a five-year old... a blog by Alternati

Cut and Pastiness

Monday, January 08, 2007

My post on the Sagada trip has been placed on the back burner. I'm still picking which pictures to post. I went trigger happy and now picking pictures is an ordeal much like Sophie's Choice. And then of course, there's the insanely sluggish uploading speed.
Cut me barber for I haven't trimmed. It's been 3 months since my last haircut.
There is something truly orgasmic about getting a haircut. I believe a visit to the parlor/ barber shop is one of the few remaining modern activities that make you feel genuinely regal but still satisfies three crucial factors:
  1. You remain within budgetary bounds. Last I checked I don't own a Queen Elizabeth II cruise ship and I don't own majority of Monaco.
  2. It is PC.
  3. You are fully aware your "reign" only lasts for a couple of hours max, but at least you come out of the place alive. Try reigning for 9 days and then getting decapitated, at 16 years old. Poor Jane Grey.

Anyways, I'm stopping myself before I start talking about Anne Boleyn or Helen Mirren's possible oscar.


I've had the flower child look for too long. Gimme a tower and I'll do a flawless Rapunzel, it'll bring tears to your eyes. I've grown attached to the length of my hair, sort of like a security blanket attached to your skull. Having long hair is just way to taxing. It takes you forever to wash and condition it and it takes another infinity to dry it out. Hair products aren't cheap... what ever happened to the good old days of fresh gooey aloe vera? And then there's the ubiquitous strands of hair in the sink drain, on your pillow and the floor.

Yesterday afternoon, it took two cigarettes to stop myself from hyperventilating and to convince myself I WAS having my hair cut. It's hilarious how we attach ourselves to such transient things. Eversince I was old enough to afford a decent haircut, I've almost always gone to the same hairstylist. His name is Eugene. He is a legend in these parts. He's an artist. Eugene's haircuts always agree with my look and he has a "dark brown thumb" because my hair magically becomes better whenever he touches it.

We were chatting away the moment I sat on his cushioned chair. I was so into the conversation, I didn't even notice the first snip, kind of like what doctors do to vaccinate kids... "Look at the shiny coin" Eugene's memory is amazing. He remembers names and jobs and events like an almanac. I was confronted with this fact when he remembered what my Thesis was in college. Some of my close friends wouldn't know what it was even if their life depended on it (it was an Art Gallery and Cafe, just in case Armageddon depended on it my friends... tee hee) Eugene cuts hair at Gemini's Hair Salon.

I know this entry is long enough, but I just have to mention that the girl who shampooed my hair looked like Pumpkin. Not A pumpkin... but THE pumpkin from Memoirs of a Geisha, or at least how I thought she would look like when I read the book. She even had the powdered face, the pink cheeks and the perfectly positioned mole. I swore if she was wearing a kimono, I would've sworn I was lying in a genuine Okiya as she lathered my hair.

My head feels ALOT lighter. I guess climbing my tower would require the construction of a lift or at least the traditional ladder... the former more preferred.

Look at me talking about my measly haircut when there are real things happening in the world.

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posted by Alternati, 11:09 PM

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