A Clip Job
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Vancouver, WA
Normally things like haircuts don't make it into the journal.
Normally.
But the haircut I got yesterday, Wednesday, isn't normal. No, it's far from normal, at least for me. So I felt the need to document the whole hair affair in this journal entry.
For the past year or two, really since we began our fulltime wandering lifestyle, I've been toying with the idea of a really short haircut. It would certainly be easy to take care of... well, almost no care at all... a thing valued by explorers and those seeking a simpler lifestyle. No combs or brushes needed.
On the downside: what if my head is shaped like a pear or all lumpy or flat in some places? I'd have to go into hybernation for a few weeks and let it grow out. What if my ears stick out further than I already think they do? What if my white scalp burns in the sun? What if people laugh, babies cry, and small children run and hide at the sight of me? Hmmm? Despite the unknowns I've still been wanting to find out what's under that mane.
So yesterday, Wednesday, my daughter Andrea had the clippers out to give Dan, a friend of theirs, a clipping. Both Gage and Dan have had this very short style for some time and have loved it. Andrea has become the barber, not just doing the guys, but the kids as well. When she finished with her first victim she looked at me and motioned that I should sit in the now vacant chair on the deck. "How 'bout you, Dad?"
Now I'd already had a beer and probably wasn't thinking clearly when I took the bait and sat in the chair. I haven't been "buzzed" since I was probably 5 years old. What am I getting into? For a few seconds I thought about bolting... escaping... but then the sound of the hair-harvesting clippers digging into paydirt took those thoughts away and I began to think only of excuses that I could use when people asked about what happened to me. Why, I'm just back from special forces training... an Afghanistan mission you know... can't tell you any more... top secret... I'm in training for the ironman competition... you rube, this is the latest male hairstyle on the west coast...
The next 5 or so short minutes were a blur. Dar was taking photos. Gage and Dan were making comments and pained facial expressions. One minute they thought I was starting to look like Brett Farve... the next minute, Ghandi. And then the great unveiling of the melon was complete. There was this breeze, this cool breeze, that I hadn't felt before -- that was the first thing I sensed. Man-O-Man... what had I done? I said earlier that it was short, I even used the word "buzzed" at one point. But I can't report just how short it is as it's impossible to measure. The little marks on my measuring tape only go to 1/32nd of an inch... and it's much shorter than that.
My plan now is to try to get used to it as it grows out a bit more each day. I'm taking it a day at a time and will see what the future holds.
Because I've had requests for a photo, I'll tell you what I'm gonna do... I've hidden my photo among those of other famous people who've done the same thing I have. At this point I'm going to leave you guessing at which one is the real me.
T
Vancouver, WA
Normally things like haircuts don't make it into the journal.
Normally.
But the haircut I got yesterday, Wednesday, isn't normal. No, it's far from normal, at least for me. So I felt the need to document the whole hair affair in this journal entry.
For the past year or two, really since we began our fulltime wandering lifestyle, I've been toying with the idea of a really short haircut. It would certainly be easy to take care of... well, almost no care at all... a thing valued by explorers and those seeking a simpler lifestyle. No combs or brushes needed.
On the downside: what if my head is shaped like a pear or all lumpy or flat in some places? I'd have to go into hybernation for a few weeks and let it grow out. What if my ears stick out further than I already think they do? What if my white scalp burns in the sun? What if people laugh, babies cry, and small children run and hide at the sight of me? Hmmm? Despite the unknowns I've still been wanting to find out what's under that mane.
So yesterday, Wednesday, my daughter Andrea had the clippers out to give Dan, a friend of theirs, a clipping. Both Gage and Dan have had this very short style for some time and have loved it. Andrea has become the barber, not just doing the guys, but the kids as well. When she finished with her first victim she looked at me and motioned that I should sit in the now vacant chair on the deck. "How 'bout you, Dad?"
Now I'd already had a beer and probably wasn't thinking clearly when I took the bait and sat in the chair. I haven't been "buzzed" since I was probably 5 years old. What am I getting into? For a few seconds I thought about bolting... escaping... but then the sound of the hair-harvesting clippers digging into paydirt took those thoughts away and I began to think only of excuses that I could use when people asked about what happened to me. Why, I'm just back from special forces training... an Afghanistan mission you know... can't tell you any more... top secret... I'm in training for the ironman competition... you rube, this is the latest male hairstyle on the west coast...
The next 5 or so short minutes were a blur. Dar was taking photos. Gage and Dan were making comments and pained facial expressions. One minute they thought I was starting to look like Brett Farve... the next minute, Ghandi. And then the great unveiling of the melon was complete. There was this breeze, this cool breeze, that I hadn't felt before -- that was the first thing I sensed. Man-O-Man... what had I done? I said earlier that it was short, I even used the word "buzzed" at one point. But I can't report just how short it is as it's impossible to measure. The little marks on my measuring tape only go to 1/32nd of an inch... and it's much shorter than that.
My plan now is to try to get used to it as it grows out a bit more each day. I'm taking it a day at a time and will see what the future holds.
Because I've had requests for a photo, I'll tell you what I'm gonna do... I've hidden my photo among those of other famous people who've done the same thing I have. At this point I'm going to leave you guessing at which one is the real me.
T
Comments
Are you sure you're looking at the right picture?
Sort of reminds me of the photos of the concentration camps of WW2
Short (non existant) hair means no fleas!
Chuck Swain