Heir Apparent? The discussions recently about razors got me to thinking about hair. The Guy who runs the Buckhorn Store has his hair combed back. Old style. When I was a kid that greased-back wind look was out and the Beatles were coming in. So I just let my hair grow. But I've gotten into a lot of trouble over hair. In the late 60's, teachers and peers tormented me because of it. Too long. It's funny when I think back on the commotion. One psychotic teacher used to run her fingers lovingly through my hair during the movies when the lights went out. I was in the sixth grade. Looking at today's sex scandals I'm almost sorry that didn't happen to me also, but it didn't. She was a dish, too.
I remember in college a girl at a party thought I was wearing a wig because it was Halloween and I'd army clothes on. It wouldn't be too many years before I'd wear those clothes because they stood up the best and were cheap, but that's a different story. She walked over and pulled on my skull cap a bit to make sure it was real. I was hoping it was part of a mating ritual but I was to be disapointed in that respect.
Hair is personal. Why is that? It's ignored with great attention. You cut someone's hair different than he's used to and there's a problem- he don't like it. Billions of dollars for this hair, this stuff we mostly ignore.
Yesterday I combed my hair back, right out of the shower and it turned into a kind of psycho pompedoir... I had my 89 dollar black leather coat on and my dark sunglasses when Leanne dropped the middle kid off from school. She was kind not to say anything like, "You having a BIG hair day or WHAT?"
Big hair. I like that. That's what they sneered about Paula Jones; that her hair was too big.
When I came inside and looked at myself in the mirror I laughed aloud. People who comb their hair back spent years training hair to stay that way. Mine was Star Wars.
The old timber looks thinner than in past seasons, I noticed that this winter. Those lodgpole pines up there take an awful abuse. No respect. I used to comb my hair several times a day but stopped doing it. It just sorta falls now. Wash, dry, comb once and forget.
A psychotic Biker was trying to pull my eyeballs from their sockets, and he had ahold of my hair. I couldn't move, get away from his grip on the floor, it was over until another patient came by and pulled him back. There was a brief space, just long enough a moment for me to kick the guy against the wall. I was saved. My legs were rock hard as I rode bike every day, and that one kick saved my butt. He was out of wind and by the time I had ahold of him again, help was on the way. He told me later, after his meds, that winning a fight meant controlling the head, and that could mean grabbing the hair.
I grew my hair long a couple years ago but finally quit on the great quest to have it pony-tailed. Too much trouble. Today I just cut whatever gets in my way. The old style actors I remember from the past, Henry Fonda, Kirk Douglas, Charleton Heston; they had good hair, but it is not the hair I remember. Henry lost most of his anyway. I remember the men, I remember their eyes and noses. I can see the set of their lips and face as they made decisions. I see the posture of their hands and legs.
When I cut the Pony tail off, I was sorely tempted to use a 17" 31 ounce Baby Ganga Ram.
munk
I remember in college a girl at a party thought I was wearing a wig because it was Halloween and I'd army clothes on. It wouldn't be too many years before I'd wear those clothes because they stood up the best and were cheap, but that's a different story. She walked over and pulled on my skull cap a bit to make sure it was real. I was hoping it was part of a mating ritual but I was to be disapointed in that respect.
Hair is personal. Why is that? It's ignored with great attention. You cut someone's hair different than he's used to and there's a problem- he don't like it. Billions of dollars for this hair, this stuff we mostly ignore.
Yesterday I combed my hair back, right out of the shower and it turned into a kind of psycho pompedoir... I had my 89 dollar black leather coat on and my dark sunglasses when Leanne dropped the middle kid off from school. She was kind not to say anything like, "You having a BIG hair day or WHAT?"
Big hair. I like that. That's what they sneered about Paula Jones; that her hair was too big.
When I came inside and looked at myself in the mirror I laughed aloud. People who comb their hair back spent years training hair to stay that way. Mine was Star Wars.
The old timber looks thinner than in past seasons, I noticed that this winter. Those lodgpole pines up there take an awful abuse. No respect. I used to comb my hair several times a day but stopped doing it. It just sorta falls now. Wash, dry, comb once and forget.
A psychotic Biker was trying to pull my eyeballs from their sockets, and he had ahold of my hair. I couldn't move, get away from his grip on the floor, it was over until another patient came by and pulled him back. There was a brief space, just long enough a moment for me to kick the guy against the wall. I was saved. My legs were rock hard as I rode bike every day, and that one kick saved my butt. He was out of wind and by the time I had ahold of him again, help was on the way. He told me later, after his meds, that winning a fight meant controlling the head, and that could mean grabbing the hair.
I grew my hair long a couple years ago but finally quit on the great quest to have it pony-tailed. Too much trouble. Today I just cut whatever gets in my way. The old style actors I remember from the past, Henry Fonda, Kirk Douglas, Charleton Heston; they had good hair, but it is not the hair I remember. Henry lost most of his anyway. I remember the men, I remember their eyes and noses. I can see the set of their lips and face as they made decisions. I see the posture of their hands and legs.
When I cut the Pony tail off, I was sorely tempted to use a 17" 31 ounce Baby Ganga Ram.
munk
