Thursday, March 18, 2010

Haircut, Trauma

Haircut is cool song by Pavement.
I wonder what happened to them?
I very much dislike cutting my hair.
Sort of like how my dog dislikes cutting his toenails.
I would very much rather go and get a root canal thank you than cut my hair.
The tension builds to unbearable heights as I sit there and wait for my name to be called.
Get it over with, please!
I believe I was traumatized as a child.
My aunt used to cut my hair when I was a small kid. Myself and my cousins would line up and wait for her to come at us with those electric things that looked and sounded like small hedge trimmers:

She actually did a pretty good job.
The clippers I did not care for.
Then my mom decided she would take try to cut my hair. Having no experience at this was a bold but cost saving move. Or maybe she just didn't like the way my aunt did it.
My mom went about it with a scissors and a comb, much like how professionals did it. It's just that she had no idea what she was doing.
I mostly ended up with what I called Trojan Helmet hair:

To tell you the truth, that was infinitely better than what we called the chawan cut; chawan means bowl so the haircut usually involved putting a bowl over your head and cutting everything that was sticking out:

I'm glad I didn't have to go through that embarrassment. I might be bald today if I did.
Well, baldness isn't that far away for me, and I really try to keep what hair I have left. In fact, there was a span of about five years when I went back to school that I didn't cut my hair at all.
In reality, I didn't like that either, but I at least I didn't have to go and cut it.
Oh wait, I did cut it once back then: I put my hair in a pony tail and a friend cut it off with an X-acto knife or steak knife or something:

That actually was pretty cool.
I remember I had him cut it because I was throwing something tall on the potters wheel and when I bent over it, my hair got caught in the clay ruining the piece.
Talk about a bad hair day.
So anyways, my hair is starting to hang out of the back of my helmet now and I guess it's time.
Time for me to build up to going out and actually cutting my hair. I've been thinking about it for oh, three weeks, so I'm getting closer to doing it.
Come to think about it, cutting my hair is sort of like cycling.
Self inflicted torture.
Except I don't get traumatized riding my bike.

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