Bunny decided it was time for me to get a haircut. Normally, she does the cutting, but after the last haircut I received at a real barber shop (in Brevard—real barber pole, barbers, wood panelling, the works) she felt that the professionals did a much better job at it then she.
“Welcome, Sean,” said the hostess.
“Um … how did you–”
“You're here for your four o'clock appointment,” she said. “Would you care for wine? Or perhaps an imported beer from the Continent?”
“Oh. Um. No, I'm fine.”
“Very well. Chel will take care of you,” she said. “Chel! You're four o'clock is here.” She pointed over to the chairs, nestled among oversized high-contrast portraits of James Dean and Marlon Brando. “This way,” she said.
“Hello,” said Chel, walking over to lead me to her chair. “Please, take a seat. Short, over the ears, close cropped shave.”
“Shh, just sit back and relax,” she said, tying a paper collar about my neck and adjusting the snap-on tarp. “Glasses,” she said.
“Oh, yes,” I said. I took off my glasses, and she placed them gently on the nearby counter. She then started clipping my hair. It was the typical motions—snip here, snip there, reposition my head, more snipping, use the electric razer here and there and before long, she had apparently finished with cutting my hair.
She then lowered the back of the chair so I was nearly lying horizontally. “Please, relax,” Chel said, as she lowered a folded, steaming hot towel across the lower half of my face, then raised the folded part to cover my entire face. Oddly enough, even though I could see the steam rising off of it (even without my glasses) it wasn't scalding. In fact, it felt nice. It was wisked off, then she massaged my face, then another towel, then various gels and what not were rubbed into my face, then another hot towel, then more gels and finally, the shave with an honest-to-god straight razor. That was weird. I could feel it (felt like a sharp pencil against my skin) and hear it scrap the hair off my face.
And with that, I was done.
It was not cheap. But it was a fun experience. And certainly a different experience from a small town barber shop.
So we were eating dunch at The Rock Steady Jamaican Bistro (the food was quite good, but you better like it jerked) and for a change, we were listening to reggae. Not because we wanted to listen to raggae, but beause we were eating at a Jamaican restaurant.
And it could have been worse—it could have been country reggae.
But we were listening to reggae, when it struck me, the reggae music—it was a song I haven't heard in a long time …
“I have a sad story to tell you.”
I was trying to place where I heard it …
“It might hurt your feelings a bit.”
It's been years … and the heavy reggae beat wasn't helping, mon.
“I stepped in the bathroom last night.”
What was it?
“And stepped in a pile of shhhhhhhhh—”
Shaving Cream! It was the Shaving Cream song! Only with a very heavy reggae beat and a thick Jamaican accent. But yes, it was the Shaving Cream song!
Bunny and I watched “A Liar's Autobiography: The Untrue Story of Monty Python's Graham Chapman” and I must say—it's a very odd film, even by Monty Python standards. Animated, in fourteen different styles (some of it very beautifully done) with most of Monty Python doing voice work (and no, it's not Graham Chapman that isn't in it), it's a completely made up story of the life of Graham Chapman.
Well, mostly made up. It does cover his homosexuality and drinking problems. But everything else is made up. Well, except for him working for Monty Python. But short of the homosexuality, the drinking problems, and working with Monty Python, it's all made up. Except his name really is Graham Chapman.
Okay, let me start over again.
Except for his name, his homosexuality, drinking problems and working with Monty Python, the movie is completey and utterly false.
Except he did study to become a doctor.
Well, it's a very weird film and you should watch it because it's kind of true, except when it isn't.