Friday, February 11, 2011
Shaved my head by accident today.
I've just gotten over a head cold. I'd been planning to shave my mustache off -- I only had it in the first place because I just got bored of shaving one day, halfway through my beard, and it was the first decent place to stop. Now that my nose wasn't producing snot like a Mister Softee machine, I finally had the confidence that I'd be able to take a blade to my upper lip without cutting off my nose to spite my face. (Whatever they say, I can't think of any better way to spite your face than cutting off your nose. Don't knock it.)
So, shaved off the mustache, then put the attachment on the clippers and trim my hair. It'd been getting long lately -- not college-long, not gonna-braid-it long, but a little scruffy -- and I wanted to trim it down into a nice Mel Cooley.
Alas, twas not to be. The attachment for the clippers was jittery. It seemed to have trouble staying put, but it calmed down when I touched it to my head, so I crossed my fingers and clipped. But three-quarters -- hell, maybe seven-eighths -- of the way through trimming my head, the attachment shook itself apart, flying off the clippers. Problem was, I couldn't go to a tighter attachment -- this was the closest cut beyond the blades themselves.
So that's what I did. Pulled that clipper across my head, every which way, and then followed it up with my razor. Middle of February, the first time I feel good in days, and suddenly I go for the full Uncle Fester .
Gonna be chilly tonight.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Okay, so last night I dug deep into the Lawrence Wright's excellent article in the New Yorker about Paul Haggis and the Church of Scientology, and I got so wrapped up with the accusations of cults and brainwashing that by the time I got to bed, it mixed with my head cold and the premiere of The Chicago Code to mix into a dream where I had to escape from a cult led by Delroy Lindo.*
The thing I remember most about the dream was that Lindo had imposed some sort of fee for just walking around the compound, and the would go to our bamboo hits with two enforcers dressed up like Walk/Don'tWalk signs, and extort a dollar from us. I hid on my porch, but they saw me there and got my dollar. I knew it was going to keep happening, so I staged a breakout.
I don't remember the details of the breakout, but I do remember that part of it went wrong, and some of my friends and other innocent cult members were trapped in a fenced area, where someone was coming along with weed clippers to snip off their ring fingers or pinkies. It hadn't happened yet... but my fellow escapees and I somehow managed to find a helicopter and fly out of there. But as we lifted off, with armed guards chasing us, we were worried about those left behind.
I probably should have taken some knockout cold medicine before going to sleep.
*I don't know what Mr. Lindo's religious affiliation is, but I'm reasonably certain he is neither a cult leader nor a Scientologist. Though if Mr. Lindo wanted to start a cult, he's charismatic enough that you can bet we'd all know someone in it by now.