I wrote this post a month or so ago but forgot to put it up…
(good example of the topic of this post)
I’ve not been in Leipzig for a few weeks now and I hear the snow has arrived, this morning I was watching a little breakfast TV at Annett’s, the first time, well, since the last time I was at Annett’s I guess since I don’t have a TV and even if I did at the time I normally get up it would be lunchtime TV instead. In Amsterdam they have BBC, so it was English breakfast news TV. I’m aware the English has a reputation for talking about the weather. I don’t want to wander into too many cultural clichés, but spend 15mins with my Dad, or spend 15mins watching English breakfast TV and they’ll be absolutely no doubt about our preoccupation with the sky, and what might or might not fall from it. It’s snowing in England now, they told me on the breakfast news, actually that’s all they told me again and again. England during snow is a hilarious place. We get snow pretty much every year, at least once. Not always lots, but at least once a year at some point. Yet we react as if, completely out of the blue our right leg would just fall off right now, onto the floor as if it were a snap on plastic Mr Potato head leg. It’s not as if one person reacts like this, collectively as a nation we are scramble to understand why our right leg just fell off, what it means, when it will stop, how we reattach it, what will happen to the left leg and most importantly who is to blame?!?!
This is the scene across the nation as people rush to stand by their windows and inform everybody that:
“It’s snowing. Look at that!”
“Oh, did you see, it’s snowing?”
“Did you see, yeah? Come look! Do you see that? Oh, now we’re in for it. Put the radio on, check if your school is closed there’s snow out there. I better go out and de-ice the car and clear the path, it’s snowing. Call all the relatives and warn them it’s snowing.”
“Mum, I think they have windows.”
“Just do it. You can never be too careful with snow.”
“Pop the TV on! Let’s see what they are saying about the snow.”
“Good morning from us here at Hello Sunshine, Good Morning England Breakfast TV and today our top story is – BRITAIN IN CHAOS. A nation is gripped in terror today after the latest attack of – from frozen weather. It’s too early to tell who is to blame, an early report citing that Al-Qaeda have taken credit for the attack have not yet been confirmed.
Earlier we found this old man wandering the streets looking for his dog and asked him what he thought” -
Roving Reporter: “Old man wandering the streets, what do you think about the snow?”
Old man: “What?”
Roving Reporter: “The snow, what do you think about the snow?”
Old man: “Say what now? Go? I was already going it was you who stopped me, moron.”
Roving Reporter: “T-H-E S-N-O-W!”
Old man: “Oh snow. Never seen anything like it. Worst snow I’ve seen since 1940. Did you see my dog?”
Roving Reporter: “Where did you see it last sir?”
Old man: “Well if I remembered that, it would probably not be lost would it?”
Roving Reporter: “Fair point. Back to the studio.”
Studio news reporter 1: “Welcome back, an update now on our main story reports are coming from a reliable sources stating this is the worst snow outbreak since 1940. People are warned to stay in their homes at all times. Do not let your pets outside as we are hearing reports of pet loss caused by, yes you guessed it – the snow outbreak.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Next up here on Hello sunshine, good morning England Breakfast TV a special report – SNOW – the silent killer! Since the snow epidemic began its reign of terror over England estimates predict approximately 60 elderly people have died.
We are joined by the BBC’s health correspondent Moira Blankard, Moira 60 direct deaths from the snow? Can you tell us more?”
Moira Blankard: “Yes you are correct, Mike. We have now heard suggestions that up to 60 elderly people have now died as a direct result of contracting what we are now calling Snow Flu. Snow Flu which is of course the latest deadly flu to trouble middle-class people with too much time on their hands, who watch too much TV, coming directly after the Avian Flu and Swine Flu epidemics.”
Studio news reporter 2: “So can you tell us how soon these 60 people died after contracting Snow Flu?”
Moira Blankard: “At this point Keith we are not exactly sure since the old people were already sadly dead when we found them.”
Studio news reporter 2: “But you can confirm they had this deadly new flu strand?“
Moira Blankard: “Not exactly, but if you look out of your window you’ll see that’s snowing, and these old people were found just recently, after the first snow reports across the country, suggesting a strong correlation between snow flu and death.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Do we know how the virus is spread?”
Moira Blankard: “Yes, Stuart, good question, it appears it can be contracted as a direct result of contact with snow, or being cold in general for too long.”
Studio news reporter 2: “How long is too long?”
Moira Blankard: “Difficult to say, for the elderly any amount of time can be too long, since they are elderly and a stiff breeze can be enough to knock them into the next life in some cases, they do make a habit of dying.”
Studio news reporter 2: “What advice are the government giving to people then Moira? What can we be doing to reduce the risk of infection?”
Moira Blankard: “Layers, Mark. Layers. We are hearing some reports that you should take the number of layers you would normally wear and then time that number by the square route of your age to get an indication how many layers you should be wearing during the snow pandemic.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Thanks for joining us today, Moira!”
Moira Blankard: “Pleasure”.
Studio news reporter 2: “Now let’s go to Abbie Walsh with the weather. Got any good news for us Abbie?”
Abbie Walsh: “Haha. Oh I wish Rob, but unfortunately not at the moment, ha ha. Hi everyone and it’s only bad news from me, I’m afraid, let’s take a look at our map of the UK here. You can see as we’ve been reporting earlier in the show – SNOW!! Snow here in the north, east, south and also reports of snow here in the west. We are unsure how long the snow will last, it’s because of this area of low pressure here somewhere, hard to see it because of the snow, but it’s around here somewhere which is pushing down that already low pressure and it just makes things lower and all that pressure results in the snow you can see here and no doubt out of your windows as well, ha ha. Please be extra careful and where possible avoid all unnecessary trips at this time, we do have reports that in an obscure place you’ve never heard of they are reporting up to 100cms of snow fall. So to recap – a chilly few days ahead, stay indoors, layers.
Over to your Richard.”
Studio news reporter 1: “Thanks Abbie, let’s cross now to our reporter out on the street, no doubt a very chilly street. I’m rather glad to be in here, ha ha, Mark Williams joins us and he is in Birmingham. Morning Mark, how is the weather there?”
Roving Reporter: “Snow Sam, snow here. Just take a look around for yourself. Same story here in Birmingham. I’m standing surrounded by cars simply abandoned here probably because of the snow. People simply getting out and leaving their cars, preferring to try their luck walking in these treacherous conditions.”
Studio news reporter 1: “Oh that’s terrible, where specifically in Birmingham are you Mark?”
Roving Reporter: “I’m in a car park, Jimmy.”
Studio news reporter 1: “In a car park, and if you’ve just joined us, by way of a recap – the UK is under siege by a Snow Pandemic, our roving reporter Sam stands surrounded by empty abandoned cars in a car park in Birmingham. Sam have you spoke to some of the local people in Birmingham, how are they coping?”
Roving Reporter: “Yes Phil, I’m actually joined now by a disgruntled man and an anxious woman.
Roving Reporter: “Disgruntled man, the snow, what are your thoughts?”
Disgruntled man: “Well I’m extremely disgruntled Sam, it’s chaos here in Birmingham. People unable to get to work, abandoned cars, dead old people, just a lot of disruption to normal routines. For example today is Tuesday, on Tuesday’s I like to hide in the woods near the High School and flash-sorry-monitor the girls there, you know to make sure they are safe from cyber bullying, anorexia etc. Couldn’t do that. School closed. Chaos. This is not life, is it? Just cut that middle bit out of the wotsit thingy, will ya?.”
Roving Reporter: “There you heard it from the horse’s mouth so to speak, ha ha ha, this disgruntled man reporting high levels of disgruntlement.
Now let’s turn to anxious woman, anxious woman, how are you coping?”
Anxious Woman: “Well, I’d just like to say that I’m extremely concerned and somewhat anxious about how we are going to get out of this situation. I personally blame the government, and foreigners.”
Roving Reporter: “You blame foreigners? What do they have to do with the snow?”
Anxious Woman: “Well, I’m not a racist, some of my best friends are 1/32 Irish after all, but I’m afraid Sam they are the straw that’s broken the proverbial camels back this time. Our transport system, heating, electricity systems, a nationwide network of service all pushed to breaking point at this time and would it be this way without all these foreigners here making demands of these services? Coming over here and taking our heating. I think, it’s the Governments fault for their lax immigration requirements. England for the English, heating for the cold, is that too much to ask Mr Prime Minister? Tell me that…”
Roving Reporter: “There you go, anxious woman and disgruntled man thanks for your thoughts. From a city in chaos, back to you in the studio Jack.”
Studio news reporter 1: “Thanks Sam. So you heard it here first foreigners – are they to blame for Snow Flu? We ask that question to the general public in our daily poll and the results are in:
13% voted: ‘Yes, probably.’
87% voted: ‘Joe McElderry’
Studio news reporter 1: “Well, certainly surprising and controversial votes there. Let’s get word direct from the government now as Will is joined by Health Minister Stuart Smythe-Jones.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Stuart welcome to the show.”
Stuart Smythe-Jones: “Good Morning Shamus. Pleasure to be here, thanks for having me.”
Studio news reporter 2: “So Stuart, the Snow terrorism, did the government see it coming and are they doing enough?”
Stuart Smythe-Jones: “Well, yes we certainly did have credible intelligence of such an attack and took preemptive action to minimize its effect.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Then why are we hearing reports of elderly people dying, pets lost, abandoned cars in car parks, layers?”
Stuart Smythe-Jones: “Well, perhaps we were a little surprised by the size of the attack but I have every confidence in local emergency services who will be diligently working to minimize any disruption. We have also secured emergency supplies of Snow Flu vaccine – Lemsip, which will be distributed to those most affected with immediate effect. We are also considering additional security checks at airports to minimize chances of another attack, we’re not sure exactly what to check yet, at this point it’s looking like maybe, the inner ear, reports suggest many WMD can fit in the average persons inner ear.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Thanks Stuart”
Stuart Smythe-Jones: “Pleasure.”
Studio news reporter 1: “Next up a recap of our main story before we go to Abbie with the weather.”
Snow Flu Pandemic – A nation mourns, elderly man still not found dog, our advice – layers….
Update: Good spot Alex, this video sums it up perfectly so should really be at the top to save you having to have read all that text, but its too late now.
I haven’t written for a while and I know I should, but then I also know I should be nice to my Grandma, call my parents, have medical insurance and wash my socks but I don’t, so go figure. Sometimes life gets in the way. I’ve also found it hard to write or reflect on things lately because my brain has been completely clogged up like a cheap U bend – with the German language.
I and anyone who knows me would say I’m not a natural language learner. They might also say I’m prone to understatements.
For some people it’s as if words and sentences are floating constantly around us, buzzing around our heads. They need only to glance towards them and they’re sucked down almost by osmosis, directly into their vocabulary to be reborn as beautiful, grammatically correct sentences. I too see these floating words and they see me, in fact the words are in cahoots, they like to form a tight fist and then repeatedly punch me in the face! I can sit for hours like this at my desk dizzy from their blows, emotionally battered and staring down at my Hausaufgaben.
Adam, Adam come on now, you’ve forgotten the context. Ah yes, I’ve enrolled in an intensive German class, 3.5hrs a day Montag bis Freitag. In one day I put in more effort than I did in the entire year that I lived in Germany before. That sounds impressive, but then 10×0 would be still zero right?
The course is held in an adult learning center with a sweat old dear for a teacher who somehow remains happy and upbeat despite on a daily basis being faced with great ineptitude on a daily basis. The class is full of characters and watching their interactions and the humour they provide me, is the main reason I get up at the ridiculous hour of 7am every day to attend. Of a class of 15 people I’m the only native English speaker. There are 5 people from China, one from Vietnam, one from Syria, one from Malta, 5 from the Ukraine and one from Iran.
My least favourite but most entertaining classmate is Bejan, the one from dem Iran a fact he gets wrong almost every day when he tries to demasculinate it to be das Iran (German language joke alert). He’s about 45, always looks slightly haggard in that ‘hard life’ kind of way. He’s bald as a badger and shuffles his way into class every day with his little metal flask and lunchbox looking down at his feet.
Every class has their show off, and Bejan who appears to feel not a hint of shame that he’s in a Level 1 German Beginners class but has lived here for 9 years, is that show off. He loves nothing more than to give you one nanosecond to answer your questions before jumping in and answering it for you. Bejan knows just about every German word, I think he attends just to bolster his self-confidence, or at least that would be the case were he were to get a lot of the answers right. While he knows an incredible number of individual German words he has little idea what to do with them. Let me construct a building metaphor here (pun intended) – while his garden might be full of bricks, he can only make rubble. He sits next to me, not by choice exactly, I missed the first day and there were no other seats. When I get stuff wrong, which occurs only 99% of the time he likes to tut, which drives me insane.
There’s one part of German class that I like more than any other, if it happens several times in one class my heart literally fills with joy, I come home like I’m returning from carnival – I’m of course talking about Bejan getting answers wrong. Yesterday we were practicing learning the numbers up to einer Million. Bejan had the simple task of saying “hundert”
I was giddy with happiness, I felt like a small child in my pyjamas on Christmas morning coming downstairs to see a bicycle shaped lump under the tree.
One day a Vietnamese woman entered the class and had a perfectly proficient, long conversation with our teacher in German. When a new student arrives we get to ask them questions such as
“Wie heißen Sie?” / what is your name
“Hast du Kinder?” / do you have children
Yes she had two, one in Germany and one doing an internship in the USA
“Bist du verheiratet?” / are you married?
She’s SE Asian and over 35 so this one was pretty much a no brainer.
“Was sind deine Hobbies?” / what are your hobbies
Kochen, Kino, Music hören and the rest I’ve forgotten
“Was ist dein Beruf?” / what is your job?
She was a Hausfrau (housewife)
“Wie lange sind Sie schon in Deutschland?” / how long have you lived in Germany
10 years.
Bejan was floored, I thought he was having a panic attack next to me “10 jahre, aye, aye aye” he repeated to himself chuckling away unaware of the irony.<
Life is simple when you’ve just started learning a language. It’s organized and formulaic and can be neatly folded and placed in its appropriate box because you don’t yet have the vocabulary to critique the theories of Nietzsche, or Cultural Relativism. So instead we repeatedly tell each other our names, how old we are, if we have children and what our hobbies are. Responses are delivered in the best butchered German we can muster:
I am 25yrs now,
my hobbies are – well that was a tricky one as I didn’t know the word for to ride so I was saying “Fahrrad spielen” which you could interpret as “playing bicycle” , as in my hobby is to get down on my knees and pretend to be a Bicycle.
I have no child…
Everything becomes simple, and your expectations shrink down with it. In English it’s not that easy to entertain me, if it’s deep and meaningful or makes me laugh then there’s no problem. What you had for dinner last night (sorry twitter, although ironically I didn’t tweet what I just had for dinner) is not really going to cut it. If you can’t even say what you had for dinner last night because you lack the vocabulary, then either you’ll be completely bored or your entertainment expectations in that language must decrease which is what’s happening with me, and I guess with other people as well. Exhibit A:
Valery (a guy from the Ukraine) made a joke yesterday that went a little something like this:
Teacher: Valery, hast du eine deutsche Frau?
Valery: Nein, ich habe keine deutsche Frau, doch ich habe viele deutsche Frauen!
HAHAHHHAA, give this man a stage and a microphone I thought! When he delivered the punchline in German I thought my sides were going to split, the room erupted in laughter it was a veritable humour riot. Jokes that good could end wars. Yeah that’s right, I said wars.
Nochmal, in English this time:
Teacher: Valery, have you a German woman?
Valery: I do not have a German woman, I have many German women!
Ba boom….In English it’s barely Christmas cracker worthy, which I guess goes to show just how vital and fascinating and awe worthy language is.
It also highlights what you’re reduced to when you can’t speak it – you are just a 25 year old man, who is not married, has no children, comes from England and likes to impersonate a Bicycle.
We used to have a very nice house in New Zealand. It was in a very nice area, near a very nice road which had shops and cafés and it was all very nice and civilized. Which was nice. Near those cafés was a corner shop, just a few minutes walk from our house. Once I learnt they sold Dr Pepper, which wasn’t that common in NZ I was there on almost a daily basis.
I’m a naturally friendly person, so I guess I’m reasonably good at talking to people. Over time (and Dr Pepper purchases), the Indian owner of this shop and me formed a sort of quasi-friendship. Only quasi because he never knew my name, I never knew his, but in certain areas of our lives we knew each other intimately. I knew that he had two children, and uncle, a wife, and as it would become our de-facto conversation topic that – he hated his job.
‘”I’m here always working, morning to night, every day, seven days a week, always working” he would say in a dreary shoot me nowsort of tone.
“Oh dear, yeah that is tough” I’d respond thumbing the change in my pocket. “I have no-one to cover me, my uncle he has a shop but that makes nice money, this shop doesn’t.”
“Sorry to hear that I’d say” meekly rooting around for some positivity I could inject into the conversation – “but you’re your own boss, that’s got to count for something right? I mean you’re building something and if it successful 100% of that success if yours.” Okay, so while I’m not exactly a life coach of some note, I was proud of this uplifting response.
“100% hahaha try telling my wife that. And it’s not successful my friend.” Damn, shut down again.
“Have you thought about employing someone else to run the shop?” I’m clutching at straws here, of course he has.
“I could but it costs too much I wouldn’t make any money. Sometimes my wife she runs the shop or my uncle will cover me for a little while but if not it’s just me my friend, working day after day.“
I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to do now. Can I help? Should I buy more or less Dr Pepper?
Then we’d talk about what I did, which I don’t think he ever understood, but then no-one does so I just left it as IT stuff and tried to make it sound about as much fun as a being an unwilling participant in a prison gangbang, so he didn’t get jealous. This was how it used to go when I came in the shop, first some light hearted banter about the weather, maybe the youth of today, how close the weekend was but then when I’d least expect it he’d skillfully dodge the conversation back to his being stuck in his shop, day after day.
“I think you want what I have, and I want what you have” he used to say sometimes. I’d smile and nod and say “yeah maybe, such is life, the grass is always greener” but I would be thinking – err yeah about as much as I want a grand piano to drop from the sky and smash on my head the next time I come out of the house to innocently buy Dr Pepper and Cadburys buttons. Although hang on, maybe I’m being hasty, you do have very commendable head hair growth…
After a while I started to avoid the shop, if we were walking by I’d send Annett in. I think people know not to go to Germans for sympathy, I always thought it was just one of those unwritten rules like don’t lick lightbulbs. German truths do not come sugar coated.
Eventually I found another shop about 3 or 4 minutes walk further on with a Chinese dude who judging by his body language also hated his life, but didn’t feel the need to verbalize it. I was sure to never make eye contact anymore than absolutely necessary just in case. He probably thought I was a mute. I was actually just a Dr Pepper fiend happy in my little optimist bubble where every day I’m the guest of honour at an earth sized carnival, that people keep trying to rain on.
I started this about a strange German man I met today when I buy a SIM card, but it reminded me of this man, so I’ll do the German man as part 2.
I was very excited a few weeks ago when the people at eChinaCities mailed me via Facebook to ask if they could rerun a few of my China blogposts on their site, starting with my Nightbus to Wuhan series. I think this is the first time anyone had asked to do this with any of my posts so I was high fiving the air with great satisfaction. Then it turned out they proclaimed to have a million unique visitors a week or something ridiculous, so I started dreaming of Chinese book tours and speaking appearances, I could be like the alive guys who crashed in their plane in the mountains somewhere and ate people kebabs, I would travel the country telling of my near death travel experience, which would mean more buses, and more 47hr long bus trips, oh the joy.
Actually I needn’t have got too excited, the sites not sent a single referral back to the zig (at least when I wrote this, which was on the 4th April, I’m queuing content and everything now, the zig has gone pro) and there’s only been one comment on there which is about tying a cow to a bus, I think it’s sophisticated new spam, I mean who wouldn’t approve a comment about a cow tied to a bus? Sneaky spammers. Its possible the comment was more entertaining than my article.
Anyway, while I was over there stalking myself, I started looking at the job section and came across this gem of an ad. Equal Opportunities law has not quite arrived in China yet, I circled the requests that would be slightly frowned upon um, just about everywhere.
Well at least I know I needn’t bother applying for that job which is a shame because I’m extremely qualified for it, being at least 170cm.
I went to the barbers today. I go to a highly rated barbers, Metro magazine for example, said it was the best Barbers in Auckland, 2006. It’s in the basement of a little building next to a gym, next to Victoria Park, next to the motorway, next to my office. I imagine some people are happy, excited even when they’re walking down the steps from the street to the basement of Metro magazines best barbers in Auckland, 2006. I’m not one of those people…
I’d rather sit in the electric chair than the barbers chair. When I sit in the barbers chair, under their excellent lighting I feel exposed. Since my last visit I’ll have constructed a large wall of denial about my hair loss brick by brick, day by day. When I return to the barbers this wall comes a tumbling down, upon my bald head.
Under inferior light, away from the discerning eye of a professional coiffeur, I can lie to myself – “Hey good looking.” “Ignore the naysayers, at the top there, its growing back thicker than ever.” “You’ve years left yet with that rad buffon” “Why look how thick that tangled mess is, that’s practically a jewfro.” Denial is a wonderful, wonderful thing and I highly recommend it. Barbers are denial killers. Each time I go I notice they use the scissors less and less. Now they don’t even get them out until the very end, and then its just a token gesture they cut nothing with them but my fragile self-confidence.
You’d think that with the combination of baldness, superior lighting and coiffeur professionals I’d have enough to worry about when I make my bi-monthly, hesitant trip to the Barbers. You’d be wrong. I also have an irrational fear of queue jumpers sneaking in line and taking my spot in the denial killers chair. And when you frequent Metro Magazines top Auckland Barber 2006 you can expect queues.
Perhaps this irrational fears comes from my inner Englishman. I try to keep it hidden. Sure I’m holding open a copy of Top Gear magazine, pretending to thumb through a fascinating feature on car type stuff, engine velocity throughput performance thingys, but, here is the sneaky part – I’m not reading it! Not even slightly! I couldn’t have less interest in cars. Instead its just a disguise to make me appear normal. I don’t even look at the pages. I’m actually scanning the other waiting people looking for signs that they might be about to move – move into my spot
I’ve been known to forget my reading ruse all together and without noticing I’m doing it, I’ll roll up my magazine up ready to be used as a primitive swatting weapon for an attack on any would be queue jumpers. Were someone so much as to turn their wrist to check the time at the wrong moment – Whack, they’ll feel the power of my internal v8 engine when they get a short, sharp visit from Jeremy and co – right to the forehead. Oh yes. Sit back down motherfucker, this balding man was here first.
The most crucial time is when it appears the man in the chair is just about finished, and you are next. You’ll notice because the barber will spray some water shit in the air, no-one know why, then he’ll put down the scissors and get out a brush. A few quick strokes and the brush goes down and the mirror comes out. This is your window. You’re a monkey in a pack of monkeys and the alpha monkey just showed weakness. The bosses seat is about to become free, you need to make your move. Move too early and the spot won’t be free and you’ll be visible in that mirror looking like the Barber stalker, no-one likes the Barber stalker, move too late and you’ll have to fight challengers for the throne. The key is to signal your intent early, this scares off other ambitious monkeys and lets everyone know how this is going to play out. My technique is to use the magazine, make a very dramatic exaggeration about how you’ve now finished reading your magazine. Turn around to those also waiting and make eye contact. Brandish only a look of smug entitlement. Shift in your seat slightly. Lift your feet. Wait for the first signs of movement from the existing customer and then when you spot it – straight up, arms flailing, flash your teeth and move, move, move you’re the king of the jungle now…
I was next in line this time, preparing my end game as described above when I was thrown completely off-balance. There I was, Top Gear in hand as the door opens and an old guy enters the barbers, a very old guy. He was of that age where you can mutter “hurry up old timer” and “should you still be driving, yes you, stick to the left gramps” at him and not feel guilty about it because you’re pretty sure he can’t hear you anyway and if he could he’ll only forget a few minutes later when he remembers its time for Jelly.
He caught my attention because well – he didn’t haveany hair. If you were generous enough to call what he didn’t have a style, it would have to be the “the Homer Simpson”. He absolutely did not need to go the barbers.
Why was he at the barbers? Was it like when the zombies in Dawn of the Dead headed to the shopping mall, relying on instinct and muscle memory alone to poorly imitate humans? Shouldn’t someone say something? Should I tap zombie simpson on the shoulders and let him know he’s as bald as a newborn? Would the barber play just play along?
“Ah hello again Fred, the usual I take it?” he would say “ah you know me so well, yes please get it to I’m not getting any younger” the old man would jovially respond.
The Barber walks round cutting thin air for 20mins while they both talk about their upcoming holidays.
“Ah that’s much better, taken 20 years off you now” the barber would joke “and $20 as well” the old man would quip, “hahahahahaha” they’d both laugh…
Could he even still be charged full price? Lets face it, you wouldn’t pay full price for socks that only covered one toe.
Why was he here, and why was no-one informing him the strands he still had, probably only visible under microscope, would come off of their own accord next time there was a breeze? Then I had a sickening thought – what if someone else is saying that very same thing about me?!?! If they weren’t this time, then how long would it be before I’m that guy. Not in age, but in hair denial. Maybe I already am…
I sat down in the barbers chair.
“What can I do for you today? Just shorter all over?” my trendy, trainered, handsome and stubbly barber asks. I hate him already, “you make it sound like I have options? To be honest it feels like I’m losing the war a little bit here and might as well just shave it all off” I respond defeated “yeah over-compensating isn’t working, I recommend you go really short on the sides and whatever you do have left on the top will look much more in comparison” he says buoyantly. “Feels like getting off on a technicality, 0×0 is still zero, but okay lets go for it.”
Sigh
What’s up?
“I just don’t feel ready to say goodbye to my hair. I don’t mind this happening, but it just feels 10 years too early. I’m only 25!” I plead, to everyone and no-one in particular.
“Look at me, I’m 38, still got a full head of hair, but no kids, I must be shooting blanks.”
He interrupts me considering whether bald people are even allowed to have children, not legally I’m sure that’s fine, but ethically – pro-active darwinism if you will. The world is not a kind place for monkey children with poor eyesight and receding hairlines.
“That’s just the way it goes, all part of life’s rich tapestry!” he adds, “are you trying to make feel better about myself or vomit? Are there any spare threads in life rich tapestry that I could borrow and perhaps glue to my head?”
The cutting shaving begins. Sigh
“Have you thought about growing a beard, you know, to compensate?” he asks, “ah I see you know all the tricks. Yes I’ve been using the beard decoy for years now, since I was about 12 in fact.” I respond happy we found at least one thing I am good at, “Yeah, you look like you could grow a mean beard” he says, looking impressed. “Oh, you’ve no idea, Adam Taliban Fletcher they call me.”
More shaving. We discuss that I’m leaving NZ soon. He tells me that he probably wont see me in there again before I leave then. I tell him he probably will as its still 7 weeks away, how often should I get a haircut?
“You need a haircut once a month mate!” I’m a little dumbfounded. “Once a month? If I had no teeth, would I go to the dentist once a month?” I ask. “I guess not, no. Hey, do you want to take some hair with you? You know as a souvenir.” he’s looking down at the few strands at the bottom of the stool, which are blonde so clearly from the man before. Kick a man while he’s down why don’t you, I think. “Nah its fine, I’ve plenty on my pillow. If it had legs it could pass for a sheepdog.”
At the weekend we went to Raglan, NZ’s most famous surf spot. In the water I’m capable of little more than drowning, flailing, at a push. So we opted to watch the surfers, and walk for hours along the miles and miles of black sand beaches. I drove the whole weekend, and on the way back had two close encounters with mother nature. The first was an eagle, or hawk or something, I’m not a bird watcher. It was sitting on the carcass of a cat, or fox or something, I’m not a zoologist. The carcass was on the other side of the road, I had to little more than slow down and observe the scene. But it was on a curve which meant I came in close contact with the hawk. What surprised me was that the hawk didn’t even flinch, it felt like the modern day equivalent of a wild west duel. Back them the odds were a little bit more evenly dispersed, 50/50 between participants. In this duel I fancied my chances, supported by a few tons of steel, hidden behind a windscreen, traveling at 90km/hr. If I had been so inclined, I felt confident my chances of reliving the hawk of its dinner, and further adding to the roadkill count were pretty good. Worth a bet at least. Luckily, for the hawk, I’d already eaten.
The hawk sat firm on his carcass and stared my straight in the eyes as I passed. A harsh stare that said “come on then fancyman, you just try and take my dinner”. Mother nature is scary, I’m glad I live indoors and work in IT where there are no animals, beyond mice but they’re powered by USB.
The second was just a few minutes later, two ducks came waddling out of the side of the road very abruptly. Perhaps they had somewhere important to go (maybe church being a Sunday), or they had never been told about the need to look left, then right, then left again. Out they came brazen as you like. I broke sharply, scared the crap out of the front one who waddled a little bit faster (I guess ducks can’t run as such, they’re legs being just matchsticks wrapped in a cape) and opened up a narrow gap for me to steer our fisher price rental car through. The rear view mirrors confirmed the only scars I left on the ducks were mental. My reaction to this was probably not the normal one (fucking ducks), instead I thought “I know nothing about ducks”. Granted I’ve moved to countries I know even less about (in fact the last two). But still, I know almost nothing, other than that they like bread, which bonds us in yeasty kinship. Perhaps that’s why I like ducks, or because they make a cute sound that never really changes even when they try to get angry. It just repeats the same word
“quack, quack, quack” nope not quack, listen closer, “quack..qruack..qruaek…qreak…qread…bread…bread…bread”.
“bread”, “bread” They’re just something comedic about them, a punchline to one of natures unwritten jokes. The gimps of the pond.
If I’d hit the front duck, would I have widowed the duck behind? Do ducks mate for life? Are there male and female ducks? Would they relived at not being mashed up my rubber wheels, rush home for we’re still alive celebration sex? Do ducks even have sex? How long do ducks live? How many children can one duck have?
Perhaps its because I was talking to Annett about education, and she was saying that she’s jealous that a friend of hers is starting their phd. I was telling her my theory that all education gets easier the higher the level, and that achieving a phd is in reality probably not harder than getting my GCSE grade C in science, which I found extremely difficult. This is because with each level up you specialize more and more, and always on a topic you pick that you’re really interested in. So I would do mine on crowdsourcing, communities, entrepreneurship, e-business or something in this area, my areas of expertise. GCSE’s were a mixed bag, 99% of which I had absolutely no interest in (eg everything but Business Studies). I’m not dumb, I spend all my time trying to learn new things, its just they are normally personality disorders affecting the Japanese, or the difficulty of being a peruvian miner, not the sort of knowledge I’m likely to need. But learning something you’ve no interest in is like pulling teeth – possible, but not fun.
In a world crashing ever further towards specialisation (thanks to the internet making it ever easier to connect with people/provide access to the things we are interested in) how soon is it before only a few freaky people like florian who are interested in ducks and guinea pigs and understand how that stuff works. We’ve been buying furniture recently, and putting it together is a pain….for Annett. I don’t even pretend I’ll do it, I have no idea how that stuff works, I thought screwdrivers were cocktails?! I just go to the other side of the flat so I don’t have to witness my own demasculination and wait to be called for the monkey tasks like bashing things, where I use the saucepan to push in screws, as I’m not manly enough to own a hammer.
No big deal you’ll probably say, as long as someone knows and we have wikipedia we’ll all be fine. But then what about children? Children are a total blank canvas, their only constant interests are breaking things, making their parents lives miserable and there own bodily functions. That means when I have kids they’ll ask all sort of difficult questions like “how much does the moon weigh” “how much wood would a woodcutter cut, if a woodcutter could cut wood?”. What can I do in those situations other than lie “as much as a raccoon, holding a cheese roll, sitting on an elephant and………12″. Or ‘I’m not sure but did I tell you that two people in Japan were hospitalized last year with Truman show disorder, the belief that they are the stars of a Truman show like reality show?’. Surely there’s only so many times I can say “erm….go ask your mother?” before they put the little brats in care, or in the hands of an all-rounder of a father, one that knows what a noun is.
And what about the duck that escaped the wrath of my tyre by a mere fraction, is he now wondering ‘what do I actually know about humans? Do they mate for life? What will I tell my ducklings when I ask me how much the moon weighs? No I suspect it’s just thinking ‘bread’, ‘bread’, ‘bread’.
After the emotionally heavy goodbye post, heres something lighter for you, but much, much heavier for me.
I always figured i’d go bald eventually, its one of lifes inevitabilities like bitter disappointment (oh no wait they’re the same) or taxes. I thought it would be a more few years, 60 to be exact, not 2 or 3. Lately when I look at photos of myself where before there was an silent enemy hiding in the shadows, day by day he becomes braver, rising and taunting me, becoming bolder as I become balder. My nemesis…scalp.
I went to get my hair cut last week. An experience made even more embarrassing by the fact that she spent more time trimming my neck hair than those rare specimens still inhabiting my head. Thats the thing. I’m over amply haired in all other areas, I’m basically a hairy little chimp/human hybrid. Everywhere but the place that I would like it. Its a sick joke, I’m someones genetic punchline.
I now feel about it like I used to feel about going to the dentist. You hate the thought of it, its humiliating when you’re there and you’re not convinced theres any need for it beyond helping put the dentists kids through school. Quitting going to the dentist was my choice, soon there will literally be no need for a visit to the hairdresser, no feet stamping act of defiance from me, oh no, it’ll be scalpy doing the victory dance this time.
I have a few options
a) kill myself
b) shave it all off now and be loud, bald and proud (Annett responded to this with “I hope you don’t think this is actually an option”, so for now its the front runner)
c) go down kicking and screaming, until cruel nature has dragged every last hair off my head – rock the comb over or other style disguises.
d) kill randomly selected “haired” men, then kill myself.
Hey its not that bad right? Everybody knows that bald men are more “verile”. Erm, yeah right, everybody knows that bald men are more GRATEFUL. Should they manage to seduce a woman into bed I’m guessing that “virility” cocktail is more like 2 parts haste, one part rustiness. I’ll confirm the recipe for you in a year.
On a lighter note (I didn’t laugh once writing that post, infact I didn’t even enjoy it and I’m very good at finding myself entertaining luckily) traveling starts in 3 weeks. Mental, I’ve read 4 pages about Vietnam so I guess the planning is done. Next step is some technicalities like buying a backpack, getting visa’s and just about everything else apart from reading 4 introductory pages on the history of Vietnam.
One week before the messy breakup that will be me and my first inhabitable love – Leipzig. And not even the option of getting a new haircut to help get over this one
I’d like to write more, but I’m depressed now and its 1:14am.
(or at least it was on Saturday when I wrote this, my mood has recovered greatly, but my hairline still remains the same)
Ami likes to spend every spare 30secs we have shopping and buying all different types of swag for his family. I’ve been restrained so far (I don’t really need anything but travelling stuff and they don’t have much of that). But its so cheap here its hard not to get sucked it. My parents used to talk about how they were embrassed of the strange shoes I used to buy when I was younger, the biggest strangest trainers. Now shopping with ami I’ve had a unique insight into what they felt as I watch him darting around looking for the strangest, freakiest trainers to buy.
Picked up these gold beauties yesterday from the super evil Nike corporation for a bargain $10 (€7)…Look how epically naff and over the top they are, we’re going to have a lot of fun out on black thunder once she’s fixed sporting these subtle beauties:
