The Haircut Tradition

Posted in Humor, On Tthe Road on August 9th, 2010 by MadDog
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Got to get back into some semblance of a routine. I want to sleep when I know that I would be better off doing something else – anything else. I recognise this symptom, along with a few others. It’s reactive depression creeping up on me. It will cripple me if I let it. Fortunately, learning coping skills, years of therapy (on and off) and some decent drugs has pretty much rid me of this curse.

So, on this rather gloomy morning in Cairns, I decided to get up and start writing. The nice thing about social networking over the web is that you don’t have to get dressed to do it. Here is gloomy Cairns this morning:

It was raining a few minutes earlier. The clouds have receded, leaving a very clear atmosphere behind.

Here is another shot using a different panoramic stitching technique:

I can’t decide which I like best.

Today, Eunie decided that I needed a trim. If left to me, I would probably never bother to cut my hair. I’ve always hated the whole haircut thing. To me it is not unlike shaving. I view shaving as an unnatural act. Hey, taking a sharp object and scraping the hair from your body – what is that? It’s freaky, man – against nature. When a scene comes on the TV showing someone shaving I have to look away. It spikes up the forest of hair on my arms – makes me shiver. That horrible scraping sound reminds me of fingernails on a blackboard.

Getting a haircut feels pretty much the same to me. I feel for poor Samson in the Bible. He was okay until somebody messed with his hair. I have this ridiculous urge to ask the barber, “Please, be gentle.”

Fortunately, we were directed by a kindly pedestrian to the professional centre of Barber Science in Queensland, Andrew’s Barber Shop:

Operated by the father-and-son barber team Andrew and Demitrios Stylianou, this business is all business. If you want to look like you’re wearing a $5,000 hairpiece over a billiard ball, try elsewhere. If you want a man’s haircut, youve found the right address.

When I arrived, I was looking a mite shaggy – not Cave Man yet, but getting there:

As you can tell, I wasn’t exactly relishing the experience.

Then something magical happened. Demitrios laid on his best barber chatter and began bobbing and weaving around like Muhammad Ali floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee:

Honestly, I have never seen a barber so animated by his profession. They usually stand there like morticians tending to a little trim to tidy up the deceased. Just watching Demitrios’ passionate attack on my unruly locks was worth the very modest price.

First time I can ever remember enjoying a haircut. Andrew and Demitrios Stylianou, Live Long and Prosper!

Eunie is yellow and will remain that way until we get the problem sorted. I have to admit that I’m jealous of the super fine dope she is getting. I remember years ago when I had a particularly horrible surgery which is widely considered just about as painful as it gets. I’ll spare you the description. They were giving us what we patients called “happy pills”. Honestly, I did not want to leave the hospital. I begged them to let me stay “just a few more weeks”. If Eunie is feeling that good now, then I say God Bless the Pills!

We go in the morning to see another doctor who is a friend of a friend and just wants to know what’s happening. Then, in the afternoon, we see the anesthesiologist who will put Eunie into dreamland on Thursday while the surgeon has a look. We hope to have a pretty good idea of the problem and the treatment by the end of the week.