My DD214

Veterans should be a thing of the past.

Beard Psychosis

So my friends, it will come as no surprise to you who know me so well that I have managed to turn a great thing into a neurotic obsession.

The neighborhood that Columbia is in shares borders with the swanky Upper West Side to the south, Spanish Harlem to the east, and what Clay would call “regular old spear-chucker Harlem” to the north. Exploring my new digs late last week, I stumbled across a good old-fashioned barbershop in Spanish Harlem. I needed a haircut, so I went in.

This barbershop was staffed by three fat old Dominican barbers and was filled with neighborhood denizens, the majority of whom were not getting their hair cut but were, in fact, just sitting around bullshitting. Everyone in there was speaking Spanish, although it became readily apparent that everyone spoke English, too, when a frightened-looking tourist in a yellow Caterpillar mesh hat stuck his head in the door to ask for directions to the nearest subway stop.

For ten bucks, not only did I get a fantastic haircut, but when the barber was done, he whipped out a straight razor and (unbidden) made several improvements to my beard line. I mean improvements. You guys know that the basic design of my beard has been more or less unchanged since I got out of the Marine Corps, but this guy made my beard into a work of art. With a straight razor. It was fucking cool. You know the feeling you get when you look at the fine masonry of the buildings of New York, crafted as they were by the hands of turn-of-the-century Italian and Irish immigrants into monolithic works of fine art? That’s the feeling you get when you looked at my beard.

And there my problems began. For the first day, I could not pass a reflective surface without pausing to admire the staggering new lines of my beard. Like a Dodge Viper, it was traditional, yet boldly aggressive. By the second day, however, the stubble was starting to get prominent. That’s when I realized the awful truth:

I would have to maintain this beard myself inbetween haircuts.

The superlative craftsmanship of the Dominican barber had created a masterpiece that I would have to duplicate with my own relatively unsteady hands every single day. I immediately started drinking.

One bottle of Pimm’s later (more on that tomorrow), I picked up the razor and went into the bathroom. I think the alcohol helped. The beard is intact, for now. Tomorrow, I shall fetch fresh batteries for my digital camera, so that you guys can witness the glory of my beard before I fuck it all up.

Tomorrow, Fernando explains Pimm’s!
Also tomorrow, Fernando explains the mystery of where babies come from.

Advertisements

15 January, 2006 11:34 PM - Posted by | Just a thought..

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: