First off, let's just start by thanking Ken for his thought-provoking and turbulent post about me yesterday; he also named the other guys who write for this blog, but if you were me, or my mom, you stopped reading after my paragraph. But here's the thing: not only am I a playwright and a songsmith, but I can also cut your hair...almost legally.
Once, when I was 21 and fresh-faced and fancy-free, I found myself wandering the halls of my local community college wondering how far my 'Intro to Music' and 'Film' classes would take me. I was halfway though the semester and it was clear that I would not be passing either one, only because when I say wandering the halls of my local community college I mean lying face down in my pillow at noon. So college was going to be a lot like high school, only they don't care if you come to class in college, because they want to charge you to take it again...it's okay to fail as long as you keep trying.
At some point, I must have gotten out of bed to get a haircut, 'cause I was at my friend's new studio getting my hair cut. And you know how it is in a Salon, you're chatting and you're making the ladies laugh and they are all smiling at you and rubbing your head with fancy smelling potions and then boom, you find yourself interning as an apprentice sweeping up strangers' hair but getting an education.
It was great! My dear friend from high school had recently gotten into the hair game, and somehow I convinced her to let me hang out the studio and do stuff. Turns out if you hang out and do stuff long enough, you get a hair license and can charge people to ruin their lives. With my academic career freshly flushed down the toilet, I was grateful for the focus my life had taken.
It might have been four months, it might have been a year; as most of you know, there is no time at the hair salon. But I sorta worked and I sorta cleaned and I sorta can now cut, dye, and blow out your hair. Eventually, Pier 1 realized what an amazing and dynamic leader I was and they offered me full time employment and I had to choose: hanging out with the girls at the shop (which is also the premise of my TV sitcom vehicle that will one day make me my millions) or take a job that paid me.
Though it was short lived, I did learn enough to be the sole hair artist for my wife. Though there are guys out there who would scoff, that decision alone has literally saved me thousands upon thousands of dollars. Wait, no really, ten years of free hair. How much does a woman spend on hair in ten years?
I have real good stories from those days. Once, I ran a comb through my hair only to find out it was a texturing comb that cut my hair off exactly where I began combing... the root, at the front of my hair line. Loads of others too, about mixing dyes, and spraying myself and my client and some other girl client with the shampooing hose that shot off like a furious cobra that had to be wrangled. Nothing is as funny as ineptitude in a hair salon.
As for cutting your hair, well you take your hair into your own hands (sometimes literally). And because I am not licensed, I call myself a hair artist. An artist does not need to be fully trained or need to be sanctioned by the state. No. And I am neither. Also, like an artist I charge exorbitant fees and don't take direction. When I'm done, then that's what I meant to do, and I don't really want to hear your thoughts on my art. If you want to give your thoughts then you can take them over at Fantastic Sam's...they'd love to hear them.
Please leave your personal contact information in the Comments and a picture of your current hair mistake. I will get to you on a need to save basis.
Thanks.
