Rollin’ & Scatchin’ (Chilly Gonzales Rework) – Daft Punk
While Ireland is being battered by all angles at home, it seems, I too have some important news to start off with: Got a hair cut this week. As opposed to a haircut. Hairdressers truly do baffle me. Ask for one thing, forced to deal with the some thing they give back. Tried to be as specific as possible. Almost as if I was asking them to do me this one favour, just one time. Please? Even had photos to help me describe what it was that I wanted. Hairdresser just looked at me. Down at me. Disgust. Contempt. Perplexed. Nonplussed?! All of the above. Eyes to heaven. And then went off and did her own thing. Cut one hair here. Cut half a hair there. Chat with her buddies. Slipped off to the bathroom. Still not finished. Please wait. Chilling and twirling in the chair while she disappeared. Returned. Did not cut one more hair. Decided, actually, she was finished. My hair was exactly as I had described. Twirled me around in the seat to show me the back of my head in the handheld mirror as if this was some sort of fool-proof proof that she did exactly as she was asked. Fooled me. Couldn’t see myself properly with their flattering light. Went to the bathroom to see if that was any better. Even worse. Made me look better. False light and smoke mirrors everywhere.
Speak now. Haircuts are non-refundable. Unfixable. Only get one chance. Check somewhere with true light… Went outside to see my reflection in some shop window. Looked into the coffee shop window next door. People inside looked out at me staring at them. Waved. Shooed. Peered into a car window instead. Couldn’t get a good enough angle. Gave in. Back inside. Paid up. Head down. Returned home. Maybe it’s not too bad. Looked in the mirror… Susan Boyle smiling back at me. Confused look. Hope melting to dismay. Tut. Again? How do these people qualify as hairdressers?! Mighty. And I know, I know… Haircuts truly are in the eye of the beholder. Most others won’t even recognise I’ve had one. I know that. Still. I know. The truth. Tut. Making me wonder about hairdressers. Is it them? Or is it me (hair)?! You’re dead right… It is them. Moving on…
Thanks Be To The Turkey
As a foreigner in a familiar land, there are some things which confuse me. Some. All. Potato. Tomato. However, I have figured out one such thing at least.Something I never understood in the slightest living in Ireland: Thanksgiving. What’s the fuss?! Now I fully see that is a truly mighty day. Last year was by no means a fluke. Imagine Christmas day… Mighty. Well it’s just like that. Except. You don’t go to mass. And. You don’t get any presents. Or give any either. Christmas Day minus mass minus presents = Thanksgiving! A mighty day! Big fan. Full day of food. Although a tad harsh if you’re the main cook… 7 hours of preparation for 10 minutes of devouring?! Savage feast. Perhaps the odd beverage. Bit of Home Alone. Quick nap. More food. American football (where the only guy on the team who actually touches the ball with his foot usually buckles under the pressure but anyways). More food. Simpsons movie. Booze. All in all, a dancing day. Topped off with a tryptophan induced coma. Turkey on!
Great Idea For A Movie...
Some weird dreams in my turkey stupor. Very odd and vivid but no real point in describing them. Dreams are like having 1/3 of an idea for a movie. Really enthusiastic for that 1/3. Telling anyone with an ear the next day. However. No clue of how the movie starts or where it may finish up. And then what happened… Well, not sure. But it was so surreal!?! Only response to being told a vivid tale of a dream someone had the night before… Ok? Having different kind of weird dreams lately actually. Dreamt I ended up in that friendly bar Micky’s again the night before Thanksgiving with my buddy Charlotta. Who seems to get me funked drunk the night before big meals she is cooking the next day. Christmas last year. Thanksgiving this year. But that was obviously a dream. Also having bizarre sleeps where there is nothing. No tossing. No turning. No half dreams. No vague memories. Just lie down. Lights outs. Deep slumbers. Almost blackouts. Waking up fully refreshed. But after hours of simply nothing. Wonder if that’s what death is like. I hope not. Hopefully you can at least dream on.
From this rambling gibber, you can see I’ve had an eventful days. L.A really gets going during the holiday season. People stick around. Buckets going on. Although at least I did have a few marathon DJig sessions. Giddy up that rent! Also deep in preparation for an upcoming project. One which I am pretty, pretty, pre-tty pumped aboot! More to come. Final bit of gibber to end on. Something I am confuses by a bit too regularly… How does you know if you’ve made up a new joke or not? No matter how horrendous it may be. Has this been done before…
Bought a donkey today. What a disaster. Won’t listen to a word I say. Just does what he wants, when he wants, wherever. Tut. Bad ass.
Yay? Nay? Who knows. Not that I would ever use that in my stand-up routine or anything. Obviously not. Speaking of, I was recognised tonight in Hollywood by someone who was at one of my stand-up shows recently. Now isn’t that just wonderful. Fans are popping up. Facially recognised as the Irish guy. Baby stepping along. Fun times!?
Go on the turk… Nay. Go on the donkey! Bad ass!!!