Ya mun, me punkie!
Monday, October 23, 2006
I've decided to grow my hair. New country - new hair. Actually, cold country - more hair. So my hair's been a bit bushy the past couple weeks, so I decided it was time for a trim. Please hold back the laughter until I'm done.
So we book appointments at the hairdresser just around the corner for last Saturday, just cos its close, and I walk by everyday and it looks decent.
So we walk in, only to see two Black dudes (otherwise known as African Canadians) reading the Canadian equivalents of Bona and Drum magazines in the front, and others getting some greasy jerricurl do and Luda-looking cornrows in the back. You should've seen their faces when we walked in! Actually, I would've liked to have seen ours. But we were beyond the point of no return, so we just sat down and waited uncomfortably. I think Herman shat solid rocks. He was all panicky any way about how someone, other than his normal barber back home, would be cutting cutting his hair, let alone a soul brother.
You should see this place, just like Barbershop the movie. Marvin Gaye and Bob Marley jamming, all the dudes singing the soul. They were just missing guys playing checkers in the corner and Cedric the Entertainer eating fried chiggen in the back.
And so I got my hair faded by Francis, the West Indian owner from St Vincent. You should hear these guys talk some pure Caribbean smack. They talk so fast I missed most of it (it's English mixed with Caribbean slang), but you can tell they're whipping out some serious dirt. And they were loving us, couldn't believe we had the balls to go through with the whole deal! Too funny!
I've declined to post pics of my new fro since it's a work in progress - still growing. But patience young one, patience.
Here's Herman in the hot seat. And the poster from which I chose my new hair - a mixture between number 14 and 15. Not bad, eh?
Apologies, cellphone voyeur cam again.
So we book appointments at the hairdresser just around the corner for last Saturday, just cos its close, and I walk by everyday and it looks decent.
So we walk in, only to see two Black dudes (otherwise known as African Canadians) reading the Canadian equivalents of Bona and Drum magazines in the front, and others getting some greasy jerricurl do and Luda-looking cornrows in the back. You should've seen their faces when we walked in! Actually, I would've liked to have seen ours. But we were beyond the point of no return, so we just sat down and waited uncomfortably. I think Herman shat solid rocks. He was all panicky any way about how someone, other than his normal barber back home, would be cutting cutting his hair, let alone a soul brother.
You should see this place, just like Barbershop the movie. Marvin Gaye and Bob Marley jamming, all the dudes singing the soul. They were just missing guys playing checkers in the corner and Cedric the Entertainer eating fried chiggen in the back.
And so I got my hair faded by Francis, the West Indian owner from St Vincent. You should hear these guys talk some pure Caribbean smack. They talk so fast I missed most of it (it's English mixed with Caribbean slang), but you can tell they're whipping out some serious dirt. And they were loving us, couldn't believe we had the balls to go through with the whole deal! Too funny!
I've declined to post pics of my new fro since it's a work in progress - still growing. But patience young one, patience.
Here's Herman in the hot seat. And the poster from which I chose my new hair - a mixture between number 14 and 15. Not bad, eh?
Apologies, cellphone voyeur cam again.
