The Process... In Style

A few of you may remember The Process, a B&E posting from a while back discussing my weekly grooming habits. Now that I've got a job, it's an every-Monday-morning process.

Today, I discovered a new Process. John Allans. I was given a gift certificate to a men's hair salon for my birthday back in May.

Hair salon? Dudes, I'm bald.

Well, turns out "dudes" knew better. I went to the one in Saks Fifth Avenue.

It was the "full service," which included a beverage, shampoo/conditioning treatment, haircut, manicure, hot towel, and shoe shine.

I had no idea what I was doing, but they took my bag, put a robe on me, and got me started.

Beverage
Naturally, I went with coffee. It was a delicious cup with a frothy milk on the top, made by a friendly Latino man.

Haircut
I was escorted to a leather comfy chair in a row of leather comfy chairs. The hairdresser looked at my head and said, "So you want me to braid you up then?" "Yes, cornrows, please." Her shirt was unbuttoned almost to her navel.

Once we got serious I opted for the wet shave, or "Bic" as she called it. She worked the clippers to get the hair down to a shaveable stubble, and then lathered me up. I've done a wet shave a few times on my head, and I'm a big fan of how shaving cream feels on the head. But usually I get some razor burn from wet shaving myself, so I don't do that much. Plus, if I don't have facial hair, I look like a cancer patient because I'm so pale.

And she shaved me, making chit-chat along the way. She cussed like a truck driver. She also announced to the whole salon that I had zits on my head but that she'd take care of that.

The place was full of hot women. Just teeming with them. It was, as the kids say today, lousy with hot women. Even though I'm married, I don't want a salon full of hot women to know I've got pimples on my head (scalpne?). But once done with the shave, Unbuttoned Shirt rubbed me shiny with moisturizer and then used an astringent spray on my zitty dome.

My head was smooth.

Manicure
While my head was getting worked on by Unbuttoned Shirt I was getting my first-ever manicure from a woman who spoke almost no English. She was the only woman in the place not wearing a low-cut top, and she was by far the most beautiful. She got very excited when she learned it was my first manicure, but couldn't communicate much beyond that.

The hand rub was nice, but I don't really get what the big deal is with manicures. Except of course that No English Beauty was rubbing my hands.

Interval
After my head was shaved and my nails were buffed, I sort of sat there for a few minutes. I couldn't remember what else was a part of the "full service treatment." So I hung out, finished my coffee, and took in the scene.

Except the baristas/shoe shiners, the place was, I repeat, just lousy with hot women. Many races and ethnicities were represented by hotness. And man, can they flirt.

The men, meanwhile, were loving it. My fellow salonites fell into two categories: Old Dandies and Former Frat Boys With Disposable Income.

The Old Dandies were very fashiony rich men, in their late fifties and older. They were undoubtedly straight men, but from that breed of New York men that can wear bright colors and still look straight. I think of it as the look of an old school creative director from an advertising agency. His clothes were from that very Saks Fifth Avenue. In fact, one Old Dandy remarked that he bought his shoes right around the corner from the salon. Like on the same floor right around the corner. They were there because it's the best service period.

The Former Frat Boys With Disposable Income were meatheads. They were there because they wanted to bang as many of the hot women in the dressing room as they could. Conversations were mostly about when Lindsay Lohan will join her friend Paris in prison. But I got the distinct feeling that John Allans was too professional an operation for that sort of thing to go on. But the flirtation reached a high enough pitch to bring the Former Frat Boys With Disposable Income back again and again, convinced that this time Unbuttoned Shirt would give that other full service treatment, if you know what I'm saying.

Shampoo/Conditioning Treatment
After I'd been sitting there a few minutes, Unbuttoned Shirt said, "Oh, my God! Did you get your shampoo?" "Can you shampoo a completely shaved head?" "Go get your shampoo!"

The first non-hot woman emerged from the shadows to give me my shampoo. I'll call her Mother Figure. She was short and hefty. (Not that my mother is short and hefty. Sorry to imply so, Ma. I mean, you're short, but you're not so hefty. This woman was hefty.)

I haven't used shampoo in over a decade. Seriously, how do you shampoo a scalp. The whole point of shampoo when I had hair was to clean said hair. Hair makes shampoo lather. Mother Figure didn't care about such trivialities, and she shampooed the shit out of my scalp. Rubbed it down good.

And then when she finished shampooing she asked me if I wanted the mint or almond conditioning treatment. I went with mint. I like the tingle of mint soaps. And that was when she really worked her magic. Man, she conditioned my bald head as if it was the last conditioning treatment on earth. Holy crap, it felt good.

Hot Towel
Mother Figure then dried my head and escorted me to an old-fashioned barber chair. Men used to get shaved in these chairs. She leaned the sucker back and brought out the hot towel. It smelled like eucalyptus. She wrapped it around my whole face, leaving my nose out in the air to breath freely.

And while the hot towel was on my face, she began the neck and head massage. She used some kind of moisturizer and astringent combination as she rubbed. And she used the hot towel to clean me up.

Total bliss.

Shoe Shine
I've never had a shoe shine before. Frankly, I've never owned shoes worthy of a shine. Even now that I'm working a real job, my nicest is a pair of Earth shoes. And they're nice, but they weren't the two-toned $900 loafers the Old Dandy next to me was wearing.

Still, my Earth shoes were a bit scuffed up from all my walks across the Brooklyn Bridge. They had earned a good shine, so I wore them.

Latino Barista/Shoe Shiner did a hell of a job. Another old-fashioned contraption. I sat up high, put my feet on metal feet holder thingies, and Latino Barista/Shoe Shiner when to town. They looked so goddamned nice when he was done I almost carried them home.

And I gotta say: I look and smell good. My head is smooth and cool to the touch. The missus says I need to book myself in there next time we have a special occasion. It's a treatment a man can get used to. The question is whether I'll be more like the Old Dandies or the Former Frat Boys With Disposable Income.

Thanks, Brian and Hil (and Adrian, although I suspect you really slacked off and let the parents take care of this one). That is definitely a much improved process for putting the B in B&E.

That Other B&E

Two words for you today, B&E readers: Bald Eagles.

Some say bald eagles represent America. But it's so much more. Bald eagles are the symbol of all things bald. They represent total liberty from hair. Freedom from follicles spread across their wings like peanut butter across a slice of Wonder Bread.

And good news! Now, bald eagles off the endangered species list.

It's grand that bald eagles are making a comeback. But the truly good news is that I can have one of these fellas in my home. I just have to go out and shoot the shit out of one, get it stuffed, and staple it to the wall.

As a bald man, I've earned a bald eagle. Hell, I've earned as many bald eagles as I can kill. They represent me. I am a bald American.

That Makes Seven-for-Seven

With ninety-five degree weather, delays in the 7 train, passengers packed in like sardines, a lack of AC in the cars resulting in the distinct smell of sweaty balls, and lightning cracking all around Shea, I thought for sure my Mets karma had finally run out.

But David Wright hit a two-run home run in the first inning, and Tom Glavine pitched a one-hitter through five. I didn't think Tommy Gun looked that sharp. He threw a lot of pitches and gave up a couple of hard-hit balls resulting in nice plays in the field.

And then, while I was getting my traditional Carvel hot fudge sundae, the rains came. Lightning, thunder, felled trees, power outages throughout Queens. I got really wet.

But the Mets won. They'd played five. Tommy Gun got win number 297.

My weather karma stinks. My Mets karma remains solid.

Unfortunately, I don't have another game on the books again until August. I might have to do some walk-ups.

Another Epic Battle Between Good and Evil

So I finally did some research about this other New York baseball team I'd been hearing rumors about. Turns out they're called the Yankees. They're not doing so well this season, except during one stretch when they were super-hot. During their hot stretch, the New York Mets were particularly cold.

I also discovered a Mets/Yankees prediction made by Sybil Trelawney (stored in the Department of Mysteries), who said, "Neither can live while the other survives."

A Truly Impressive Record

Baseball is very excited and divided about this Barry Bonds fella that's about to break Hank Aaron's home run record. Barry's a cheater! Barry is great! Barry's a jerk.

For my money, though, there's no better record than the one Atlanta Braves manager Bobby Cox tied last night. Bobby Cox has pissed off a lot of umpires in his day. On 131 occasions, he's pissed off an umpire so much, they've tossed him from the game.

After (perhaps) Ty Cobb, the angriest man in the history of baseball was a player and manager named John McGraw. McGraw was affiliated with the New York Giants during the days of the great Christy Mathewson. Christy was a peaceful, calm man, the yin to McGraw's yang. McGraw was a fighting Irishman. As a player and a manager, he was thrown out of 131 games. Many thought it was an unbreakable record.

Until Bobby Cox started managing. He never got thrown out as a player, so his 131 games have only been while he's serving as the leader and example to his players.

Well done, Mr. Bobby Cox. I salute you.

And if you get thrown out of 31 more games, you will have been tossed out of an entire season of baseball. It might seem to be an unreachable goal, but if anyone can do it, you can.

You Should See the Other One

So this dog won the World's Ugliest Dog competition held (where else?) in Petaluma, California.

The most remarkable thing about this story is not that Elwood won the competition or that he was rescued from being put to death by his breeder (who believed he was too ugly to sell).

No, dear B&E readers. The most remarkable thing is that, in last year's World's Ugliest Dog competition, Elwood came in second.

I Gotta Go to More Games

Anyone who's been paying attention lately will know that the Mets have been absolutely terrible during June. Yes, they're in first place still, but that's only because the rest of their division has been doing just as terribly.

But I have the answer to the Mets' woes. You see, I've been to six ballgames this season so far, and the Mets have won all six. Their overall record at home as of this morning is 19-18. Without my six games, they'd be 13-18.

I've sat all over the stadium - above the foul pole (as pictured), level with third base in the corporate seats, in the mezzanine above home plate, ten rows back from the field a few yards beyond first base, and smack in the middle of the upper deck. The result has always been the same: Mets win.

If my budget and schedule allowed, I'd be out at Shea every day. I could single-handedly win the Mets a World Series ring.

Hillary's First Mistake

Even as the media praises the Clintons for their video satirizing the Sopranos finale (those of us without cable who watch these things on DVD are tired of failing to avoid hearing about endings of shows), this article discusses Hillary Clinton's ability in avoiding direct answers.

But I think I can safely say that Hillary has made her first major campaign mistake (if never disavowing her vote for the Iraq War somehow remains a non-mistake). She chose Celine Dion's "You and I" as her campaign theme song.

Celine Dion is a whiny, schmaltzy Canadian, who sings the goddamned worst songs ever written. This song by this "artist" will drive all potential supporters into psychiatric institutions.

Hillary's campaign is doomed. Doomed, I tell you.

The Grind vs. Starbucks

As I've mentioned before, my neighborhood coffee joint, the Grind, struggles to be a quality coffee joint. And I've also mentioned that my neighborhood finally got its inevitable Starbucks.

The Starbucks has been open for nine months or so, and I finally went there for the first time a couple weekends ago.

But it's OK, I have an excuse!

For reasons too complicated to explain, I had to be out of my apartment for a couple of hours, and I was running errands right near the Starbucks when it started to rain.

Jesus, they were good. It was almost like I had an "I hate Starbucks" sign on my forehead, and they were determined to change my mind. Three different people made friendly, unforced chit-chat. I got my iced coffee in less than a minute, and when she handed it to me, the cute barista called me "darlin'." The music was just low enough to keep me from being distracted. I'm telling you, even in Sunnyside, Starbucks does it right.

Which is such a disappointment.

Meanwhile, I haven't had much occasion to visit the Grind of late. I have my coffee and breakfast at home before leaving for work, and by the time I get back to the neighborhood, it's too late for coffee.

Some of my friends haven't given up on the Grind, but they report back numerous failings in the service department.

But I noticed some guerrilla marketing in the form of colored chalk scribblings on the sidewalk promoting Thursday night stand-up comedy at the Grind.

From what I can tell, the only thing that's funny is that it still takes the Grind a half hour to get you a coffee and a bagel! Zang! ZzP-POW! Wocka-wocka-wocka!

Actually, that's just sort of sad.

Who Needs an Endorsement from THAT Guy?

The guy that directed 1941 has endorsed Hillary Clinton for President of the United States. She should run full-tilt away from that endorsement. Man, what a fucking stupid movie.

A Special Shout-out to Girl Scouts

Or perhaps it's a special scout-out to Girl Shouts...

Either way, I highly recommend that everyone click on the Frank Dodge link to the right and enjoy a couple of photos.

Who in the Hell Represents Me?

I'm sure B&E readers will be surprised to hear that I vote in every election, including off-years and primaries. I can tell you who represents me at every level of government, even though I may not be terribly happy with some of them:

President - George W. Bush
Vice President - Dick Cheney
U.S. Senate - Charles Schumer
U.S. Senate - Hillary Clinton
U.S. House of Representatives - Joseph Crowley
Governor - Eliot Spitzer
State Senate - George Onorato
State Assembly - Catherine Nolan
Mayor - Mike Bloomberg
City Council - Eric Gioia

I have voted either for or against all of these people.

I have never voted for (or against) U.S. Representative Carolyn Maloney. She simply has never been on the ballot at my polling station.

Please allow me to back up one more minute and explain something else...

I'm sure you'll all be surprised to learn that I'm on many political action committee (PAC) email lists. I feel like I may have signed up for one, and the rest have followed.

My zip code here in Queens is divided between two U.S. congressional districts. Most PAC's feel that I live in Representative Maloney's district. A few believe I'm in Representative Crowley's district. I've always assumed that my divided zip code is just too complicated for automatic petition generators to figure out.

Representative Maloney got that one? Whatever. It's not like she's reading it.

Meanwhile, I get occasional mail (like, real mail in the mailbox) from Rep. Crowley, and he keeps in semi-regular email contact as well. And I've voted for him. I've mentioned him at B&E before. He looks like this...


Yesterday I got an email message directly from the office of Carolyn Maloney. That was a first. I received an unrelated email from Joe Crowley. Because I was feeling rather insistent that I'm represented by Joe Crowley, I went to house.gov to confirm it.

Naturally, I didn't know my zip+4 (because who does?), so I then went to the U.S. postal service zip code finder. And I plugged that number into house.gov, and got my answer.

Ready for this? My representative in Congress is Carolyn Maloney. EVEN THOUGH I'VE NEVER VOTED FOR (or against) HER!

So please, dear B&E readers... Allow me to introduce you to my (new?) representative to the United States Congress. Congresswoman Carolyn Maloney!


I don't know how she voted on the flag-burning amendment (see link to Joe Crowley above).

An Artful Response

I was giving MoMA some time to respond to my email before naming them Dickhead of the Week (which I may have to change to Dickhead of the Bi-Month). After all, I sent my note to their general email address, and I figured it would take some time before it got into the appropriate hands.

Still, I was probably two days away from giving them the DotW honor for their lack of response when, of course, they responded.

Dear Mr. [Bald & Effective],

Thank you for your e-mail of May 19, 2007. We appreciate the time you took to share your thoughts with us and thank you for advising and reminding us about the sign atop the MoMA QNS building. Your e-mail has been forwarded to MoMA's Director of Operations as well as other critical senior staff members who are currently making arrangements to have the sign fully dismantled.

The Museum was proud to be open to the public in Long Island City for 2 1/2 years, and truly grateful for the wonderful community support during that time. Although the Museum's exhibition programs have moved back to Manhattan, the MoMA QNS building is still an active study, research, and storage facility. Therefore we remain connected to Long Island City and Sunnyside--indeed all of Queens, and truly want to keep the respect of our Queens neighbors.

We apologize for not taking down the sign sooner, and ask you to please accept our apologies. We always welcome comments from our museum neighbors and visitors so that we may continue to improve service and enhance the quality of the MoMA experience--in BOTH boroughs.

Please feel free to contact me should you have any questions in the future.

Sincerely,
Diana Simpson
Director of Visitor Services
Director of Government and Community Relations
The Museum of Modern Art
11 West 53rd Street
New York, NY 10019

Their return email ended up in my junk mail folder. Since I like art (and they were responding to me) I opted to inform my email accounts that MoMA isn't a bunch of spamming bastards.

And while I'm not so sure I buy their need to be "reminded" about the sign atop their Queens building, Diana Simpson, Director of Visitor Services and Director of Government and Community Relations, crafted (or perhaps her assistant crafted and she sent) a thoughtful response that was appropriately conciliatory in tone. I feel like my needs were addressed, and my anger is somewhat diffused.

Of course, if her response isn't followed-up with action on the sign, I might have to get so angry that I'll... write another email!

Now if they could just do something about their damned $20 ticket prices...

Lewis "Shitbird" Libby

That's right, B&E readers! No longer just "Scooter," Dick(head) Cheney's former Chief of Staff was sentenced to 30 months in prison! Judge and jury didn't buy his "bad memory" defense even though he put it on sale for cheap cheap cheap. See you in two-and-a-half years. Two-and-a-half years or a presidential pardon: whichever happens first.

There's also a $250,000 fine. And while that might seem like a lot of money to an everyday person, everyday people don't have political action committees raising money for them quite like Shitbird Libby does.

Ah, to be a crooked fat cat in Washington.

Those Scottish Elections are Making her Feel Frisky

Look out, B&E readers! It's a documented sighting of the Loch Ness Monster, a.k.a. Nessie! We're talking video! It swims! It slithers! It freaks your shit out!

It was so exciting, in fact, that the BBC aired the footage! (Go to the Gordon Holmes video.)

Now that the Scottish Nationalist Party has the most number of seats in the Scottish Parliament, even Nessie couldn't hold back her excitement.

It just takes a couple weeks for the news to reach, first, the Highlands, and second, the depths of Loch Ness.

My Favorite Former Met

With the emphasis on former...

Two nights ago, legendary Mets closer Armando Benitez (legendary for blowing the most important saves of any given season) and (almost) current closer for the San Francisco Giants balked twice, one balk of which scored the tying run. Armando responded in typical fashion and gave up a dinger to the next batter to lose the game for the Giants.

The Giants traded him to the Florida Marlins the next day. The good news is that he'll be facing the Mets many, many more times. I figure he's got a few games to win for the Mets (now that he'll be facing them more often) to make up for all the ones he lost in the playoffs while playing for them.

If that doesn't make any sense, I blame the coffee sitting in front of me, which I haven't had a chance to drink yet.