Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 5

You're Doing a Heckuva Job, Johnny

McCain's choice of running mate has caused a bit of elation here in the battleground, among us Obamaniacs.

As I've mentioned, we have a lot of disenfranchised Hillary supporters in this area, and gosh darn if they are gonna let John McCain get away with putting another pair of breasts and ovaries to substitute for Hillary's. These ladies are not so easily placated, you foolish, foolish man.

He's also managed to irritate the hell out of all the soccer moms who think that a woman with a 4-month old baby with special needs and 4 other children at home should be at home, being the hockey mom she claims to be.

It's really perfect. We don't have to say anything. Women are either offended by him or by her.

Thanks McCain! You're a blessing from Chicago!

LATE UPDATE: Oh, and the soccer moms are none too impressed with her 17-year-old pregnant daughter either. Why didn't he just choose Jamie-Lynn Spears' mom as a running mate?

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 2

NOTE: Names (even in rhyme) have been changed to protect the innocent and the not-so-innocent.

Project Rhymes-With-Cake-in-Spain

So, my first official act as an Obama campaigner in this battleground state was to participate in Project Rhymes-With-Cake-in-Spain.

I arrived, as instructed, late at night at the campaign office downtown. Incidentally, the Obama campaign office is directly across the street from the Republican state headquarters. The Obama office is a rusted out old storefront with a broken front door, while the Republican office is a miniature white house, complete with lush green lawn and shutters. Seriously.

One of the regional directors, Rhymes-With-Blenny, gave us our instructions for the evening. This particular regional director is about four-and-a-half feet tall and weighs as much as that weird lump on the side of McCain's face. And she says everything interrogatively? And hal-ting-ly.

"So what we're gonna do??? Is go out there and post O-bam-a stuff??? All over this town??? And this is really a-ma-zing??? It's a gift from Chi-ca-go???"

She said this last thing like it was a gift from God, although as it was said questioningly, like it was from God, but she wasn't sure.

And her voice. Oh, her voice. It's impossibly nasally. Like not human. She's congested with awe and optimism and youth.

I sat and listened and wondered if the fate of our fine nation is truly lying in the hands of Rhymes-With-Blenny, and others like her. After participating in Project Rhymes-With-Cake In Spain, and finding out that Rhymes-With-Blenny is the lady-friend of a certain higher up in the campaign (no, not Rhymes-With-Floflama; what, do you think we're the Rhymes-With-Sledgewards campaign?) and meeting many of the fine young soldiers here on the ground, I have one major question...

Do we have a chance in Rhymes-With-Fell?

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 1

Moral Authority Matters, But Not as Much as Yard Signs

Last week Howard Dean came to town and spoke during a voter registration drive at a local college. His message was that moral authority matters, and the US needs Obama so that he can use his mad diplomatic skillz to help regain our moral authority around the world. Healthcare? Sure. And end to this unlawful war? OK. Economic relief? We'll take it. But, most importantly, we need to show the rest of the world who's boss.

Wait, what?

Last week I also learned the biggest challenge facing the soldiers in this battlefield for Obama is a lack of yard signs. We don't have any yard signs. McCain yard signs are abundant. Even Hillary yard signs are abundant. But no Obama yard signs.

When I inquired as to the reason for the lack of yard signs, I was met with angry stares by all of the higher-ups in the campaign. It's a hot button issue here on the ground, where residents of this state are uncomfortable putting a bumper sticker on their car, or wearing an Obama t-shirt, or attaching a pin to their bag, yet they will put a yard sign in their front lawn. It's not clear why Chicago has decided on no yard signs in this battleground state, but I'm told we might have them after the convention.

I'm going to keep praying to my Obama poster every night that we get the goddamn yard signs.

Baldy in a Battleground

Hello, readers. I'm thrilled to announce a new semi-regular feature on B&E. I've got a bald friend in a battleground state who's volunteering for Barack Obama. And "Baldy" (who for the purposes of this report wishes to remain anonymous) has graciously agreed to send in reports from the field. The inaugural report will be posted this evening. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

Doctor, You Reek of Baldism

Howard Levy, MD wrote a column this week for Yahoo! Health in which he helps readers asses if they might go bald. It is titled, Baldness: Are You at Risk?

The premise of that question requires that baldness be a problem.

Doctor Levy! Calling Doctor Levy! Many of us have no problem whatsoever being bald. This issue of risk is therefore not applicable.

Doctor Howard Levy, you have within you deep-seeded baldism. Go find a support group, you baldist bigot.

Please Allow For Some Narcissism

(Although, let's face it: blogging is in general an exercise in narcissism.)

It had been quite some time since I reviewed the stats around B&E, and my kind host friend (and occasional troubleshooter) was good enough to link me to a summary. I won't go on and on about this, but there were a few things I found curious.

What are people Googling when they find my humble website? Six of the top seven query results are related to tattoos, with some variation of "bad ass tattoos" taking the top three spots on the list. In fact, if you do a Google image search for "badass tattoos," it is a photo of the missus' tattoo on B&E that is the first search result. I can't say that I expected that. But it sure does please me.

Slightly more predictable is that some people are still finding B&E by searching for "Rex Tillerson" or "Rex Tillerson salary." I was happy to see "dachshunds" on the list and a bit disconcerted by seeing "huge dick" on there.

Perhaps the best news of all though is that a fair number of people found this humble site by searching for "bald lesbians." I'm proud to be a friendly place for the lesbian community, particularly the bald lesbian (or bald Lesbian) community.

And since I was just the other day accused of writing about lesbians (or Lesbians) every fourth or fifth post, I thought I would try not to disappoint that particular reader by ignoring the l/Lesbians this week.

Back to Bald Basics for the 4th

Happy birthday, America! And Canada, America's biggest suburb! Now, with socialized medicine! Silly Canadians!

But I had my recent health care experience here, in the United States of America, the best country in the world. Because I have health insurance, and HMOs make health insurance fun!

My primary care physician gave me a referral to a dermatologist for a mole mapping exercise. I always feel a little nervous about the first trip to a new doctor. How do I know this guy (or gal) is any good?

Well, this dermatologist tells you right there in the waiting room with not one but two New York Magazine covers from issues about New York's best doctors.

As I handed in my first-time-visit form, I got a closer look at the New York Magazine plaques on the wall: "Best hair transplant surgeon."

I think maybe my primary care physician, with his full head of near-hippie hair (and occasional leather pants), is trying to tell me something.

(Thanks to "the traveler" for the photo.)

The Angry Side of Funny

My early friends (and family) didn't have much of an edge, so my comedy upbringing was fairly limited. Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor didn't get much play among my people. We got a little Bill Cosby from time to time and a touch of Robert Klein.

And somehow George Carlin sneaked in there. He had the silly stuff that I liked (I remember him talking about drowning Rice Krispies with whole peaches) and the political commentary that my parents appreciated (and that I appreciated later).

One of his albums (and I can't even tell you which one) was on constant play in my college social circle, and it got funnier with every play somehow. His social commentary was razor-sharp. And he was angry, which helped him keep an edge. He stopped talking to my parents and spoke to me.

My dad lamented that Carlin got "too angry" and therefore wasn't funny. But for me his comedy was a welcome coping mechanism for all of the social ills that seemed (and seem) so fucking unfair. And Carlin, the self-described "disappointed idealist," turned that unfairness into biting humor. It was very funny. My dad, for all of his wonderful qualities, didn't handle anger (even funny anger) very well.

I found myself the target of his routine once. He was railing against white dudes who shave their heads. Guilty as charged. I disagreed, of course, but it was still funny.

So no, I didn't much care for waking up this morning to the news that George Carlin died. He was bald (even with a ponytail). And he was very effective.

New York! Science Capital of the World!

This story about the World Science Festival coming to New York isn't that interesting, really, but it features a motley crew of characters. In addition to college presidents, it's got Joel Klein (Chancellor of NYC public schools), Alan Alda, Dr. Brian Greene (a prominent physicist), and Dr. Bunsen Honeydew (the Muppet).

During the press conference, Dr. Greene made a point of saying that it's not fun science, but the real thing. A few minutes later, this happened:

Popping up from behind the lectern, Dr. Bunsen Honeydew, who described himself as being from Muppet Labs, extolled the family-oriented programs. The most important thing they could show, he said, was “that science can be as explosive and violent as any TV program.”

Then he sprayed Dr. Greene with a can of silly string.

Serious science, indeed.

I admit that I rather like the Muppets, and Beaker and Dr. Bunsen Honeydew were always a couple of my favorites. I can do a pretty decent Beaker impression, actually, even though nowadays I look a hell of a lot more like Dr. Bunsen Honeydew.

I'm Surprised by Some of Obama's Posters

Barack Obama should perhaps begin exploring a broader range of visuals, but I don't mind telling you that I'm rather tickled his messaging is so B&E focused. And yet each poster speaks to the qualities that makes a good president.

This one, for example, keeps it simple, but I appreciate the respect. See? He's not bigoted!


My, oh, my, Obama. Truer words were never said. See? He's got impeccable taste!


And even while on the campaign trail, Barack has had a chance to keep up with recent postings. See? He can multi-task!


I'm still reeling from last year's spectacular Mets meltdown, but Obama gives me hope for the upcoming season. See? Optimism!


Those little hedgehogs in the UK have clearly made an impression on Barack. See? He's got heart and cares about the environment!


If Obama wins the election, I'm hoping we'll see a little less from the Dickheads. See? He can stand his ground when he has to!


Yes, sir. Yes. Sir. See? Yessir.

Sunnyside Drugstore Update

Long-time readers will need to tolerate some exposition.

Sunnyside was once home to Bloom's, the finest pub around. It (and much of the block) burned to the ground. For years, the Bloom's half-block was a hole in the ground. Demolition/construction workers cracked the foundation of a neighboring building. Rumors of a cursed block wafted through the neighborhood (or at least on B&E).

The cursed block became a mostly unattractive apartment building with retail on the ground floor. Because we need our drugs here in Sunnyside, the retail space became a CVS.

That CVS has quickly become the shittiest drugstore in the neighborhood, and we've got one Rite Aid that redefined shitty.

I went into CVS today because the missus and I needed some new hair clippers. With two head-shavers in the family, we can burn through the $20 clippers. Anyway, the hair clippers were locked up (fair enough). There were more employees in that store than customers, and it still took a good ten minutes before someone could help me. There was a line clogging up the entire front of the store, and every time someone left, the alarm system went off. They had one employee standing by her register waving people through. And it just sort of feels dirty in there. Dirt-dirty and a little sleazy-dirty both.

In other words, dear B&E readers, that block remains cursed.

And I also really like linking to myself. (Those are just a couple of random selections.)

A B&E Woodwindist

The other night, the missus and I went to a little jazz basement here in Edinburgh with two of her brothers and her sister-in-law. It was a perfectly pleasant night on the town, and we were all in agreement that the band was quite good, while the singer was a little on the ridiculous side. He was one of those singers who won't listen to his accompanying band because he loves the sound of his voice too much. That's especially a problem when the voice is only OK to begin with.

Anyway, one of his featured musicians was a bald woodwind player. He played the saxophone and the flute very skillfully. This in itself might have qualified him for a Bald & Effective label.

But then, about three songs into the set, we noticed that he was missing the ring finger on his left hand. He compensated by playing with two different knuckles on his middle finger. Try bending your middle finger at both knuckles separately. I'm telling you: his lack of finger slowed him down not one iota. The man was impressive.

The double bass player was excellent, too, but he had all his digits and all his hair, so who cares?

My Summer Vacation - Part II - The Stans

I broke a rule I've long lived by during My Summer Vacation. I visited one of the Stans.

There are many reasons to avoid traveling to the Stans. Civil war (and an unfortunate lack of vowels) in Kyrgystan. Al Qaeda camps and war in Afghanistan. Earthquakes and America-haters in Pakistan. Borat in Kazakhstan. God knows what in Uzbekistan and the Otherstans.

But there, in the middle of Stockholm, is the lovely Gamla Stan. In Swedish, it means "Old Town" or something seemingly non-threatening, but underneath the veneer of picturesque cobblestoned squares, there's darkness, dear B&E readers.

The missus and I shielded ourselves from whatever that dark cloud might be, for we rubbed the bald head of Stockholm's smallest public statue. It stands (sits, actually) at six inches, and in winter, ladies from the church (the statue is in the church's courtyard) knit caps for the little bugger to keep him warm. He kept the missus and I protected from the usual dangers associated with the Stans.

I simultaneously rubbed my own head for good measure.


Thanks to the protection of our duo of bald domes, we had a lovely day walking around the "Old Town." Yes, dear B&E readers, Gamla Stan seemed OK to me.

My Summer Vacation - Part I - Dreadlocks

The missus and I have returned from Sweden, and yes, dear B&E readers, there's much to report.

I think that white people who wear dreadlocks look ridiculous.

In college we sometimes called them Jafaicans or, more often, Trustafarians. But even when I had my luscious head of blond almost-locks, I thought white dudes in dreadlocks looked ridiculous.

As a bald man I still do. I assure you it's not jealousy. I really hate how they look on white people. I've known some very nice dreadlocked white boys (and occasional girls), and it's no reflection on who they are as people. They simply made an unfortunate decision that became a big enough commitment to keep them from being able to cut the fuckers off. Please, dreadlocked white people: cut the fuckers off.

If my lack of acceptance of dreadlocks on white people makes me a fuddy-duddy, so be it.

But what does this have to do with Sweden?

Even though one small town in southern Sweden has taken in more Iraqi refugees than the entire United States, Sweden is decidedly white. Not solely, of course, but when one lives in a diverse place like Queens, one notices overwhelming whiteness. And Sweden is overwhelmingly white. Sort of like Vermont.

And like the hippies in Vermont, many white Swedes have dreadlocks. Of the seven or so black people we saw in Stockholm only one had dreadlocks, and I would have to say that the same 7:1 ratio applies to the white Swedish boys.

Yes, exaggeration, etc., etc. But suffice to say there are a lot of white Swedish boys with dreadlocks. I had a different observation about the white Swedish women (stay tuned!).

You will have noticed that there's no dreadlocks-related photo to accompany the Part I report of My Summer Vacation. That's because there is one photo I wish I had been quick enough to capture on digi-film, but alas was not.

At a cross walk near Nybroplan (where one catches ferries to Djurgarden, etc.), a blond man biked by. He had dreadlocks. He was also balder than me. Shiny shiny shiny up top. Then shooting out of the sides of his head were bright blond dreadlocks.

As I found myself repulsed by the dreads and empathizing with the baldness, I was riveted by this vision of shiny-headed knotted hairdom. My feeble mind cannot grasp the contradiction and complexity of this Swedish cyclist.

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.

Of Baldness and Steroids

As Bald Bro (if that is indeed his name) wrote in the comments section, the Mets have collectively shaved their heads. Holdouts include Aaron Sele (who promises to do it on Friday after his Thursday family photo) and Jose Reyes (who has the most gorgeous locks of all Mets). Shawn Green is experiencing some shaver's remorse, after he received a disappointed shake of the head from his wife.

Will the baldness make them effective? Since Carlos Beltran wielded his $119,000,000 clippers, the Mets are 2-0. To steal from the New York Post: PLAY BALD, BOYS!

Meanwhile the steroids scandal has hit yet another fever pitch. Investigators are requesting doctors' records of a number of current and former Major League players, including Rafael Palmeiro and Sammy Sosa. Under oath in front of Congress, Raffy said, "I've never done steroids. Period." During the season that followed, naturally, he tested positive for steroids.

Also under oath, through his lawyer, Sammy said, "I've never taken illegal performance enhancement drugs." Well, I guess "legal in the Dominican Republic" beats a perjury rap.

I gotta say, going after the players is bullshit. I'm not going to defend the players. As I've said on many occasions, baseball players -- like every jock any of us have ever met in our lives -- are assholes. They're idiots that do stupid shit and deserve none of our sympathy. They're after the most money and glory possible for a few short years, and like all greedy pricks, they're greedy. And pricks. Of course they're going to do steroids, i.e. cheat. Why anyone has higher expectations of baseball players is totally beyond my comprehension.

But (and I'm sure I've mentioned this before, too) there's another group of greedy pricks that are being given a free ride. I'm talking of course about the owners. Of course they knew their players were using steroids. Of course they offered giant contracts to the sluggers that were filling the seats. At best they looked the other way. At worst they encouraged it.

You remember those recordings of the Enron employees laughing about making a fortune while California was experiencing rolling blackouts? The federal investigators didn't go after those guys. They went after the men in charge.

Come on, former Senator George Mitchell, Democrat of Maine. If you're investigating the steroid problem, go after the men (always men) in charge. I want to see some owners held accountable.

Maybe Dubya the President is immune from criminal charges. But Dubya the Texas Rangers Owner had one Sammy Sosa on his team. What the hell did Dubya know about steroids and when did he know it?

Better Than the Iditarod

The missus' godfather is doing what has to be one of the coolest things on earth right about now. It's called Finnmark 2007. While on its dog-sledding trek across the Lapland of Scandinavia, the team will be focused on studying the early victims of climate change, i.e. the Sami. The human response to the effects of global warming, after all, will become increasingly important to understand.

A secondary purpose will be to record snowflakes for NASA's snowflake database. How badass is that?

Be sure to check out the diary of the ride, which has just begun and continues through April 10. The photo of the Northern Lights is pulled right from the diary, and the missus' godfather is one of the regular bloggers from the expedition. The man is sixty-five. While he's got more hair than me, I would consider him bald. His effectiveness is without question.

Arctic Air From Canada

No, that's not a metaphor. I'm talking literally about the Arctic air coming from Canada.

Beginning tonight, New York's finally gonna get cold. I don't mean, "normal highs around 34-degrees," as they like to say on NY1's Weather on the 1's. I'm talking about high temperatures that may not get out of the teens.

I like it. Obviously, if we had ten days of deep freeze in a row, I'd probably get tired of it. But cold weather that cold makes you feel alive. At least until you freeze to death.

Plus, I like impressing the masses by demonstrating how (while walking the Brooklyn Bridge) I can work up a sweat in any weather. My bald head steams like an Icelandic hot springs, and it makes people happy.

Let's hear it for the cold!

24 - The First Four Episodes

There are spoilers in this post, dear B&E readers. If you watch 24, but have not yet seen the first four episodes of this, Jack's sixth terrible day, I advise you to skip over this post.

What I like about this season so far:

- Milo's back.
- Two men are hot after Chloe.
- Assad is a badass. In fact, add a "B" and mix up the letters and his name is Badass.
- The producers aren't afraid to nuke LA.
- Torture now bothers Jack.
- Shooting a man now makes Jack vomit.
- Actually, Jack's sort of a pussy. Of course it's all relative. Even as a pussy he killed a man while cuffed by biting his jugular.

What I don't like about this season so far:

- Milo's not as interesting as he was in season one.
- After he went to White Castle, Kumar became a terrorist.
- Wayne Palmer is a terrible president.
- Wayne Palmer would've been unelectable in the first place.
- The dude doesn't speak Arabic, but he understands "five visitors"? In how many languages do YOU know "five visitors"?
- The argument made for the necessity of torture is a little too convincing.

And a comment about the death of Curtis at Jack's hand(gun)... Anyone who's seen the show knows that Curtis' time was up. Curtis was too black, too handsome, too bald, too proud. He had already lasted longer than any other black, handsome, bald, proud cast member. President Wayne Palmer might make it through this season, but don't expect survival much beyond.

Bald Street Marketing

bald bridge
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I loathe street marketing which, on top of being invasive in our everyday lives, is also getting all "viral" on our asses. "Look, hot guerilla marketing stranger, I don't care if the new mixed cocktail from Captain Morgan's Original Spiced Rum is the most refreshing drink of the summer. I want a seltzer with lime. And I want you to leave me the hell alone."

Recently I learned that my primary source of income would be drying up at the end of September, so I did what I usually do when I need work -- send out resumes, email former freelance contacts, tell all my friends I'm looking. Still, when I was forwarded a "street team needed" Craig's List posting, I recoiled in horror.

And yet I had that certain something they were looking for, and they promised a nice walk through New York City with like-headed individuals.

The company is Bald Guyz. The products are grooming/personal care items specifically for the bald man's needs.

Well, now, for obvious reasons, this is something I can get behind.

We met at 7am, put on our bright orange shirts, which had the Bald Guyz logo on the front while the back said, "Bald Guyz get better head," and made our way across the Brooklyn Bridge. The WB (soon-to-be CW)-11 and Fox-5 morning shows featured our walk from their choppers (the Fox-5 chopper was being piloted by two bald fellas). As the bald men walked, hot women wearing "Bald Guys are sexy" t-shirts handed out free head wipes and coupons to the baldies we passed.

We had great weather -- not too hot, not too humid -- and from the Brooklyn Bridge we headed uptown through Chinatown, Washington Square Park, Union Square, Herald Square, Rockefeller Center (the tourists loved us), and back down to Bryant Park, where we had lunch and ended our day.

All in all, it was probably about a six-mile walk. Decent exercise. It had been a long time since I'd gone on a long walk through the city, and it's nice to have the occasional reminder of how great New York is. I was walking with an amateur historian (and actor -- lots of actors do street marketing to supplement the acting incomes), and while that may sound boring and/or torturous, it was great, actually. We shared lots of tidbits about what we knew of the city, and how it's changed since we arrived in the early 90s.

There were a total of about twenty bald men. Three were older dudes, one of whom had a thick beard and kept referring to himself as the only "bear." I spent much of the day trying to figure out if the gay implications of his "bear" comments were intentional, but by the end of the day, I was no closer to an answer. I don't know if the Bald Guyz guys just took all the bald men who replied to the Craig's List ad or what (some of the dudes were funny looking), but I was impressed with the diversity of the group they found. Taking out the three or four older white dudes, the rest of the bald dudes were a pretty even split between white, black, and Latino. The hot women were pretty evenly split, too. Shortage on the Latinas, perhaps.

As was inevitable in New York, we passed a bald woman, who looked totally great. One of the rambunctious Latino dudes gave her a head wipe. She looked somewhere between amused and annoyed.

Bald men love their fellow bald men. Many of the baldies we passed would see our shirts, holler "BALD GUYS!" and give us all high fives, ask where they could get t-shirts, graciously accept their free product samples, etc. Then, of course, there was the inevitable bald guy who just wanted to be left alone as he was walking down the street. And on two or three occasions, a bald man approached didn't want to think of himself as bald. Denial won't protect your scalp, buddy!

We were particularly popular with cops. Three equestrian cops doffed their helmets to reveal the domes underneath. Lady cops got free samples for their husbands. Cops inside cop cars used our presence as an opportunity to bust the balls of their bald junior partners, who sat in the passenger seat, sheepishly accepting the coupon.

A homeless dude promised to shave his head if we got him a t-shirt, but I think he struck out. The t-shirts were already on their way back to the office.

And around East 4th Street, I ran into Hil, who'd seen the group but not me (until I shouted at her). She was just arriving at her office, and her first order of business was going to be to email me about the Bald Guyz. Alas, I was already one of them.

Where baldness is concerned, I tend to be a step ahead of others.

So I Never Did Find That Damned Cable for My Camera

bookshelves
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

The missus and I have been considering moving into a larger apartment, as we've got far too much crap for our current one. The only trouble is that a recent influx of hipsters has made our previously under-the-radar neighborhood desirable to outsiders, causing local rents to jump a tad out of our reach. Our current place, on the other hand, is rent stabilized. So we're doing what we can to make the current place inhabitable.

Sunday and Monday were spent putting together a giant book case. It's not the one pictured, as that one is outside and useless to us, but it's huge and holds a lot of books. Almost floor-to-ceiling and wall-to-wall.

It also was holding a lot of books when half of it collapsed Sunday night. Good times.

Monday I woke with a migraine in my bald head, which made me ineffective all day, while the missus put books on the repaired bookshelves. We're now certain they will have no problems. (A quick shout-out of thanks to Virgil and Ian for their help in designing and doing the labor outside the skill set of me and the missus.)

This evening, the missus will return home from her job to a new bed frame and drawers, which I put together today.

Our apartment, like life, is a process. And isn't that a fucking deep thought. Shut up.

Being Bald = Being Loved

Just ask the monkey.

Doubly Bald, Doubly Effective

twoheads
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

This little fella (or fellas, depending on how you look at it) was found in Cuba. Boy, the Cubans think of everything.

Thanks to blondandeffective (or who I currently think is blondandeffective anyway) for emailing the picture.

Don't Fuck With Baldy. Thus Saith the Lord.

GutenbergBible
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Thus implieth the Lord, actually, but still, when the Lord implieth something, the message readeth clear.

Some of you familiar with the Old Testament may recall the story of Elijah riding to heaven in a fiery chariot. For those of you who don't recall that story, suffice to say, Elijah rode to heaven in a fiery chariot.

There was one witness to this event: Elijah's protege, Elisha. In the mentor/protege relationship the only regular problem they had, particularly as Elijah got older, was confusion with the name. Neighbor Lou's kid, for example, would shout, "Elisha, come out to play!" and Elijah would bound out of his comfy chair, grab his first baseman's mitt, and come outside. Lou's kid, having nothing of it, would say, "No, not you, Elijah. Elisha. E-LIE-SHA." Elijah would throw his mitt to the ground and go off to sulk, while Elisha ran off to play with Lou's kid. But that's sort of out of the scope of my discussion today.

After Elijah rode to heaven in his fiery chariot, Elisha took over the bulk of the prophesizing duties. Elijah was a heavy-hitter in the world of prophecy, so Elisha was determined to work hard and prove his mettle. And God supported him however he could.

So when, on his inaugural prophesizing journey, Elisha found himself getting mocked by some bratty children for being bald... well, let's read. The following is taken from the Revised Standard Version of the Holy Bible (the preferred version of Topeka Lutheran School), 2 Kings 2: 23-25:

"[23] [Eli'sha] went up from there to Bethel; and while he was going up on the way, some small boys came out of the city and jeered at him, saying, 'Go up, you baldhead! Go up, you baldhead!'

"[24] And he turned around, and when he saw them, he cursed them in the name of the LORD. And two she-bears came out of the woods and tore forty-two of the boys.

"[25] From there he went on to Mount Carmel, and thence he returned to Sama'ria."

Yes, you read that right. The Lord sent two she-bears to maul forty-two boys, and Elisha just went on with his business.

So next time you're considering mocking your fellow man (or woman) for a lack of hair follicles, think of Elisha. Nay, think of the children.

Here endeth the lesson.

The Process

clippers
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

About once I week I do a serious grooming from the neck up.

I use the Ultimate Groomer from Sharper Image, but having used Wahl products in the past, I can vouch for their quality as well. Most clippers come with various attachments, as you can see in the photo.

My recommendation is that prior to the actual clipping, you at least remove your shirt. It's one less way for hair to be tracked through your home.

Having experimented with the attachments, I now put the clippers to my head and face sans attachments. I go the same length all the way around. Oddly enough, it doesn't really look like that most of the time. Because my facial hair is thicker than my head hair, my face tends to look hairier than my head. I actually sort of like that look, and in winter, I'll sometimes add the shortest attachment to the clippers as I groom my roundish mug, and then remove the attachment for my shiny pate.

Without an attachment, the clippers can sometimes be dangerous. If you have any welts on your head or face (from bug bites, zits, or other sources), the clippers could very well cause bleeding. I find it best just to let it clot, take note, and worry about it later (see showering, below).

Hair shoots off in many directions, and it takes some skill to keep it in or near the sink. I do my grooming in the bathroom over the sink, as it's in front of a mirror. Now that I've been shaving my head this way for almost a decade, however, I can do it without the mirror (one hand clips, while the other feels the progress). Still, when it comes to clean-up, it's best to have some sort of basin to capture as much of the hair as possible.

I recommend clearing everything off the sink. It'll make the post-shaving process that much easier. A dry sink is preferable to a wet one. Once the shaving is done, pick up as much of the hair as possible in your hands and put it in the toilet. Your hair is much less likely to clog a toilet than a sink. Because hair floats, it might take more than one flush to get it all down. Be vigilant.

There will be many straggling hairs on the sink. Don't panic. Those are the ones you wash down the drain. Splash water freely over the sink and get as much of it down there as you can. A few stragglers will remain. Take some toilet paper or Kleenex and wipe down the sink.

This once-a-week, post-grooming cleaning can also keep your sink nice and shiny. Guests will be impressed. (As for the cleanliness of your toilet and shower, well, that takes a special effort.)

Even with a spotless sink, it's no time to let down your guard. Your head, face, and shoulders will still be covered in tiny hairs. It's is vital that you get immediately into the shower, another argument for using the bathroom sink as your hair-catching basin. You will get hair all over your home if you don't immediately shower.

It is during this shower that you'll not only wash away the itchy hairs off your head, neck, and face, but that you'll also put some focus on washing the congealed blood off your injured scalp and/or face. Once finished with your shower, revisit your wounds and make sure you're scab-free.

Numerous factors can determine the next step -- spouses, a night out on the town, photo shoots, sexual orientation, and more. Ultimately, it comes down to a decision: to moisturize or not to moisturize. I usually don't, but that's only because I prefer to get the head rub from my wife.

And that's pretty much the process. Thanks for reading. I just figured B&E readers should understand what it is I go through in order to be B&E.

Human Rights Violations Continue

One city in China has reached a new low. It will no longer allow bald cabbies, no matter how effective they are as drivers.

Hello? Amnesty International? Do something.

Our Last Bald President?

ike
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

While hanging out with my fellow baldies last night (I have large number of bald friends, and not just the men), one made the matter-of-fact statement that we'll never elect a bald president again.

Relating to the all-important media image now necessary in national politics, he may have raised a good point. But I feel like us baldies are discovering a resurgence in our self-confidence. No longer relying on rugs, pieces, and weaves (Trent Lott notwithstanding), we have learned how to look (relatively) good while being follicly-challenged.

So I feel there's hope for the shiny pate to return to the Oval Office. We do, after all, have the most appropriately shaped head for being in the Oval Office.

But until my bald buddy can be proven wrong, we have Ike shining the way like a beacon (reflectively off his prominent forehead) for what bald folk could once, and perhaps could still, accomplish.

And let's look at the man's legacy. Born in Kansas, a bald, treeless state if ever there was one, Dwight is best known for creating our national Interstate system. He built bald surfaces all over the country to pay homage to his own head. The man was a genius.

And Ike had it right: keep what little hair you have cropped short. For him, perhaps, it was more about his military background than his ultra-hip image (although he was known to wear red Chuck Taylors with his beige suits), but still, he was a precursor to today's Michael Jordans and Woody Harrelsons.

Of course, someone was telling me they read some article calling today's shaved head the "new comb-over," simply a means to covering our baldness. Well, I'd like to invite that person to suck another bald head I happen to possess.

my head

birthmark
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I didn't know I had a birthmark until I was bald