That Doesn't Make It a Hairline

On my way home from work the other evening, I saw a most curious fella. He seemed like a day-laboring sorta guy, at least in terms of his wardrobe. Work boots. Nothing he wore was hip or fashiony. His backpack was pretty dirty.

At the same time, he seemed to have some concern about his appearance. For example, I'd be very surprised if his eyebrows weren't waxed. They were perfect in that way that most men's eyebrows just aren't.

Curiouser than that, however, was his hairline. From what I could tell, this African American fella wasn't at all bald. He kept his hair cropped short, but it was there. And again, he didn't seem to have any sort of issues around male pattern baldness. (I only had a front view, so I couldn't see if he had a bald spot in back, but he wasn't receding.)

About an inch below his real hairline was a fake hairline. A black tattoo masquerading as hair.

At first I thought maybe it was one of those dark birthmarks you sometimes see, but no. It was a perfectly drawn hairline (even with angles coming down in front of his ears), filled in solid black. The solidity of the tattoo ink went back into the area where he had hair, and I couldn't see if it continued over his whole scalp, or if it faded away part of the way back.

I used to work with a Latino woman who was very big on lip liner. She said that she had friends who had actually tattooed liner onto their lips.

This hairline felt like taking the lip liner tattoo to an extreme. And it's not something a white person could get away with. What the hell color could I tattoo my head that would come close to matching my hair color? Even if/when this man goes gray, he'll just be all salt and pepper.

And I can't even say that it looked particularly bad. It definitely looked odd, but not really that bad.

I wonder if tattooed scalps will be something we'll be seeing more of in years to come, sort of like tattoo-covered college basketball players and government-mandated private insurance.

Binder & Binder Comments

Comments on the old posts continue. Over a year ago, I had some issues with the cowboy hat worn by a lawyer in a shitty commercial that airs on NY1. Follow the link to the old post if you're interested in reading all of the comments (including one from a former employee! Look out!).

But allow me to draw your attention to one in particular. This week, I received a comment from a fella called Greg, who offered a link to his investigative report on Mr. Binder, Esq. He has conveniently embedded the ad in question, so that you can enjoy the cowboy hat in all its glory. Greg's mom emailed Binder & Binder (awesome), and received a reply to her inquiry about the hat, among other things.

Enjoy the hell out of it, B&E readers, and nice work, Greg, for actually pursuing the information.

And according to Greg, Charles "Cowboy Hat" Binder is bald under that sucker. Nice.

You Left Out Your Biggest Enemy

Steve King, Dickhead of the House from Iowa, says a lot of crazy, and occasionally gets called out on the crazy.

Steve King recently spoke at CPAC, the annual conference brought to you by the ever-reasonable American Conservative Union, which in spite of its obvious anti-union leanings has "union" in its name (branding issues!).

Anyway, Representative Steve King addressed the crowd and defined our enemies. He mentioned, of course, al-Qaeda and the Taliban. And by "al-Qaeda and the Taliban" I mean, "anyone who disagrees with Representative Steve King."

I want to define that enemy. They are: liberals; they are progressives; they are Che Guevareans, they are Castroites, they're socialists. More enemies on this list: Gramsciites -- ring anybody's bell? -- Trotskyites, Maoists, Stalinists, Leninists, Marxists. They're all our enemies.

Yes, well done. Half of America is your enemy, Steve King.

I could go on about how stupid Steve King is, but hell, I'm his enemy, so any cogent argument is easily dismissed by him and his supporters.

But photographs don't lie, Steve King. That comb-over isn't fooling anyone. I hate to break it to you: you're bald. And everyone knows it.

When it comes right down to it, you're just a bald Dickhead. And your enemy is testosterone.

Happy New Year, B&E Readers

I hope that all six of you have a happy and healthy 2010. On this side of things, I hope to get back into updating the B&E site with more frequency - more like the beginning of 2009 than the end of it. We shall see how that goes.

In the meantime, I'm offering you this link from the New York Times. See those two bald people in the photo? Neither of them are me.

You Know What, Gray? Blow Me.

I first began to suspect that I was losing my hair when I was about 20. I had a long mane at the time, and the amount of hair that would end up in my hands during any given shower seemed a bit extreme, even though women with lots of hair assured me that they ended up with handfuls in their showers too.

Finally, the number of follicles couldn't sustain the length and off it came. I was 23.

Considering how much I had enjoyed having long hair, losing it wasn't something that bothered me all that much. And I've always rather enjoyed the feel of a shaved head.

As is true for many bald men, growing a beard comes pretty easily for me. And if I have an excuse not to keep my face trimmed I'll let it go. Long-time readers might even remember my short-lived dream and aborted attempt at competing in the World Beard and Mustache Competition.

Well, a month away from people in the rural upper midwest seemed as good a time as any to let the facial hair grow.

B&E readers, I have gray whiskers on my chin. This hardly seems fair. So I wrote the following letter:

Dear Aging Gods,

Hi. How are you? I'm fine.

Well, am I fine? I'm a bald man. I've accepted and embraced this as my lot in the aging process. I also accept (if not embrace) the squirrelly hairs that appear in areas where they shouldn't. (I've got the missus on the lookout for the ones I expect will appear in my ears.)

Additionally, I have bad knees, and occasionally, I tweak my back all out of joint.

Please excuse me from going gray. It really isn't too much to ask.

Thank you for your consideration,
Dan

So that should work.

Hey, As Long As You Don't Hurt Anyone

This Middle-Name-Joe The Not-Even-a-Licensed Plumber doesn't seem to go away, and I gotta say, the media on the left is even more fascinated by this tool than the right. Christ! Look at me! I'm wasting valuable space on the Dickhead, too.

I guess we can file him under the "bald" part of B&E. But let's not start thinking that all bald people are alike now. Easy there, baldists.

Anyway, I'm not gonna bother to link to any stories about "Joe the Plumber," but he apparently told Time Magazine that he's leaving the Republican Party.

Marketing people will often create a user profile for their archetypal consumer. So, for example, Victoria's Secret has created "Nicky." Nicky isn't a real person, but she personifies everything that the Victoria's Secret brand sells to. The idea is that the more specific you get with a user profile, the better you can sell to your target customer.

Joe the Plumber is that archetypal consumer for the Republican Party. And he just happened to come to life during the last election. So what are you left with, then, when your archetypal consumer rejects you? Well, you're sort of fucked.

And as the Republican Party is deserted in droves by all the Joe-the-Plumbers, Tito-the-Builders, and Chad-the-Douches, they're left with no one to sell to. Companies with no one to sell to end up bankrupt. The Republican Party has been morally bankrupt for a long time, and now they're actually losing the people smack-dab in the middle of their target audience. They are morally and physically bankrupt.

Joe-the-Archetype isn't going to turn to the Democratic Party. And why would he? Hell, I'm not being given any major reasons from the Democratic leadership to support them either, and I agree with the official stance of the Party on a fair number of issues facing our nation today.

So what happens to these Joe-the-Whackjobs? Who cares? As long as they don't hurt anybody.

Which, frankly, seems pretty unlikely. After all, look at Joe-the-Homophobe's views on gay people. Apparently, yesterday he said that he wouldn't let any queers near his children. And like most bigots, he was quick to point out that he was friends with actual homosexuals. I'm sure most of you have heard (or perhaps even said) something along the lines of "I'm not prejudice! Some of my best friends are black/gay/Jewish/women/Ewoks/children!"

Anyway, it's a downright dangerous point-of-view. It's not any sort of giant leap to go from "stay away from my kids" to "I fucking told you I'd fucking kill you if you didn't stay away from my kids!" if the gay person in question suddenly finds himself within Joe's unacceptable circle of proximity to his children.

But Joe-the-Dickhead claims that these actual homosexual friends know where he stands about having them nowhere near his children.

I'm going to go out on a real limb here: if Joe-the-Plumber actually knows any gay people well (which I doubt) and these actual gay people actually know that he won't let them near his kids, these gay people don't consider Joe-the-Plumber a friend. Unless these are some seriously self-loathing gay people.

The Obvious Solution

We really have been hearing a lot in the past week or so about Obama's graying hair. He appears to be going grayer rather quickly.

Well, Michael Tomasky at the UK's Guardian newspaper presents three potential outcomes for Obama and offers an effective recommendation. And I must say that I agree wholeheartedly. (Watch to the end for the solution.)

[Thanks to the missus for sending this one to me.]

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Inaugural Edition

#44!

So, this not-so-baldy-anymore just returned from our nation’s capital for the inauguration of the 44th President of the United States of America. You may have heard by now – he’s black and his middle name is Hussein!

I’ve only been to DC once before, so I can’t speak with a great deal of authority on how it normally is there, but I can say that despite the influx of an estimated 2 million people and the additional security surrounding the anointing of The One (or That One, depending on whom you ask), the city was amazingly calm. It was full of people, yes, but for the most part everyone was polite and kind. Lines were orderly, waiting was almost pleasant, and the strangers you bumped into literally and figuratively felt like old friends. Every race, age, and class was represented, and we were all giddy.

If I were being perfectly honest, though, I'd have to admit that I couldn’t help but to feel that I was in the finals for American Idol. That whole “Hollywood” thing that he was accused of during the campaign didn’t seem so ridiculous as Usher and Stevie Wonder sang to the crowd gathered on the mall, while Denzel Washington watched on. There was something upsetting about the parade of famous black Americans, not because they are not beloved, but because Obama is something very different. He’s not a Grammy or an Oscar winner or even a star athlete; he’s not here to entertain us. He’s here to lead us through one of the most difficult times in our nation’s history.

So Obama felt like another celebrity in the celebrity parade. He has no control over this, of course, so the “Hollywood” accusations are unfounded in terms of what they mean about his own personal behavior. But it brought up an interesting question about what exactly the Office of the President means to Americans anymore. Of course we want somebody qualified, but are we equally concerned with them being someone who is entertaining and interesting, and good-looking, and friends with Oprah?

I found it difficult to reconcile the dialogue about him being our first African American President and the gravity of that moment in history and what it means about our country, against the dialogue about how hot he is and what Michelle is wearing and how amazing he is, and oh my god he’s just like us, but better and hotter and blacker. Not to mention the dialogue about how the fact that he’s black is the least amazing thing about him. His story, and how dissimilar it is to the stories of our past presidents in terms of class and background, is truly amazing.

Any doubts I had about the Office of the President having perhaps lost some of the respect it deserves were dashed at the actual inauguration when Bush came out. The crowd booed, which I personally found very disappointing. He knows we hate him. Booing him in that moment seemed extremely disrespectful to the Office he’s held all this time, and therefore disrespectful to the person about to be sworn into that same Office. Ask not what Obama can do for you; ask what you can do for Obama. I think the first thing we can do as a nation is show some goddamn respect for the job he’s just taken on.

Having said all of that, it was one of the most moving and memorable experiences of my life. Being there, feeling the excitement on the Metro, in every coffee shop, on every street corner, was incredible. Walking down the mall towards Lincoln Memorial on Sunday afternoon amidst throngs of people, the crowd was so thick that the frozen ground was giving up dust. As we froze our asses off and choked on dust, I looked around and wondered what if anything else in the world could have brought such a large and diverse group of people together. The answer is nothing and I’m in awe.

I was fortunate enough to have a ticket on Inauguration Day, but I think the best part was looking back away from the capitol building at the crowd of people who didn’t have tickets. I couldn’t see beyond them. It was a sea of people, the air thick with hope and cannabis. It was kind of great. Several people in my section turned their back when Rick Warren spoke, and that was great. Everyone had tears in their eyes, and that was great. The sun was shining, and that was great.

The crowd flipped off the Bushes as they departed by helicopter. I didn’t participate, but that was kind of great, too. I don’t support the action, but I know the feeling. We all do.

Thank sweet baby Jesus in heaven that we have a new president, a new start. White, black, poor, rich, well-bred, or not. I don’t care. Just make a difference. Change. Change. Change. We want change. Yes you can, President Obama. Yes you can.

I Remember This: It's Called Cold

Oh, yes, B&E readers, New York City has had its first really cold day, and I don't mind telling you that I like it.

Well, I like it other than the fact that it was also 54-degrees at my job today. (In case I need to clarify, we do actually work inside.) It's sort of sad looking across at all my office mates wearing coats, scarves, and knit caps (I had my cap on too).

But that brisk walk across the Brooklyn Bridge is invigorating with a windchill in the teens. Because I layered up and because I am who I am, I did manage to get a minor sweat going, so I took off my knit cap during my walk and let that icy wind race across my scalp. It's tingly and nice.

I recommend that everyone shave their heads and enjoy that feeling for just a moment. Then you can put your hair back on.

While I was enjoying the scalpy tingle, a majorly bundled-up figure on a bicycle cried out, "Bald and no hat!" with the unmistakable tone of being impressed. That's right, Bundled-Up Figure. Bald and no hat.

No hat, that is, until I got inside.

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 13

Voter Suppression! (Fancy Campaign-Speak for "Stealing the Election")

So, yesterday, one of my vols (snazzy campaign-speak for "volunteers") went down to monitor the lines at our early voting location. People have been waiting up to three hours to vote, and we sent people down to encourage would-be voters to stay in line. We offered doughnuts, sandwiches, and personal audiences with Obama. What, did we go too far?

According to my vol, county election officials and poll workers told would-be voters waiting in the line that if they were not up to a certain point in the line by a certain time, they'd have to leave and come back another day to vote. This, even though by law, anybody in line by the time the polls close gets to vote.

Horseshit! (Groovy campaign-speak for "horseshit!")

Hasta la victoria, siempre! (Posh campaign-speak for "We're commies!")

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 12

Vote Early, Vote Often

In this battleground state, we've been able to vote early since the end of last month.

Today, I finally went to cast my vote. The cockles of my heart were warmed by the line. A two-hour wait. Democrats, waiting for two hours to vote early for That One.

We're gonna win this!

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 11

Consensus Trance

Here in this battleground state, our get-out-the-vote efforts begin officially on the 29th. We'll be contacting everyone who has self-identified as an Obama supporter and all the SuperDems that we didn't bother contacting during the campaign because they are, well, super. Every election they fly up to the polls, their blue capes just a-waving in the cool November wind. They cast their ballot for the Democratic Candidate, super-ly, and then fly off to their jobs at not-for-profits and American Apparel.

Thirty percent from these two groups of people will have already voted by Election Day, so we won't be contacting those people. Instead we'll be doing what the Republicans have historically done in this state so very well - we'll harass people into voting.

Up until this point, we've been contacting known regular/base and sporadic democrats as well as "persuadable" voters. Known/base dems are people who always vote democratic, but only in the "big" elections. Sporadics are people who vote, you betchya, sporadically. A persuadable voter is a person who has 1) recently registered, 2) voted both D and R recently, 3) not voted recently. 4) always voted R, but recently purchased How Would a Patriot Act? on Amazon.com.

Now, maybe it's just me, but I find it pretty fucking disturbing that the campaigns of the two presidential nominees have access to what books I've been purchasing on Amazon.com. I know it's just marketing as usual, but does this bother anybody else?

Everyone I've encountered on the campaign trail gets all Tom-Cruise-talking-about-Katie-Holmes about it, calling it wonderful, amazing, sensational. Sure, we're the good guy, and sure, we're using this information to get people to vote for the right candidate, but does this mean that the $20 I gave Obama went to purchasing my consumer history?

Hell, I would have told him for free.

The other day I read a bit about Consensus Trance. Charley Tart is a professor who writes on the subject. He says, "Together, human groups agree on which of their perceptions should be admitted to awareness (hence, consensus), then they train each other to see the world in that way and only in that way (hence, trance)."

Sounds like politicking at it's finest to me.

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 10

There is No Justice

So, Obama was visiting this battleground last week. It was all very exciting - huge crowd of people, completely forgetting everything Obama stands for and selfishly looking out for their own best interests and not those of the crowd.

Capitalists.

I had the very pleasant job of working the line. This involves a few tasks:

1. Checking people for homemade signs. The conversation goes something like this:

Me: No signs allowed, folks! If you brought a sign and you don't give it up now, the Secret Service will take it from you.

Mama for Obama: But look at this beautiful sign my daughter made. She worked so hard on it. Please?

Me: Sorry ma'am, I don't make the rules. No signs allowed.

Mama for Obama (to daughter): Sorry sweetie. This mean baldy says you can't bring in your beautiful sign. I guess Obama doesn't like art. Or children.

2. Making sure people fill out their tickets fully with name, address, phone, email, bank routing numbers, and mother's maiden name. The conversation goes something like this:

Me: Tickets? Can I see your tickets? They must be filled out for you to get in.

Suspicious ticket holder: Why do I need to fill this out? I RSVP'd online with all this info.

Me: Well, we need to confirm that you showed up.

Suspicious ticket holder: You already have all my information. Can I just put in my name?

Me: Not if you want to get in. I'll need all of your information.

Suspicious ticket holder: The paper said that the rally was free and open to the public. I don't even understand why you handed out these tickets. And now you need all my personal info again? I don't understand.

Me: Well, I don't make the rules. Please fill out your ticket.

(The reason is, of course, so we can hit them up to volunteer.)

3. Hitting up people to volunteer, straight-forward like. The conversation goes something like this:

Me: Only three weeks left to make a difference! Who is going to volunteer? I need people making calls and knocking on doors! Senator Obama is going to ask you to volunteer today. Who is going to sign up?

Rally attendee suddenly very interested in the view opposite from where I'm standing (thinking): Maybe if I look this way, baldy will go away.

Me: Sir, when can you volunteer for the campaign? Only three weeks left! We need your help.

Rally attendee "startled" from their reverie of the view opposite from where I'm standing: Oh! I didn't see you there! What now? Volunteer? I don't have time for that. Too busy. Way too busy. No free time. Not even one spare hour.

Me: Really? Because you seem to have 8 hours on a weekday to stand in line and wait to see the guy. I just need one hour a week for the next three weeks. And you won't have to be in a line full of cranky people on a hot day with anti-choice yahoos screaming at you from their dead baby truck.

4. Telling people to ignore the dead baby truck, and the crazed McCain supporter who has painted his truck with the names of the republican ticket, and the evangelists walking up and down the line asking why you hate God. This conversation goes like so:

Me: Folks, please ignore the dead baby truck. We're not here to engage in an argument with these people, which is what they want. Please ignore them.

Angry Obama supporter: But what they're saying isn't even true!

Me: I know, but a response from us validates them and we do not want to validate them, do we?

Angry Obama supporter: What does validate mean?

And so it went for hours. On my feet. In the heat. No water. No appreciation.

When the rally finally begins, I am sadly not inside. No, it seems I'm going to be stuck outside, hoping to catch a few words that will carry over the crowd.

This does not happen. I hear bits and pieces of Obama's speech - something about pie? - and then it's over. The same crowd that nearly ran me over to get in is now nearly running me over to get out.

*Sigh.* So much work and I don't even get to see Obama.

I'd invited someone to the rally who was visiting from out of town and who has not volunteered for the campaign at all. This person met up with me as the crowd dispersed. We'd been separated earlier in the day when volunteer tasks were being assigned.

He walks up and I get ready to hear his tales of rally-as-a-volunteer life. Instead, he says it was the most amazing experience of his life. He was placed on stage, and yes, shook the Senator's hand, as well as the hands of our governor and mayor. He doesn't even live in the state. Or in a battleground.

There is no justice.

I blame Bush. And McCain.

Undecided Baldies

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the prominence of baldness during the past week's presidential debates.

The first mention occurred during Talking Points Memo's live blog of the debate:

9:09 PM ... We're told this audience was selected to be a cross-section of the local community. But is it not obvious that it's weighted to bald men?

Well, TPM, I'm not sure what you're saying exactly.

Then on Thursday evening, when Saturday Night Live decided to take their election-spoofing ratings boon for a midweek prime time spin, Amy Poehler also observed that the debate crowd was full of baldies.

Last but not least, during the debate itself, John McCain made a joke about getting hair plugs. Like most of his jokes during the town hall, this one too fell flat.

Let me just state for the record, lest these observations become stereotypes about my people, i.e. the bald people... Not all bald people are undecided, and not all bald people want plugs.

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 9

Dream Analysis in a Battleground

Lest anyone should wonder if election anxiety is creeping its way into my dreams, here is as accurate an account as I can give of my dream last night:

The volunteer coordinator of the campaign office kept stealing my writing utensils and replacing them with cookware - spatulas, tongs, soup ladles, etc. After I had stolen my pens and pencils back from her multiple times, and very cleverly put them in a container for kitchen utensils, thinking this would trick her, she did it again. When I went to confront her, she informed me that Senator Obama was coming to town and that it was my job to take him around and introduce him to all the volunteers.

Imagine my surprise when, upon his arrival at the office, in walked Mayor Tommy Carcetti, from The Wire. He wasn't with Barack, he WAS Barack. I was confused, but everyone was acting like he was Barack, so I went along with it. That is, until I took him to the first volunteer house. My volunteer opened the door, he said, "Surprise!" and hugged her, at which point she looked at me and said, "Who the hell is this guy?" I told her it was Barack Obama, but she wasn't buying it.

Barack Obama/Tommy Carcetti was very upset about her reaction. He'd been expecting a warmer reception. I hesitated for a moment and then said, "Well, Barack, you just don't look the way you look on TV. I mean, for one, you're black on TV. But here, you're white, and short, and you're also a character on an HBO drama. We're just confused."

He was hurt. He didn't understand. I asked him if he knew he was black, or at least that he appeared black on TV. He said he'd been hearing whispers. As best he could tell, there was a lighting issue the first time he ever appeared on TV, which made him look black. There was such a positive response to the possibility of the first black president, that his handlers had decided to keep using the lighting trick. Nobody had told him this directly - they didn't want him to be involved in the lie - but this was his theory as to what was happening. The constant rejection by people seeing him in person and realizing he was that white guy from The Wire, was really getting him down, though.

Sad, huh?

I wonder if Stringer Bell is white, too... And McNulty is black...

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 8

Highly Organized Suburban Women are Dangerous (or The Unfathomable Arrogance of the Obama Campaign)

So the Obama Campaign states that one of its goals is to create community organizations that will last beyond the campaign. The idea is to empower people in their communities and connect them with like-minded people who can work to make a difference in their neighborhoods, no matter the cause.

That's the official idea, and one that I am sure Senator Obama feels very strongly about. As with most ideas, however, the further away this one gets from its originator, the more the execution of this lovely idea goes haywire.

One of the paid campaign staffers said to me, while we were having a discussion about how best to use an existing community organization here in this battleground, that "highly organized suburban women are dangerous."

Dangerous? Like terrorists? I don't understand.

It was explained to me that since they were already organized, they didn't follow the direction of the 22-year-olds on how best to organize themselves.

Right, I said, they're already organized, you see. We don't have to come in and get them organized - they already are. All we have to do is give them tasks, and they will use their existing organization, intelligence, and hard work to git 'er done. They clearly don't need you to tell them how to do it.

Makes sense. Unless you're under 25 and paid by the Obama campaign, and this is your first job out of college, and you have no other job experience, not even from high school, and you seem to have fallen on your head and forgotten that your mother is or was, very likely, a highly organized suburban woman.

But they don't follow the rules, he says.

The rules. Hmmm. The rules of the campaign are to get organized and get Barack Obama elected. Both of these things seem to be important to this particular group of women. It was important to them during the Kerry campaign (for which they are all now snubbed by the Obama campaigners - even though most of the paid Obama staff wasn't old enough to vote in the last election) and they delivered this county to Kerry last election.

So, again I'll ask, what's the problem?

Well, the problem is that highly organized suburban women are dangerous. They have their own ideas about how this should be done, ideas that differ from our ideas.

And who are these women anyway? They're just accomplished career women, who have raised families, whose kids are all in college, who live in the most affluent part of town, who are well connected and pretty much successful in every area of their lives. They can't just decide how to organize themselves without consulting us, The Children's Crusade, first.

But you know they're already organized, right? You know they have done what Senator Obama did right out of college, which is form successful and lasting community organizations, with the best interests of their neighbors at heart?

And so it goes. Round and round. It's a bit like talking to a wall. A brick wall. With acne. Sometimes I just want to smash my head into that brick wall, but then I think about how gross and oily their foreheads are. So instead I just sigh and walk away.

Sigggggghhhhh .......arrgggghghhhhhhhh....siiiiiiiiggghhhh ...arrrggghhhh!

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 7

Barber Shops and Beauty Salons

In this battleground state, barber shops and beauty salons are considered official places for canvassing. On the ground we have faith coordinators, youth coordinators, and barber shops and beauty salons coordinators.

I found this to be hilarious, and asked (incredulously, I might add) if the whole barber shops and beauty salons thing wasn't a joke. My supervisor's response? You know Obama is black, right?

So then I suppose I should set up shop outside a Popeye's. Or maybe a reggae shop. Oh wait, perhaps a stand that sells watermelon and kool-aid?

A Couple of Bald Updates

Well, my people sure know that I appreciate bald-related items.

A colleague found this here button.


I must say that it sure would be a better button if Mr. Bald felt a bit happier about being bald and for Obama. It would send a positive message to the kids, who are our future, provided we teach them well and let them lead the way.

Quite some time ago, another friend sent me a link to this photo of Cameron Diaz bald.


It's pretty obviously a skull cap, but she looks pretty happy about it.

And then a few days ago, yet another friend sent me a link to this little NPR story discussing how, since the days of the Russian Revolution in 1917, the Soviet Union/Russia have been alternating their leadership between the well-covered and the shiny heads. Lenin, bald; Stalin, haired; and so on through Gorbechev, bald and Yeltsin, haired. Putin they put in the bald column, although that’s a bit of a stretch. He’s thinning, sure, but not bald. His replacement Medvedev has a healthy head of hair.

Meanwhile, in the United States, we haven’t had a bald leader for quite some time, as I’ve written before. Will Ike be our last president elected with an uncovered dome? Gerald Ford was a more recent bald president, sure, but he was also not elected.

In our recent primaries, the baldies didn’t fair well. Giuliani, for example, didn’t win a single delegate on the Republican side. Was it because of his bald head or because he’s a Dickhead?

McCain falls into that curious category of “tweeners.” He’s pretty thin up top, but what he does have he uses to try to hide the bald bits. This obvious sign of insecurity should be a major red flag for voters.

Biden’s hair is the subject of some debate. He’s got nothing on the backside of his head, but upfront, he’s got a thick row of bangs, which flow back to cover the back. I had assumed that he had the male pattern baldness of a friend of mine who’s not receding at all upfront, while the rest of his head continues to expand its baldness. But according to that same NPR story, Biden may have opted for plugs at some point along the way. If that’s true, it’s more suspect even than McCain’s cover-up. Fortunately for the Obama-Biden ticket, I’m not a one-issue voter.

As for our other candidates...

Well, obviously, Barack Obama’s hair is still going strong, although the stress of the campaign has added some gray to the color palette.

And Sarah Palin has the obvious hair-producing advantage of a body chemistry that creates less testosterone than her fellow candidates for high office. But I can’t say I’m a big fan of how she flaunts her thick-haired credentials by beehiving it right in our faces. I mean, really: the arrogance; the sheer arrogance.

Election Dance 2008

A few years back, I had the privilege of participating in a variety show called "Dog & Pony." I have only my baldness to credit. A friend I didn't know all that well at the time was performing a sketch he wrote, and he needed a bald, roundish face and head to affix baby doll arms and legs to. (It was wonderfully weird and way too complicated to explain here, but pester Virgil if you'd like details. I sure wish he'd write more.)

So Virgil's previous bald head was suddenly unavailable, and I served as a stand-in. Thus began a fun, prolific collaboration that lasted a few active years and sputters occasionally to this day when we find the motivation. I swear to Christ we'll get to that podcast eventually.

Titivil was the host and co-producer for this Dog & Pony show, and today he linked to a reprise of one of my favorite performances from eight (wow) years ago. The original performance, of course, featured Bush and Gore. Today, it features McCain and Obama. (The performers' current sites can be found here (she was also the other co-producer for D&P) and here.)

Nothing about the campaigns has brought a smile to my face for quite some time, but this sure did, and not just because of nostalgia. I hope you enjoy, too.

Guest Post - Baldy in a Battleground - Episode 6

The Children's Crusade

My field organizer got fired this week. He's 24. He got fired by the Regional Field Director who's 23. The RFD's boss is 21. And her boss is Abigail Breslin.

Okay, so that last part was a joke, but if you're wondering why the higher up in this campaign you get the younger you seem to be, you're asking a good question.

Not forgetting that Barack Obama is young and has less experience than a person who has been alive since, say, the Civil War, these young whipper-snappers at the top are proving to be a challenge.

Young people are an excellent resource for any campaign for a few reasons:

- They are brimming with optimism.
- They require little to no sleep.
- They have not yet learned the art of saying no for the purpose of self-preservation.
- They are usually not yet established and therefore highly mobile and adaptive.

All good things for a campaign.

Having children run the campaign also has its obvious downsides:

- These kids have no experience in the real world.
- They are brimming with optimism, which goes unchecked.
- They require little to no sleep, so they don't. No sleep equals fried brain.
- They don't know how to say no, so they end up with a workload far greater than what they can handle.
- And since their superiors are even younger and less experienced than they are, they get no help or direction on how to deal with the fact that they have no idea what the fuck they are doing.

Add on to this problem the fact that these are all hired campaigners from out-of-state. They storm into town, all fire and brimstone, but are so young and inexperienced that they don't understand that community building requires more than excitement. Plus, communities like ours don't warmly accept outsiders. Period.

Fuckhead Guiliani, fascist asshole, made a joke of Obama's experience as a community organizer last night at the convention. That Sarah Palin had one of her own, one she's continuing to repeat on the campaign trail.

For now, I'll ignore how foolish it is to make an amusing pastime out of mocking community organizing in the face of lost jobs and abject poverty. Instead, I can't help but think how truly remarkable Barack Obama is. I'm here watching well-intentioned, sincere, and enthusiastic young people flounder on the battleground, trying to do the same thing. I'm also watching them be led by not-so-well intentioned, self-seeking, egotistical young people who are merely looking for a notch on the belt.

From my own experience, which is informed by what I've seen and heard here on the battleground, community building requires a delicate mix of confidence, humility, compassion, empathy, organization, and charm, among other things. The fact that Barack Obama managed to exhibit all of those things at such a young age and with such success is amazing.

It's unfortunate that hundreds of little Baracks aren't running his campaign.

Maybe this is why the right-wingers fear that stem-cell research will lead to cloning. We could totally use a little ObamArmy.

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.