Wednesday 29 July 2015

Helloooo Newman: The Barber of Davisville

Helloooo Newman: The Barber of Davisville: This barber was no Figaro! I should probably hate getting my haircut more than I do. The expense. Time wasted. The stress of wondering whe...

The Barber of Davisville

This barber was no Figaro!

I should probably hate getting my haircut more than I do. The expense. Time wasted. The stress of wondering whether I'll look like the Kardashian's poodle.

But I love haircuts. Mostly because it's nice to still have hair to cut. Also, I love the tickly feeling of that electric trimmer on my neck. Hey, could you do my whole body with that trimmer? Yup, there too.

Picking the right barber is an enormous decision. It deserves far more consideration than picking your doctor for a heart valve replacement. If the doctor screws up, who will know? It's all buried under your chest plate. Assuming you survived the operation, of course.

A bad haircut screams out to the world – hey, I have head leprosy. The barber is the plastic surgeon for hair. Oh my God, my hair looks like Meg Ryan's face.

A few summer's ago I was desperate for a haircut so I popped into this barber at Bayview and Davisville. It was one of those heat wave summers, which we get about once a decade now. Double Bubble boiling on the pavement and time stands still.

I should have known trouble was ahead. When I set my eyes on the guy who was doing the "barbering", I thought Alice Cooper had quite his musical career and moved to my neighbourhood. I quickly wrote a script in my head for a new movie, "Alice the Barberian".

I told him, "NOT TOO SHORT". I know I have nice biceps, but I'm not going for the Vin Diesel look.

The part of this guy's brain that controlled jabbering was 100 times larger than yours or mine. I think it comprised his entire brain, save for a few neurons to allow for the modest operation of scissors.

Please, put me under general anaesthetic, like my heart surgeon would. Just for the peace and quiet.

The worst part was he completely lacked vocal punctuation. Inane story flowed into inane story without a pause, like a dentist's drill spinning on full for days on end with no rest to remove the build up of spit.

Please, Alice, let me know when you are starting a new idea so I can organize the notes I'm taking. I'm up to the part where you defeated your syphilis with a record short round of antibiotics.

I turned towards the mirror to observe the final product. That dentist's drill is still spinning in my ears.

Excuse me. Did you think I was off to a civil war re-enactment? Or maybe a jousting tournament at Medieval Times?

We live in Toronto, not the forests of New Guinea.

Thanks Figaro. Now I'm sure to win the woman of my dreams.

Tuesday 28 July 2015

Helloooo Newman: Go tit

Helloooo Newman: Go tit: It's nice to be known world-wide for my brilliant writing. Too bad it's not in this world. It's actually an exoplanet 4 light ...

Go tit

It's nice to be known world-wide for my brilliant writing. Too bad it's not in this world.

It's actually an exoplanet 4 light years from here that scientists discovered with their latest telescope, built to find creative genius in the universe. An exoplanet is an earth-like planet that rotates around a sun, but hasn't managed to produce any intelligent life. Perfect market for my writing.

One could, of course, easily have a stimulating debate about whether there is any intelligent life here on earth. Imagine some other planet building a telescope to find intelligent life, it hones in on our earth and manages to record a speech by Donald Trump or an article about Bill Cosby. No doubt they would conclude their telescope failed in its mission. Melding the philosophies of Trump and Cosby together, the alien planet would conclude that Man's mission is to build a really high fence to trap women in, feed them drugs and rape them. This would be allowed behaviour by all of Man except a species called "Mexican". They're just getting out of hand with the rape thing.

What I'm not so brilliant at is typoing. Sorry, "typing". Maybe that's where the term "typo" comes from. Almost every time I type "typing", it comes out "typoing".

I make all kinds of other predictable mistakes, all of them with the same typo every time.

When I type "Globe" in Google Chrome, to read the Globe and Mail, it comes out as "Glboe". Never "Gbloe", "Goelb", or "Fuck it, I'm going back to bed".

When my wife emails me to find out what I have planned for dinner, I type "meat and porn". Of course, I meant corn. Maybe that's a Freudian slip.

I search a lot for "cornography".

Some typos are more severe. When I email the boys, typing, "Let's go out for drinks", it often comes out as, "Hey, let's sink some Red Bulls and look for hookers".

This being summer, we are visiting people all over Ontario. I need directions. People send directions and wonder if I understand them.

My shortcut for directions understanding is, "Got it".

Nope. Comes out as "Go tit". "Hey Paul", the wives of our couple friends ask me, "what did you mean by go tit? Are you and your wife breaking up? Is that why you're shaving your chest?"

Actually, I'm writing a kids book, in the vein of Go, Dog. Go! It will be called Go, Tit. Go! Go into the Bedroom and Wait for Me While I take This Pill.

Well, it all makes sense on my exoplanet.

Friday 17 July 2015

Helloooo Newman: Is That a Gun in your Tote Bag?

Helloooo Newman: Is That a Gun in your Tote Bag?: I have no idea if any Americans read this blog. If there are any, I have a question for you. The NRA, and a good deal of the population (n...

Is That a Gun in your Tote Bag?

I have no idea if any Americans read this blog. If there are any, I have a question for you.

The NRA, and a good deal of the population (not everyone, I realize), want there to be more and more guns available. They want guns in schools, teachers with guns, babies with guns, animals with guns, guns on golf courses, at nudist beaches, guns carrying guns around.

And they want it to be easy to get guns. Easier than buying a pack of nicorette, surfing for porn, or getting a glass of water at Denny's.

You get the picture. Many of the problems with American society are caused by too few guns, not too many.

Then I find out that the army recruitment centres in America are declared "gun-free zones".

Um, yaaaaaaa. What?

The place you go to join the very institution that uses guns for a living to defend the country doesn't allow guns in its "stores"?

Whose idea was that?

Does that make sense?

Did you know there were any gun-free zones?

Who created this "Strangelovian" world? This is the army, there will be no guns here!

Four "experts" on CNN, after much discussion, declared that this policy needs to be examined. Really? Is that what really needs to be examined?

That kind of logic defeats my brain. I need a world where this kind of logic doesn't survive.

I can't live in a world where kindergarten is a gun-toting zone and an army recruitment centre is a gun-free zone.

Please – allow guns at army recruitment centres. Do it for my brain.

Thursday 16 July 2015

Helloooo Newman: e-Questions

Helloooo Newman: e-Questions: A new study just came out, confirming our worst fears. Sitting IS the new smoking. If you smoke a traditional cigarette, you will likely ...

e-Questions

A new study just came out, confirming our worst fears. Sitting IS the new smoking.

If you smoke a traditional cigarette, you will likely get cancer. If you sit for 6 hours, you will likely get cancer.

What about lying down? They never study that. If sitting is really that bad for you, wouldn't lying down, say to sleep, be even more sedentary, and thus more dangerous? Does sleeping cause cancer? Try not to lose sleep over that question. Or maybe you should?

Meanwhile, there's an even more important question.

If electronic cigarettes (e-cigarettes) are healthier for you than the traditional cigarette, wouldn't the same be true of sitting?

Isn't sitting in an electric chair (e-chair) healthier than a traditional chair?

Does traditional mail give you cancer? Is e-mail healthier for you?

More studies, please.