About a year ago my Canadian web dungeon master contacted me and offered to make me a website. He was an old Big Brother fan and a skater but most importantly he was a fantastic website designer. So I said, “Sure. Sounds good.” But at the time I was balls deep in wedding planning and afterwards I went on a much needed month long honeymoon in Portugal. And so the site went nowhere. Ed persisted in asking for photos, content, whatever. After a month of not speaking English in Portugal I had a hard enough time getting back in the swing of things without worrying about a self-absorbed website. I finally said, “Listen. If you want to get this thing done why don’t I just fly you down here and you can go through whatever shit you want and scan it or take it back to Canada or whatever. “ He agreed. But he had no idea what he was getting into. I suppose neither did I. My wife was like, “You invited a complete stranger to stay in our house? What’s the matter with you? Haven’t you seen Misery? He might be a serial killer.”
In actuality, what he was was far worse. He was a Long-Haired. I hate Long Hairs. The only exception to that is my partner in NJ Skateshop, Steve Lenardo. Somehow he rises above the preconceived notion of Long Hairs that I have. I still wish he’d cut his hair but what can I do? He wishes I pronounced MOTZerella correctly. So I guess we’re even.
But I love Steve so I look past his flowing mane. I didn’t know this Canadian from Adam so I wasn’t about to tolerate him or his hair in my house. As soon as he walked through my front door I said, “Tomorrow we wake up early and cut that goddamn mop of yours.” He laughed. I did not. I told him I was dead serious and how I normally would not let a Long Haired stay in my home but I understood he had come from far away so for one night I’d make an exception but that the next day he would be getting a haircut. He laughed again. To prove to him I was serious I shot him in his Adam’s apple with one of those high-powered realistic-looking Japanese pellet guns. Have you ever seen one of those things? Cops in The States would shoot you on site for carrying one; they look that real. And man, do they hurt like a sonofabitch. (Read more about them in my Hurley Japan Tour article in the "Worldwide Tours" section). Blood instantly started dripping from his neck. He looked at me in shock. “Did you just shoot me in the neck?” ”Yes. And tomorrow you’re getting a haircut.” He looked at me in disbelief. Soon after we turned in for the night. I had the most restless sleep I’d ever had in our new house, tossing and turning thinking about all the hair he was going to leave on the guest pillowcase.
The next morning I took him to see Red. Red has been my barber since I was 6-years-old. He does a fantastic job, knows where all the knots are on my head, and with tip he runs me $12 (a stark contrast to me wife’s staggering triple digit haircuts from The Haircut Gods.). I sat in the chair first and got my usual: a tight fade all the way around, short on top, with enough in the front to grease and flip. When I was done I stoop up and pointed to Ed and said, “Now give him the same thing.” I thought the guy was gonna cry. Ed honestly had not cut his hair in over 20 years and really had no plans of ever cutting it. Yet he gave me very little opposition. In his heart I believe he was ready for a change and any change that could make a man half as handsome as me is always a welcome change. At the last moment he tried to back out by yelling, “Wait, wait, wait,” as if he was going to talk me out of it. As you can see in the footage, I ignored him.
The end result, you must admit, is a much better look than he’d been running for the past two decades. For the remainder of his stay he sulked and worried about his girl’s reaction. I explained to him, “You look like me, how can your gal not find that sexy?”
As usual, I was right. The night that he arrived home his lady called and thanked me. His mother actually sent me a fruit basket and a card thanking me and saying her “prayers had been answered.”
What can I say? I’m a giving person. I like to give.
About a year ago my Canadian web dungeon master contacted me and offered to make me a website. He was an old Big Brother fan and a skater but most importantly he was a fantastic website designer. So I said, “Sure. Sounds good.” But at the time I was balls deep in wedding planning and afterwards I went on a much needed month long honeymoon in Portugal. And so the site went nowhere. Ed persisted in asking for photos, content, whatever. After a month of not speaking English in Portugal I had a hard enough time getting back in the swing of things without worrying about a self-absorbed website. I finally said, “Listen. If you want to get this thing done why don’t I just fly you down here and you can go through whatever shit you want and scan it or take it back to Canada or whatever. “ He agreed. But he had no idea what he was getting into. I suppose neither did I. My wife was like, “You invited a complete stranger to stay in our house? What’s the matter with you? Haven’t you seen Misery? He might be a serial killer.”