From "Hair"

            I am your typical guy.  My friend Allison once told me that she was really stressed out and wanted to relax a little and get a haircut.  This feeling doesn’t really apply to me.  Relaxing and getting a haircut are two distinctly different activities.  So when I arrived at the H20 Salon and Spa at 7:00 in the morning for a haircut, I couldn’t help but feel a little feminine.

            I know this doesn’t make sense yet.  Let me explain.  My father is a celebrity to those who know him.  He is that high school teacher you always wanted to keep in touch with, and did.  Harry Connick Jr. did.  As did Holly, the owner of the H20 Salon and Spa.  My father taught her when she went to Chapelle High School, and the two have remained friends.

            I was preparing for a vocal masterclass with baritone Gordon Hawkins.  Gordon Hawkins premiered at the Metropolitan Opera in New York in a production of Verdi’s Un Ballo in Maschera starring Luciano Pavarotti.  Nothing is more impressive in the opera world than saying “What Luciano told me…”  Gordon has a famed career in his own right and in my hopes to impress him, I decided to look presentable and get a haircut.

            My hair has been the source of much controversy in my life.  Before getting it cut it was a large, fluffy, tangled mass of cuticle, cortex, and medulla.  Whenever singing in a choir, I would have to stand in the back row, because it would block other people’s view of the conductor.  I once reached back to scratch my head, where my middle finger was greeted viciously by a wasp.  A friend told me, “If wasps are nesting in your hair, and you can’t feel it…it’s time for a haircut.”

The Hunt

The summer before Junior year I took a quick trip to New Orleans with my soon to be roommate Josh in hopes of finding that perfect New Orleans three bedroom apartment.  We thought July was the right month to find an August lease, but we really had no idea.  This was our first venture out of the dorm and we didn’t know what to expect.  A mutual friend Allison was hardcore house hunting at the end of spring semester and her troubles and stress gave Josh and me the willies.  We decided that our only standards would be price.  Everything else we would be able to live with.  Low ceilings?  We’ll spend our time sitting down.  Flooding?  Those floors needed a cleaning anyway.  We would be flexible. 

My father was putting a lot of pressure on me to get the house situation organized fast so that I could get back home and help the family move.  We had been moving since May and we weren’t getting any closer to relocating.  The problem was that we were moving from a larger house to a smaller house.  Any space we are given, we will fill.  It should come as no surprise that around the time we started filling boxes, my mother started watching Hoarding: Buried Alive on TLC.  Without my bringing it up, she would approach me and start listing reasons why she wasn’t a hoarder.  “We could actually use all these things.  We’re just so busy that we don’t get the chance.”  Very convincing.  The house-hunting trip to New Orleans would be a nice break from the move.

My girlfriend didn’t know I was coming for a visit so after a surprise dinner the real hunting began.  Josh and I woke early and set out for Broadway.  We were about as prepared for a house hunt as we were for a real hunt.  No pencil.  No paper.  We were helpless against the ruthless For Rent signs.  But, thanks to modern technology, our phones recorded the phone numbers.  We collected five numbers at a time and crossed our fingers that we would remember which houses they went to.  Then we called.  Sometimes we got an answer, sometimes we left a message, and on some occasions we got to look inside the houses in question.

Then we arrived at Broadway and Hickory.  By this time Josh and I had gained the company of mutual friend Allison who would be looking on behalf of her boyfriend, our third roommate, Randy.  We called the number and spoke to the owner, Carlos, who said that his wife Maria would give us a tour.  We walked up to the front door where Maria greeted us with her less than perfect English.  She gave us the tour and we were happy.  It was exactly what we needed.  It didn’t have the New Orleans flair we were secretly hoping for, but it was small, simple, and, most importantly, cheap.  After the tour Maria said that rent was 400 a month, utilities included.  We asked her to repeat this a number of times and in different ways.  We didn’t want this amazing fact to be the unintentional lie that only a foreigner can make.  But she spoke correctly.  We had heard all we needed to hear.  Josh and I ran to the bank and came back to, what would become known as “The Hickory.”  Armed with money, we were ready to sign the lease.  But Carlos informed us that he didn’t use leases.  He has always preferred to just shake hands and whenever the tenants planned on moving out, just give him two months notice.  The simpler the better right?  We exchanged smiles and kind words and were off on our way.

Stand-up Comedy

            I want to be a stand up comedian.  That’s one of the things I want to be.  I was voted wittiest in high school, so I guess I’m on the right track.  It took me until last week to realize that stand up comedy is a form of creative nonfiction.  I’ve spent all these weeks trying to write about pain and emotions, when I should have been writing about that thing at the end of your shoelace (what do you call that anyway?).

            I wouldn’t really do a bit on the thing at the end of your shoelace.  That’s a little too Jerry Seinfeld.  I wouldn’t put myself in the Jerry Seinfeld school of comedy.  I like observational comedy, but he gets a little too observational.  I have wondered what the thing at the end of my shoelaces is called about as many times as I’ve wondered about Justin Bieber’s flossing habits.

            I have a personal love for Robin Williams but could never pull off his style.  It’s too rapid fire.  He throws out a thousand little jokes and closes off the major sections with a big punch line.  It’s fast, clever, and beautiful, but that’s Robin Williams, not me.

            The king is definitely Richard Pryor.  Richard is the perfect mix between observation, characters, physicality, and meaning.  He was the first one to get in the grind.  Nothing was off limits including race, sex, and drugs.  Other comedians had used those topics in routines, but never with the flair or power that Richard did.  There’s everything to learn from his timing and his wide range of topics, but his voice was so original that copying it would be like trying to copy the Beatles. 

I guess the only way to get an original voice would be to get up and give it a try.  The real problem is that I cannot think of a worse audience for a first standup attempt than a bunch of serious writers.  I can already feel the silence of a failed joke.  What face would Emma give me?  Would I get the embarrassed this-is-so-bad-I-can’t-look smile?  Or would I get the dazed I-don’t-even-give-a-fuck stare?  I guess there is only one way to find out.

Ode to Steve Harvey

            Did you know that Steve Harvey is the new host for Family Feud?  This is shocking to me.  Steve Harvey seems to get around.  I remember him when I was a child and he starred in The Steve Harvey Show.  Later there was Steve Harvey’s Big Time.  He hosts an Atlanta radio show and had a small role in the smash dance movie You Got Served.

            This new gig strikes me as a downgrade.  Drew Carey is the new host of The Price is Right, but that’s The Price is Right.  There is a big difference between The Price is Right and Family Feud.  The Price is Right has a personality.  You can expect to hear about pet ownership at the end for no apparent reason, and, even though Bob Barker is gone, the overall Price is Right mood has not changed.  Family Feud is a compromise.  Oh I’ve already seen that The King of Queens repeat?  And the Friends repeat?  Yeah I guess I’ll watch Family Feud.

            What happened Steve?  Did that male sass and ironic stare get old?  I still love it.  It’s not me Steve I promise.  I believe that I have encountered Steve Harvey at a crossroads.  He is moving from TV to, believe it not, books.  I looked him up on Amazon and found something special.  Straight Talk, No Chaser: How to Find, Keep, and Understand a Man and Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man: What Men Really Think About Love, Relationships, Intimacy, and Commitment both by Steve Harvey.  I don’t think I’m the only one whose Christmas list just got a little longer.

            I will say I was a little too critical when I first found Steve Harvey hosting Family Feud.  I guess I was afraid he was giving up.  Doing anything for a little money.  Maybe money was his motivation, or maybe not.  Either way I found myself laughing out loud as Steve gave these families a hard time for their foolish answers.  So congrats Steve on your new hosting job and for being a published author.  May the road rise to meet you, and You Got Served be always at your back.