![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Nov. 25th, 2002 01:28 pmNot fifty minutes ago, a diminutive Vietnamese woman named Tina was in the process of shearing away some of my hair.
When I walked into the Chinese barbershop/hair salon, I walked over, and she scissored two fingers into her hair, and I nodded. She pointed me towards a chair, and I sat; she wrapped a towel about my neck and draped a sheet decorated with some Patrick Nagel/Ty Wilson-wannabe graphic over me. And then she started to cut my hair.
No talking. No asking how I wanted it styled.
Once, after she had already started, she pointed at my hair in a couple of places, and muttered something, and I tried to explain to her that I couldn't speak Chinese very well. It would be about 30 minutes later, after the shampoo and the teeth-rattling massage, when she would tell me (in English) that she was from Vietnam, and ask me about myself.
At the time, however, all of this just wasn't at all upsetting to me. I just placed my trust in this woman to cut my hair appropriately.
This is, of course, in preparation for my return to Miami, so I can avoid my father's insistence that my hair is too long, and the therefore subsequent obligation to go see Lucy, the woman who used to cut my hair when I was living down there.
It's not that I don't like going to see Lucy, but you need to understand that with a trip back home, certain obligations have a tendency to crop up. Because my parents are my parents, I don't really get to say no to the "can you tell me what's wrong with the computer?" question (I've luckily ducked out on a lot of these questions since moving to Atlanta, since Jerry lives in Boynton Beach...).
Other obligations: going shopping for who knows what. While this may seem like something that would appeal to me, invariably we'll go shopping for the most tedious things,
The most taxing of the expected obligations is the Moving of the Stuff. For some reason unapparent to those of us under the age of 31, we need to move Stuff around the house a lot--from trunks full of clothes, to, more usually, furniture. Beds, shelves (and the books on them), dressers, etc. My mom and dad are worried about my father's back. Jerry and I, are worried about our own...
Oh well... Here's to family get-togethers.
Oh yeah, the haircut turned out fine.
I actually did go to see Die Another Day yesterday afternoon, with Jeech and Earnie. It was entertaining enough, but quite stupid in parts. For example, why would anyone get onto a plane in North Korea, dressed in army fatigues, and then change into some ho-cake tube top, arm-length gloves, and skin-tight white pants? Is this really necessary? Give me Famke Janssen in a short cotton robe anyday...
When I walked into the Chinese barbershop/hair salon, I walked over, and she scissored two fingers into her hair, and I nodded. She pointed me towards a chair, and I sat; she wrapped a towel about my neck and draped a sheet decorated with some Patrick Nagel/Ty Wilson-wannabe graphic over me. And then she started to cut my hair.
No talking. No asking how I wanted it styled.
Once, after she had already started, she pointed at my hair in a couple of places, and muttered something, and I tried to explain to her that I couldn't speak Chinese very well. It would be about 30 minutes later, after the shampoo and the teeth-rattling massage, when she would tell me (in English) that she was from Vietnam, and ask me about myself.
At the time, however, all of this just wasn't at all upsetting to me. I just placed my trust in this woman to cut my hair appropriately.
This is, of course, in preparation for my return to Miami, so I can avoid my father's insistence that my hair is too long, and the therefore subsequent obligation to go see Lucy, the woman who used to cut my hair when I was living down there.
It's not that I don't like going to see Lucy, but you need to understand that with a trip back home, certain obligations have a tendency to crop up. Because my parents are my parents, I don't really get to say no to the "can you tell me what's wrong with the computer?" question (I've luckily ducked out on a lot of these questions since moving to Atlanta, since Jerry lives in Boynton Beach...).
Other obligations: going shopping for who knows what. While this may seem like something that would appeal to me, invariably we'll go shopping for the most tedious things,
The most taxing of the expected obligations is the Moving of the Stuff. For some reason unapparent to those of us under the age of 31, we need to move Stuff around the house a lot--from trunks full of clothes, to, more usually, furniture. Beds, shelves (and the books on them), dressers, etc. My mom and dad are worried about my father's back. Jerry and I, are worried about our own...
Oh well... Here's to family get-togethers.
Oh yeah, the haircut turned out fine.
I actually did go to see Die Another Day yesterday afternoon, with Jeech and Earnie. It was entertaining enough, but quite stupid in parts. For example, why would anyone get onto a plane in North Korea, dressed in army fatigues, and then change into some ho-cake tube top, arm-length gloves, and skin-tight white pants? Is this really necessary? Give me Famke Janssen in a short cotton robe anyday...
