The Hair Salon

Apparently, I have a small problem with going to hair salons.

For some reason, the few times that I have dared ventured into a hair salon to get my hair cut by a 'proper' hair styles, I have consistently shown signs of nervousness, stress and anxiety. I sort of freeze up, I can't speak like I normally do, and when the hair stylist ask me "So how would like your hair cut?", I look like I'm constipated. 

You see, I grew up going to Barber shops. In the barber shop, you sit down and read old Lao Fu Zi or Archie comics while waiting your turn. On the walls, there are usually pictures of famous Indian actors like Rajini Khan, Shah Rukh Khan or whatever Khan was the latest rage in Bollywood at the time. When your turn is up, the barber will usually be shaving away half the hair on your head before you even get to warm up the seat. You can are of course allowed to tell him how you would like your hair to be styled. Fringes, partings, slopes... specify to him whatever you want. The only catch is, no matter what you say, it will still come out exactly the same. They were kind of like the Henry Ford of the hair cutting industry. You can have any style you want, as long as its short and ugly. But for the fast and hassle free experience and the price you pay, people seldom make complains. It's not the sort of hair cut you'd go to your prom with, but it's not that ugly that you'd never return to the barber shop ever again. And since there are so many barber shops around, if you didn't like one, you could simply go to another till you find one that cuts your hair to your satisfaction. 

But hair salons are a different matter all together.

It's a barber shop, you get a fat (and sometimes smelly) guy with a very conservative hair himself tending to your needs. He cuts in an efficient and steady manner. Style and flair is secondary. In the hair salon, you have a young, funky man/woman, usually spotting some outlandish hairdo. He/She trims your hair literally like it's about to become their next masterpiece. Even before the stylist ever sees you, there is shampoo lady, who will wash your hair and dry it.. making sure its clean enough to be touched by the sacred hands of the holy hair stylist. And when the stylist finally shows up, he gives your hair a few flicks. And unless he did your last hair cut, he'd probably look at you as if Edward Scissorhands did your last hairdo. Then... there is the dreaded question... "How would you like your hair?"

And that's where I crumble like a cookie. Bare with me a bit here OK.

You see a hair stylist and pay more money instead of a barber because you want better hair. That implies that you acknowledge that the stylist is an expert at the subject matter; that he knows more about your hair that you do. That in turn implies that you should listen to their expert advice. So if I'm paying them for their counsel, why the f**k am I being asked how I like my hair? I want nice, neat and presentable hair. That's all I can say. Don't ask me what to do. You tell me!

Anyway, I understand that the stylist just cant start cutting your hair without first knowing what you have in mind.. or knowing your appetite for funky hairdos. So it's not totally unreasonable that they get some feedback before butchering my hair. So I go

Ahem.. well.. I want the sides to be.... short... and the top to be.... neat.. and erm... overall.. it should look...... well.... presentable-la... You know. The kind your mother wouldn't cringe at....the kind that makes you look opposite of what a Lala-boy would look like.

*lame look from the stylist*

And then they go "Oh you know.. your face is oval.. so your hair shouldn't be too short, otherwise, you look like an egg... OMG.. the rear of your skull is a bit odd... so again, short will expose it and make you look funny... and side partings are so last century... I really wouldn't recommend it. You shouldn't come downwards.. it should be spiky and upwards.. pointing to the sky because that's where heaven is...

WTF...

It seems like I've surrendered both my money and my hair to the next Mr. Vidal Saasoon to become his next masterpiece Guinea pig. Not only am I not going to get the hair I want. I'm going to have to pay I'm for it.

Ah.. then there's the money... the big game changer. Like I said, you pay the stylist substantially more (3 times more to be exact) than you do the barber. That means you both acknowledge that there is a higher value in this cut... be it tangible or intangible. So since they are charging you more, and you are paying more.. there's gotta be something that is different. I suspect that the stylist feels they feel obliged to make your money's worth by throwing outlandish and funky hairdo ideas to you and cut you hair as if your hair was their greatest creation to date. They won't let you get away with short, neat and presentable... because that's so beneath them... so..... barber-ish... And YOU... you can't walk away with merely short, neat, presentable  

hair especially when you are paying that kind of money for a freaking haircut! So you take all the crazy funky hair ideas from the glorified barber stylist .. because you think that's what you paid all that money for.... even if you don't really want anything funky at all..

You see my where I'm getting at?

Halfway through the haircut... when the stylist goes off to get some more contraptions to carve my head, my other half comes up to me and whispers "You know...you do realize that  if you're not happy with the way he's cutting you hair, you can always tell him to do it differently right?"

Well honey... that's what I thought with the barber too....

Have a good week everybody.

Stop & Stare

Boy, what a morning it has been.

I was feeling kind of excited last night as I left work, ready to hit the road straight to Singapore in my new car. Well, new old car that is. The previous car I was driving was starting to make one too many noises and my boss finally agreed to change it to something that didn’t look like it was about to fall apart before the next traffic light. The replacement just came last Saturday, and I was eager to put the car through its paces, to check out what this baby can do.

Zoom zoom zoom.. and before you know it, I was right at the border of Singapore. So far so good… it felt like I was on a flying carpet… with wheels of course. I decided to hang on the phone a bit more talking to my other half before crossing the border.. enjoying the air conditioning and the soft feel of the leather.

And then everything just went started to go downhill..…

The hazard light suddenly came on, lights started flashing and beeping sounds started coming from areas I didn’t know existed in the car… and finally the engine itself chocked to a silent eerie death.

“WTF...?”…

I turned the ignition but the car wouldn’t start. A desperate call to my boss asking for advice – he told me to wait and try again later. What a genius. Didn’t work. Popped open the hood and peered in and started touching and shaking stuff. Had no idea what I was doing. But all men feel compelled to ‘pop the hood and check’ as if they knew a thing or two about fixing a car. Gave up and went back in. Opened the glove compartment and did what I know only engineers would do – read the manual. While it wasn’t as cool as popping the hood, it was a lot more informative. Read cover to cover hoping to find a solution, but still wasn’t any closer to getting the car started. At least I now knew what all those knobs and lights were for.

By this time it was 3am in the morning, and I hadn’t had a bath in 18 hours. Stick, dirty and smelly, I decided to try getting some shut eye in the car. But with the windows half open, I kept getting up every half an hour convinced that a bunch of night raiders were about to pounce on me and drive my car away. But since my car was out of order, they’d probably get pissed off and kill me instead. Or so I imagined.

Anyway, I somehow managed to make it to morning with some decent sleep and all my body parts intact. Hope against hope, I tried turning the key again. No sound. Damn car just won’t start. Lucky for me, I was parked right at the rest stop. Took my bag out and went to the washrooms. They had showers there mostly used by lorry and bus drivers to freshen up. So, a shower and a shot of caffeine later, I was feeling almost alright again. Quick calls to the workshops and some colleagues and tow truck was fast on its way to rescue me from my misery.

But this being Malaysia, it was just a matter of time before a bunch of busybody’s started congregating around my car. All men of course. How do they help? By standing around the car, hands at their waist, staring at the engine, thinking really really hard. We men like to think we can fix anything if we stare at it long enough. Only guy that was helpful was the tow truck guy. After all, he was the one actually charging me for assistance. But not before trying to kill me it seems.

After hooking up the car, I hopped into his truck. Maybe I was high on caffeine or something, but I was kind of enjoying sitting in the old beat up truck. Had a real old school feel about it, and it didn’t even have seatbelts! Coolness! I was thinking this might turn out so bad after all. I’m riding old skool style babe!

….and then he made a right turn…….and the door next me swung open, and I could feel myself being thrown right out the door, my body floating in thin air before crashing to the ground in slow motion…before getting squashed by the incoming cars….

OK, not really . But it really did feel like it was about to happen.

The door did swing open, but I managed to cling on to something to avoid flying out. Wasn’t proud of my few whimpy cries I accidentally let out in the face of certain death, but considering the truck driver himself almost shit in his pants too, I wasn’t too bothered. With doors locked this time, I sat close to the centre and keep my grip firmly on the seat for the rest of the trip. Riding old skool didn’t seem so fun after that. Damn it, why isn’t anything going right today?

But not to worry…as I write this, I’m sitting snuggled into a nice comfortable seat with air conditioning, free wifi, and a pretty looking waitress fetching free flow espresso coffee for me while I wait for the mechanics to figure out what the hell’s wrong with my car. I can tell they’re on it because from where I sit, I can see the mechanics all standing around the car, hands at their waist, staring at the engine, thinking really really hard. I’m sure that’ll do the trick.

Should Men Lie?

I got such a kick out of making the last chart that I spent the a bulk of my time tonight making this chart (as opposed to sleeping early as originally intended). I'm particularly proud of the different steps men should take when answering the same question of 'Is she pretty' but one for your partner, and one for your Ex...

I think ALL MEN, at some point or other in their lives have felt the need to lie once in a while to their partners. I think it's inevitable. We didn't start out this way you know. Once upon a time, we believed in being totally honest. Then we discovered that being honest meant getting into a lot of trouble anyway. So, being the smart beings that we are, we decided that honesty isn't always the best policy. A low chance of averting trouble is still better than zero.

So we lie, lie, lie till our pants are on fire if we are confident enough that the risk are reasonable to take.

Little do we know that women can sniff a lie a mile away... which just gets us into more trouble.

Woman oh woman. What do we do with you? Can't live with you, can't live without you.

Why the Modern Man Must Die...

Being a guy in this day and age is kinda tough if you ask me.

I think it used to be enough for a man to be honest, sincere and hardworking to be considered a 'catch'. Had a decent job, knew how to fix things around the house and never shied away from making important decisions. Never mind if he was a man of few words, unsophisticated, incapable of functioning in social settings or even a tad insensitive. A man was a man, crude perhaps but practical and dependable; no one expected any more or less from a man.

But the modern man of today is often depicted (thus expected) to be so much more. It is what we are told is now the 'desirable' thing to be if you want to be on the secret list of 'good catches' women seem to privately keep. The last term I ever heard coin for men and how they're supposed to be was 'metrosexual'... whatever the hell that's supposed to imply. I don't know what magazines are calling the modern man these days.

But he's supposed to be a man in the most traditional sense of the word; knowledgeable, wise, authoritative, firm, steady and dependable, YET kind, gentle, sensitive, caring, emotionally mature, selfless, gregarious and socially adept at the same time. Am I the only one who thinks this is next to impossible?

The modern man is supposed to know how to groom himself, dress well, have a sense of style but still capable of getting his hands dirty fixing your household appliances, throw out the trash or repair your clogged up toilet. He drinks gourmet coffee and listens to jazz & classical music, but can tell you which is the radiator and which is the alternator in your car. He's supposed to be refined and learned gentleman that never resorts to violence but still knows how to throw a decent punch if it came down to it. He's doesn't squirm when experiencing pain but is expected to be able to talk about his feelings and perhaps even cry. He's supposed to be manly and rugged enough to sport a rough beard, tight jeans and body hugging shirt but still wear pink. He's supposed to be familiar with fine wines, Renaissance artworks and Mark Twain quotes but still capable of sitting in the mamak watching an EPL match with the guys and know all the MU players by heart. In a nut shell, he's supposed to be a man in the most traditional sense, but fully in aware in in tune with his 'softer' more 'feminine' side. Am I the only one who thinks such a guy simply does not exist? 

But... on the off hand, who knows.. these breed of pedigree men do exist. If you do know such a guy......well..... good for you. But the for the sake of the rest of the male population, please murder him for me. If you ARE such a guy, that's really great dude. We should hang out some time. But now, I'mma gonna hav'ta kill'ya man. You aren't allowed to exist.

Else the ladies will start expecting us to behave like you. Geddit?

What he's really thinking over dinner...

You know... there comes a time in every man's life, when he looks at the woman he's with and feels overwhelmed.. Over a candle lit dinner, he sees her eyes light up as she speaks to him. He sees her face break into the sweetest of smiles as he makes his usual lame jokes. He sees her fiddle with her food as the both of them soak up the pleasure of each others company. And it is often at that moment that he is filled with a burning question that he just HAS to ask her what would probably be the most defining moment of their romantic night out....

"..................................Are you going to eat that?" 

:-P

Cheers everyone. Have a good weekend!

It was the camera I was supposed to own..

More Free Music at MP3-Codes.com


I met up with some friends yesterday.

Official purpose of meet : Catch up with friends.

REAL purpose of meet : My friend just wanted to show off his new toy.

You see, boys never really grow up. We stop sticking our fingers up our noses and then into our mouth by the time we're 12 years old, but that's about it. And the thing we NEVER EVER grow out of, is our need for toys. Our toys only get bigger, more sophisticated, and more expensive.

So, you see, despite not having seen each other for a good 3 or 4 months, the real reason we were all huddled up in the coffee house again, was because he wanted to show off his new toy, and well, we wanted to play with his new toy. It's a fair trade you see. You get to gloat over it, and we get to tinker and full around with it.

To go into the details (just so you know, if you aren't into gadgets and camera's and stuff, this is going to get kinda boring).. he had just got himself a RM4000 plus Nikon D90 DSLR because about 3 months ago, he told he needed a better camera to take better pictures. He also said he was really interested in photography and wanted to learn more. Actually, what he REALLY wanted was just to look so damn cool strutting around with a big, sturdy, professional looking camera and having a new toy to play with.

I've seen this before, 4 years ago in college, when he bough his first digital camera. 2 of them bought themselves a camera, and for like 3 months, started taking pictures of EVERY DAMN THING. Us in class, us eating lunch, us walking to school, us buying groceries, us hanging around, us slurping on noodles, us looking at him playing his camera. It was so damn ANNOYING!! And he didn't even know how to take a decent shot. 6 months later, the fad dies down, and he got bored of his toys, and for the next 2 years or so, the camera only came out on occasions, or during birthdays.

The thing is..............

This guy doesn't know a damn thing about cameras or photography. White balance could be a Klu Klux Klan motto and he wouldn't even know the difference. Shutter speed would probably be how fast NASA launches their rockets to space and the word 'bokeh' could be something about a bundle of flowers for all he knew. He bought the camera because people said DSLR's take better pictures, because people said the Nikon D90 is THE camera to have. And after hearing that another one of our friends working in Abu Dhabi already got his a few weeks ago, he just HAD to get his. SO DAMN KIASU.

And so, one of the purpose he ask me out specifically and not someone else, was because he wanted me to teach him a few things about his DSLR.

Can you believe that? He. wants ME. to teach him. about. HIS. DSLR.

I don't. Even. OWN. A. FREAking. DSLR.
(What makes you think I could teach you ANYTHING? And why did u buy it if you don't even know what it does?)


The worst part of it all is........ the Nikon D90... was the camera I WAS WANTING TO GET FOR THE LONGEST TIME SINCE IT CAME OUT. I had devoured every single juicy details I could get my hands on that freaking camera. It was the toy I coveted. It was the toy I wanted so badly. Photography to me isn't so much a serious hobby....... just like him, I just wanted to take nice pictures too. But can I safely say I was certainly more into it than he ever was / is. Subsequently, after admitting I could not afford a D90 anytime soon, I downgraded my expectations, and decided maybe just an old, second hand, but somehow still loved Nikon D40 will do which cost a third the price. AND I could buy myself this AWESOME 35mm f1.8 lens and finally take some KICK ASS pictures of people. That was of course until I had to spend the money on some other thing.... which I will not write about here. But I pretty much shelved the idea of spending any money on another camera for another year.

SIGH.

It's OK.... I already bought myself a camera a year and a half ago, as a reward to myself when I first started work. A Lumix FZ18 which although looked every bit like a baby DSLR, was anything but one. The money was needed somewhere else. And I had to sacrifice. And so I swallowed that bitter pill, and told myself to stop being a baby about it.

I told myself I must learn to love the things I have, and not necessarily have all the things I think I love. 

That plus, if I couldn't even take good pictures with the camera I had, spending more money on a better camera ain't going to change a thing. People take photographs, not cameras. A lesson I wasn't entirely sure my friend understood yet. His RM4000 camera wasn't about to make him a better photographer. The silver lining of it was, if I continued taking crappy photographs with what I have now, I could always just blame it on the camera and (most) normal people wouldn't really know that it was really a lie. But if I carried an expensive camera around and still took crappy pics... I won't be sure where to hide my face. Devilishly, I wished to myself that he'd take the crappiest most horrible and ordinary looking pics for the next 6 months and learn things the hard way.

So there I was, sitting at the table, holding his camera for the very first time, showing him the controls and how you operate it. Actually, it was the first time I was operating it too. Only, I had devoured so much details about the camera and it's capabilities, I felt like I already know it. And that was when the irony stood out most for me.

I was the one who loved this camera and knew all about it. I was the one who coveted it so badly. I was the one who intended to buy it. He didn't even know this camera existed till a few months ago. He didn't even know what half the buttons around the camera did. But he was the one who bought it. He was the one who owned it. But I was the one teaching his about it!!

"Dude, with what you have here, you BETTER start taking some mind blowing photographs." I said to him.

He just smiles at me and enthusiastically declares  "I will diligently learn to!"  But really, he was just gloating about his new toy. Maybe he could see how much I loved his camera.  I think he hear me say "what you have here" part.. and completely filtered out the "mind blowing photographs" part. This was as looking like a gloating device first, camera second. I swear I could have smashed my face into a wall.

After we split, I went home, took my own little camera out, wiped off the dust and took a snap shot of myself in the mirror. I checked the camera count. Almost 9000 over pictures taken over the course of it's life thus far. It's been with me everywhere from the zoo, to the muzeum, the park, the makan shop, the pasar malam, Pangkor, Kedah, Johor, Kuching, Bintulu, Singapore, Brussels, Germany, Amsterdam, Shanghai..... just about everywhere I have ever went this past 2 years, and it has served me well (enough). I felt guilty for suddenly coveting someone else's camera's pulak.

Damn it........

I'm even starting to develop a guilt conscience even over my camera? :-S

Do I really have to be a tortured soul all the time? It's a freaking camera la.