~ Last week was a hectic week, maybe a little too hectic. The Khyber Club’s fire relief page has information about Tuesday’s benefit show and gives the number for a bank account where you can make donations.
There’s also a benefit show upstairs at the Marquee this Thursday. It’s a bunch of bands doing Police covers. I’ll be performing, doing a Spinoza set. I’m not saying what songs I’ll be covering… but my set is going to take the biscuit.
I’m starting an organization called the “Burnt-Out Charity Case Society,” BOCCS for short. Our motto is: “You need a place to live. You need a BOCCS.”
~ Last Thursday night after I got off work at the Marquee I headed down to Reflections for the second Hissy Fit show. Hissy Fit involves a bunch of Halifax rock bands performing while dressed up as ladies.
It’s quite a big deal. Half-a-dozen bands play, and all kinds of people show up. It’s cool because Reflections is usually a gay dance bar, so there were a few real drag queens present, hanging out and showing everyone how it should be done.
I would say that Mark Colavecchia from North Of America gets my award for hottest outfit. He was dressed up as a naughty nurse, with a foxy little blonde wig. I’m excited about nurses since I shagged one a few days ago. The guys from Contrived were also looking cute in their little dresses. They were probably just drunk enough to be easily taken advantage of, ha ha.
Saw Gerry the next morning and he looked like he’d been hit by a truck. Nah, just beaten senseless with a knife held to his throat.
~ My hair grows quickly. Every two or three months I get out the clippers and shave it all off with the Number One guard. I like my skull fuzzy.
Last week I had a lover who almost thought she could pull my hair. I don’t want to lose my unfair advantage. So–off it comes.
Also, the act of shaving your head has symbolic value. It’s psychologically representative of cutting away stress and the cares of the world. Shaving my head always leaves me feeling refreshed and confident.
Friday afternoon, I covered the bathroom sink with an old copy of The Coast, oiled the clippers, fired them up and started hacking away at my head.
A couple minutes in I started to realize something was wrong. I was having a hard time of it. The blades were pulling hard at my hair, and the clippers didn’t seem to be cutting very well.
Then the motor on the clippers seized up.
I thought that maybe some hair had gotten caught in the blades and caused them to jam, but that wasn’t it. I unplugged the clippers and plugged them back in; tried adding more oil to the blades. No go. All I could get out of the machine was a sick-sounding growl.
I was only halfway done the job. In the mirror, I looked like I had some kind of disease that had caused patches of my hair to fall out.
I stood in the bathroom for a while, turning the clippers off and on, listening to the motor whine and struggle.
Then the phone rang. I dropped the clippers into the wastebasket–clunk. Went into my bedroom to pick up the phone. “Hello.”
“Hi Philip, are you almost ready to head up to the new studio?” It was Terry, the studio boss. “I can come and pick you up right away.”
“Okay,” I said.
I put on my pants, pulled up my hood and wandered out onto Bloomfield Street with half a haircut.